#drabble.txt

You and your boyfriend share an extremely healthy sex life, with your pleasure as its focal point. Nothing makes him happier than to have you falling apart and not a day goes by without him begging to make you cum, usually by eating you out. And it doesn't stop when you’re on your period. Every month, he tries his luck.

There’s a desperation to his pleas that caught your attention before you dismissed the idea entirely. You couldn’t get past the messiness of it, but he still gives it a gallant effort when your period comes around. You feel the familiar pangs in your abdomen, reminding you that the cursed time had started while you were at work, as if you could forget. Remmick had been particularly pathetic the last few days, clinging to you with more ferocity than usual. You didn’t need a period tracker when your boyfriend seemed to know before you did. He barely let you out of bed this morning and now you know why.

You also know he’ll know the second he looks at you and you’ll have to spend a week dodging his persistent advances. You both know he’s wearing you down, that it’s only a matter of time before you concede. You left work an hour early, just so that you could relax before the cajoling starts and maybe gather your willpower. Every car in your way gets mind-exploded on your drive home as you try to beat him there, to no avail. You groan at the sight of his car in the driveway, giving your steering wheel a quick throttling. You get out of your car slowly, sending a prayer to the Universe as you open the front door. Your heart leaps when you hear your bedroom shower running; Remmick could be in there for hours. 

You grab your toiletries before tiptoeing to the guest bathroom, showering and dressing with an efficiency that would have impressed your boyfriend. You’ve been laying down for eleven blissful minutes when the bathroom door opens with a flood of steam. You watch as Remmick steps out and you’re sure it’s your period that’s making the towel wrapped around his waist look particularly slutty. You watch a water droplet travel down his navel before he makes his way to his dresser. You are treated to the sight of his back, adorned with the barest hint of the scratch marks from this morning. You bite your lip and see his whole body stiffen before he manages to open a drawer. You won’t deny the thrill that runs through you when he turns to you with that wide eyed gaze. 

“You bleedin’, sweetheart?” 

His voice is calm, but his eyes jump from your face to between your legs. “Mhm.” 

Your answer is pointedly short as you refocus your attention on your book. Like you care about what the novice adventurer from its pages is doing with the heat of Remmick’s gaze searing through you. The energy in the room shifts as he approaches, casually demanding your attention with a finger under your chin. Your stomach squirms at the desire you see swimming in his eyes, curling around you like a shark. 

“Remmick—” Saying his name is a mistake. “Don’t even.” 

He gives you an innocent smile, adopting a harmless exterior that you don’t believe for a second. “I could soothe the pain,” he says. “You know that.” 

He’s a demon, speaking in a low voice with an undeniably sultry lilt. He interrupts you before you can start protesting. “We can wash the sheets– hell, I can buy a new mattress.”

You’re quiet for a minute as he gauges your reaction. Were you considering it? After seven months, who wouldn’t? Sensing weakness, he goes in for the kill. “I bet she’s aching for it,” he whispers. “I could make you feel so good.”

Your core pulses with your every heart beat and Remmick smiles like he can hear it. His hand goes from your face to the hem of your shirt, waiting for permission. His nostrils flare and he lets out a shuddering breath when you nod. “Thank you, angel,” he breathes, pulling you in for a kiss. “Thank you.”

You watch the towel unwind from his waist, holding your breath as it falls away. He’s hard already, erection bobbing as he climbs on the bed. He undresses you with the reverence of a man visiting an altar and your gaze is pulled from his hands by the splatter of coolness on your stomach. When you look at him, he’s drooling; copious amounts plopping down your body that he doesn’t seem to notice. You feel his heavy-lidded gaze like a caress to your slick entrance. You watch, fascinated by the intoxicated expression fluttering across his face. “Remmick.” 

“Hm?” 

His eyes never stray from the bloody scene between your legs, drawn to it like a bee to honey. “What are you?” 

It snuck up on you, the notion that you were something akin to a baby bird under the paw of an unusually benevolent cat. Accumulated under tiny realizations that piled up until you couldn’t deny the truth, not with it so close. He freezes, as still as granite between your legs. His eyes flit to yours and you see the creature lurking behind them, stirring at your acknowledgment. 

“…I’m yours, darlin'.” 

You believe him, or you believe the devotion in his gaze, in the careful, precious way he treats you. The gentle way he cradles your thighs, pressing open mouthed kisses down them. As if he’s afraid to hurt you; it used to make you laugh. Do you need to know more than that? 

