#I'm going to write it on my mirror in cheap lipstick

[sachermorte]

You give the idea that youve already really made it. Maybe you dont try to, but you seem.. sucesfull. Accomplished. Happy. Doing things and getting them done and having a large list of things youve already done behind you. You are confident and very bold in an almost, sometimes, annoying manner. Perhaps I only see you as that only because I'm jealous of how easy you love yourself. Your ego definetely gives the idea that youve made it and if not the "making it" is in your grasp. Idk. You live in one of the most beautiful places on Earth and you buy beautiful items every other day and you teach what seems as magnificent things magnificently and people love you, admire you. Are jealous of you. Havent you made it?

I'm sorry if this seems like hate, it is not. I respect you. And I understand if this jovialness is after it all only a persona for the internet. If it is, it works very well. You dont have to answer this, of course.

The attitude is a bit of a front. Not just for the internet, but for everyone who knows me in real life as well. I would feel as naked without it as I would if I went out without clothes. But also I think it's fully real? As in I've been wearing it for so long that it's melded into me, and now I'm just sort of like this. It's very Falco-esque in a way. Depends heavily on my mood and whatever is going on at the time.

I have my problems, of course. Trauma and mental illness and instability in my moods and relationships. My job security is only until the end of May. I have to find another legal justification to stay in this place that I love after I graduate with my master's. Something always comes through to save me from utter disgrace and ruin but I'm getting sick of counting on miracles. I have financial issues not because I'm necessarily spending beyond my means all the time (most of the things I pick up are only a few euro with very notable exceptions) but because I make just barely above the Armutsgefährdungsschwelle and had to dig myself out of a pit after the third worst time in my life. I seek out human contact because I don't do well alone, but if we spend too much time together too quickly I start to become disgusted with my own feelings.

Do people love me? Do they admire me? Are they jealous of me? I honestly can't tell. I'm notoriously bad at gauging someone's positive emotions towards me. I'm always utterly floored when someone says they were thinking about me when I'm not around. It just doesn't register. The idea that people love me sounds strange. The idea that they admire me is flattering. The idea that they're jealous of me feels alien, if only because I know the intricacies of my own situation. I think they're all very nice thoughts, but I struggle to fully integrate them.

But then, who isn't sailing through a secret storm, so to speak? I try to be good to myself even when things are a bit hard, because things are always a bit hard, and I want the good memories afterward. I'm living in the only place on earth worth living still muddling through somehow, despite it all. Not everyone can do that. Haven't I already made it? Haven't I just?

I don't know if I'm happy. I don't know if anyone can truly be said to be happy. But I am making a committed effort to enjoy myself. Maybe that's what matters.

P.S. I read this last night and wanted to give you a proper response once I'd thought about it, but I was h o w l i n g over "you are confident and very bold in an almost sometimes annoying manner". I honestly consider it one of the highest compliments I have ever received. It's uproariously funny. I kept coming back to read that very line over and over and cackling to myself about it. I want to have it printed and put in the binder of testimonials I have because I forget that people think fondly of me. Christ. I'll drink to that. Here's to annoying confidence and boldness. Somebody put on Egoist by Falco.

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝓍 𝑔𝓃! 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: They say poison is dangerous—yes, a substance that is capable of causing illness or death by taste, by touch, it should never be taken under any circumstances.

You’re a belladonna—a beautiful, deadly kind of poison.

Geo has always been a mystery wrapped in thorns—bitter to the touch, beautiful in a way that promised pain. A slow-acting poison with no antidote, the kind you’re warned to avoid. But warnings are wasted when the danger is exactly what you crave… and your body keeps reaching for the burn. You're not soft, and neither is he.

One’s poison—potent, addicting. The other? perhaps immune?

The question is... Does your venom suit his craving?

Or will you be the sweetest thing to ever ruin him—beautifully, completely, irreversibly?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: For my dearest mutuals, @mint0hhh artist of the [ header picture ] fun fact this was first geo art I saw on tumblr, and @lu-dao-writes who gave me the setting and plot—plus a few add-ons from anons who asked for angst (you know who you are).

This one's personal—a self-insert with a QPR dynamic between Aroace!Geo and Aroace!Reader (since I'm Ace, still figuring out if I'm Aro—read and let me know). Inspired by the recent announcement, I kept it gender-neutral with they/them pronouns. It's been a while since I wrote something just for me, and I missed that.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: geo x gn and self insert!, angst (like. hella angst. cried while writing it.), slow burn, in vino veritas, mutual pining, enemies and lovers (kinda), queerplatonic relationship, aroace rep, mentions of OCD, hyperawareness anxiety, emotional damage, (i really hurt my own damn feelings with this one.)

Halloween.

Though it is just one evening where the entire world resonates with your energy—for wildness, wickedness, just the edge of something fun. Crisp air un-soak sober, the wind carries the scent of burning leaves, cheap whiskey, and whatever questionable punch someone dumped into a cauldron. Shadows stretch long, neon lights flash in the distance, and for once—just once—you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

Now Halloween in college?

 Oh, it’s so much more than just an excuse to party across the world. It’s a whole ass experience. While some people come for the horror—the haunted houses, wacky dares, and fake blood sprayed all over bathroom mirrors—some seek an excuse to just simply go out of their minds for the night with cheap booze and transient and rash decisions. 

You have come here for all of it. 

The parties, the madness, the whole campus feels like it vibrates with energy and begs the night to get you a little too drunk or too bold or to leave you in a state of being a little too gone to care about anything at all except the moment. 

You can already see the Campus alive at night; jack-lanterns are flickering, far away, screaming from haunted houses on Greek row, music blasting so much that you feel it in your ribs. 

Someone's already passing with devil horns and all smeared lipstick and laughter trailing behind them. The streets are packed, bodies pressed together, and slurred conversations and this night is only beginning. 

You take a deep breath, imagining the hits, everything from alcohol, throbbing adrenaline under the skin, and absolute certainty that this night will only be a blur with poor decisions and even worse ideas. 

And really? Wouldn't want it any other way. 

“Why are you so obsessed with Halloween?” Crowe’s voice carried that usual mix of amusement and curiosity—light, teasing, but just sharp enough to let you know he actually wanted an answer.

The vice president of the student council—polished, poised, untouchable—sat beside you outside during lunch, mirroring your posture with his legs crossed like it was second nature.

You glanced at him briefly before shifting your gaze away, eyes trailing the glow of streetlights and the flickering jack-o’-lanterns scattered around campus then you took sip of your drink in front of you.

“Because Halloween is cool.” 

Simple. Honest. Direct.

Exactly what anyone should expect from you.  

But Crowe? Yeah, he wasn’t buying that for a damn second. 

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head before dragging his gaze over your outfit—the kind of once-over that wasn’t just looking, however analyzing the living hell out of you. The knowing glint in his eyes said everything his words didn’t. “Right,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Somehow, I’m inclined to think you’re a little more than just ‘excited-going.’”

Of course, he would say something like that.

Out of everyone, Crowe had probably the best read on you—not that you ever made it easy for him.

You’d met him about, what? You place your hand under your chin, like two years ago..? His dumbass had thrown himself between you and a group of bullies like some martyr, despite having the fighting skills of a wet paper bag. The whole thing had been pitiful to watch, honestly. You’d barely broken a sweat handling it yourself, and yet, there he was, trying to be your knight in shining armor.

You weren’t sure if it was bravery or sheer stupidity, but something about him stuck. Maybe it was how he kept trying to befriend you, even when you ignored him outright. Maybe it was because you saw the way he needed to be needed, even when you didn’t.

Either way, you let him stick around. Vice versa. 

And now? You were here—hanging out with his actual friend group. A group he’d tried—and kinda almost failed to properly integrate you into.

You remember their names clearly.

Brittany and Jess were currently locked in some very passionate debate over future costumes. Deryl was talking Geo’s ear off—though, from the way Geo was sitting, arms crossed and eyes closed, perhaps asleep or ignoring him? It was safe to say he was not invested in the conversation. 

And then there was you. Caught up in your own little world with Crowe, as usual. Even then, he knew. Knew that Halloween wasn’t just some holiday to you—it was a part of you, something that slipped through the cracks even when you didn’t mean for it to.

It was in the way you dressed. The way the flowing fabric of your outfit moved with you, catching the light just right, embroidered with intricate patterns that shimmered like something out of a dream. The layers you wore weren’t just for the cool air—they were intentional, a mix of comfort, just for you. Your platform boots added weight to your steps, grounding you, making each movement feel purposeful—like you didn’t just walk, you arrived. 

Silver rings caught the dim light, a mix of old and new, each one with a story. Skulls, amethysts, gothic designs—they weren’t just accessories, they were pieces of you, woven through your hair, your fingers, the very air around you.

It wasn’t a costume. It wasn’t dress-up. It was you.

You exhaled, watching your breath curl into the autumn air before finally meeting Crowe’s gaze. A small, knowing sigh pulled at your lips.

“In other words… this is the only time I feel alive.”

Crowe hummed, a thoughtful look settling on his face. Oh no—you knew that look. He was about to suggest something. “You know,” he started, way too casually, “you should host a Halloween party. At my place.” …Oh. 

Well, you definitely weren’t expecting that.

You thought he was gonna ask about your classes again—because who actually wants to talk about that unless they’re in class? Or maybe try, once again, to convince you to befriend his actual friends. But this? You blinked, tilting your head like you must’ve misheard him. “At your place?”

He nodded. Completely serious. Wow.

You scoffed, glancing away. “Okay, and how exactly am I supposed to host a party at your place? Am I just supposed to roll up, kick down your front door, and start handing out invitations?”

Crowe smirked, completely unfazed. “I’d give you permission, of course. You and me? We could throw the best damn Halloween party this school has ever seen.” He nudged your shoulder, “I got the council on board for this party,” he continued, undeterred. 

“We all think it’s a solid idea.” His eyes narrowed slightly like he was trying to figure out how to sell it to you. Even flashed that smile—the one he usually aimed at the hopelessly charmed, the ones who practically melted under his attention.

You, however, were not impressed. Not even a little. 

Your face scrunched up in pure disinterest as you leveled him with a deadpan stare, “This is such rich, high-class boy energy. ‘Oh, let me just hand you a key to my estate so you can throw a party, where it’s just a bunch of young adults making bad decisions—like we’re in some kind of horror movie.’” 

You mimicked his smooth, confident tone with just enough exaggeration to make him roll his eyes. “What’s next, Crowe? You gonna have a killer show up to really set the mood?”

He lifted a brow, clearly about to laugh but held it back. “First of all,” he started, completely ignoring your impression, “I think it would be good. You have the vibe, you know how to make things fun, and—” He gestured vaguely at you. 

“Look at you. You are Halloween. If anyone should throw the biggest party of the season, it’s you.” Then he added, “With my help, of course.”

You squinted at him, unimpressed, before casually checking your phone. “Uh-huh. And what’s in it for you, prince?”

Crowe shrugged, before flashing that infuriating smirk. “I enjoy a good party.”

“Right,” you said flatly, giving him a knowing look. “And definitely not because you get to sit back and watch the crazy shit unfold.”

Because if there was one thing you knew about Crowe, it was that he loved a little bit of drama. Sure, he had the prince act down to a science—student council vice president, responsible, mature—but deep down? 

He lowkey lived for the drama. As long as it didn’t involve him directly, of course. Eventually, he’d have to step in and be the voice of reason, but you knew he liked to watch the mess build first. 

“I mean,” he mused, smirking, “that is a bonus.”

You shook your head, though a grin threatened to break through. “All right, fine, golden boy. I’ll help plan your exclusive, high-class Halloween bash. But—” you held up a finger—“on one condition.”

Crowe tilted his head, amusement showing in his eyes. “And that is?”

“You,” you said, jabbing a finger at his chest like a judge delivering a sentence, “are going to be the main host. I’ll be your party-planning partner, but no way in hell am I letting you dump this whole thing on me while you kick back with some overpriced whiskey, watching drunk idiots puke in the potted plants.” You gestured vaguely. “Plus, this isn’t my house. You get to be responsible for the aftermath.”

Crowe’s smirk stretched wider, something downright sneaky about the glint in his eyes. “Oh, now that—” he exhaled a soft laugh, “that is actually a fantastic idea.” Then he suddenly added, “Yeah. By looking at you, I need the best of the best from you.” 

You tilted your head, a little confused. “You want psychological horror at a uni party?" Then questioned, "You do realize half these people are gonna be too drunk to appreciate subtle fear, right? Or they might just straight-up shit themselves, actually…” you trailed off, looking somewhat away, suddenly picturing someone sobbing in a corner after a jumpscare gone wrong.

Crowe, ever the dramatist, flicked a fallen leaf off your shoulder to catch your attention again. “Exactly why we have to make it inescapable.” His voice dipped lower, conspiratorial. “Something interactive. Something that makes them question what’s real and what’s just part of the game.”

You become quiet, allowing a ton of ideas to unravel in your mind like a quick-burning flame. Crowe watched you, expectant, because he knew you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity for pure, chaotic entertainment.

You let out a soft, resigned sigh. "All right, host," you agreed, flashing a slow, devilish grin. "Let’s make this the best damn Halloween this campus has ever seen." Your voice dropped, laced with mischief. "Let’s make them suffer."

Crowe’s grin stretched wider, victorious.

"Now that’s the spirit."

Without missing a second, he quickly turned away from you to address the group. "All right, listen up!" he announced, voice cutting through the conversations. "We’ve decided—we’re throwing a Halloween party. But not just any party. It’s going to be the party of the year. No, of the decade."

Everyone’s conversations paused. 

Heads turned toward him… and then toward you, who sat coolly with your head tilted, watching them carefully. You didn’t care how they reacted—but it was always so entertaining to see how easily people got excited or rattled when you got involved.

Predictably, Brittany—the self-proclaimed fashion gyaru queen—gasped dramatically. "Oh my god, finally! Someone who actually knows how to plan something fun. I’m all in! I’m planning everyone’s costumes!"

Next to her, Jess, who you thought of as Brittany’s bookworm assistant—even though you knew their relationship ran way deeper than that—clasped her hands together as if she’d just been handed the keys to her dream. "I can handle decorations if you need" She softly said.

Across the table, Deryl—still half-distracted, ranting about something to Geo—ears perked up immediately. "Sick! I’ll bring the food and drinks!" he shouted, ever the bundle of chaotic energy.

And then… there was Geo.

Without even lifting his head, flatly, "I’m not going."

The entire table fell silent, as the air itself paused.

You weren’t surprised. Not really. But still, damn, Geo had a way of shutting things down so fast it was almost impressive. 

What did bother you—no, annoy you—was the fact that you could never really read him the way you did everyone else. It wasn’t just about his words or his expression; it was his entire existence. 

Every single person in this group had something—some defining action that made them them.

Brittany had her dramatics, Jess had her quiet enthusiasm, Deryl was loud and chaotic, and Crowe? Well, Crowe is the group leader, he kinda born and lived to be the center of attention. 

All these moments when you knew exactly what everyone was feeling just by those simple actions. All except for Geo…

Geo was an fucking enigma. 

No ticks, no habits that stood out, no tells—nothing. You had spent enough time observing people to know that everyone had had something. Some little unconscious action that gave them away. A twitch of the fingers, a glance to the side, a shift in posture.

He gave nothing. 

Like ‘go-girl-gives-us-nothing’ type way. It was like he had perfected the art of being unreadable, and you hated that. Not because you wanted to know his secrets, but because it made him the only person in the damn circle you couldn’t get a solid read on. 

And that was just frustrating. 

Crowe, of course, was the first to break the silence, eyes gleaming with mischief and a hint of desperation. “Aww, come on. Live a little. It won’t kill you.”

Geo barely glanced up from whatever deep void of thought he was drowning in, his expression as flat as ever. “Debatable.”

Crowe gasped, clutching his chest like he’d just been personally betrayed. “You wound me.”

Deryl snorted. “Dude, we all know you never get tired of that kind of rejection.”

"True, but that doesn’t mean I like it," Crowe shot back, before turning to you. And there it was—that look. That smug, expectant smirk like he already decided you’d be the one to fix this for him.

“What do you think, fearless party planner?” he mused, tilting his head. "Think we can convince our dear, beloved Geo to make an appearance?"

You barely spared Crowe a glance before shifting your gaze to Geo, who was already looking at you. Same unreadable, sharp stare.

God, you hated that.

You folded your arms. “Convince him for what?” you deadpanned before flicking your gaze back to Crowe. “He’s a grown-ass man. If he doesn’t wanna come, he doesn’t have to.” Then, with a casual shrug, you added, “Like he just said—he’s not going. Guessing he has better things to do.”

Crowe raised a brow. “Like what?”

Geo, without hesitation: “Staying home.”

You scoffed. "Wow. Never mind. That’s not ‘better things.’ That’s just you being anti-social."

"Exactly."

Crowe, ever the instigator, leaned in with a wicked smirk. “C’mon, Geo. Can’t let your favorite person down.”

Geo didn’t even blink. “You’ll be fine.”

Crowe clicked his tongue. “I meant them.”

Geo did blink then, his head tilting slightly toward you. His expression, as always, unreadable.

You sighed dramatically, rubbing your temple. "Oh, don’t look at me. I’m not in the business of dragging unwilling hermits to social gatherings." Then, with a knowing smirk, you added, “Besides, I figured you’d wanna avoid watching people flirt all night. You do hate that.”

Geo exhaled through his nose. “Hate’s a strong word.”

“You called Deryl insufferable for existing in the same room as a couple making out.”

Deryl, meanwhile, was still processing. He gestured vaguely between you and Geo. “Hold on—I’m insufferable now?”

“You are insufferable,” Geo replied then looked back at you, “And?”

“And nothing,” you sighed, pushing yourself to your feet and striding toward Geo without hesitation. You stood up in front of him, arms crossed, meeting his gaze head-on. No flinching. No backing down.

Crowe stiffened. “Uh, wait a sec—”

Deryl raised a hand, almost like he was trying to stop a collision in real-time. “Hold on, they’re really not the type to—” He cut himself off, realizing too late that nothing was going to stop you once you were on a roll.

“I just think it’s funny that you’d rather sit in your room and rot than tolerate a few hours of other people’s bad decisions.” You leaned in slightly, tone casual but laced with challenge. “Not saying I disagree—hell, I’d do the same—but your friends are trying to plan something for once. It’s not like this happens every day. When was the last time you had fun?”

The question hung in the air.

Geo didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you, expression flat, eyes sharp, like he was analyzing the situation—breaking it down piece by piece, deciding whether this was even worth his time.

You weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. Shifting your weight to one side, arms still crossed, you waited.

The silence stretched. The tension was almost comical.

Crowe let out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s actually engaging.”

Deryl nudged him. “And not in his usual ‘leave me alone before I ruin your entire existence’ way. That’s new.”

Despite being the center of attention, Geo didn’t seem fazed. He just kept his gaze locked onto you—steady, unreadable. But something was missing, something that made everyone else exchange glances. 

The usual disinterest wasn’t there. If anything… 

He actually looked like he was considering what you’d said. Almost.

Because this conversation had already drained his will to live, he dragged a hand down his face. “Define your version of ‘fun’.”

You rolled your eyes. “Geo.” You shot him a pointed look. “See, that’s the problem. You shouldn’t have to think that hard. Fun is just… doing things. No overanalyzing. No brooding. Just existing and actually enjoying something. Not everything has to be a damn chess game. Trust me, I’d know.”

He shrugged, as effortlessly indifferent as ever. “I have fun.”

“Oh yeah?” You tilted your head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Name one thing you’ve done in the past month that qualifies as fun.” 

Silence. Geo just looked at you.

Brittney, who had been watching from the sidelines, leaned in with growing amusement. “Ooh, this is good. Two rounds in a row. That’s a new record.”

Crowe grinned. “Yeah, ‘cause he’s thinking way too hard about it.”

You pressed on, relentless. “Exactly. Fun isn’t something you have to dig through your mental archives for. It’s not a research paper. It just happens. But no, not you. You have to break it down like it’s some kind of military operation.”

Geo finally broke eye contact, glancing at his friends—who were all watching with barely contained smirks. He exhaled sharply, somewhere between a sigh and the world’s most unamused laugh.

“I don’t overanalyze everything,” he muttered.

Crowe snorted. “Oh, you so do.”

Deryl crossed his arms. “And yet, instead of shutting this down, you’re still letting them roast you.”

Everyone went quiet, exchanging looks.

Geo never entertained conversations like this. He shut people down fast—disinterest, sarcasm, a flat-out refusal to engage. And yet, here he was. Still sitting there. 

Still responding to you.

Crowe lit up like he’d just uncovered some grand secret. “Damn. You’re like the Geo Whisperer.”

You shot him a glare. “Oh, shut up.” Though, admittedly, you were still a little annoyed. Someone had to put the smug bastard in his place. Why did everyone just let him get away with being so rude?

Geo, predictably, ignored the remark entirely. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, meeting your gaze once more. “So what? You expect me to go to this party just to prove I know how to have fun?” He clicked his tongue, glancing away for a brief moment before looking back at you. “Sounds exhausting.”

You threw your hands up. “You are exhausting!”

Deryl barked out a laugh, slinging an arm around Crowe. “I love this. We should do this more often.”

Crowe nodded sagely. “This feels like an intervention.”

Geo remained entirely unbothered, stretching out lazily. “I don’t need an intervention.”

“You do if your idea of fun is staring,” you shot back.

Geo raised a brow. “It’s peaceful.”

“I don’t have time for this.” You reached for your bag, which Crowe handed over without a word, already anticipating your next move. “I’m gonna be late for class.”

But before leaving, you turned back, stepping closer until you were face-to-face with Geo. “Are you coming or not?”

Geo tapped his fingers idly against his knee, pretending to give it deep thought. “…To that sorry excuse of a Halloween party, or the lame-ass Art gen ed you’re being forced to take?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know exactly which one I’m talking about. Don’t start with me.”

“…No,” he said flatly, without hesitation.

Deryl let out a low snort. “Damn. Shot down eventually.”

You huffed. “Look, all I’m saying is you should show up so people don’t turn you into some urban legend—the guy who never left his cave.” Then, with a smirk, you added, “But hey, if you wanna keep the mystery alive, be my guest. I’m sure your fans would love it. Hell, I can see them behind you right now.”

Geo frowned before glancing back—and sure enough, there they were. The usual group that trailed after him like lost puppies, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Subaru!” one called out.

“Please, we have better gifts this time!” another pleaded.

“Who’s that talking to him? They need to back off,” someone whispered, loud enough to be heard.

You sighed, utterly done. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. People here are so clouded.” The way they obsessed over Geo, over the idea of him—like he was some puzzle they could solve or a prize they could win.

It was simply exhausting. Turning, you walked up to Crowe and gave him a simple pat on his head. "I’m off, see you later everyone." He let out a small gasp, briefly catching your hand in his before releasing it, eyes wide with exaggerated surprise. 

Then, just as quickly, he beamed. “Hhm, okay.”  

Without another word, you turned and walked away, shaking off the lingering irritation as you headed to class.

He knew that look on your face—annoyance, exasperation, but not the kind people had when they wanted something from him. You weren’t like the others, not circling him like vultures, not clouded by whatever ridiculous infatuation everyone else seemed to have.

That’s what made it odd. 

You talked to him, called him out, and never once looked at him with expectation. No attempt to impress, no ulterior motive. Just blunt honesty, the same way he was with everyone else. 

And yet, unlike most, you weren’t scared off by it.

Geo stayed quiet, standing up as well. “I’m heading to class too.” He exhaled sharply, covering his mouth with his hand—but not fast enough to hide the small, amused scoff that slipped out.

Crowe gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. Was that a laugh?”

Deryl shook his head, grinning. “Nah. Impossible. Geo doesn’t laugh.”

“Please shut up,” Geo muttered, his expression quickly settling back into its usual blank indifference. But even as he turned away, his gaze flickered—just for a second—focused somewhere else.

Somewhere else on campus, a quiet spot near the hall pillar, half-hidden in its shadow, Sol watched as you walked away—your irritation still evident in the way your shoulders tensed and the way you didn’t bother looking back.

But instead of heading straight to class, you took your usual detour.

Sol knew your routine well enough by now. Instead of the direct path, you veered toward the student center, the familiar rhythm of your movements unchanging. The market upstairs—probably grabbing a snack before heading off to whatever class had you rushing. You always did this. Always made time for small comforts, even when you were annoyed.

He exhaled softly, his red-orange eyes following you even after you disappeared into the building.

You didn’t see him. Maybe you never did. 

The way the autumn wind caught in your hair, tugging at it like it wanted to keep you there. The way the faint glint of silver jewelry flickered under the weak sunlight. The way you moved, deliberate yet unhurried, like the world wasn’t something to be conquered but something to be entertained by.

Sol had never cared much for people’s routines. Never cared to notice them.

But yours?

Yours was different. And that was the problem.

Sol shifted his weight against the pillar, the cool stone grounding him as he watched from a distance, his expression unreadable. The crisp autumn air did little to cool the heat crawling up his spine as his thoughts replayed that small moment: you patting Crowe’s head, and Crowe, as always, taking the opportunity to pull you closer with that smug, almost playful smile. 

The effortless way he grabbed your hand had Sol’s jaw tightening, a flicker of irritation sparking deep inside him. It wasn’t anything obvious—Crowe did that with everyone, after all. 

But still, Sol couldn’t shake it.

He wasn’t sure why he was even standing here, loitering like some background character in a movie where he didn’t belong. You barely knew each other—a handful of passing conversations, one awkward art class where you’d been paired together because his only friend had stopped showing up—that was it.

And yet...

That day in art class, when he first met you… something had changed.

You were late, nearly crashing into the tables as you hurried in, breathless but laughing, as if your own disarray amused you. You spotted the empty seat beside him, and without hesitation, asked to be his partner. 

No hesitation. No judgment. Just... acceptance.

Sol had agreed with a nonchalant shrug, but at that moment, something unfamiliar had curled inside him.

Again, you were different. Not like the usual people he tolerated. 

You weren’t just there for the grade, despite not being an art major—you genuinely cared about the work. The way you got lost in it, when something caught your eye, and you couldn’t stop talking about it—no matter how trivial it might’ve seemed to others. You’d explain your thoughts, your logic, about every detail, about how each stroke of the pencil had a purpose, how every line and shade carried intention.

Sol barely spoke, but he didn’t need to. He watched. He watched the way your hands moved with purpose, the way you’d trace the contours of your sketchbook with such precision, smudging graphite into shadows as if it came naturally to you. The way you furrowed your brow in concentration, completely lost in the work, and how, for just a moment, the world seemed to fade away for you. It was mesmerizing, the way you brought an image to life was like it was second nature.

It was captivating. You were… captivating. Stalker

Sol exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off whatever this was. But somehow, that one class, that single moment, had spiraled into something far more complicated.

Now, he always noticed you before anyone else did. In short, the way your voice carried a subtle lilt, full of amusement when you spoke about the things that made you light up. Again, the way your hands moved as you explained your thoughts, and the fluid gestures made everything you said seem deliberate and meaningful. The way you laughed when you thought no one was watching—soft, hidden under your hand, as though you were trying to keep it contained, but it slipped out anyway.

But then, there was the part Sol hated—the part he couldn’t escape. 

You with Crowe and his friends. It was always the same. You were normally alone, but Crowe—fucking Crowe—always seemed to be the one to invite you first. Sol would watch from a distance, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight, as Crowe casually touched you—your hands, your arm, always in that effortless, easy way that made it seem like it meant nothing. 

Like you were just another part of his world. Sol hated it. Not that he had any right to. Because, in the end, he barely knew you.

Yet, here he was, wanting—no, needing—you to see him. 

“Sol!” No response.

You squinted, tilting your head as you watched him from across the table. You both were supposed to be working on your art gen ed project, but there he was—sitting next to you, physically present, yet his mind was miles away.

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, but they weren’t turning toward the project. No, they were off somewhere in his personal, brooding universe.

“Sol!” you called again, dragging out his name, waving a hand in front of his face like you were trying to snap a possessed doll out of its trance. 

Still nothing. Your eyes narrowed. Oh, hell no.

You grabbed the nearest object—an innocent pencil—and flicked the back of it, hitting his forehead with just enough force to yank him out of whatever deep, spiraling thought he’d fallen into. Sol blinked, his red-orange eyes sharpening, the look of someone just rudely pulled back to reality. He stared at you, mildly startled, brows furrowed in confusion.

You crossed your arms. “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes now—are you okay or something?”

He blinked again, seemingly processing. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not exaggerating,” you shot back. “I called your name like, at least four times. That’s practically an hour in ‘I’m-talking-to-a-wall’ time.”

Sol rubbed the spot where the pencil hit him, exhaling through his nose as he tried to reset his brain. Damn it. He’d gotten stuck in his thoughts again—thoughts about you, no less. Not on purpose, of course. It just… happened. 

Against his will. Completely unfair.

Meanwhile, you were already talking again, hands gesturing as you rambled. “Listen, I need your full, undivided attention because I have very important news.” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice like you were about to drop some life-altering information.

Sol, still mildly annoyed but intrigued despite himself, gave you a blank stare. “…What.”

You grinned. “I’m now a party planner with one of my closest friends. He’s the host of this upcoming Halloween party, wanted my insight since, you know…”

Sol’s face remained impressively neutral. “...Okay?”

You gasped, like he had just insulted your entire existence. “Okay?! That’s all you have to say?! Do you even know what this means?”

“It means I should probably prepare for a disaster,” he deadpanned.

“Excuse you,” you huffed. “This is going to be legendary. The Halloween party of the century.” You sighed, “Spooky. Chaotic. Unforgettable. I will be designing an experience that will haunt everyone for therest of their lives.”

Sol raised an eyebrow. “...So, a disaster.”

You crossed your arms, “Good parties always lead to disaster that’s how you have fun—oh I’m sorry, you never got invited to parties, Mr. Lonely. Says the one-that-only-has-one fucking-friend in their life.” You added, playfully teasing.No personally, I meant that.

Sol rolled his eyes and sighed, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan. “Okay and? Tell me how did this ‘friend’ of yours manage to rope you into this mess, exactly?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Like I said, he needed my Halloween expertise, you know since Halloween is like my whole vibe.” You gestured vaguely at yourself like it was obvious.

Sol gave you a once-over, his eyes lingering a bit longer than necessary. Then he shook his head with that typical, bemused look. “Yeah, no kidding. You dress like a witch all year round, it only makes sense.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse you. And what about you, Mr. Basement Dweller? You’re practically one mood away from turning into a permanent shadow, always sitting in the back of the class as per usual.” You mentioned that you and he are currently sitting at the back of the class.

His lips twitched in an almost smile, but he shot you a deadpan glare. “Basement dweller? That’s your go-to insult?”

“Oh, am I wrong?” you teased, leaning back with a smirk.

Sol let out another theatrical sigh, shaking his head like he was somehow disappointed in you. “And here I thought we were building a solid foundation of mutual respect.”

“You thought wrong,” you said smoothly, resting your chin on your hand, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “But seriously, you should come to the party. I’ll even let you sulk in the darkest corner like the brooding emo you are.”

He gave you a look that could only be described as deadpan, followed by a dismissive click of his tongue. “I’ll think about it.”

You grinned, leaning forward just a bit. “That’s the closest thing to a ‘yes’ I’m ever gonna get from you, huh?”

Sol muttered something under his breath, clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t intrigued, but the faintest ghost of a smirk betrayed him. 

Yeah, he was definitely thinking about it.

Later, the soft hum of students murmuring over their own art projects faded into the background as your attention snapped back to your half-finished piece. The assignment was straightforward—create something abstract that conveyed either movement or emotion. Simple enough.

Sol, however, was lost in his own world. Beside you, his sleeves pushed up, charcoal smudges marking his fingers, working with that same detached intensity that had defined your first partnered project.

The only sounds between you were the occasional scratch of his pencil against paper. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an odd, unspoken feeling hanging in the air. A quiet tension that you couldn’t quite place.

He paused for a moment, fingers hovering in mid-air, and despite yourself, you glanced up. He wasn’t focused on the work anymore.

“…How much to get in?”

You blinked, taking a few seconds to process the question before finally looking up, caught off guard. “For what?”

Sol didn’t look up, his hand moving slowly and deliberately over the paper as he continued sketching. "For the Halloween party." His tone was neutral, like it didn’t really matter, but the way his fingers tightened around the pencil suggested otherwise.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you actually interested in going?”

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing just a fraction before he finally glanced at you. "Just asking," he muttered, quickly diverting his gaze back to the paper.

Then amusement flickering across your face. “You don’t seem like the type to care about university parties.”

“I don’t,” he admitted, finally setting his pencil down and meeting your gaze fully. “But you’re helping plan it…”

That stopped you in your tracks. Someone was actually interested in your party, unlike a certain someone. The way Sol said it so plainly, without teasing or deflecting, was strange—like it was simply a fact. No hidden meaning.

Sol looked away for a second, rubbing at the back of his neck, fingers smudging charcoal on his skin. You noticed the faint bruises there, ones that lingered around his neck and lower waist, the kind that showed when his shirt lifted just slightly, only for him to quickly pull it back down.

You never questioned it, though. 

You had a feeling those marks weren’t from accidents, they were from bullies of course. You’d seen him at the infirmary too many times to think otherwise. The school always offered help and therapy, but it felt like nothing ever came of it. University Olympus didn’t really care about anyone who wasn’t rich or connected.

"You look like someone who actually knows horror," he muttered, still not meeting your eyes. "Not just cheap jump scares and plastic skeletons." His fingers twitched slightly before dropping back to the table. "If you're the one making it, then it might actually be... worth going."

A small sigh escaped your lips before you could stop it—nothing mocking, just amused, warm, maybe even a little surprised. 

"So that’s why you’re asking."

Sol stiffened, and for the first time since you'd met him, you noticed the flush of red creeping up his neck, dusting his cheeks. He huffed, quickly turning back to his drawing like it would shield him from your reaction. 

"Forget it."

But you didn’t. You could never. "No, no. I’ll make sure to send you a free ticket." You waved your hand nonchalantly before pulling out your phone.

Sol didn’t say anything back, but you caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

He definitely appreciated it, especially when it came from you.

As the art class ended, the usual shuffle of students packing up their supplies filled the room. Others rushed out the door to either get home or catch the last few minutes of the dining hall's late hours.

The sounds of chairs scraping against the floor and muted conversations about upcoming deadlines echoed in the background. The sky outside had begun its slow descent into dusk, streaks of orange and purple bleeding into the horizon. You and Sol stepped out of the art building, the cool autumn air settling against your skin.

You pulled out your phone to check the time, and a thought crossed your mind. "Sol," you called.

He quickly turned his head, and you noticed how he always did that whenever you called his name. "Yes?"

"I won’t be able to walk with you to class, or from it, for the next few days," you mentioned, feeling a slight pang of regret. "This party planning's eating up my time. I’ll finish my part of the project later this week so I won’t forget."

Sol didn’t respond right away, shoving his hands into his pants pockets as he walked beside you, the gravel crunching underfoot. After a beat, he said, “I can finish it for you.”

You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

He shrugged, his gaze fixed ahead as though the offer wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “Your part. I can finish it for you.”

That threw you off. Again. You weren't the type to leave someone hanging like that, especially not on a project that was worth a significant chunk of your grade. While you trusted your own skills, handing it off to someone else—even someone as skilled as Sol—felt... odd.

“I don’t know…” You frowned slightly, adjusting the strap of your bag. “It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, but I usually handle my own work. I don’t like slacking off, even if it’s something small.”

Sol exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m not saying you’re slacking. You already did most of it.” He glanced at you then, his eyes sharper than before. “I just get it.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly as you tried to process his words. “Get what?”

Sol's response was almost automatic. "You," he said simply, his tone flat, like it was an obvious thing. Then, just as quickly, a faint flush of red crept up his neck, and he looked away, clearly a little caught off guard. 

“I-I meant, your style." You noticed the shift in his demeanor, the way he hesitated before continuing. “The way you layer shadows, the details you focus on—it’s something I can learn from. Won’t take me more than an hour, maybe a day at most.”

His voice, though still steady, held a quiet certainty that you couldn’t quite place. There was no arrogance this time, no challenge. It wasn’t about proving he could do it better. It was just… different. 

He wanted to learn from you, wanted to understand your approach.

And that, for some reason, felt strange.

You studied him for a moment, the words lingering between you like a question. There was an odd intimacy in the idea of someone else taking over your work—something about it felt too personal, too close. The thought of it made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t fully explain.

But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just the offer. You had sensed something else before—how his gaze always seemed to follow you, how his attention lingered longer than it should. There was an intensity to it, something beneath the surface that you couldn’t ignore. You always kept it at the back of your mind, locked away and left unspoken, but it was there.