Do you want to? 

billy loomis is possessiveness personified. not in a jealous or overbearing way, or because of any unspoken insecurity (so he says). it’s a character trait. if you’re with him, you have to belong to him. you accept those parts of him as easily as you accept his wit or charm or humor. he’s been upfront with you about it, what he expects and how he wants you to behave. honestly, it looks unpleasant from the outside, but the last thing on his mind is what anyone thinks. you wouldn’t be with him if you didn’t enjoy it and your opinion is the only one that has a hope of mattering.

he’s never more than a foot from you if he can help it and keeps a very close eye on you when he can’t. he dislikes when you’re out of his sight, touching you at all times. every second his arm is around your waist or shoulder, a hand on your arm or hip or thigh or ass. he wants you close, where no one else can look at or reach you without catching his eye and invoking his wrath.

he’s a firm believer that people around you shouldn’t be allowed to look at you too freely. the moment he took an interest in you, he made it his mission to prevent strangers from approaching you. he’s like a scary dog, glaring at them with dark eyes that promise violence. he made it clear to everyone you were his. walking with billy’s arm around your waist, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd and darting to you every so often with a tiny smirk is a common sight.

when he catches someone glance at you for too long, his dead eyes bore into theirs, face void of any expression, but with a clear message: fuck around and find out. very few have found out, quickly choosing to direct their attention elsewhere. the ones that have are surprised by the strength behind billy’s lithe form, the viper like quickness behind each movement and the unrelenting bloodlust in his attacks. he’s a sight to behold, a whirlwind of limbs and an unhinged grin on his face. he lives for bare knuckled violence done in your honor, like a prayer of one fucked up heretic. if he thought you’d let him kill for you, he would.

thankfully, you draw the line at beating up assholes who don’t know how to take no for an answer. it’s the closest to worshipping you he’s going to get, shoving the face of some prick into gravel until he coughs out an apology. he knows you’re truly made for him because your eyes sparkle, voice low and sultry as you smile up at him and murmur, ‘thank you, billy,’ afterwards. the two of you are shameless, eye fucking until you can find a place to be alone (your decision, not his. he’d tie the guy up and fuck you right there let’s be honest.)

as much as he wants to, billy can’t put his hands on everyone. particularly, losers in your DMs. he despises social media and the shallow, vapid people who gather on there like sycophants and no matter what he says, you don’t share the same burning hatred. it only takes one good picture of you— and they’re all beautiful, for the desperate creeps to come crawling in. it’s almost a ritual: you post, choosing to ignore any incoming notifications while he scrolls through them and soon after it’s not long before he’s discarding your phone for the rest of the night while he fucks you senseless.

if he’s feeling particularly cruel, he’ll record you on it, ignoring the way you stammer and protest. he works smoothly to cajole you into it, forcing you to show him who you belong to. the way you shout his name has his heart in a chokehold, he’ll never let you leave him. you’re quick to block all of them later, even if you are amused by how annoyed he gets.

billy feels it doesn’t send enough of a message, that you’d never think of entertaining them because you have everything you could possibly want and need from him. he’s painfully aware of how lucky he is to have you, you’re gorgeous and smart and compassionate. he satisfies you and they should know it.

speaking of, he’s laying in your bed on your phone when he sees a notification. it’s not even a real message, a pathetic attempt from a spineless coward that’s never gotten past ‘Hello’ with a woman and communicates like a child. that’s what the sad heart eyes emoji he’s sent conveys.

why does this guy think he could pull you with a fucking emoji? as far as compliments go, it’s laughable. you deserve to be exalted. it makes him angrier. if they’re going to ignore the clear signs of a happy relationship he insists you leave all over your page, they could at least be a viable alternative. as the equivalent to dog shit left on the sidewalk, their audacity was infuriating.

billy reaches for you where you’re curled into his side, occupied with the movie you’re watching until you’re distracted by his soft touches to your skin. you look up at him, raising your eyebrows. he’s able to slide his hand under your neck and a thrill runs through him at the way you tilt your head to give him better access, without question. your skin is warm and your pulse thrums softly under his fingers. “c’mere,” he orders, pulling you forward.

you melt under him as he kisses you, arching eagerly into his mouth. he squeezes the sides of your neck softy, a firm pressure that has you settling down obediently. he moves from your lips to your neck, placing gentle kisses on the hollow of your throat. your pleased sigh is followed by a squeak of surprise when he bites you, sucking and dragging his tongue against your skin until the blood vessels burst. bruising appears faint on your skin which billy has always taken as a challenge. his experienced mouth has your skin coloring in no time, ignoring the whimpers you let out beneath him.

you easily distract him from his original intentions, pupils blown wide, chest heaving and lips parted into an adorable pout. he can’t resist climbing on top of you, lording over you for a moment to gaze at your expression. no one else would ever see you like this. “billy, please,” you whine.