You shook it off, focusing back on his offer, trying to suppress that tight feeling in your chest. “Nah, I can complete it,” you said, brushing off the unease as best as you could.

Sol shrugged nonchalantly, though his gaze flicked back to you, a quiet understanding settling between you. “Suit yourself.”

You both started walking, the cool air tugging at the strands of your hair, and the quiet hum of the campus seemed to pulse with life in the stillness between you. As you walked, Sol’s pace slowed, and his gaze flickered briefly to the ground, a subtle shift that made you catch it—something in him had changed. You barely noticed, but you did.

“Are you heading home?” he asked, his voice casual, but there was something sharp beneath it, like a blade wrapped in velvet.

You shook your head, feeling that familiar prickling unease at the back of your neck. “No. Crowe still needs help with the party planning. There’s a ton to do, and he’s counting on me.”

Sol’s expression faltered for a split second. His lips tightened, his jaw clenching slightly as if something inside him had shifted. “So this friend of yours is Crowe, huh?” he asked, his voice more strained than you expected. His eyes narrowed just enough for you to catch it, but not enough to make it obvious.

You noticed the tension in his voice, and it made the air between you feel thicker. “Yeah… He’s my friend. I’m helping him out. The party’s important to him, so I promised I’d help,” you said, trying to keep things light, but the back of your mind nagged at you. There was something in his tone, something that hinted at more than just casual curiosity.

For a moment, Sol didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on the ground, and you could almost see the thoughts churning behind his eyes. The silence between you stretched longer than it should have, until Sol finally muttered, quieter now, as if he was sorting through his thoughts.

“Right,” he said, his voice almost hesitant.

His shoulders slumped slightly, as if trying to make himself smaller, more distant. “I’ll… I’ll take you home afterward, then.”

You blinked, surprised by the offer. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll figure it out. Also, I was thinking… I might send you a ticket or two for the party, in case you’ve got someone to bring along—maybe a date?” You teased lightly, the smile on your lips almost automatic, but the flutter in your chest lingered, a feeling you couldn’t shake.

For a moment, Sol’s gaze shifted to you, his brow furrowing, lips pressing into a tight line. In that fleeting second, you caught a flash of irritation before he masked it again. “I’ll go. But a date is out of the question for someone like me. Hyugo will come with me,” he said, his tone calm, clipped.

He glanced at you then, his gaze softer, almost uncertain, and the shift didn’t go unnoticed. It was like he was wrestling with something internally, and it made you uneasy, though you couldn't quite place why.

The silence stretched between you as you both continued walking, the hum of campus fading into the background. Sol seemed lost in thought, distant, until he spoke again, his voice breaking the quiet like a sudden ripple in calm water.

“Hey,” Sol called out, his tone casual, but now there was something unsteady in it. You stopped, turning back to face him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity at the shift in his voice.

“Do you, uh, like him?”

Sol asked, his words almost hesitant, like they slipped out before he could stop them. His gaze was steady, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a slight tension that made your pulse quicken just a little. It was almost as if he was fishing for something, but you couldn't quite place what.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze—the sounds of the campus, the distant chatter of students, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The world fell away as you processed his question, a weight settling in the pit of your stomach. “What now?" you asked, trying to keep your voice level as low as possible. "Who are you referring to?"

Sol shifted, his eyes not quite meeting yours as he said, "Your friend, Crowe..." His voice dropped lower, the words hanging between you like an unanswered question. The air around you seemed to hum with an unspoken tension, and you could feel it in your chest—a tightening you couldn’t ignore.

You side-eyed him, trying to process what was happening, and why his question seemed to carry more weight than it should. "Why are you asking such a question?" you asked, crossing your arms defensively, trying to push back against the uncomfortable feeling creeping in.

Sol hesitated for a beat, his fingers curling into fists before he forced himself to relax them. "Just cause," he muttered, his eyes avoiding yours just a moment too long. Then, he looked at you again, his gaze almost sad now, like he was waiting for something. 

"What do you think of him?"

You blinked, feeling an unfamiliar heat rush to your skin. "I mean... shit, he's my friend," you said slowly, trying to make sense of why he was asking this, why it felt so strange. 

Sol's jaw tightened visibly, but he quickly masked it with a shrug, his usual cool demeanor slipping back into place. "Do you like him or not?” His voice held an edge like he was pushing for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

You didn’t answer immediately, unsure of how to even begin. 

The question felt... invasive, almost too personal like he was probing into something that wasn’t his business. Instead, you looked away, crossing your arms as if that could shield you from whatever he was looking for.

"Okay," you said, almost dismissively. 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as the words hung between you. “Since you want my answer so badly…” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “I don’t really feel... anything for Crowe. He’s just a close friend, that’s all I’ll say.”

It felt strange to say it out loud, but the truth was simple—your relationships with people weren’t complicated in the way most people seemed to be. You didn’t get the rush of excitement, the butterflies, the desire to be close to someone in that way. 

That wasn’t something you’d ever felt. 

Crowe was just someone you gave pity to be friends with, like now, someone who needed help with the party planning. Nothing more. And it wasn’t like you didn’t appreciate him as a friend—he’s trusting and reliable—but your feelings didn’t go beyond that.

There was a flicker in Sol’s eyes as he processed your words, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he just gave you a small nod, as if satisfied with your answer. The silence between you stretched, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t look back at him.

And then, almost as if on cue, Sol spoke again, his voice a little too casual, like he was trying to mask whatever it was he was really thinking. 

“So… do you like anyone else, then?”

What the fuck. You paused, taken aback. Another question seemed so out of left field. You weren’t someone who spent time thinking about relationships or feelings, and honestly, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind in ages. You shrugged nonchalantly, the weight of his question still lingering like an itch you couldn’t scratch. “I don’t know,” you said, the answer rolling off your tongue with little care. 

"It’s not something I really think about, honestly."

It wasn’t a lie. You’d never really put much thought into who you were supposed to like, who you were supposed to want, or any of that typical nonsense people obsessed over. You had a type, theoretically, sure. You knew what attributes you were ‘supposed’ to like. But, you never actually fell for someone with those qualities. Maybe it was just the concept of attraction that you understood, but the actual feeling? 

That was still foreign to you.

Oh my god, thinking about it made your brain spiral. What did attract you? You could only pinpoint superficial stuff, like how someone looked, or how clean and put-together they were. That sounded so shallow, but it was the damn truth.

You liked people you got along with. That was it. That was all.

The idea of attraction—how people acted on it—wasn’t just distant. It hurt to think about. The obsessive thoughts started crawling into your brain, uninvited, picking apart every little thing. The more you thought, the more it didn’t make sense. The more your head started to pound, the more everything became a blur of unrealistic expectations that didn’t fit you, didn’t interest you. It had never made sense, not the way it seemed to for everyone else.

You clenched your jaw, trying to push the thoughts away, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands. Ugh, this was too much. Just thinking about it made your head hurt too much. So much unwanted noise.

You frowned deeply, shaking off the thoughts, but the irritation still lingered. 

For Sol to be thinking about you… liking someone… well, that was a different story entirely. 

The more you dwelled on it, the more uncomfortable it felt. 

Like he was pressing you into a space that wasn’t yours to occupy. Why was he asking you these questions? What did it matter to him who you liked or didn’t like? The thoughts didn’t stop, though. They lingered.

You couldn’t help but notice the way Sol’s gaze shifted when you gave your answer. The way he seemed almost... invested in your response. It left a bad taste in your mouth like there was something you were missing, something obvious he wasn’t saying, but the longer you thought about it, the stranger it felt.

Sol didn’t press further after that. Instead, he fell into silence, his expression unreadable as he stared ahead, lost in his thoughts.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about who Sol meant, Crowe. You couldn’t stop thinking about how easily you and Crowe interacted, how natural it was for you two to fall into a rhythm. He was one of the few people who didn’t overwhelm your brain. 

Sol had been watching that dynamic, hadn’t he? 

And it irked him. That much was clear. The way Crowe smiled—effortless, easy. The way his eyes always seemed to be calculating something, like he was always two steps ahead of everyone else. That cool, confident air Crowe carried around—it grated on Sol in ways he couldn’t fully explain.

He wasn’t jealous—It wasn’t about that. But something about the way you and Crowe meshed... it made something inside of Sol twist, in a way he couldn’t control, couldn’t understand.

But he kept all of that to himself, kept the thoughts buried deep.

You were your own person. Whatever dynamic you had with Crowe, it wasn’t his place to question. He tried to remind himself of that, even if it didn’t sit quite right.

But damn, watching you and Crowe together—how effortless it seemed, how naturally you both slipped into your own little world—it gnawed at Sol in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t immediate, but over time, every time he saw the two of you together, something dark twisted in his gut. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he could feel it now, creeping under his skin like a slow-burning ache.

It wasn’t about Crowe—not really.

It was you. 

How much of your attention he commanded, how easily you gave it to him, how little was left for anyone else. For Sol. It made him want to pull you back, to demand that you notice him the way you noticed Crowe.

The frustration burned in his chest, a familiar acid, but he buried it. He told himself it was nothing, just a fleeting feeling. Yet, every time you laughed with Crowe, every time he saw the two of you deep in conversation, Sol couldn’t help but feel a sharp pang of something ugly stir inside him.

Fuck it. Sol was jealous.

Lost in the clamor of his thoughts, Sol barely registered the sudden force that knocked you off balance, halting your steps beside him. His body tensed, irritation flaring instantly as his eyes snapped to the figure responsible.

Geo. That smug, silent bastard.

Geo’s grip on your arm was firm—possessive, yet controlled, his fingers pressing just enough to make it clear you weren’t slipping away from him so easily. His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and unreadable.

“I was calling your name.” His voice was steady, but there was something unmistakably demanding beneath it.

You exhaled sharply, yanked out of your thoughts by the sudden tug. His hold wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either—it was the kind of grip that left no room for argument.

“Well, damn. Hello to you too, Geo,” you muttered, irritation flickering in your voice as you glanced at where his hand still held you.

Sol stood still, his eyes narrowed as he followed Geo’s actions, though he seemed completely oblivious to the stir he caused. What made Sol’s blood boil, however, was the way Geo’s gaze flicked down at you, lingering just a fraction too long.

Sol’s jaw tightened, in frustration. He wanted to close the gap between you and Geo, wanted to do something, anything, to put some distance between you two, but he forced himself to remain still, the pressure of his feelings simmering just beneath the surface. He took a half-step forward, his voice cool but edged with an unmistakable hint of concern. 

“You okay?” His eyes scanned you, looking for any sign of discomfort, something that would give him a reason to intervene.

Before you could respond, Geo’s hand landed on your head, ruffling your hair in a slow, almost patronizing motion, pushing it back and forth like you were some distracted kid. “You need to stop letting your thoughts take over. It’s all over your damn face.”

Sol’s muscles tensed, irritation prickling under his skin. The sight of Geo touching you—so casually, so familiar—sent a sharp surge of frustration through him. His fingers twitched at his side, the urge to shove Geo’s hand away clawing at his chest.

But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t even react.

Instead, you reached up, fingers curling around Geo’s wrist in a quiet but firm grip, stopping him from shaking you any further. There was no aggression in your touch, just a steady, silent plea for him to quit it. “I’m aware,” you muttered, exhaling through your nose. “Shit, did something happen?”

Geo didn’t move, his hand still resting in yours, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. His sharp gaze locked onto yours, unwavering—as if Sol wasn’t even there.

“Jericho says you’re late,” Geo stated flatly, his voice carrying its usual indifference. “He needs your help with the party. Told me to pick you up after class.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing. “Really? Why you?”

Geo shrugged, unconcerned. “Be grateful I agreed, or you’d be walking.” His hand slipped from yours as he took a step back, already turning to leave. He didn’t bother with another word—just a glance over his shoulder at Sol, a brief, knowing look that said more than words ever could. “I’ll be waiting ahead when you’re done talking to your…” His eyes flickered to Sol, annoyance barely concealed in his expression before he continued on his way.

You let out a frustrated sigh, irritated by the lack of help from Geo, but knowing there was little you could do to change it. As Geo walked off, you turned back to Sol, trying to piece together what had just happened.

"Right, just so you know, that’s Subaru Oogami. AKA Geo, Crowe’s supposed best friend," you explained, your tone casual, as if what he’d just done was nothing out of the ordinary. 

You could tell from the look on Sol’s face that he was confused—probably wondering how you could treat that behavior as if it meant nothing. To be honest, you knew Geo well enough to know he wasn’t the type to hurt you, and as long as someone was friends with Crowe, you figured you could trust them. 

But that was unnecessary to mention, so you didn’t.

Sol’s eyes narrowed, still tracking Geo’s retreating figure. Something was simmering beneath the surface, a flicker of something uncomfortably possessive in the way his jaw clenched. “Him, huh?” he muttered, trying to mask the chill in his voice, but it was obvious he was unsettled.

“Ah, right, I’ve heard of him. A strict rich guy from that high society, right?”

You scoff softly, though it comes out strained as you look away. The awkward tension between you two was building, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. “You could say that. But he’s harmless. Just…” You trailed off, unsure how to explain without defending Geo too much. It wasn’t like you had to explain yourself to Sol, anyway.

“He’s like that with everyone. Don’t read too much into it.”

Sol wasn’t convinced. 

His eyes didn’t leave the spot where Geo had stood ahead, his focus still locked on him, like he was trying to figure out something deeper he couldn’t grasp. His voice dropped, taking on a more measured tone, but there was still a sharpness to it. “I see,” he muttered, but it felt loaded with something unspoken. Like he was holding back, processing more than he was letting on.

You sensed it, too—the odd moment hanging between you. You tried to defuse it, rolling your eyes, “Soo, anyway, I really have to go. Or Crowe will get my ass again.” You shrugged and gave him a teasing smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “See you later. Don’t get too caught up in your art thing.”

Just as you turned to walk away, Sol’s voice rang out, “Wait.”

You froze, his tone pulling you back. Before you could fully react, Sol had taken a step closer, his hand reaching out, about to grip your shoulder. The motion was quick, but you pulled back instinctively, creating space between you two. 

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze with an arched brow, silently asking, “What is it?”

Sol’s eyes somewhat widened, something almost reluctant, before he pulled his hand back, looking at you with a mix of frustration and pity. “Uh, Nothing,” Sol said, his voice tight, the moment of tension hanging in the air between you both. “Just... take care.”

With that, he stepped back, his expression unreadable. You gave him a nod, flashing another teasing smile, hoping to ease the tension still lingering in the air. “Okay, I’ll expect to see you at the party.” Your tone was light, casual—like nothing had shifted between you.

But as you turned on your heel and started walking away, Sol didn’t move. He stayed rooted in place, his gaze locked onto your back, watching the way you made your way toward Geo without hesitation.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides, a quiet frustration settling deep in his chest. He watched the way Geo barely had to say anything before you fell into step beside him, the way the space between you felt so natural—so practiced.

Sol exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

You didn’t even glance back.

His mind raced with thoughts of what had just happened. 

You didn’t let him touch you… but you let Crowe—Mr. perfect hold your hands all the time. Hell, even that smug asshole Geo had touched your head and your hands, yet you didn’t let Sol so much as touch your shoulder?

Fuck… He pushed his chance too early. 

Then Sol’s eyes widen suddenly locked with Geo’s. When Geo glanced back at him, it was subtle, but Sol caught it—a quick sweep of his eyes, sharp and knowing.

A warning.

Sol had heard a bit about Geo from Hyugo, though Hyugo barely talked about him. When he did, it was always cryptic, like there was more going on with Geo than anyone realized.

The one thing Sol knew for sure was that those two were brothers.

As you walked beside Geo, Sol couldn’t help but notice how Geo’s sharp eyes never stopped scanning, constantly absorbing everything around him while you spoke, not really looking at him—more like explaining yourself, knowing he could hear you from that distance. 

“I need to be careful around him,” Sol thought to himself, his pulse quickening with frustration.

It gnawed at him, the feeling that Geo knew exactly what he was doing—keeping your attention locked firmly on Crowe. 

It was maddening.

The way Geo so effortlessly positioned himself between you and Sol, like a silent, immovable wall, made his blood boil. It was too perfect, too deliberate, and worst of all...

You didn’t seem to mind. Not one bit.

"Seriously, Geo," you started, your voice cutting through the quiet as the two of you walked side by side. The only sound between you was the faint rustling of leaves underfoot, the crisp evening air settling around you. 

You shot him an exasperated look, brows furrowed. "Did you have to be that rude to Sol back there? You could’ve at least said hi instead of… whatever that was."

Geo, unsurprisingly, didn’t even glance your way. His posture remained as indifferent as ever, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, exuding that same effortless disinterest. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion, the very picture of unbothered.

"Why would I bother?" His tone was flat, dismissive. "It’s not like he’s important. Just some emo lame-ass."

You let out a sharp sigh, resisting the growing urge to shove him. "Geo," you warned, irritation creeping into your voice. "You don’t have to like him, but could you at least try to be civil?"

Geo, as expected, didn’t dignify that with a response. His expression remained unreadable, gaze fixed ahead like he had all the time in the world. His silence only made your frustration simmer more—how effortlessly detached he always was, how little anything seemed to faze him.

The two of you stepped into the campus parking lot, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes. The night air carried a sharp chill, but Geo, as always, seemed completely unfazed—so much so that you almost entertained the funny idea that he must be cold-blooded. Heh. Wouldn’t be surprising.

The dim glow of the flickering streetlights reflected off his car’s sleek, freshly painted black exterior, its polished surface gleaming under the occasional passing headlights. A perfect match for the man leaning against it—unapproachable, unreadable, and utterly composed.

Without a word, Geo moved ahead of you, his steps fluid and deliberate as he reached the passenger side door. There was nothing particularly chivalrous about the way he opened it—no warmth, no grand gesture—just a smooth, effortless motion as if it was more out of habit than kindness.

Still, before stepping aside, he glanced over his shoulder, sharp gaze scanning the lot, the street beyond—checking for something. Or someone. His expression remained inscrutable, his piercing eyes flickering toward the empty road for only a fraction of a second before he moved back, allowing you to slide in.

Geo shut the door behind you with quiet finality. Again, no words. 

No unnecessary pleasantries.

You observed as he strolled around the front of the car, his hands in his pockets, his stride leisurely. The detached, cool confidence in his gait was something that never changed, regardless of the circumstances. As he made it to the driver's side, he slipped in without delay, the subtle aroma of cologne hanging on the interior.