he bites back a smile. you’re so cute, not even sure what you’re asking for, content to let him decide what to give you and when. it feels as if he’s gonna burst into flames. “open your mouth, sweetheart,” he murmurs and you do.

fuck, he wants to ruin you. to see how much you’ll take, what you’ll let him do. he curls four fingers around your jaw and pushes his thumb into your mouth. your eyes flutter closed and you wrap your plush lips around the digit, lavishing attention onto it with your tongue. he’s painfully hard, all coherent thought rushing south with his blood. “good girl,” he praises just to watch you squirm, rubbing thighs he knows are soaked together.

as much as he wants to fuck you, he still has to address the matter at hand. when he pulls out your phone, your eyebrows furrow and your eyes move around his face. you don’t say anything, waiting for his direction or explanation. the power you give him over you makes his cock throb, he’s aching to be inside of you, to mark you inside and out. he leans forward and presses your foreheads together. “you’re mine.” he says darkly. “all these fuckers begging for your attention, but that’s mine too. all of you, every inch. isn’t it, baby?”

and you’re perfect, nodding along to his every word, eyes wide and desperate. he pulls back to take the picture, sending it without a second thought. it’s a close up, nothing visible besides his hand wrapped around your throat and the bruising on your skin but he’s committed the image you make to memory. the message ‘she’s not interested’ follows the picture and within seconds, the seen notification appears.

.

.

Break-ups, you eventually learn, are not a good look for you.

Self-doubt keeps you awake at night more than caffeine ever has. The lack of proper sleep has disastrous consequences on your school life and your general appearance.

Even the most skilled makeup artists would consider you a lost cause. All their professional training and years of experience would not be enough to breathe new life into your dull and haggard appearance, not when your exhaustion is still so visibly apparent through the layers of concealer you regularly apply under your eyes. When you stare at yourself in the mirror you see a ghost, a creature from the past anchored in the wrong reality.

This goes on for a week, then two. You probably would have hit the third week mark if your friends hadn’t staged an emergency intervention.

“Your first big split can be hard, I get it.” Mari pats your shoulder. “That’s why you gotta listen to us. This can't go on any longer than it already has.”

Liz is a little less sympathetic. She’s always hated your ex-boyfriend and has no reservations reminding you of what an asshole he is.

You don't agree with her snide remarks but know it's useless to argue. Any objection has her rolling her eyes.

"You think being nice is ignoring your calls for a week?"

"It wasn't a week-"

"Do the details matter?" she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. "If he really respected you, he'd let you know he was gonna be busy instead of letting you waste your time and energy worrying about him."

Maybe she's right. Maybe you need to stop finding excuses for his every action.

Thanks to your friends' gentle but firm guidance you learn that there’s a code of conduct one must follow post break-up. Detailed steps one must take to numb the side effects of heartbreak.

It’s challenging to keep track of every little thing you’re supposed to be doing - and not doing - but you’re determined to become a functioning member of society once more.

RULE 1. BLOCK THAT MF. Your friends collectively warn you to lose your ex’s number. Delete it, block it, forget it. It makes moving on easier, they insist.

RULE 2. STAY OFF SOCIAL MEDIA. Don’t keep tabs on him. Seeing him be happy without you will make you swim in misery (and wine).

RULE 3. KEEP BUSY. Meet with friends, talk to family. Study, work out - whatever keeps your mind occupied.

The list goes on, some rules making less sense than others, but you’re so desperate to move on at this point that you’re willing to try just about anything.

It works - for the most part. You’ve never been more social in your life and the constant human to human interactions take up most of your free time and energy.

You try your best. Really, you do. It’s not enough, but it helps. So far you’ve successfully avoided any major meltdowns.

RULE 13 : NO LISTENING TO SAD SONGS/WATCHING SAD MOVIES in particular has kept you from recreating the typical kdrama scene where the lead wallows in her own sadness, a tub of ice cream in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, before a nicer, smarter, more handsome love interest sweeps her off her feet.

It’s week six, almost week seven, when your friends decide that you’re ready to take the next step.

“What you need is a distraction,” Mari says, wagging her eyebrows, the implication of her words evident.

“She’s not that kind of girl.”

“What do you mean?” Except you know exactly what she means. You just want to make her say it. 

“Well, aren’t you the relationship type?” it’s defensive, like she knows she’s said the wrong thing. 

“Sometimes.” You say, but the answer is distracted, your mind elsewhere.

You’re thinking about lists and rules, adding this one to the ever growing manual you’ve sworn to follow. RULE 26. DATE OTHER PEOPLE. THERE ARE OTHER FISH AT SEA.

“You don’t need to find the love of your life right now. Just - like go out, have fun. It doesn't have to be a big thing."

"Why don't we go clubbing!" Mari proposes, excitement building in her tone. "Even if no one catches your eyes, I think it’ll do you some good to go out. We haven’t been out together in forever!”

You think about the alternative. Going home, watering your plants, microwaving the leftover lasagna, feeling bad for yourself. Reluctantly, you nod.

“That settles it then!” Liz cheers, already making her way to her closet to dig up the perfect outfit. “We’ll help you find a hot rebound. Nothing is better than good dick to help you realize there are plenty of great options!”

Next to you, Mari nods sagely. “It’ll help you - make you realize that there are other guys out there. Your world is much bigger than one single person, no matter how great you thought they were.”

Her words of advice settle into your bones, haunting. You want to believe her but if there's anything these past weeks have taught you, it's that your heart is stubborn. It cares little about what's better or nicer or kinder.

When you return her smile, you know deep down that you're only setting yourself up for disappointment.

.

.

.

.

Rule 26 is tiresome work, requiring more effort than advertised. But like every rule before this one, you give it your best shot.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to zero in on tonight’s target.

The guy in front of you is handsome. Objectively. Prominent features with long lashes and pouty lips. Slicked back hair, well dressed, and clearly on the lookout for a one night stand. He ticks all of your boxes - if you had any to begin with. 

Somewhere over his shoulder you see Mari shoot you a thumbs up, grinning like a proud mom, and the sight helps steel your resolve. You can do this.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to shift to the dance floor, chests pressing against one another.

His hands on your waist are warm. The way he’s moving his body - the slow grind of his hips against yours - it should be enticing.

But you feel - detached. Your brain registers everything that’s happening to you in an almost clinical way. Two hands, a set of lips, the rub of stubble against your cheek. Your body is responding in a rehearsed fashion, like it’s following a set of pre-set instructions, and all the while your mind is elsewhere. 

You’re not distracted, you realize. You’re bored. The space between your ribs and beating heart is just as hollow as it was before. Briefly you wonder if the emptiness will ever fill itself back up again, or if you’re supposed to live the rest of your life searching for the missing pieces that used to make you whole.

“Gotta go to the bathroom.” You squirm out of his grasp. There’s no point in playing this game anymore, not when the promised prize is this lackluster.

“Oh yeah. Sure.”

He nods, smiling, but his eyes are already flitting around the crowded room, on the lookout for your replacement. You wander off, weaving through the crowd of swaying bodies, and take a left instead of right, heading for the backdoor instead of the bathroom. 

The midnight air is cool against your skin and you breathe it in greedy gulps.

Your mind clears and suddenly fatigue seeps in. Here, hidden in the shadows, you allow your mask to slip. You’re tired of pretending that everything is okay, that this endless list of do's and don’ts you’ve been following is the only way to achieve happiness.

And maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you that you should stop running away from your feelings. That no matter how much you pretend, the truth is always there, sitting under the scabs you’ve covered up with makeshift bandages.

There’s a pull, a magnetism you’re weak to. Your eyes land on his familiar figure like you knew he was there to begin with and your world comes to standstill. A feeling you can’t name threatens to burst from your chest.

The gravity must be a two-way street, one of two planets circling around each other, for his gaze somehow lifts and your eyes meet for the first time in months.

The moment he spots you, a three second beat passes with him frozen in place, like his body doesn’t know whether to flee or disappear into the ground. Then, after a small eternity, he relaxes back into his signature slouch, resigning himself to whatever twisted plan fate has schemed against him.

When he doesn’t budge from his position, you decide to approach him, well aware this is going against RULE 4 : AVOID YOUR EX AT ALL COSTS. ANYWHERE HE IS LIKELY TO SHOW UP, DO NOT GO. With every step you take all of your hard work goes down the drain but -

But.

For the first time tonight, your chest thrums with nervous anticipation. You feel alive again - not a shell of the person you used to be or a puppet imitating who you wished you could become.

“It’s been a while," you start off, hoping it comes off casual. It doesn’t. 

He sneaks a glance in your direction before looking back down at the cigarette plucked between two lips. He lights it and takes a long drag before looking back at you. 

“You’ve been doing well.” 

The phrasing throws you off. It’s not a question so you don’t know how to answer. You also don’t know why he thinks that, if it’s the fact you’re out right now instead of sleeping through the pain of a broken heart, or if he’s asked one of your friends how you’ve been doing. Maybe he’s seen your life through pictures, drawn up conclusions that only reinforce his decision.

“… I’m trying to.” 

Trying. With him, you were always trying. Trying to be more, trying to be less. Bending, shrinking, expanding. 

Something in his face softens at that. Maybe he realizes it, too. 