Geo didn't say anything as he started the engine, the low rumble breaking the silence between you. The dashboard lights cast a pale blue glow over his face, highlighting the angularity of his jaw and the perpetual distance in his eyes.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he shifted the car into gear, his other hand resting casually against the window. The streets blurred past as he drove, his gaze fixed ahead, entirely focused on the road—or maybe lost in thought?

Again, you had always been good at reading people—effortlessly picking up on emotions, the subtle shifts in their expressions, the way their body language betrayed thoughts they hadn’t even voiced yet.

It was something you had learned young, a skill sharpened by necessity, whether to stay on someone’s good side or simply to understand them before they understood you. 

Most people were easy. Predictable. 

Their emotions—fear, joy, anger, love—bled through no matter how much they tried to suppress them.

Geo was different. He was like a book with half its pages torn out, again, an enigma wrapped in cold stares and dismissive words. No tells, no cracks, nothing to latch onto. He existed in a space just out of reach, like a shadow cast by something unseen.

And yet, when it was just the two of you, something is… different.

He wasn’t easier to read, not exactly, but there were moments—fleeting, barely noticeable—where you caught glimpses of something beneath the indifference. It was subtle, but it was there. 

A blessing and a curse.

Because it almost always made you overthink.

It was something you had done for as long as you could remember—analyzing, dissecting, obsessing over details most people wouldn’t even notice. Not because you wanted to, but because your mind wouldn’t let you stop. A cycle of over-awareness that had long since bled into something deeper, something you couldn’t quite turn off.

Your parents never noticed. They were too busy working to make sure you lived comfortably, too preoccupied to catch the way your thoughts spiraled, looping endlessly in a pattern you couldn’t break. 

You weren’t high-class, but you weren’t lower-class either—just somewhere in between, comfortable, stable.

Geo, on the other hand, had been high society. Until he wasn’t.

Crowe had mentioned it once, in passing. How Geo had struggled after being kicked out. How he had to help him adjust to a life outside of luxury, outside of the world he had once belonged to.

You never asked Geo about it.

Now, sitting beside him in his car, you didn’t need to.

You could see it.

Not visibly—Geo never made things obvious—but in the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly, in the sharpness of his eyes despite the tiredness behind them, in the way his back pressed against the seat like he was holding something in.

His grip on the steering wheel was tight. Too tight.

You shifted, turning your body slightly toward the passenger-side window, pretending to focus on something outside. In reality, you were watching him. Studying him.

Should you say something?

Should you ask him what’s wrong?

Or would he shut you out before you even had the chance?

The silence stretched between you, thick and weighted, the only sound filling the space was the low hum of the car’s engine. Your eyes remained on the window, you could feel Geo’s presence beside you—his controlled breathing, the tension in his posture, the way his fingers flexed just slightly against the wheel.

Then, his voice broke the quiet. Low, rough, but steady.

“You keep looking at me like that.”

You didn’t move right away. Just blinked. The words were casual, but his tone wasn’t. It wasn’t annoyed, wasn’t mocking—it was something else. Something unreadable, yet laced with that same quiet intensity he always carried.

Finally, you turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Like what?" you asked, feigning indifference.

Geo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slowed to a stop just a little way down from Crowe’s place, the car idling. His fingers tapped against the leather steering wheel—a slow, deliberate rhythm—before he exhaled, controlled as always. 

“You’ve been glancing at me for the past twenty minutes,” he muttered, voice as flat as ever. “Are you trying to pick me apart?”

You almost smirked. Almost. “Maybe I am.”

His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—something brief, something you couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Annoyance? Maybe both. Geo scoffed quietly, tilting his head just a little, like he was debating whether or not to humor you. One hand stayed on the wheel, the other resting lazily on his thigh, completely at ease.

“For someone who calls me out for overanalyzing,” he said, voice flat, “you’re the biggest overthinker I know.”

Your brows furrowed, a small flicker of something sharp twisting in your chest. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing him say it—so plainly, so certain—made your stomach tighten.

You shifted in your seat, crossing your arms. "And you’re avoiding the question."

This time, he actually smirked. Just a little. The kind of expression that barely counted, but for Geo, it was practically a full reaction.

"Maybe I am." Your own words are thrown back at you. Fuck.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, but before you could respond, Geo turned to face you completely. His gaze wasn’t distant anymore—wasn’t cold—it was sharp, focused, and something about it made your skin prickle.

He studied you for a moment, his eyes like a scalpel, then, almost as an afterthought, he spoke.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, but before you could respond, Geo turned, fully looking at you now. His gaze wasn’t distant anymore, wasn’t cold—it was sharp, focused, and something about it made your skin prickle.

Geo studied you for a moment longer, then, almost as an afterthought, he spoke.

"You never shut your brain off, do you?"

You raised an eyebrow, already on edge. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Geo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he veered the car toward the curb, the tires rolling over gravel before he threw it in park on the side of the street. The sudden stop made the silence louder—thick and heavy.

His lips curled into a sharp, almost condescending smirk.

"It means you’re too caught up in your head." His tone was flat but laced with irritation. "You’ve got that party planned with Jericho, all the shit you’ve stacked on your plate—and yet you can’t see the problem. You’re blind."

A bitter chuckle escaped him as he leaned back slightly, arms crossed like he was preparing for a fight. "You really think it’s fine to just go—like everything’s normal? Like you can control everything around you?"

His voice sharpened, and when he looked at you again, it was with that signature, cold-eyed disdain.

“You’re delusional.”

Your stomach flipped, and you clenched your jaw, again completely thrown off by his words. You had no idea what the hell made him say that, is this what he was thinking about while driving? Anyway, something in you couldn’t just let it slide? Right? Impossible. 

You pushed back, curiosity getting the best of you. “I’m not delusional,” you muttered, voice tight.

"You are." His voice was low, and steady, like he was explaining something painfully obvious. 

"You don’t see what’s right in front of your face. Which is crazy for an overthinker, you should’ve seen it.” He sighed, the space between you suddenly feeling too small. "You’ve got all these people circling you, and you can’t even tell that one of them is obsessed with you."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, heart pounding in your chest.

"Stay home. Stay with me, or just stay the hell out of that mess. Just don’t go to that damn party. Tell Jericho you’re sick or—"

"No," you interrupted, voice steadier than you felt. "I’m going."

Geo’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. For a split second, frustration flickered across his face, but then it twisted into something darker, more bitter. He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, his eyes cold.

“You’re a fucking waste of brain matter, you know that?”

Your stomach dropped, but you didn’t back down.

“All this damn time, I thought you were different. I thought you actually had some fucking potential. But no. You’re just like every other idiot who always comes up to me, the same ones who think they have a damn chance with me.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, cutting more profound than anything you’d ever expected. You froze, unable to hide the hurt as it twisted inside you.

“You don’t have a clue what you’re getting into,” Geo went on, his voice thick with disdain. “You’re so wrapped up in your stupid head and pride that you can’t even see what’s right in front of you. This whole ‘I’ve got it all figured out’ act? It’s pathetic.”

He scoffed, his lips curling in disdain as he finished.

“You’re fucking pathetic.”

You stayed quiet, your chest heavy with the weight of his words. They echoed in your mind, louder than anything else. Shit—you shouldn’t push anything… like damn. The sting, the sharpness of it, burned deep. You tried to breathe, but it felt like something was stuck in your chest, choking you.

You wanted to snap back. You wanted to tell him to shut up, throw something back at him like you always did—but no words came. 

There was nothing.

Who would’ve thought that he saw it too? The weakness… 

The parts of you that you worked so hard to hide. It hurt more than you cared to admit. You thought you could handle it—hell, you always handled things—but this... again, this was different. This was Geo everyone that talked about, someone you never imagined would rip through your walls like that. His words weren’t just rude—they were calculated like he wanted to see how much he could break you.

Geo watched you, waiting for you to speak, but you couldn’t. Not yet. Not when you felt like you were on the verge of cracking. The silence dragged on, thick, suffocating. Finally, you forced the words out, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m still going to that party. No matter what you say." You could feel his frustration building before he even spoke, his jaw tight and his fists gripping the wheel as if holding himself back.

“Fine, be a damn idiot,” he sneered, “Don’t say no one—”

"Fuck you, Geo." The words shot out like a bullet, sharp and bitter, and you didn’t even try to stop them. 

"I’m not staying home or with you. I’m going," you spat, your voice steadier now, but your chest felt tight from the sting of his words, still burning through you like acid.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. You turned your head just enough to throw one last cutting glance his way, your words coming faster now, "I don’t need your pity, Geo. Don’t bother showing up to the damn party. That’s all you could’ve said, but no—you had to go full-on asshole, like always."

You saw the flicker of something cross his face, something you couldn’t quite name. It felt damn good—like for once, you were finally getting under his skin.

You sighed, your voice growing heavier. "You’re such damn pessimistic all the time. Don’t be mad at me because I actually want to have a little optimism. We only get one shot at this life, you know? Sure, we might be seen as lower class, but that doesn’t mean we can’t live it out and make something of it.”

You let that flicker grow into a sharp, mocking smirk.  

"Everyone’s right about you… You’re just some smug asshole to everyone. Anyone but Crowe." You snorted, shaking your head. "Like you won’t show respect to anyone unless they’re bending over backward just to earn a sliver of your attention." 

You took a breath, steadying your voice even as the weight in your chest tightened.

"I listened to Crowe, you know. When everyone else told me to leave you the hell alone, that you weren’t worth the trouble—I didn’t. He told me you were worth trying for. That under all the sharp edges and venom, there was something real." 

You looked at Geo, jaw clenched. 

"So I pushed past your rudeness, your walls, your cold, condescending bullshit. I held myself strong to talk to you sometimes—because I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why those simpering idiots were always swooning over you like you were some prize to be won." 

Your voice lowered, bitter.

"They never even knew you. They never gave a damn about how you actually think or feel. They just loved the image, the fantasy. But I—I actually made the effort. I learned who you were. I tried to be your friend, even when you made it nearly impossible."

You paused, your gaze hard and unwavering.

"And you still lumped me in with them. You really think I ever saw you the way they did? That I ever put you on some pedestal like you’re some untouchable god?"

You shook your head slowly.

"You must be out of your damn mind."

You turned your head just enough to look at him one last time. You refused to let him see how much it was hurting you—how his words had gotten under your skin, how they twisted everything you thought you knew about him.

The silence that followed was thick with everything you weren’t saying. Geo’s posture was rigid, his jaw set, but you could see the shift in him—the moment his walls snapped shut. 

He didn’t say anything. 

And that was good enough for you. 

You threw the passenger door open and stepped out without hesitation. The slam of the door behind you echoed with finality—loud, sharp, and unapologetic. You didn’t look back.

Screw it. Screw his expensive car, his cold stares, his bullshit attitude. You didn’t care what he felt anymore—if he even felt anything at all. You were sick of trying to guess, sick of trying to prove yourself to someone who refused to see you.

He wasn’t going to control you. 

Not your plans, not your night, not your damn heart.

Your footsteps hit the pavement hard as you headed up toward Crowe’s house. There was weight in every step, but also something else—a kind of clarity, a sharpness cutting through the fog. The ache in your chest didn’t vanish, but it settled. 

Became something you could carry without breaking.

You were done. Truly done.

You spent the last few weeks of October wrapped in party planning with Crowe and his far more tolerable, socially functional friends. Between costume designs, playlists, and coordinating food runs, you stayed busy—meticulously so. 

Obsessively, if you were honest with yourself. Every little detail had to be perfect. Every task had to be just right. It kept your hands full, your mind somewhat quiet.

But no matter how much you tried to bury yourself in logistics and glitter, Geo still haunted the back of your thoughts like a splinter you couldn’t tweeze out.

Why him?

Why was he so compelling to you?

It wasn’t attraction, not in the way others meant it. You knew yourself too well for that. You weren’t yearning for some romantic happily-ever-after or anything as messily complicated as sex. No, it was something deeper and much harder to name—something primal and cerebral all at once.

You didn’t really know Geo. Not personally.

Not in the way that counted. And maybe that was part of the reason you couldn’t stop circling back to him like your mind was caught in a loop it couldn’t break. That sense of tension, of unresolved something between you both—it lingered, heavy and unfinished.

You told yourself it was just curiosity. You’d studied him like a puzzle, tried to map out the jagged edges of his personality, chipped away at the walls he kept so deliberately high. You thought if you pushed hard enough, and reached far enough, you might finally understand what it was that pulled you to him despite everything telling you to turn away.

Maybe, just maybe, you had hoped there was something mutual buried underneath all that cold, arrogant silence.

But then again… maybe not.

Geo was an enigma—emotionally locked down, guarded in a way that felt almost strategic. Maybe even cruel. You weren’t even sure he understood himself, let alone whatever this weird, intangible bond between you two was. And it was never about fear of rejection. 

That would have been easier. Cleaner.

No, what terrified you more was the ambiguity.

Was it just one-sided intensity on your part? Was it some projection, some need to feel seen by the one person who refused to be easily figured out?

You hated not knowing.

Not being able to label it, define it, solve it.

And like clockwork, the quiet moments became the most unbearable.

Your thoughts didn’t settle—they spiraled. Repeating, rearranging, recalculating. You’d catch yourself organizing the same party checklist over and over again, rewriting the guest list, recounting the plates, double—no, triple—checking the labels like it was the only thing holding your world in place. The tiniest details suddenly felt urgent, like if you didn’t get them exactly right, something worse might slip through the cracks.

Because if you control that maybe you could drown out the ache.

The ache of not knowing what the hell Geo meant to you anymore.

Ever since the argument—sharp words exchanged like knives behind closed car doors—you hadn’t spoken to each other beyond the bare minimum. A few clipped greetings. One-word replies. Careful silences. You weren’t even sure anyone else in the group knew what had happened between you two. 

At least, you hoped not.

You told yourself, even now, that all you ever wanted was to be his friend. That was safer. Simpler. Honest enough.

But being around Geo always felt like walking a tightrope strung across a minefield—one wrong step, one wrong look, and you were done. Every conversation felt like holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable shutdown. Waiting for him to pull away again.

And then there was the weight of everything that came with him.

Lunchtime on campus made it worse—sitting on the cracked stone benches in the courtyard, the sun catching on chrome thermoses and gossip-laced grins. Geo never said much, barely touched his food, just sat there with his arms crossed while the world leaned in around him.

People watched him like he was something more than human—untouchable, unknowable. They hung off his every word even when he looked too tired to speak. And God, he was tired. You could see it in the way he pinched the bridge of his nose, the subtle twitch of annoyance when someone got too close.

Still, they hovered—those simpering idiots who trailed behind him like moths to a cold flame. Smiling too hard. Laughing too loud. Guarding the fantasy they’d built of him with something that felt close to reverence. They worshipped from a distance and tore into anyone who got too close.

You weren’t one of them. You never had been. You didn’t want to be.

But something inside you still reached—aching, grasping, quietly, stubbornly.

You knew better. Always had.

And yet here you were… pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending that raw thing you felt—that hollow, sharp, impossible thing in your chest—wasn’t real. Just a trick of proximity. Just curiosity.

But you knew it wasn’t curiosity.

It wasn’t love, not in the traditional sense. Not romantic, not sexual. Just something real. Something you couldn't name but couldn't ignore. 

Something yours.

And maybe it was easier to keep pushing it down.

But how much longer could you do that?

How much longer before it started to swallow you whole?

You didn’t have an answer. All you had was the countdown in your chest—and it hit zero faster than you expected.

The Halloween party had arrived.

What once felt like some distant event, a plan scrawled in notebooks and smoothed over in too many group chats, was suddenly real. Immediate. Inevitable.

The university buzzed with anticipation—half-baked costume decisions, whispered hookups, people making last-minute runs for glitter, masks, and fake blood. The energy in the air clung to everything like static, sharp, and waiting to snap.

And at the center of it all… was you.

You and Crowe hadn’t just thrown a party—you’d curated an experience. A spectacle. And it showed. His family’s house, already intimidating in its quiet wealth, had been reimagined under your hands as something cinematic. Unsettling. The kind of place that made people stop at the gate and take a breath before stepping in.

The lawn was a stage: flickering jack-o'-lanterns casting shifting light across the path, ghostly projections stitched into the siding, and fog machines hissing slow tendrils across the cobblestone-like creeping fingers. It looked haunted, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

Inside, it was worse in the best way—an exquisite kind of chaos, curated down to the last unnerving detail. Every corner was scrubbed, styled, and sharpened into something eerie and cinematic, like a fever dream with a guest list.

Cobwebs draped from antique chandeliers, casting spider-silk shadows across the vaulted ceilings. The rooms glowed with an otherworldly wash of sickly green and violet light, highlighting skeletal decorations curled around stair railings as they belonged there. 

Animatronics were spaced just far enough apart to lull people into a false sense of safety before jerking to life with mechanical shrieks and hollow eyes, making even the boldest students jump.

A fog machine hissed from some hidden corner, spilling thick mist across the hardwood floors and blurring everything into a surreal haze—nothing quite solid, nothing quite real.

Music throbbed through concealed speakers in every room. A mix of haunted remixes and high-energy basslines created a strange harmony—half rave, half séance. The sound wrapped around the crowd like a spell, pulling them deeper into the night.

The house was alive—choked with bodies and breath and artificial blood. Students pressed shoulder to shoulder in the crush of celebration, faces half-hidden behind masks, makeup, and shadows. Laughter rose like smoke. Screams echoed from the haunted hallway setups you’d helped build.

 And still, the night was just beginning.

You stood beside Crowe at the entrance, watching it all unfold. People lined up outside in the cold, either flashing last-minute tickets or raising phones with QR codes shimmering under flickering porch lights. You scanned them in, mechanical and composed, your mask in place.

Crowe was in his element—smiling that easy pretty prince smile, and talking easily with each individual who passed through. He worked the crowd like he owned it—which, in a way, he did, turning what could have been a chaotic check-in nightmare and making it smooth, almost seamless.

Sometimes, a person would fumble with their phone, attempting to pull up their ticket, and Crowe—charmer that he was—would lightly tease them before waving them in regardless. "Come on, don't make me regret this," he'd say, laughing in return.

It was effortless for him. Natural. And yet, as the line snaked down the driveway, the buzz of conversation and the pounding bass of the music lingering in the air, your mind started to drift.

You, though, weren't quite as swept up in the moment. Sure, you'd been a part of the planning, and on paper and as line, the night was supposed to be perfect.

But tonight?

Your mind was elsewhere. Not perfect. 

Somewhere far away.

You barely registered Crowe’s voice when he asked about your costume. Something about whether it was too tight, or if you were still comfortable. 

You didn’t really answer. But you thought about it.

Brittany had planned everyone’s costumes weeks ago, assigning them out like she was the director of a twisted stage play. She’d made Crowe dress as a prince—of course she did. 

It was almost too fitting with his deep blue eyes, long brown hair braided down his shoulder, and that easy confidence that made him look like royalty even without the costume. The dark velvet jacket, silver-stitched and regal, only cemented the image. He didn’t protest. He wore it like it was made for him.

Then you spotted them by the punch bowl—Jess and Brittany, standing close but radiating entirely different energies.

Brittany was already the center of attention, surrounded by people hanging on her every exaggerated laugh. She thrived there, in the thick of it, her voice sugary and slick, like honey laced with venom.

Her devil costume was unapologetically dramatic: a red corset dress that shimmered like sin, fishnet tights, thigh-high boots, and glittery horns that caught the light every time she turned her head. The tail? Real. Not literally—but it flicked behind her with every step like it had a mind of its own.

She moved like she owned the party like the floor should part for her heels. The way she looked at people—like they were either pawns or competition—fit the role a little too well.

Jess, in contrast, looked like she'd been dragged there by divine obligation. She stood just behind Brittany, an angel in soft white. Her dress was simple, flowy, ethereal in that gentle, untouched kind of way. White feathery wings sat neatly between her shoulder blades, a delicate halo perched above her head like it didn’t quite belong to her.

Very much Heaven and hell, playing nice—for now.

Naturally, Deryl had been shoved into a werewolf costume—if you could even call it that. He was half-shirtless, with fake fur strapped across his shoulders like an afterthought, plastic fangs barely clinging to his teeth, and clawed gloves that he kept using to dramatically rake through his hair. 

Honestly? It suited him way more than it should’ve.

He was mid-keg stand when you caught sight of him, legs flailing while two guys held him up and a crowd screamed like it was a full moon. His howl—somewhere between a frat bro and a dying animal—rattled through the house with zero shame.

Deryl didn’t need alcohol to act feral… but it definitely helped.

And then there was you.

Brittany had all but bullied you into dressing as what she lovingly dubbed a “sexy fine-ass cat”—in her words, “You already dress like a damn witch every day, babe. Spice it up. Be a mystical slut.”

You weren't sure what part of you gave off sexy feline energy, but apparently, your everyday vibe screamed witchy recluse turned seductive alley cat, and she was ready to roll with it.

Somehow, against all logic and reason, you had agreed. 

Possibly in a moment of sleep deprivation. Possibly under threat. Possibly because Brittany said if you didn’t wear the cat ears, she’d cry—and she looked dead serious about it. So now you stood at the glass front door, staring at your reflection like you were seeing a cursed mirror in a haunted house.

The dress wasn’t… bad. Honestly, it was hot. It was just… a lot.

It clung to you like it had plans and didn’t believe in boundaries. Black lace, party chic, dipped just enough in the front to remind you that bending over was not on the agenda tonight. The asymmetrical ruffled hem flirted with your thighs in a way that felt downright criminal.

Every few steps you had to subtly yank it down so it didn’t transform into a glorified napkin. And the sleeves—long, flared by your hands, and vaguely witchy—made you feel like you were one minor inconvenience away from casting a petty hex. You kinda loved them. But they didn’t distract from the very intentional peek of your bralette and matching boyshorts through the lace.

Because of course, Brittany insisted. “Just a hint of slut,” she said. “Like you accidentally seduced someone on your way to hex their ex. Tasteful thot.”

You bargained for a silver chain belt—your last shred of sanity—and she allowed it only after you swore on your grave and hers that you’d wear the damn cat ears.

Whiskers, though? Absolutely not. She tried. Oh, she tried. 

Came at you with eyeliner and the audacity. Tried to draw a little nose and whiskers like you were a children’s cartoon. You almost left. She had to physically block the door and swear on all her overpriced brushes that she wouldn’t touch your face again. 

She kept her word. Technically.

Because of the makeup she was allowed to do? Dangerously good.

Smoky eyeshadow with a silver shimmer so subtle it made your eyelids look like enchanted moon dust. A razor-sharp winged liner that made your eyes look exhausted, dangerous, and vaguely mythological. “Your tired-ass eyes need drama,” she muttered like a war general.

“You're mysterious. Like a cat that’s also seen some shit.” Your lips? Just a clear gloss. Deceptively simple. Pure bait. And don’t even bring up the eyebrows. Brittany shaped them like she was designing the arches of a cursed cathedral. You weren’t allowed to leave until they were “even, spiritual, and slightly threatening.”

So now, here you were. A seductive black cat from some weird fever dream. Tail not included—but dignity? Also missing. 

You looked too hot. It felt illegal. 

Just as you were adjusting to the new, foreign sensation of being seen in a way you usually avoided, Crowe paused the ticket check-in. His usual composure faltered just enough for him to take a step back, and then he motioned for one of the other student council members to take over. 

Without a word, he gently guided you to the side, away from the loudness of the party. His touch was light but steady as if he instinctively knew you needed a moment away from all the noise. 

The music and laughter seemed to fade as he led you toward a quieter corner, his gaze softening like he could sense that the night was taking its toll on you in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "You okay?" His words were careful as if he was treading lightly, always aware of your boundaries.

“Hm?” You looked up at him, your mind still lost in the haze of the party and your own thoughts.

“At the front door, I told you how beautiful you are, and you didn’t say a word back. You out of touch," Crowe said with a teasing smile, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. "It’s nothing," you murmured, your gaze flickering back toward the crowd. "Just... stuff. You know.”

Crowe’s easy smile faltered for just a second, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes. He was used to seeing you sharp, in control, untouchable. But tonight? You felt anything but. Like you were drifting just out of reach, your skin felt foreign and too tight.

He stepped a little closer, his tone shifting, softer. "Is it about the party?" he asked, the confidence he usually wore so easily now mixed with a rare hint of concern. "I know it’s a lot, overwhelming, but we pulled it off, right?"

You hesitated, fighting the urge to tell him what was really gnawing at you. Because it wasn’t the party—like the party is perfectly fine.

It was Geo, fucking asshole himself.

But telling Crowe that? You already knew how it would go.

And as much as he acted like he had it all together, Crowe wasn’t a prince in shining armor—he was more like a mother goose, ready to swoop in and take care of everyone. The last thing you needed tonight was for him to start hovering over you like he always did when things got too messy.

“The party’s going great,” you said, forcing a smile that you knew didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s turning out exactly how we planned.”

Crowe studied you with that sharp, perceptive gaze of his. He didn’t speak right away, but the way his eyes softened told you everything you needed to know—he was about fifty percent convinced. 

“I see,” he murmured. Fuck. 

The unspoken understanding hung in the air between you two, silent but enough to acknowledge what was unsaid. For now, it was enough. But then, true to form, Crowe shifted gears—his grin slipping back into place like a well-worn mask, the kind that made everything feel just a little bit easier.

“Well, since you're not planning to entertain the guests, at least make sure you have a little fun. I've got surprises lined up for tonight—keep your eyes peeled, all right?”

A small, light laugh escaped you, despite yourself. Classic fucking Crowe. Always ready with a distraction, always able to steer the ship when it felt like it might veer off course. And while it didn’t entirely loosen the tight knot twisting in your stomach, it was something. 

A welcome break, even if just for a moment.

The music shifted, bass-heavy and pulsing through the floor, as another wave of guests arrived, their costumes ranging from carefully curated masterpieces to last-minute, half-assed efforts. Crowe turned his attention to them, smoothly slipping into host mode, greeting people with his usual charisma.

And you? You turned toward the bar table where one of the student council members was mixing drinks like they were auditioning for a bartending competition.

Because let’s be real, if you spent too much time listening to the thoughts running in your head, you might as well just call it a night. And after everything you’d put into this party? No way in hell. 

You weren’t going to let your overthinking ruin the only night you’d had the time to enjoy. You deserved one damn night of fun, and you were going to get it, even if it meant hitting the booze a little harder than usual.

So, what did you do? 

You grabbed a Blackberry Margarita, obviously.

It was fruity. It was sweet. And deceptively strong. The kind of drink that burned just enough to remind you it wasn’t juice but still tasted like candy—dangerous, but perfect. 

One glass turned into two, then three, and before you knew it, you were feeling warm in places that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Your thoughts started to blur a little, edges softening, and suddenly, this night was looking a lot better.

This was fun. It had to be. It’s Halloween. 

This is your chance to have fun. Like Crowe had it all under control. Safe to drink. So, for now, you could pretend the world was fine and focus on the music that thumped through the room, pulling you into a nostalgic vibe you didn’t know you were missing. Four drinks in, and yeah, you were starting to think maybe you were finally having fun.

You made your way to the nearly packed dance floor, the chaos of the living room fading into the background. A familiar song—one you used to play on repeat back when you were younger—boomed from the speakers, its nostalgic pulse tugging at you like an old memory resurfacing.

You didn’t blend into the crowd. You never did. Instead, your movements took on their own rhythm—less about the usual grind and more about the flow. With the flick of your wrist, you spun, your body twisting in fluid, whimsical arcs. 

Your hands sliced through the air like they were painting shapes, each motion deliberate and graceful, your goth-whimsy style putting a contrast against the more traditional dance moves around you. You leaned, arms sweeping low, letting the music guide you like it was all a dream.

The crowd melted away, the music pulling you deeper, blending the present and past into each graceful twist. You felt like the only person moving in the world, wrapped in the rhythm, lost in the melody that had stuck with you through the years.

Then, through the haze of the dance, you heard it. “Hey!”

A voice. Familiar. Light-hearted, cutting through the noise like it was meant for you alone. 

You froze mid-spin, the music suddenly too loud in your ears, and the flow of your movements interrupted. Your feet stumbled slightly as you pulled yourself out of the crowd, suddenly aware of everything again.

You turned, startled, and found Sol standing there, his arms crossed with a slight, almost imperceptible blush coloring his face. His zombie costume clung to him with the perfect amount of eerie charm, as if it had been tailored for his usual emo energy. 

Next to Sol was Hyugo, looking like he’d stepped straight out of an old-school horror flick, his tattered mummy costume hanging off him in the most charmingly out-of-place way.

But it wasn’t the costumes that caught your attention—it was Sol. His gaze was locked on the crowd, intense and calculating, like he was reading each person in the room. When his eyes found you, they didn’t just skim over you like they usually did. They locked.

It wasn’t casual this time.

“You made it after all,” you said, trying to find your footing again, though your voice sounded a little distant like you were still processing everything around you. Your eyes held his for a moment, and you forgot the usual back-and-forth banter. “And I see you brought your date,” you added, trying to keep it light. “Hi, Hyugo.” You offered a soft smile.

“Hey! You look so pretty!” Hyugo chimed in, his grin infectious.

Sol shifted a little closer, subtly nodding in your direction. “Yeah, well, someone told me you were going all out for this. Figured I’d see for myself if it lived up to the hype.” His voice was playful, but there was something in it that didn’t quite match his usual tone—like he was holding back.

Hyugo, grinning mischievously, rolled his eyes. “You should’ve heard him,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “‘Gotta go to this party. Gotta go.’ Like it was some kind of mission or something.”

Sol’s posture stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line at the jab, but the flicker of something else in his eyes passed so quickly that you almost missed it. He turned back to you, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

It wasn’t just a look anymore.

“You know,” Hyugo cut in, nudging Sol with an exaggerated grin, “I always thought zombies went after brains, but I think this one’s hunting for someone’s heart tonight.”

Sol’s head snapped toward him, caught completely off guard for a split second. His face didn’t betray much, but the sharp glare he threw Hyugo could’ve sliced through steel. And yet… he didn’t deny it. Didn’t joke it off either. He just kept staring—at Hyugo first, then at you.

And when his gaze landed on you again, something shifted.

Your stomach knotted.

Whether it was the margaritas or the way Sol was looking at you—like he knew something you didn’t—you weren’t sure. Either way, the air felt heavier now, thick with something that made your pulse stutter.

Hyugo, blissfully unaware or maybe choosing chaos on purpose, clapped Sol on the back with a wink. “Good luck, dude,” he muttered before strolling off into the crowd like it was nothing.

And just like that, it was just the two of you.

Alone. Oh, fuck.

It was like time hiccuped.

Everything slowed—just enough to feel off-kilter, like you were suddenly too aware of your own breathing, your posture, the way your fingertips itched with nervous energy. The music thumped in the background, but it felt distant now, muffled by the whirlwind in your own head. You stood still, rooted, not quite sure what to do with your hands or your face or your damn heartbeat.

Then Sol shifted slightly, just enough to close the space between you. His voice dropped—low, quiet, private—and the sound of it jolted something in your chest.

“You look... different tonight.”

You blinked, startled by the way the words landed—unexpected and heavy. “What do you mean?” you asked a bit too fast, your voice edged with something sharper than you intended, a reflex defense. Your tongue felt clumsy in your mouth like you couldn’t quite keep up with yourself.

You felt off, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. It was him. 

The way he was watching you.

Sol didn’t flinch at your tone. He studied you for a beat longer than felt casual, eyes dragging across your features with an unsettling kind of precision. Not in a creepy way, but like he was measuring something. As if you were a puzzle he was still trying to solve.

You shifted your weight, arms folding like a subconscious shield. His gaze made your skin feel warm, but not in a flattering way—more like being under a spotlight when you hadn’t asked for one.

“I-I mean you just look really pretty, I just…” Sol’s voice faltered like it had tripped over itself. “I didn’t think you’d wear… this.” He gestured vaguely at your outfit, and though his tone tried to stay casual, it didn’t land that way. Not even close.

There was no teasing. No smugness. Just something sharp beneath it—something edged in disbelief, frustration, and something dangerously close to yearning.

Maybe even a little bitter.

You forced a smile, lopsided and tight. “It’s Halloween. My friend Brittany made me be a black cat,” you said, your voice dry. “Meow.”

A laugh slipped out—awkward, half-hearted, and absolutely doomed from the start.

Sol didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. 

His eyes flicked briefly toward the crowd, watching nothing. Like he needed to recalibrate. People moved past, shouting, dancing, laughing—utter chaos—and yet here he was, still.

Frozen. Staring at you like you broke something in him just by existing.

And then, finally, his eyes returned to yours. The look he gave you wasn’t neutral. It was heated, heavy, and dark in a way that made the cat ears on your head feel ten times worse. Like they were personally attacking him.

This time, Sol’s voice was gentler, quieter than before. Like he was picking through each word carefully, testing them on his tongue before releasing them. “Anyway… I came because I wanted to talk to you.”

You let out a soft sigh, eyes still on Sol. “About what…?”

But your attention was already splintering—slipping through the cracks of the moment. Like your body was still here, anchored in front of him, but your mind had quietly drifted elsewhere, tugged by something faint… familiar. You weren’t sure why you looked, just that you had to.

And then you saw him.

Geo.

Wait. Wait—wait a damn minute. He came??

He actually showed up?

Your pulse tripped. There he was, just past the wavering edge of the living room crowd, stiff and statuesque near the kitchen archway. A cheap plastic skeleton hung limply in front of him, swaying as someone brushed past it. Two partygoers beside him were reenacting a ridiculous slasher-movie death scene, laughing too loud, too close. 

And Deryl—because of course it was Deryl—had one arm slung over Geo’s shoulder like they were best bros in a buddy cop film. Geo did not look thrilled about this. Actually, Geo looked like he was being held hostage by social interaction itself.

By the way… No costume. No effort. 

Just Geo, in his normal clothes, standing in the middle of Halloween chaos like he was silently calculating how to disappear through the nearest wall.

Your brain did a somersault. 

Your eyes locked with his for just a second. A blink. But it was enough. You saw it—the flicker. Not annoyance. Not boredom. But something softer. Tighter. Concern, maybe. Worry, definitely. 

You blinked rapidly and turned your head, forcing your eyes away before Sol could follow your gaze. With a subtle shift, you angled your body just enough to block his line of sight—like the literal black cat slipping through the sight before anything was exposed.

Your hand brushed lightly against Sol’s arm, a casual, grounding touch that seemed to anchor his attention. “Wait—what were you saying again?” you asked, voice slightly too upbeat, your tone wearing a thin coat of distraction.

Sol’s head tilted, eyes widen just slightly. He wasn’t oblivious—never was. There was a flicker of suspicion behind his gaze, the kind that made your spine tighten.

But before he could say anything—

“Can I steal you for a second?”

Crowe’s voice slipped in from behind, smooth and quiet, like he’d been waiting for the exact moment. No warning. No preamble. Just presence.

You turned instinctively.

Crowe stood there, composed as ever, the picture of casual control—drink in hand, the other already half-extended toward you like this moment had been planned down to the second. His eyes flicked to Sol briefly—acknowledging, not inviting—and then settled on you with a look too polished to be anything but intentional. 

“Sorry to cut in,” he said smoothly, flashing an apologetic smile so polished it barely masked the calculation underneath. “Just need a quick word with our feline coordinator. Party logistics.”

The air beside you changed.

You didn’t have to look to feel the way Sol tensed—his body stiffening like he’d been struck. His jaw ticked, a single muscle shifting under his skin. He didn’t speak, but his silence screamed. Like he had something to say, something sharp and burning, but kept it behind gritted teeth.

You didn’t give him the chance.

“Yeah, of course,” you said lightly, already turning toward Crowe. Your hand brushed his, barely there, and his touch answered at the small of your back—guiding, light, but firm enough to steer.

You felt the heat of Sol’s stare follow you as you left him behind. Crowe led you toward the stairs like nothing had happened, taking a sip from his cup, cool and unbothered. Like he hadn’t just intercepted a moment teetering on the edge of something volatile.

“What’s this about?” you asked, side-eying him.

“Well,” he started, tone smooth as ever, an arm draping over your shoulders like it belonged there, “Some people are getting danced out—figured I’d switch things up.”

You squinted, suspicious. “Switch things up how?”

Crowe’s grin curved gentle and easy. “Games.”

You blinked at him. “You wanna bring out games? At a college party.”

“Yes.” He didn’t even flinch. You stared harder. “Like... Connect Four? Uno? You’re telling me drunk twenty-somethings want to sit on the floor and relive kindergarten?”

Crowe shrugged, maddeningly smug. “You’d be surprised. People crave childhood nostalgia when they’re buzzed and existential. Give them enough alcohol and suddenly Jenga’s the most intense thing they’ve done all year.”

You blinked again. Damn it… he had a point.

Still, something in his tone felt a little too casual. “The games are in the big closet upstairs,” he added like that wasn’t the most suspicious sentence in existence. “You know the one.” 