“You will be.” He says it with a note of finality, of certitude. Like the few years he has more than you grants him knowledge you’re not privy to.

“Well, what if I won’t?” You huff, wrapping your arms around yourself. “What if - what if I feel like this forever?”

It’s a childish question, one that probably cements his view of you. In the past you’d always crafted your sentences with care, trying to match his maturity in words but the break-up has made you realize he’d always seen through your act.

A smile plays at his lips, not reaching his eyes. “Forever is a myth. You’ll see - you’ll find a guy who actually deserves you, and everything I said will start to make sense.”

It’s infuriating - the way he decides these things for you without your consent. Like your feelings don’t matter when faced with logic and facts.

“I love you. Doesn’t that count for anything?” 

“You don’t want love,” corrects Yoongi, albeit gently, like he knows his words might shatter you if he isn’t careful. “You just want me.”

You swallow, mulling his words over. Trying to understand the unsaid.

“I’m no good for you.” He repeats his words from the break-up.  

“But-” You look down, frowning. “What does that matter? I’ve always been happier with you. Now I’m just - I’m…I don’t know anymore. I don’t know.”

Your voice tapers off. You just feel so stupid. Young, stupid. Sifting through the ashes of your relationship, desperate to salvage the bits that hadn’t burned to dust. 

Unshed tears blur your vision. You clench your jaw, determined to not break down completely. Yoongi's features twist, his heart weakened by your pathetic appearance, and for a fleeting moment you can see past his unyielding veneer.

“Kitten,” it’s spoken softly, so softly you can pretend it’s a term meant solely for you. 

You can see he regrets saying it as soon as the word tumbles out, unbidden. A slip of the tongue. Yet, you latch onto the sliver of comfort offered before he can take it back.

As soon as you step into his personal space, your world shifts on its axis and adjusts. You feel all the floaty parts of yourself slot into place as they were meant to be. 

“Yoongi, I miss you.” 

When he stares into your eyes, you don’t look away, hoping he’ll see the truth for what it is. How those three words fail to sum up the extent of your never-ending yearning. 

“It’s for the best,” he says. Still, he allows you to take his free hand in between your own. It’s cold to the touch, like his skin is carved from marble, but it only makes you squeeze tighter, hoping your warmth will be enough for the both of you.

“Maybe.”

If life was a chess board, with set rules and clear winners, maybe you’d relent and accept that there was a better fit for you somewhere out there. Someone who was emotionally available, who made time for you, and gave you the validation you needed.

You didn’t start dating Yoongi expecting these things, though.

“But what relationship is perfect?” You demand hotly, fire in your veins. “I’ve never wanted that from you. I don’t care about that. You said I didn’t want love. That’s not true. I don’t believe what you gave me wasn’t love.”

Yoongi listens, patient as always. He takes another drag from his cigarette and silence hangs in the air, heavy with want and regret.

“It’s not fair to you.” He looks away, weak. “I feel like I can do anything and get away with it. I don’t want to have that kind of power over you.”

Your mind races as it processes his confession. It’s the first time he’s phrased it in other terms than ‘you should’, ‘you deserve’, you, you, you.

“I don’t…can’t we work out this out together? Is it easier for you to shut people out than fix things? Was it… was it that easy breaking up with me?”

“It’s not easy.” He wets his lips. “It hasn’t been easy. I only - I’ve only wanted what was the best for you. What I thought would be the best for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I was hurt, though.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand back. The touch is everything you remember - secure, comforting, reassuring.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never wanted that.”

“I know.”

A pause and then, whispered in the night for only you to hear, “I’m afraid I’ll keep hurting you.”

“Whatever you’ve done in the past… It hurts more now, when we’re apart.”

He swallows audibly but his eyes never leave yours. In them, you see your emotions reflected. Logic and facts are meaningless now. The love you'd tried to smother out blazes into a wildfire, so untameable and overwhelming Yoongi can only get caught in it.

When you stand on your toes and lean in to press your lips against his, he doesn't move to stop you. What remains of his cigarette falls to the floor by his feet, forgotten.

.

.

.

It’s disgustingly easy falling back into bed with Yoongi. You’re partly to blame, though, for having built your world around him, for programming your body to only respond to him. When he kisses you and your knees go weak, you can’t imagine anyone else getting you this keyed up. His hands play you with as much skill as a virtuoso masters his instrument, plucking sigh after sigh of pleasure from your lips.

“These are cute.”

His thumb plays with the small bow adorning the front of your brand new pair of underwear. A self-care gift to yourself. They'd looked nice when you'd tried them on but now they look slightly out of place - the ruffled, pale pink fabric a stark contrast against his black bed sheets.