You blinked at him. Yeah, you knew the one. That oversized, borderline-abandoned linen closet that felt like a junk drawer for the entire house. The one people only opened when they were desperate or nosy. Or both. “Right,” you muttered, nodding slowly, distracted already as you ran through the mental gymnastics of reaching whatever “games” Crowe had buried in there.

You started up the stairs, heels clicking against the hardwood, the thump of bass fading behind you the higher you climbed. The hallway was quieter, shadows stretched long under dim lights—like the party forgot this part of the house existed.

You reached the closet and popped it open without a second thought, flipping the light on and stepping inside like it was just another errand. The air inside was cool, faintly dusty, and the whole space had that weird too-still vibe.

Your eyes immediately found the box of games—of course—perched on the very top shelf.

You stared up at it. “Great.”

Because of course Crowe wouldn’t make it easy. Why leave them somewhere normal when he could turn it into a damn climbing expedition? You stepped in further, squinting around for anything resembling a stool—fucking nothing. 

Just dusty boxes, tangled holiday lights, and some ancient-looking trunk shoved in the corner like a dead body in a bad mystery movie. Whatever. 

You stretched up, fingers brushing the edge of the game box, willing it to just fall into your hands. Hoping, the tip of your fingers nudged the box… and then—

“Why are you in here?”

You nearly fucking screamed. 

Your body jerked, your spine going stiff as your eyes snapped wide. You twisted just enough to glance behind you—Close. No—too close.

Geo was right there.

You were practically pressed against him, your back meeting the solid wall of his chest. Broad. Warm. Unyielding. His presence filled the already-cramped closet like he belonged there like he’d been standing behind you this whole time, watching. Waiting.

Your breath hitched. You tilted your head back on instinct—eyes dragging up the line of his throat, to his jaw, to the calm, unreadable look in his face.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

Instead, he just reached past you, arm brushing your shoulder as he casually plucked the game box off the top shelf—cool as ever, like this wasn’t one of the most intimate positions two people could be in without making it weird.

Stupid tall guy with freakish long arm reach. He glanced around the room, finally shifting just a little so you could breathe again.

You blinked up at him, deadpan. “Seriously?”

He glanced down at you, then looked around the room like he wasn’t the one who’d just appeared out of the void. “Could ask you the same,” he said.

You squinted at him. “Crowe sent me up here. Said people were tired of dancing and wanted something else to do.”

Geo let out a quiet breath, almost like a scoff, somewhat a little lost. “Deryl asked me to come grab the games too.”

Your brows furrowed. “Huh.”

Before either of you could say more—SLAM.

The closet door slammed. Hard. You spun around mid-what the hell just as the knob jiggled—once, twice—and then stopped. Click. 

You stared at it like it had personally betrayed you. 

Geo stepped up beside you, calm as hell, and gave the handle a test twist. A polite little shake. Then the verdict: “…Locked.”

You blinked slowly, mentally buffering while your heart caught up to the situation. “Oh my god.” You said it like a prayer and a curse all rolled into one. “Those sons of bitches.”

And right on cue, came laughter—low, amused, 100% guilty.

Crowe’s voice floated through the door like this was just another Thursday. “Whoops.”

Then Deryl, chipper as ever: “Don’t worry! We’ll let you out in like… twenty minutes! Or whenever you emotionally bond! Whichever comes first!”

You slapped your hand against the door with the force of a goddamn anime character powering up. “Crowe!”

“Love you too~!” he sang back, way too cheerfully.

“See you!” Deryl added before he and Crowe walked away from the door, heading back to the party downstairs.

Geo let out the most exhausted sigh known to mankind, shook his head, and leaned back against the wall like this was mildly inconvenient at best. 

Like he was above it all. Like always.

“Ugh. You’ve got fucking to be kidding me…” he muttered, his tone dangerously deadpan. He looked down at you again, not with anger—more like straight judgment. Like you were the wild animal in this cage and he was the zookeeper trying to guess if you’d bite.

Didn’t say anything mean, but his silence was definitely loud. You groaned dramatically and stomped over to the old wooden trunk in the corner, plopping down with a huff. “If I die in here, tell everyone I went out bitter and vengeful.” 

Geo crossed his arms. “You’ll die of being over-dramatic before the air runs out.”

This was it. 

You were going to die here. At a Halloween party. Locked in a closet. With him.

Out of everyone—you had to get trapped in here with Geo. Tall, grumpy, impossible, judgmental, annoying Geo.

You glared at him from your seat on the trunk like your sheer rage could burn a hole through his stupid, emotionally constipated face.

He stared right back, arms crossed, completely unfazed. “You know, I didn’t realize Halloween was code for desperate cosplay.”

Your jaw hit the floor. “Excuse me?”

He gestured vaguely in your direction, the way someone might motion toward a car crash. “The ears. The makeup. The Dress. The whole…” His eyes scanned you once, slow and unimpressed, “situation.”

You stared at him, incredulous. You were this close to hurling the Monopoly box at his smug face.

“First of all, I didn’t choose this costume. Second, it’s Halloween—the one night where wearing cat ears is legal. Third?” You gestured back to him dramatically. “You’re wearing the same damn bluish purple hoodie you always wear. White turtleneck underneath. And those tight-ass ripped black jeans. What, exactly, are you supposed to be?”

Geo didn’t even blink. “I’m not dressed as anything.”

“Exactly!” You threw your hands up. “You’ve literally made ‘casual apathy’ your costume. Well congrats, you nailed it.”

The energy in the closet shifted, sharp and crackling. Like the two of you were circling each other in a very polite cage match. You hated how nonchalant he looked even when he was being a smug jerk. 

And worse—you hated that he always acted like he didn’t even want to be here. Like he had more important things to do. So you pitted the thought that you figure you said out loud.

“You didn’t even want to come tonight, did you?”

That movement. A slight shift in his shoulders, a pause before he responded,  “I wasn’t going to,” he admitted. “I didn’t plan on it.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “Then why show up at all? Thought this whole thing was beneath you.”

Geo sighed, but it wasn’t at you—it was at himself. His eyes flicked to the door, like maybe he was second-guessing this whole situation, and then finally, he met your eyes.

For real this time. “…Crowe said something along the lines of you wanting to leave, and asked me to pick you up,” Geo muttered, his voice quieter than usual.

“What?” You blinked, a little thrown off. “I had no plans on leaving.” You raised an eyebrow then scoffed, “What, you didn’t trust me to survive a university party without you babysitting me? Came here so fast without thinking? Is that a first? Crowe definitely tricked you…”

He looked unamused, his eyes narrowing at your jab, and then he huffed, crossing his arms again. “Shut up. I just thought of how stupid you might be.”

You snickered, even though it came out a little sharper than you meant. “Rich, coming from you.”

A few seconds of silence passed, like something was almost ready to spill, however Geo the one that hesitated. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he muttered, “I didn’t like the idea of something happening and me not being there. That’s all.”

You blinked. Oh. Wow.

There it was. 

The thing that no one ever really said out loud but everyone could feel—the tiny sliver of overprotectiveness buried beneath his sarcastic armor. 

The reason he always stood too close in crowded rooms. The reason he was always a little too aware when you were quiet or too distant. The reason he’d shown up to this godforsaken Halloween party when it was clear he hated every single second of it… just in case. Just in case something went wrong, and he had to be the one to fix it. 

You stared at him, really looked at him for the first time in forever. He was standing there, arms crossed, but his eyes? They were looking away, avoiding yours like they were trying to bury every little soft thing he didn’t want to admit. And God, that was the thing with Geo: He wore that sarcasm like a shield but underneath it?

He was a goddamn mess. 

And you were so tired. 

Tired of the whole damn situation.

Tired of pretending you didn’t see through him. Tired of all these pointless, exhausting words you both keep throwing at each other. 

You started laughing. And—you mean, laughing.

At first, it was just a snicker—a short burst of air escaping because, well, it was ridiculous. Geo, standing there like he was the world’s biggest conundrum, thinking that all his careful control over his feelings somehow hid it all. 

But it didn’t. It was obvious. Then it got louder.

You couldn’t stop yourself. You laughed until it was more of a giggle, the kind that felt borderline manic as you realized how utterly absurd this whole situation was. 

This party. Him. You. The closet. Everything.

Geo’s eyes narrowed as he watched you, clearly unamused. There was a display of pure disgust on his face, followed by a confusion that only he could pull off. He took a step toward you, brows furrowing deeper. “…Why the hell are you laughing?" His voice was disbelief, and you could hear the irritation bubbling up—he had no idea how to handle you when you were this far gone.

You wiped your eyes, still laughing through the cracks in your voice, and it was starting to sound borderline hysterical now. You couldn’t even breathe properly, but it didn’t matter. This was all just so stupid, and the laughter spilled out like a flood.

The noise from the party downstairs felt miles away like it was all part of some different universe. All that mattered was the absurdity of the situation. You had no idea how long you'd been stuck in this mess with Geo, trying to keep your sanity, trying to pretend like you were okay.

But that was it. 

You weren’t okay.

And the more you thought about it, the funnier it seemed. You laughed harder, the sound echoing in the cramped space like you were losing your mind—shit maybe you were.

Geo’s eyes filed with confusion, frustration, and something else you couldn’t quite place as he stood there, arms crossed, trying to figure you out. It was clear he was torn—torn between being angry, concerned, or just disgusted. But all he managed to do was scowl harder and cross his arms tighter, his posture so stiff it could have been carved from stone.

“Seriously, this is what you’re doing right now?” he muttered, voice low, but it wasn’t sharp with the usual edge. No, this time, there was no anger in it—just confusion, like he didn’t know what the hell was going on inside your head.

And God, you didn’t even know yourself anymore.

You could barely get the words out between the gasps that hitched in your chest, but you finally managed to gasp, your voice thick and strangled, “I… I’m just… I’m so tired.”

You looked at him—really looked at him. He was still standing there, his arms tightly crossed, his face unreadable but somehow more human than you'd ever let him seem. And the reality of it all crashed down on you with a weight so heavy, that your breath faltered as you kept going, unable to stop yourself.

“I’m a college student, Geo. A fucking genius in madness, might I add,” you continued, your voice shaking now with frustration. “A psych major with a future ahead of me, you know? I’m perceptive as hell—meticulous. I notice everything.” You wave your hands around, trying to get your point across.

“I can catch the tiniest details—like the way someone shifts when they’re lying or how they suddenly change their tone when they’re uncomfortable. Facial expressions, body language, and even the tiniest flickers of thought cross their mind. I’m accurate almost all the time when it comes to reading people, picking up on the shit they try to hide. I can tell when someone’s gaslighting me, or projecting their trauma, or hiding something behind their words."

Your words rushed out now, and the more you spoke, the more frenzied you became. “I can read people! I can catch a lie from a mile away and see through all the bullshit! I—" 

You choked out a bitter laugh. “I’m supposed to be living my life. I’m supposed to be enjoying the hell out of my time, being free at this Halloween party. You know, but instead—” You stopped yourself, cutting off the rest of the words. You wiped your face, eyes fixed on the floor for a moment, before meeting Geo’s gaze with a look so filled with pity that it almost hurt to hold.

Your throat was tight, but the laugh that escaped you was hollow, desperate. “Here I am,” you muttered softly, almost to yourself with a little laugh, “locked in a closet... losing it over a guy.” And then the laugh came again, louder this time—again, hysterical, almost unhinged—as you took in a shaky breath and closed your eyes for a second to try and collect yourself.

When you looked up at Geo, the weight of everything finally hit you. Like you couldn’t stop it. 

It just spilled out, a jagged mess of emotions you couldn’t keep inside any longer.

“God, I’m so tired,” you said again, voice cracking. You wiped at your face, “Tired of my own mind. Tired of trying to make sense of everything. Tired of you, and honestly, tired of me for putting myself in these stupid situations. Tired of this goddamn universe for locking me in a closet at a Halloween party with the last person I ever wanted to be stuck with.”

Your eyes never leave Geo’s face, searching for something in him that would make this make sense. 

But you didn’t find anything. 

Just the same fucking unreadable expression, the same armor he wore so carefully. His eyes were fixed on you, scanning you with a look that was impossible to read. And you hated it—because you wanted him to say something, anything that would take the sting out of everything that had just spilled out of you. 

But again, he didn’t. 

The laugh died in your throat, leaving only an oppressive silence in its wake. And yet, it still felt louder than anything you could’ve said. 

You were still here. He was still here. 

And the universe? 

Well, it was still a cruel joke, one you couldn’t stop laughing at, even though it was suffocating you.

"You know," you started, your voice barely audible at first, the weight of your thoughts pulling at you "I always had this one thought, something that just... randomly pops into my head."

You paused for a moment, swallowing the tightness in your throat, trying to organize the mess of emotions in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if the space beneath you could somehow make sense of all the chaos swirling in your mind.

“I think, if I were to be alone…” You lead off, “…like, for the rest of my life... I’d be okay." The words came out soft, almost like you were saying them to yourself, testing their truth. Your voice trembled slightly, but you pushed through. 

“It’s not ideal, sure. But at least I wouldn’t have to be in something I don’t want. I wouldn’t have to deal with all the shit that comes with friendships, fuck even relationships, or with people who only care because of how I look or what they can get from me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, a hollow sound that felt more like a cry than anything remotely close to humor. You shook your head as if trying to push the weight of your thoughts out of your mind, but they clung to you, suffocating. 

“It’s not that I hate people. It’s not even about self-esteem,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “it’s just... I don’t think anyone will ever truly understand me. Hell, you definitely don’t.”

The words hung in the air like an accusation, and for a moment, the silence between you two felt like a physical thing pressing down on your chest. You had already cracked, the floodgates opened, and now there was no going back. 

No stopping it. You let your eyes drop to the floor, trying to steady your breath, but the words were coming faster than you could control. 

“I mean... I look at people, how they act around me, how they pretend to know me, and I just... I can’t connect with any of it. I can’t understand why everyone keeps talking about falling in love like it’s.. filling, something everyone’s supposed to want. It feels... unreal. And I don’t know if I’ll ever believe in it.”

The words tumbled out of you, and for once, you didn’t try to stop them. For once, there was no filter, no distance between you and the truth of releasing the unwanted thoughts. “It’s hard for me to even believe in love.” You admitted.

“The kind of love everyone talks about—real love, I mean. Not the bullshit kind where someone’s just looking for something from you. Because you and I know that feeling all too well.” 

You sighed, “I know—like I knew the real reason you didn’t want me to go to this Halloween party, why you acted like a damn child over it." You sighed, narrowing your eyes.

"You were worried about Sol, weren’t you?”

You looked at him then, eyes raw with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. For the first time in what felt like forever, the words you spoke seemed to land with him. 

His expression flickered, his plush lips pressing into a thin, tense line. His body stiffened just a little like he didn’t know how to handle the storm you were unleashing.

“You didn’t think I knew, did you?” you continued, your voice breaking just a bit. “You didn’t think I knew that Sol’s been obsessing over me, that he claims he likes me? If it weren’t for Crowe, he would’ve confessed right there on that damn dance floor, and you know what I had to do?”

You let out a bitter laugh, but it felt more like a breath you were holding in for too long. The tears you’d been fighting started to spill, but you didn’t bother wiping them away.

They were the only thing that felt real anymore. 

"I had to reject him. Not just because he's a horrible guy, but because I don't see him like that. It's hard enough being friends with guys who can’t stay friends without suddenly deciding they like you.” You let out a frustrated sigh, shaking your head.

"And then I have to deal with this shit, all because of you,”

You pointed at him then standing up, walking back and forth to track your thoughts better, “Geo. Fucking Subaru Oogami. The rich kid who can’t stand anyone, all he wants to be is fucking alone with his bow and arrow, no friends or anyone.” Your voice cut through the silence, and before Geo could respond, you stopped him cold. 

"Tell me what you’re gonna say now. Go ahead, say it. Tell me again that I’m wrong. You could’ve just told me the truth. You could’ve been honest with me, but instead, you lashed out at me. Made me feel like shit. Called me pathetic. Told me I’m a waste of brain matter.” You shook your head, eyes narrowed. "

You didn’t trust me to handle it. You didn’t even try to make it better. You just... made everything worse by showing up here. Forcing me to look at your pathetic ass face.”

Your chest tightened, a deep ache settling in your heart. The tears streaked down your face, ruining the makeup that had taken so much time to perfect. You didn’t care about the mess you were making anymore. It was all so pointless. 

“And don’t take this personally, but... you're the worst. You know what you’ve done to me, and as much as it hurts, I can’t keep running away from it. I can't keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

You took a shaky breath, your throat constricting as you wiped your face again, but the tears didn’t stop. You didn’t bother to fight them anymore. 

“I don’t understand, Subaru. What do you want from me?” 

Your voice cracked, calling him by his first real name, and you felt the weight of your own emotions pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“Do you know how foreign it is to even think about someone choosing to love me? I can’t... I can’t even wrap my mind around it. If someone loved me... I wouldn’t know what to do with that. It’s so unreal to me. It’s like... it doesn’t even make sense." 

You paused, your chest tight, struggling for breath. “And all of this... all this mess... it makes me wonder if I’m just meant to be alone. If I’m just going to spend the rest of my life alone because I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending to feel something I don’t. I just... I don’t know if it’s even possible for me to feel that.”

You swallowed hard, the knot of frustration and confusion tightening in your throat. Slowly, you spoke again, quieter this time, like you were trying to make sense of everything you couldn’t understand.

“God, I’m so fucking lame. I’m never normal.” You said, mostly to yourself, the words leaving your lips, “I never have been. I guess I have to accept that at this point. I’ve spent my whole life alone... but even still... I still want something real.” 

The tears continued to burn down your cheeks, but you didn’t bother wiping them away this time. 

“No romantic love, no sexual love... just... someone—someone for once that understands me. You know? Like, someone actually gives a damn about me. Not because they want something from me, like my body, or the idea of me. Not because they want to possess me, control me... just because they care.”

Your voice cracked, and faltered, like the very words you spoke were sharp stones tearing you apart. You could feel the tears threatening again, but you pushed them back. 

You couldn’t let him see. You couldn’t be weak.

“At the same time… I don’t feel comfortable being anyone’s significant. I don’t feel comfortable being anyone’s anything. And I know that. I know I’m messed up. I know I don’t fit into whatever you or anyone else thinks I should be. But... I’m so... tired of it all. Tired of pretending. Tired of being who everyone expects me to be. Tired of being seen as something I’m not.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, your chest tightening, suffocating under the weight of your own feelings. The closet felt like it was closing in than it already was, the anxiety smothering you, until there was nothing but the thudding of your heart in your ears. 

Your eyes met his, pain and frustration mirrored in them, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to stand still.

“I should’ve never listened to Crowe,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Everyone said you were a fucking asshole. That you didn’t have time for anyone. That relationship wasn’t worth your time. I should’ve listened. I should’ve kept my distance…”

The words spilled out, jagged and desperate, like you’d been suffocating under them for too long and had no choice but to let them crash. “…I hate this. I hate how everything feels so twisted, how it’s all messed up. I don’t need you. But…” 

You paused, the words caught in your throat, a bitter mix of frustration and confusion rising up. 

“Shit, I care about you so fucking much.” 

You took a sharp breath, trying to steady yourself. 

“And I fucking hate that I do.” You scoffed at yourself, the sound bitter. “I don’t even know why it matters so much. Why does it hurt when I’ve always been so sure I shouldn’t feel like this? I never wanted any of this. It’s ridiculous. I always stick to what makes sense, and what’s practical. I don’t get tangled in this shit. But then... you came out of nowhere, flipped everything upside down, and now…” You signed.

Your chest tightened, your mind spiraling into chaos.

“I’m so lost, confused” you whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t make sense of any of it. What is this... damn feeling?”

It was all-consuming, suffocating, a weight you couldn’t escape.

Your heart hammered, each beat echoing like a drum in your chest, pounding harder with every breath. The pressure in your chest, like something cold and suffocating, grew with it—a belladonna, so beautiful and poisonous, that no one could handle it. 

Your thoughts twisted into each other, darkening with every turn, spiraling deeper, suffocating you. The panic surged, a flood that filled your chest, tightening your lungs and making every breath feel like a struggle. You could feel the pulse hammering in your throat, frantic and uneven. 

Your hands shook so violently, that you pressed them to your chest, trying to steady the feeling, but it only made the poison inside feel stronger, more suffocating.

What was wrong with you?

Why couldn’t you just be… normal?

Everything about you, your body, your voice—everything felt tainted. 

Poisonous. [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝓌𝑜 ]

it’s ‘cause I went over the 1,000 block limit per post—my bad T-T

[softcursechoso]

The Office Affair: Recess

HIGURUMA X FEM READER NSFW

MDNI! // 18+ // NO SPOILERS ARE OFF LIMITS!

Masterlist

Words: 11. 8k+

Contains: Foreplaaaay! Fingering, squirting, oral sex, sucking tits, making out, pillow talk, unprotected sex, creampie, probably a lot more that I'm willingly forgetting. Idk man- this shit is filthy.

Notes: Ya girl thought this story was a one off! I thought I was done with this goddamn story, but here I am to smut another day. I am way more in love with this character than I thought.

I genuinely could only proof-skim this because I get so embarrassed about how nasty my writing is. This one is for my nasty girlies! Enjoyyyyy!

Latexed Vixens Gentleman’s Club : 11:58pm : Back Room

Far from home is where you are. Work. Latexed Vixens’ back dressing room had no trace of comfort, not even a whisper of serenity. It was pure, unapologetic chaos. The fluorescent lighting overhead flickered faintly, humming in that miserable, migraine-inducing way. The walls were painted in peeling black gloss that once probably seemed edgy, but now just looked like a bad idea and smelled faintly of spilled hairspray and sour perfume.

The mirrors were lined with cracked vanity bulbs, a few of them dim or completely burnt out. Lipstick smears. Glitter stuck to everything—the countertops, the floor, the walls, your skin. Old lashes curled up like dead spiders.

And the smell? A cocktail of sweat, setting spray, acrylic glue, warm body oil, and that thick, sweet mist of cheap body glitter. Feminine and feral.

You sat at your usual mirror, counting out a small pile of crumpled bills, each one reeking faintly of whiskey breath and cheap cologne. Singles mostly, a few fives. The edges were soft and damp in places, like they'd been pulled out of a mouth or thigh crease. You didn’t want to think about it too hard.

Around you, the room was a landfill of discarded costumes and half-drunk Red Bulls. Platform heels kicked off under chairs, thigh-high boots leaning against lockers. No one ever cleaned, and if they did, it didn’t last more than a shift.

Still, you weren’t any better. Your pink platform boots were tossed under your chair like trash, and your makeup bag was still unzipped and bleeding glitter across the counter.

You didn’t care. You were tired. You just wanted to go home.

Tonight’s outfit was nothing groundbreaking—a pink sheer bikini top, tight and tiny, the kind of too-small where you had to readjust your tits every time you moved, but not because anyone cared about modesty. The fabric was mesh-thin, lined in rhinestones, each one catching the dirty mirror light and casting a sparkle across your chest. Even rhinestones couldn’t hide the fact that your nipples were plainly visible through the fabric, hard from sweat or the AC or just the way the night rubbed you raw.

Your matching skirt wasn’t much better—same sheer material, same rhinestones, same bad idea. It hugged your hips but left nothing to the imagination. Your pink glitter thong peeked through unapologetically, and when you sat down, the skirt bunched up high enough that you might as well have been wearing nothing.

It wasn’t original, but it worked. Pink. Sparkly. Pretty.

Your hair was up in a high ponytail, tight enough to give you a headache, but it looked good, and your makeup? Doll pink on your cheeks and lips, sharp glossy winged liner, lashes long and curled. You looked like the good girl gone so, so bad.

Cute and ruinable. Innocent and fucked. Sinful. Not even pretending to be anything else.

You had a few minutes left before your shift was over, and even that wasn’t soon enough. 

“How are things going with your case?” Your coworker asked.

She was a tall woman wearing a platinum blonde wig and cherry lipgloss. Her name was Rei, but here at Latex they called her Champagne. Original? No, but you liked her, and she was your best friend here.

You kept your voice soft, “Mmm… I actually can’t talk about that.”

You weren’t being coy. You just had a sixth sense about when to keep your mouth shut, and you weren’t about to air legal drama with the wrong ears in the room.

You glanced up at the wide dressing mirror, lined with hot bulbs and cheap scuff marks, and caught sight of one of the other girls adjusting her top behind you. You tracked her in the reflection without turning your head.

You looked in the mirror and your eyes tracked your other coworker who had been in the room as well. You’d wait for them to leave before you spoke again. 

Finally when you heard the door close you’d turn around to look at your friend, “The Saito’s have another witness.”

“What?!” She whispered loudly as she approached you. She pushed off the vanity and stepped closer, heels clacking faintly against the grimy linoleum.

“Yes! But my lawyer said things are playing out pretty much as he thought they would. He’s got this.” You attempted to hide a smile as you talked about him.

“What the hell is that look? Are you fucking your lawyer again?” She frowned.

“I never stopped.” You sighed, “It’s his fault! I go in there every time like, I’m gonna behave, I’m gonna be professional—and then he finds a way to bend me over his desk.”

Rei laughed, “You trying to behave? I know damn well that ain’t true. Are you at least being safe?”

“No.” You shook your head, “It’s a miracle I’m not pregnant to be honest with you because he does not pull out, and not once have we used a condom. It’s insane. Ughhh, he gets on my nerves, but I do have to wonder where things will go once this is all behind us. The fuck does he see in me anyway?”

She leaned in, softer now. “He believes you. You know how rare that is? Do you know what I’d give for someone to stand by me like that? You’re not just some good lay to him, babe. If he’s risking everything just to be near you… you better start asking what you see in him.”

You couldn’t ponder the question too long as you got a notification on your phone. 

Here.

“Alright girl, I gotta head out. Give em hell out there for me.” You blew a kiss to the woman.

You began to collect your items, and put your thigh high boots back on. Rei was your confidant. Even though it was completely unwise to share case details with anyone, you knew that you could with her. She was your real friend- like outside of work.

You’d walk out with all of your tips stuffed into your purse. It was about $110- relatively slow night, and you got off early or else you could have made more.

As you exited the building you’d say goodbye to your coworkers and the bouncers at the door. You tried as best you could not to get caught up with any clientele. Bad idea.

Parked right in the front was your ride. You rolled your eyes. So bold. Black BMW with that limo tint. No one could see in the car, but you knew who it was.

You didn’t get in right away. You weren’t just gonna slide into the passenger seat like a good little girl, not when he was parked out front like this. No, you made him wait.

Your heels clicked slowly as you rounded the front of the car, one hand dragging across the hood just to be bratty. It was warm from the engine still running. He’d been waiting for you.

You made your way to the driver’s side and stopped. Your knuckles tapped delicately against the darkened glass

Slowly but surely Higuruma’s face appeared before you.

“Gimmie a kiss.” You leaned down into the window and he’d oblige.

“You been drinking pretty girl?” He kissed you again, “I can taste it. Come on, let’s get you home.”

“I was just waiting for you to open my door, Hiromi.” You smiled with a little glint of evil in your eye.

“You said you wanted me to stay in the car when I come to your job, or you know I would.” He grabbed your chin, giving you a deeper kiss, “Would you like me to get the door for you, honey?”

“No!” You pulled away, “This is highly inappropriate! I can’t be seen with you like this!”

His eyes danced between yours, “Are you gonna get in the car sweetheart?”

You didn't answer immediately. Instead you'd just continue to stare at him. “If I asked- no! If I begged you to fuck me in this parking lot, would you do it?”

He continued to glance back until he broke with a slight smirk, “No, I wouldn't.”

“The lies you tell Mr. Higuruma.” You'd kiss him again before getting serious, “Fuck me right now in this parking lot. Pull around to the back- let me bounce on your cock for a little bit.”

He grabbed your chin again to keep you close, “We need to make it quick.”

“You're a bad one Mr. Higuruma.” You grinned so wide it hurt, “How dare you. I'm at work.”

You backed out of the window and ran back to the other side of the car to get in. You were glowing. You were asking for it. You were all his and he knew that.

He wouldn’t take off until you put on your seatbelt, and you kind of loved that he did that. It was so sweet how he cared about your wellbeing. Dumbass.

The man rolled his window back up and looked at your outfit. He liked it, but at the same time he didn’t exactly love that other people saw you in it.

"Are we going to dinner?" You smiled at him with your cute expression. 

"I didn't plan on it. I think you need some sleep." He placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing against your soft skin.

"But I'm hungry." You placed your hand over his, "You're just trying to get me home so you can fuck me again." 

"Do I want to have sex with you? Yes. We don't have to though. That's not what this is all about." He looked at you with his serious eyes.

"But what if I do wanna have sex with you?" You squeezed his hand a bit.

"Then we can do that." Finally the man put the car in drive and began to take off. "My point is that's not why I'm with you. That's not the only thing about you that I enjoy."

You just knew you were on the verge of blushing if you weren't already. "Fine, since you wanna be so honest tonight—what do you like about me?"

He’d not hesitate.“You're probably the only person who makes me laugh. I like that little attitude you have, even when it's not working in my favor. I like how strong willed you are. I like how you bring out the best in me, and I can just be myself around you. I like how you don't care about anyone else's opinion… except mine, of course.”

“Whoa sir!” You laughed, “Don't you sneak that shit in there! This is about me. Take it back.”

His eyes broke from the road for a split second, “Okay, but we both know it's not true. I take it back. You don't bring out the best in me.”

“No! I'm gonna bite you!” You gave a little frown.

“You're gonna bite me? In your cute little outfit with your nipples out?” He rubbed your thigh for a second before reaching over and giving your breast a light squeeze.

“I will fuck you while you drive.” You reached over and grabbed his face. “Don't test me.”

“That’s not a threat, honey.” He shook his head.

“You’re so nasty!” You leaned over. “I know you want that, but I’m gonna make you wine and dine me first. You can’t just have me, Mr. Higuruma.”

“You wanna be wined and dined, hm? I can do that.” His hand removed from your thigh once again and reached in the back seat.

When his hand returned, it carried a large black box, tied with a velvet red ribbon. The kind of box that looked expensive before you even opened it. He handed it to you with much care before returning his hand to your leg.

This son of a bitch was always thinking so many steps ahead wasn’t he? That’s what you liked about him. He let you think you were in control, let you strut around like you were first to cross the finish line, but Hiromi Higuruma didn’t race to win. He trailed behind just close enough to watch how you moved—so when he finally decided to run, he’d be lapping you before you even knew he’d started.

Your eyes remained on him as you held the box, and his remained on the road. Smug bastard. You finally looked at the box as you opened it and unwrapped the tissue paper. 

A black dress. Form fitting long sleeve dress with a sweetheart neckline and a split that ran all the way up the thigh. It was gorgeous, and it was expensive, like something that never came off the rack. You didn’t know what to say.

“Hiro.” Your voice lightened significantly.

“I know- you probably need some shoes huh?” He reached back again only to grab another box of exactly that.

“Hiro!” You yelled at the man. “Stop!” You tore through the box to find a pair of black Louboutin pumps. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You couldn’t even hide your smile.

“You said you were hungry.” The man shrugged slightly.

“I can’t believe you!” You leaned over once again and showered the man’s cheek with kisses. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Where are we going?!”

“Do you wanna go to that one place you’ve been talking about? That French place?”

“Le Cygne Noir?! You have a reservation?!” Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head at this point. “I don’t know what to do with you Hiromi! You’re getting the best head, and the best pussy tonight! I’ll let you do it all. Whatever you want. Name it.” You paused for a moment. “I can’t go into Le Cygne Noir with this makeup on! I literally look like a stripper. With or without this beautiful fucking dress on! Holy shit!”

The man beside you frowned, “You’re beautiful. Look at me.” His eyes briefly broke from the road again to look at you, “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Whether you wanna wear the outfit you’re in now or what I purchased for you- I will be right beside you. You know that, right?”

You didn’t know how to reply. He really did like you, didn’t he? Beyond just the physical, he found something within you during your time together that made him want something real with you. Real enough to risk a pregnancy, anyway. 

“Thank you.” You paused for a moment, “Would it be trashy if I got dressed in this car right now?”

“No.” He replied simply.

“Yes it is! You literally can’t hide that smile. I can’t believe you! You want me to get undressed in your car! I’m gonna do it, but your freak is not lost on me.”

Your hands reached for the string around your neck and pulled it- letting your top fall. You’d then pull the one around your back and tossed the top into his lap. 

He placed a hand on the back of your neck for a moment as he pulled up to a red light. He'd lean in to kiss your lips briefly. He then lowered a bit, giving your neck kisses and trailing down to your right breast. His mouth wrapped around your nipple and your hand instantly placed on the back of his head to bring him closer.

A deep moan escaped you as you felt his tongue circle around your nipple. His teeth tugged at your sensitive skin- pulling away with a suck as he saw the green light reflecting on your skin. An indication that it was time to drive again.

“We can't get in a little quickie?” You looked at him with the sweetest puppy eyes.

“We can do whatever you want.” His hand that was previously on your neck lowered so he could knead your breast in his hand. “But if we do, we'll miss the reservation.”

You gasped, “Holy shit, Hiromi Higuruma! You are so not slick at all!”

“What did I do?” He asked in a neutral tone.

“You want me horny at dinner.” You accused. “That’s what this is. You’re gonna sit across from me all calm and composed while I’m soaking through this designer dress under the fucking table.”

“You make it sound so intentional” He spoke quite innocently for a man who started this.

“It is intentional! You want me nice and wet so by the time dinner’s over, I’ll fuck you real good!”

“You always fuck me good.” He'd not confirm any of the words you spoke, knowing they were true. “Now get dressed sweetheart. We're almost there.”

You pulled the dress over your head, “Yeah, mhm. Let's have a nice dinner.”

As you pulled the dress down, you'd take off your skirt and thong until they were at your feet. No, you didn't need to remove your thong, but you needed to play just as dirty as him.

“Let me get this straight.” You spoke as you now began to put the heels on. “You clearly had this whole night planned, but were you counting on things not going according to plan? You almost fucked me at my job! Also, you said we were going home. What if I never said I was hungry? You were gonna risk the reservation?”

He shrugged, “I know you well enough. I know when you’re teasing me, and I know when you’re hungry.”

Your arms crossed over your chest as you listened to his words. He was unfortunately right. He knew you very well. Much better than you’d like to admit, anyway. Well damn, you’d have to show him tonight! He was a horny man in general, but it was so much worse when he was a little tipsy.

Unfortunately you were a horny drunk too, and you started before him. You’d have to get him a little drunk and tease the shit out of him since he thought he was so intelligent! 

As the man pulled up to the venue, he'd find a place to park. He could valet, sure, but he wanted as little interaction while on a date with his client as possible. It was slightly crowded, but nothing too crazy. It was a weekday after all, so people weren't out like that.

Your eyes looked up at the building that was a short walk away. Dinner on the top floor? Ugh, you wanted to give him head so bad!

Higuruma exited the car and walked over to your side to open the door for you. He'd offer you his hand to help you out, and you'd take it.

His eyes were glued to you. From the high slit of the black dress running daringly up your thigh, to the way your Louboutin heels sharpened your stance, to the sweetheart neckline that cupped your breasts like a lover’s hands. Every inch of your silhouette was wrapped in his gift, and he stood there just drinking it in.

You looked at him as well and he was not in his normal suit. No, this was a much nicer black on black suit that was clearly tailored just for him. The satin lapels were a nice touch.

“You look so beautiful baby.” His hands grabbed your face and he'd press his lips to yours.

Your hands grabbed his wrists as you deepened the kiss. His tongue briefly colliding with your own. You'd pull away only to look at him with your sultry bedroom eyes.

“Behave, Hiro. I know you only call me baby when you're horny.” You'd pout, “We gotta be good.” 

“Alright.” He'd give you one last peck before offering you his arm. 

Together, you stepped through the golden entrance of the hotel. The lobby unfolded around you like a scene out of a dream. Polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of chandelier light above, casting halos around your feet. 

Gold inlays and delicate moldings curled up the white columns like art nouveau vines. Fresh white orchids spilled from vases taller than your torso, their scent soft but distinct in the warm air. Even the air conditioning smelled expensive.

It was silent, but not still. You could hear soft jazz playing somewhere overhead. The receptionist smiled like she was trained in luxury. Even the walls were tastefully textured, nothing flat, nothing basic. This wasn’t just a hotel. It was a temple—and in this temple, Higuruma walked beside you like he belonged.

You, though—you felt like you were being watched. Even if no one looked. Because with him on your arm and a dress like this on your body, how could they not?

Still, you weren’t here for the hotel. You had a destination. The two of you approached the elevator, and the second the doors slid open with that soft chime, you stepped inside—alone together once more.

Once the door closed, Higuruma pulled you close to him with his hands around your waist. You looked up at him and with that soft look he found impossible to resist. 