“Yeah…” You lift your hips, trying to entice him without needing to voice out your needs. “Wanted to get laid tonight.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi smiles but there’s an edge to it. He laughs as he snaps the band of your lace underwear against your hipbone. “You planned on bringing any old guy home tonight?”

Yoongi doesn't get jealous. But - sometimes - he gets weirdly possessive, intent on reminding you how only he affects you. It's silly, this need for validation, especially because you've never shied away from telling him how much you want him. You suppose that's just another difference between the two of you - you speak love in words, him through actions.

“Uh-huh. Wanted to forget.”

“Hmm.”

His hands continue to map out your body. He's lazy about it, like time isn't important - even though the both of you have to be up by seven to catch your morning lectures.

“Found someone but - wasn’t fun. Only thought about - ah - you.”

“He would’ve been so lucky, though. Look at you.” His hands travel up your thighs, opening up your legs further so that you’re exposed shamelessly. “So fuckin' pretty.”

Your mind flickers back to the guy you'd danced with earlier. You can't even remember what he looks like, let alone his name. All you know is that no one in that club you could have gone home with tonight could ever measure up to this.

“You still get so wet, kitten.” Yoongi kisses down your neck while deft fingers slide under the band of your underwear. He swipes through the small puddle of arousal, his fingers ice cold against your heat.

A moan escapes your lips, your hips pushing down against his hand in search for more friction. He lets you do as you please for a few drawn out seconds before pinning your hips in place, growling against your ear in warning.

“Tell me,” He forces you to hold his stare. “Would you have let him play with your pussy, hm?”

You bite your lips, hesitant. “N-no.”

“Liar.” Yoongi kisses you, tongue pressing against your own, until you can’t think straight. “You think he would’ve gotten you this wet? Sopping like this?”

His fingers thrust harder to prove his point, loud squelches ringing in your ears. It’s so fucking embarrassing to hear the proof of your desire but Yoongi smirks, amused by your discomfort.

“No, no.” You moan, pussy clamping to keep him buried deep. “Only y-you. I’m yours.”

“That’s right, kitten. I trained your pussy to take cock, get it this fuckin’ wet.” He yanks off your new - now sodden - pair of underwear and stares between your legs, famished. A shiver runs down your spine, each filthy word going straight to your core. "Gonna make you squirt all over my tongue. Remind you who this pussy belongs to."

"Fuck." You squeeze your eyes shut, afraid that the image of Yoongi's head between your thighs will be enough material to push you over.

"Look at me." Yoongi slaps your thigh, his expression unforgiving. "You're gonna watch me while I eat this pussy."

You nod, already half delirious. You know you're no match for his tongue - a fact he loves reminding you the best way he knows how. Before meeting Yoongi, you'd always been wary of the idea of oral sex. What if you smelled weird? Looked weird? You'd never imagined a guy could actually get off eating you out but Yoongi literally thrives off the sounds you make when his lips are attached to your throbbing clit. He wants you loud, neighbors be damned.

"Cum whenever you want," he instructs, lowering his head so that he's eye level your soaked cunt. Hunger is set deep on every line of his face, the muscles in his jaw tense from having to hold himself back.

You blink, not believing him for a second.

you were feeling under the weather today, having been exposed to changing temperatures as you went out to travel under the blazing sun and would settle for the night with a cold breeze of air blanketing your whole form. the fact that you also run in caffeine instead of getting more rest lowers your immune system and now you're laid helpless in bed, a blanket settled on top of your whole body, nose so clogged you struggled to breath through them and lips just stutters with every shaky breath as you tries stopping yourself from making your throat sore by coughing.

you know too well the struggles of being sick and it would be such a headache handling it alone. but, you knew that you aren't alone, not when you expect someone to come dashing through the doors.

"i thought you were busy today?" you teased kaeya while eyeing the bag he carries along with him. he huffs, frowning at your poor state. "jean informed me of your sick cute self so i was told to leave early." as much as he wants to think of a witty comeback, his heart can't bear to see what used to be an energetic and bratty f/n all slumped down in bed, hair disheveled and eyes watering from how tired you must be. without a word said, you can feel in his actions how much he cares, visibly struggling to fight back every coo and jokes thrown at him. "stop moving around and let me take good care of you." kaeya muttered when he gives you some soup (even to the point of feeding it ro you) without any complaints. that obviously made you soft so you let him be.

"awe we can't fight today?" childe jests with this cringy puppy eyes he often use to tease you. he thought he'd get a similar reaction as he often receieves from you but you were too weak to just glare at him, being all soft and raised both hands and asked "can we cuddle?" in such a soft voice. childe looked at the side, embarrassed at how adorable you were that he felt his heart thump loud inside his chest. with a laugh, he walked at your side, pulling off his shoes and shifted his tall frame besides yours "only if this cuddle can cure you then i won't kind doing it."

xiao immediately frowns as he entered the door, observing the gentle rise and fall of your chest when your eyes slowly closes in to sleep, showing how the minutes had passed since you started waiting for him. he heard your strained voice calling out his name that causes him to leave his post and went straight back to your shared room. he was worried, of course, who wouldn't be when he can feel from miles away your poor condition? as so, he sits down beside you and gently stroke your hair, feeling your skin burning up. his mind panicked for a moment, wanting to pour water on you but stopped as he knew that wasn't the way to help you at all. so he leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and decided to look for some medicines that can help you from your sickness.

"darling?" zhongli calls from behind the door, feet gently tapping across the floor as he brings you some herbal tea. "i kept hearing you coughing so i thought this might help ease out the tension fron your throat." you nodded and gratefully taking in the cup filled with warm beverage. the faint scent of honey soothes your senses and you slowly took sips until you finished it all. throughout the wntire time, zhongli watches you and sees if there are anymore ways he can help you but you shook your head and patted the empty space beside you. "i'd love it if you can stay with me for a moment." he nods but of course, that short moment lasted longer than you thought.

the moment the door swifts open, you have to embrace yourself from the casted shadow on diluc's expression, obviously worried and quite disappointed because of overworking yourself to the point you got sick. "i told you that you should've went back home after you visited that family." he knew of your endeavors but not pried too much as he gives you your privacy. diluc had always been attentive and dots on you when he can, when he's not busy working. "i'm sorry." you looked down, regretting at how you pushed yourself in going further than you're supposed to. but he can never be mad, not that long so he moves to your side, putting both his hands on your cheeks and pressed his forehead on your hot ones. "as much as i want to kiss you, i want you to get better first so let's change into something more comfortable and i'll serve you one dish that you want. but promise me that you'll take some medicine after."

albedo already knew how to cure you of your sickness and searches for the bottle of syrups he made specifically to high fever and a fatigued body. he immediately exits his office and trudges through your shared room where he thought you'd be sleeping. but you weren't, opted to read a book while thick blankets pooled around your body. he chuckle s at how cute you were, gently knocking at the door and you saw him. you mirrored his smile but your heart could already leap out your chest when you saw how prepared he was to take good care of you. albedo walks towards you and placed a kiss on your burning cheeks and sat down beside you, placing some bottles of medicine at the side accompanied by water and some biscuits. "try eating these first then let's get you settled, yeah?"

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All you currently knew was that Cerise was back in the area, for reasons you didn’t know.  You had hoped to never see her again, but it seemed as if fate had different ideas.

You ran into her during a brief walk through the woodsy area of your neighborhood, the same one you always took when there was too much on your mind. At first you weren’t sure it was even her until she walked closer to you. You were going to try to ignore her, but the fact that she was in your neck of the woods rubbed you the wrong way. You asked her what she was doing here, and why she wasn’t with Fyero, since the last time you checked the two were inseparable. She gave you a snide remark at the question, and while normally your impulse control was pretty decent, hearing her speak to you the way she did was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Before you could even think about what you were even doing you had charged at her, reeling back a fist fueled by all the frustrations and sheer hatred you had carried for her in your heart. She was the reason your life had gone to shit. The reason you lost everyone you had thought cared about you. The reason why you had been so uncomfortably alone for a sweep. She was the very troll that was, and you quote, better than you in every way. And you hated her with every fiber of your being.

Your fist collided with her torso, however, you had left yourself completely open for her counterattack. She grabbed you and quickly swung you around by the collar. Seconds later she hit you straight in the face with her cold, metal arm, sending you skidding backwards on the ground after a less than graceful fall. Broken nose and bleeding mouth aside, you opted for a verbal assault instead of getting yourself into a fight you were almost certain to lose.

To add insult to literal injury, she denied knowing you, Fyero, or anything about the situation she had put you through. 

How did she not remember? Forgetting a date or a name is one thing, but forgetting an entire ordeal was just something you couldn’t wrap your head around. Nothing about what she was saying to you made any sense.

So, you screamed at her, shouting out all the things you had wished you had told her forever ago. You told her she was a hive wrecking, good for nothing down right dirty piece of garbage, how what she was saying was utter bullshit, how she ruined your life, as well as some other things you honestly didn’t recall verbatim in the red haze of your repressed anger. While you were yelling, you hadn’t noticed she had slowly closed the distance between the two of you. You continued to scream, figuring if she was going to beat you to death you might as well give her all you all had to say.

She didn’t punch you again, but you had almost wished she had. She instead crouched down, grabbing your bloodied face with her hands and yanking you into a disgusting snog. Before you could protest this, she hopped back up as quickly as she had come down and gave yet another snide comment, and an ear grating au revoir with a promise to visit later. After she was done with whatever bullshit she was up too. 

>Welp

Uzi sighs and shakes her head. Yelling at each other probably isn't going to fix this, so she waves away her double instead.

"Forget it. I know you have... concerns about what happened to us-"

The younger Uzi is suddenly up in her face, an expression of rage and bewilderment on her face. "You're dating a murder drone, you frickin' psycho! Yeah I have concerns about cozying up to the freaks that killed mom! And what happened to your eyes?"

"Uh, personal space?" says Uzi, pushing her away. "And like I tried to tell you before you ran away, it's complicated! Why can't you just trust me when I say it's better this way?"

"Because I don't know you! How can I trust a stranger?"

Uzi grumbles to herself, looking away. Yeah, she kind of remembers being like... this. Not like she blames her younger self either. The only reason she's like she is now is because of all the not-so-shitty stuff that happened to her, but that hasn't happened to the other her yet. She's still deep in the throes of teenage angst, loneliness, and parental neglect. She's alone. She's scared. Lashing out feels good, because if the world's gonna be like this, then the least she can do is bare her teeth and bite back.

Alright, time for some therapy.

"Look, you don't... have to be like this," says Uzi. "This sucks, right? Dad sucks, no friends, mom's gone, school blows, railgun's not finished, you have a crush on frickin' Thad-"

The other Uzi laughs. "Oh, thanks! Reminders of how shit my life is. Guess you really are me. Let me guess, next you're gonna say it gets better or something, right? Well, save it. All the stuff you're about to tell me, it doesn't matter, because I'm stuck here."

She sighs and climbs up on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "You got to have all your cool adventures or whatever and fall in love with a murder drone. I won't. I'm not real, I can't even leave this stupid haunted hotel. The end goal here is for me to just... stop existing."

Uzi chews on it all for a bit. She doesn't really know what to say, because it's not exactly wrong.

"They made you pretty self-aware, huh?" she says.

"I'm not stupid."

"Duh. You're me."

The other Uzi grunts in response, but doesn't look at her. Let's try a different tack. Maybe some emotional honesty will help.

"You don't have to like it- I know I didn't. And even if it gets better, it... it's hard. And it hurts," says Uzi. "And this sucks too. But you're not alone. I have people, you have people. You have me. 'Cuz we, like... have each other. 'Cuz we are each other."

The other Uzi snorts. "You should've had someone proofread that first."

"Bite me! If you're really me then you'd know we don't do motivational speeches!"

"Yeah, 'cuz we suck at it, apparently."

"Well duh. Not like we had anyone to talk to."

The two Uzis lapse into silence. Uzi watches her silent doppleganger, wondering when the whole acceptance thing is supposed to happen. If you ask her, the other Uzi is the one who needs to learn how to accept stuff, because she-

No, that's not right. There is no 'other' Uzi, they're both the same person. Maybe she was thinking about this the wrong way, or maybe she needs to think about it some more.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "About all this BS. This sucks. All the stuff that happened to us, it's... it's not fair. It's all just been dumped on us and everyone expects us to just... just...!"

"Just be okay with it," says the other Uzi. "Just go along with what everyone else says like a good little worker. Do your homework, stay behind the doors, and never want anything else."

"It's not much better in this place. But after everything that happened, the outpost is... honestly not that bad. I know you just wanna tear it down and blow it up, but... I dunno. We're angry about a lot of stuff. I'm still angry but stuff just seems less doom-y now. 'Cuz of all the people I mentioned. I promise you're not alone, Uzi. Or at least, you won't be."

The other Uzi blinks, still staring up at the ceiling. Then she rolls over, facing away from Uzi, and brings her knees to her chest.

"Good to know, I guess," she says.

It feels like that's as far as they'll get for now. Uzi reaches out for a moment, but she can't think of anything to say or do that'll magically fix all this. It took her a lot of time, and it'll take the other her a lot of time, too. But she'll have someone to help her.

"I'll come back later," says Uzi, heading for the door. "I know you'd rather be alone for now. And I'll bring some CDs or something."

"Don't bring your murder bot boyfriend."

"He's not-!" She sighs. "Yeah, fine. I wasn't gonna, not that he wouldn't be thrilled to meet you."

"Thrilled to eat me, more like."

"He does that a lot less than he used to, okay? Whatever, this isn't about him. I'm coming back, whether you like it or not. And we'll... figure this out, whatever that means."

The other Uzi doesn't turn to look at her, but Uzi can see her tremble a little.

"Okay," she says.

Better than nothing.

Uzi opens the door. "See you later."

"See you."