“Look how pretty you are.” He smiled softly at you.

“Oh you like me?” You teased.

“I do.” His hands rubbed your sides before running them down your backside to your ass. “Are you wearing panties?”

“You're so cute.” You smiled.

“You aren't, are you?” His hands gripped your plush ass. “My naughty girl.”

“I might have them o-”

Before you could finish you felt his hand smack your ass. You loved when he got worked up. He was already so horny for you. You just needed to rile him up a bit more.

“I knew you were gonna test me tonight.” He spoke in a low, husky tone.

“I said be good!” You pulled his neck down lower. “No more touching until after dinner, okay?” You gave him a devious smile. “I'm still hungry, and you said dick isn't a meal.”

“I didn't say that.”

The elevators opened just as you backed away. Ah, so this was the 36th floor the elite had been talking about.

The host station greeted you first—gold leaf accents on polished black, with ambient light catching crystal stemware stacked behind glass cases.

Beyond the entrance, the city spilled out in every direction—the Tokyo skyline glittering under the night sky, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows. Tables were spaced apart deliberately, giving each guest a sense of privacy. Candles flickered. 

Soft French jazz played from a live band near the bar, the scent of aged wine and truffle butter filling the air. 

“Welcome to Le Cygne Noir.” The hostess spoke. “How can I assist you this evening?”

“We have a reservation under Higuruma.” He spoke as he adjusted his tie.

“Certainly, Mr. and Mrs. Higuruma, follow me please.” 

Hearing that made your heart flutter so much that you wouldn't even correct her. 

“After you Mrs. Higuruma.” Hiromi gestured for you to walk in front of him.

It was so nice here. Beautiful mood lighting with a city view. The tables were spaced out quite generously- gave you ideas.

The hostess led you both to a table tucked near the edge of the room, flanked by the wide glass windows offering a full, glittering view of the city. The space was intimate but not small—a square table for four, draped in white linen, flickering with the glow of a tea candle, and polished silver that looked untouched by human hands.

Hiromi, ever the gentleman, pulled out your chair first, not just anywhere—but positioned perfectly so you could face the city. 

There was a seat next to yours, but he didn’t touch it. Instead, he circled to the other side of the table and took the one directly across from you.

“Please have a look at our menu. Your server will be right with you to get your drink orders.” The host smiled before walking away.

“Thank you.” You waited for the host to leave before your eyes went back to Hiromi, whose eyes never left you to begin with. “You're going to sit across from me?”

“You said we're being good. If I sit next to you I'm putting my hands on you.” There was almost a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Plus I want to look at you.”

“Um, I didn't say we.” You protested.

“You definitely did, sweetheart.” He picked up the menu and began to look it over.

“Prove it.” You slipped delicately out of your shoe and began to rub your foot against his thigh.

His eyes shot up at you—but your gaze? Still politely skimming the menu like nothing was happening. Like you weren’t slowly dragging your foot higher and higher up his leg.

Your foot moved further until it was on his cock. Thank God for the tablecloth hiding everything. He was so hard. Probably hurt. Oh well.

A young man with a clean side part and black tux approached the table. “Good evening. My name is Kazuya. I will be your server tonight. Can I start you guys off with some drinks?”

“Hi Kazuya.” You smiled. “Let's see. I will have a glass of Pinot Grigio.”

“That's one of my favorites.” Kazuya smiled. 

You laughed lightly, your foot rubbing up and down the length of Hiromi’s cock. “Well aren’t we just kindred spirits?”

Your tone was casual. Breezy. Even as your toe traced the curve of your man’s erection through his slacks.

“It’s my go-to. So good.” You added, voice still innocent.

“Same here.” Kazuya replied, placing a hand lightly on your shoulder. ���Pairs really well with the risotto too.”

That hand… Higuruma’s eyes darkened. He wasn’t happy.

“In that case—” His voice calm and clipped, “We’ll have the bottle.” Higuruma glanced sharply at the server’s hand before they reached his eyes. “I'll have whiskey on the rocks for now.” 

“Great, I will be right back.” Kazuya nodded and walked to the kitchen. 

“You’re gonna be like that tonight?” The man across from you looked at you with intense eyes. He was referring to the work you were giving him under this table.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be like that tonight.” Your foot slid up and down his length. “What are you gonna do Mr. Higuruma?” Your hand traced down your chest until your fingers hooked onto your dress.

You’d pull the fabric down just enough to flash him your nipple really quick. He’d been staring at the outline of your tits through that dress the whole time anyway. You just made his life a little easier.

You drove him crazy. He was a true professional that was a major freak in the sheets. You matched that freak, and he loved that about you. It wasn’t just the sex though. You were actually very intelligent and easy to talk to.

“I’m gonna sit next to you.” His hand grabbed your foot under the table.

“No.” You licked your lips. “You’re gonna sit right there and be good. You chose to sit across from me. I will take care of you after dinner.”

You moved your foot back to his thigh and you couldn't help but notice how muscular they were. So firm, and it seemed bigger than when you first met him. 

“You've been working out Hiro?” You asked casually as you looked back at the menu. “You've been filling out all of your shirts quite nicely, and the pants too. Your thighs have been looking juicy. I wanna bite them.”

“Thank you, baby. I have to build more muscle so I can perfect fucking you how you like. You've been liking a lot of positions where I lift you up lately.”

Of course he would take mental notes about that. Just like he did with the red lollipops. Hiromi was a man who liked to show, not tell. He liked to do things that made your life better even if you didn't directly notice.

“That's why you've been working out? For the record- I love the way you fuck me in every position.” Your foot traveled up again, and you'd pause. “Hiromi Higuruma… you pulled your dick out? You're so sexy. I can't wait to give you head. I wanna suck you off so bad right now.”

That tablecloth was really doing its damn job tonight. Earning its keep!

He grabbed your foot and rubbed it against his uncovered cock. “You said you'll take care of me after dinner. I trust you.”

“Why are you pretending to be patient?” You licked your lips, “I know when that whiskey hits you'll be begging me for it.”

This was madness. The way both of you kept switching from being the rational one to the horny one. This was pure chaos.

You'd retract your foot before you really got something started. You didn't wanna waste his cum like that.

It didn’t take long before Kazuya returned with the drinks.

You just knew—this was where things would start unraveling. Two horny people. A five-star restaurant. A few sips of alcohol. This was bad.

He approached the table with practiced elegance, the kind of posture you only saw in polished hotels and overpriced tasting menus. With a crisp flick of the wrist, he uncorked the Pinot Grigio with the grace of a man who thought he had your full attention.

You watched the golden liquid flow into the delicate crystal, glistening as it caught the candlelight. It looked so good. Cold. Smooth. Like sex in a bottle. You couldn’t wait to taste it.

“Do you know what you’d like to eat?” Kazuya’s eyes stayed fixed on you first—too long, maybe.

You smiled. “I’ll go with your suggestion of the risotto.” Your voice was honeyed, light.

Kazuya’s hand moved to your back—just a brief touch, a soft press of his palm, like it was nothing. “Perhaps we really are kindred spirits, hmm?” He spoke with a casual laugh.

“Mrs. Higuruma is gorgeous, huh?” Hiromi gave a fictitious grin toward the server, “So beautiful, but I guarantee she’s not worth the sexual harassment lawsuit. You can remove your hand. I’ll have the steak, medium rare with potatoes and asparagus. Thank you.”

“M-my apologies!” The man bowed before taking your menus. “I will put your order in right now.”

Your mouth hung ajar as you looked at the man across from you, “Are you serious Hiro? There’s no way he made you jealous.”

“I wasn’t rude. I just told him that he doesn’t want that lawsuit. He doesn’t. I didn’t get physical with him.” The man placed his hands back under his chin as he spoke.

“Getting physical is not an option Hiro. We know you can beat everyone’s ass in here. I’m just saying he wasn’t-... I’m not gonna explain myself.” You looked away from him and you could feel your cheeks getting warm, “That was crazy, baby.”

“Did that just make you horny?” He followed your gaze with the faintest smirk on his face.

“Getting whiskey with a steak is so tacky, but look at this wine bottle! The epitome of class!” You immediately changed the subject, “Thank you Hiro.” You poked out your bottom lip just a tiny bit, “You did so much for me tonight. Let me pay for something. You wanna get a hotel?”

He'd take a sip of his drink, “I do, actually.’

“You're really gonna let me pay?” Your eyes lit up. 

“I was thinking we could go on vacation.”

“Oh you want me to spend big money! I can't leave the country though.” You shrugged, “Ya know. Kinda tied up in some legal shit.”

“I took that into consideration. I was thinking about Sapporo. You think you can take next week off?”

“Sapporo?!” You thought about it, “That is so last minute, but I think I can do it. I'm gonna have to give so many private dances this week to earn some vacation money.” You laughed.

“I’m gonna let that comment slide only because I know you think of me whenever you do it.” He’d take a sip of his drink before reaching across the table and taking your hand into his. His thumb brushing your knuckles gently. “I’ll let you spend your own money in the next life, sweetheart.”

You intertwined your fingers with his- your eyes fixed on how much larger his hand is, “You saying we’ll be together in the next life?”

“Yeah, just like we were in the last.”

“Stop saying sweet shit to me!” You whispered loudly as you pulled you hand away, “You’re out here calling me Mrs. Higuruma, but I don’t recall you ever asking me to even be your girlfriend- let alone your wife.”

“We know who we belong to.” His hand reached across the table now- thumb lightly teasing your already erect nipple. 

“That whiskey is starting to hit you. Belong?” You questioned as you quickly looked behind you to make sure no one was coming. You'd pull your neckline down and reveal your breasts to him.  “Didn’t know I was a possession.”

“Honey, what does the server look like?” He leaned in a hair to hear your answer- his hand roaming all over your chest, rubbing and pinching your nipples occasionally. “What does anyone in this restaurant besides me look like?” 

“I won’t be trapped right now.” You'd move his hand away from you and pull your top back up, “Just because your eyes have been stuck on my tits all night doesn’t mean that mine have been stuck on you.”

“I know your body so well. I knew that dress would fit you perfectly.” He’d reach out to grab your hand and bring it toward his lips so he could gently kiss your knuckles. “You look so sexy, and I can’t wait to perform the most sinful acts to your body later, but I also care about you deeply. Are you really gonna sit here and tell me you don’t feel the same?”

It was getting harder and harder to look at him. He knew what he was doing. He was provoking an honest confession out of you. You did not want him to feel undesired by you, so fine! You’d budge just this once.

“Hiromi, don’t you ever question how I feel about you. When this whole process started, you were the only one who believed in my innocence, and not just because you are my attorney. I had four witnesses against me when this started. My family begged me to take the plea even though I am completely innocent… but you told me that good always triumphs, and you single handedly put my worries to rest. We’re at eight witnesses now and we don’t know how much money the Saito’s will pay for that number to go up, but you still haven’t bat an eye. You have been the only reason I’ve been able to get any sleep these past five months. I am so grateful for you. I care about you a lot. You’re very handsome. You dick me down so good every night. I can’t wait for this dinner to be over so I can bounce on your cock already, but more importantly I can’t wait for this case to be over so I can just be with you.” You crossed your arms, “Happy?”

“...I am in love with you.” He smiled so genuinely as he looked at you. Yes, a man in love. 

“I know you are.” You reached across the table to grab his face. “But I need you to stop being bad. If I go to trial pregnant with no baby daddy the jury is going to prejudge me. I’ll have enough of them judging me for my profession. I don’t need to give them any more of a reason.”

“They don’t know you like I do. They don’t know the real you, but we’ll show them.” He’d give your hand another kiss. “Just not too much of the real you. I want that for me.”

“I’m so fucking horny right now. “ You bit your bottom lip.

“Yeah?” Higuruma smirked, swirling his drink.

“You’re supposed to be solving all of my problems Mr. Higuruma, not creating them.” You began to rub your thighs together out of habit. “This is torture.”

“Alright, I have risotto for the lady, and Steak for the gentleman.” Your server spoke, only it wasn't Kazuya this time. It was a petite brunette girl in a black dress.

“My name is Fumiko if you have any questions.”

“Thank you so much Fumiko. What happened to Kazuya?” You asked, your head cocking slightly to the side from curiosity.

“He switched sections, but don't worry, I will take care of you guys.” 

“Can I get another whiskey please?” Higuruma spoke up.

“Right away!” The new peppy girl walked off now.

“What were you just saying?” The raven haired man didn't miss a beat as he picked up his silverware and looked at you.

You ignored the bait, eyes already locked on the risotto in front of you like it was a long-lost lover. It looked gorgeous—creamy, glistening, dotted with wild mushrooms and shaved truffle.

The moment your fork sank into it, you let out a moan—not obscene, but enough to earn Hiromi’s full attention.

“Mmm. This is so delicious. The mushrooms are insanely good. If I get sentenced to death, this’ll be my last meal.”

“You’re not facing death.” Higuruma frowned. “And don’t act like you didn’t hear my question.”

“You know exactly what I said Mr. Higuruma.”

“I just wanted to hear you say it again.” He’d admit. 

“Just for that I’m gonna drag this out. I want dessert after this.” Your eyes looked sharply into his, “And I want you to sit next to me when it arrives. You know- so you can help me eat it.”

“You know I can't deny such an invitation. Especially when you're so insistent.” 

Order you did. Time was blurring. 

You were so excited for creme brulee! Didn’t take too long for them to make it either. When the crème brûlée arrived, golden and warm with a perfectly glassy sugar shell, your eyes lit up—Hiromi just stared.

He didn’t even pretend not to be obsessed with the way you looked when you were happy.

He loved that you were this easy to please. Damn you were really his one and only. 

He'd continue to eat his food. “Are you cold, baby?”

You frowned as you looked at him. “Why would you think that? Is it because of my nipples being hard? You just want me to tell you how horny I am every damn step of the way? Let me show you something. Come sit next to me. Now.”

It all culminated into this. Five whiskey’s down for him. Four glasses of wine for you. The judgment was a little off. All you could feel now is just- horny?

The man stood up from his side of the table and you frowned. “I can literally see your boner sir. You didn't… ugh, come over here quickly.” 

He walked over to your side normally enough, but you knew he was just as intoxicated as you.

“Okay, look. You have it going off to the side when it needs to be under your belt.” Your fingers traced his manhood as you spoke on it. “There's a lot to hide, but you can do it. You need to do a better job when we leave. Now sit down.”

You were trying to be so mathematical with your touches, but to him, he just felt you rubbing his cock. If you wanted him to straighten up well, that didn't help. Sober you would know better than to rile him up like that. 

The man took a seat next to you and immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He just wanted to be in your intimate space. He was needy, and said needs were not being met right now.

“What did you wanna show me baby?” He leaned in to give you a kiss right by your ear. All discretion was out the window as his tongue traced the shell. “Hurry up and eat that dessert so I can put my face between your legs, pretty girl. I wanna leave marks all over your thighs. Suck that pretty pussy.” He’d lean down and give your neck a brief kiss, “Then fuck you deep into my bed. Have you soak my sheets thoroughly from making you cum again, and again.”

You turned to look at him with a little bit of confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry if I let you believe you’d be dictating how this goes.” You grabbed his tie and pulled him toward you just a bit as if the two of you weren’t already close enough. “I am not going to hurry with this dessert. Your head will be up nice and high like the king you are as my tongue licks every inch of your delicious cock that’s been ever so patient for me this evening. I will be leaving very incriminating evidence of my presence all over your body, and you will moan for me nice loud like a good boy as I ride your cock and milk you for every last drop of cum. Have I made myself clear?”

Was it possible for his pupils to get any more blown out? No they could not. You quite frequently submitted to his will in bed. A leader in the streets, pillow princess in the sheets perhaps? There were rare times where you had to boss up on the boss. It was impossible to tell what he liked better, but the moments you were like this were rare, so he appreciated it a lot.

His lustful eyes looked so intensely into yours as he spoke in a gritty tone. “Hurry up and finish that damn creme brulee before I fuck you right here on the table.”

Oh he was tipsy for sure. He never spoke to you like that. Right now was different… and it was kinda sexy.

“Help me finish it then, Hiromi.” You kept your eyes on him for quite a bit of time before looking back at your dessert.

You’d pick up your spoon and crack the top layer shell. Scooping up a bite you’d bring it up to your mouth and eat the yummy dessert. It was so good and creamy.

You made sure to look at the man as you licked your spoon clean. “It's so good, Hiromi. I don't wanna rush.”

It was absolute agony watching you eat that dessert. Watching your tongue run against that spoon over and over. Even being tipsy you were proud that he showed so much restraint. You wouldn’t.

Your free hand reached over to his lap and placed right onto his hard cock. There was no point in pretending like that’s not what you wanted. He was so happy to have given his card to Fumiko right after you ordered dessert, because as soon as you were done eating he wanted to leave.

“You’re so bad, you know that?” The man growled into your ear. “I better apologize to that pretty pussy now. I’m not taking it easy on her tonight.”

You’d bat your eyes at him, “Go easy on me Hiro. I’m supposed to be your princess.”

“You don't want that. I know what you're doing.” His hand gently caressed your face as he brought you closer to him. “I'm giving you two minutes to finish.”

Your finger dipped into the creme brulee and brought it to his lips. “If you're so pressed then help me finish. I told you to help me.”

His mouth opened and he'd take your finger into his mouth. Sucking and running his tongue against it. Slowly he'd pull away and your finger was left clean and coated in his saliva.

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw now and bringing you forward. He’d press his lips against yours. Rough. Deep. Possessive. “You have sixty seconds.”

“Fuck, Hiro.” You sighed.

You’d take your time, like really take your time. Spoon dragging lazily through the creme brulee. Making sure he saw your tongue run against the spoon. Why were you torturing him again? 

His patience was down to its last strand. His fingers tapped slow, controlled by the rhythm against his thigh. His jaw flexing every time you licked that stupid ass utensil.

He kept watching… waiting…

Finally you set the spoon down, exhaling softly. “I’m full.”

He stood up immediately. No words. He simply adjusted his suit jacket, rolling his neck slightly. “Walk in front of me.”

“Why?” You teased.

“You know why.” He placed his hands on his hips and adjusted you to an acceptable angle.

The restaurant staff bid you both a polite farewell as you waved goodbye to them.

“Have a wonderful evening, Mr. and Mrs. Higuruma!”

You swore you heard him exhale rough at that. That staff really pulled on his heart strings.

The moment the two of you stepped back on the elevator, Higuruma snapped. He didn’t even wait for the fucking doors to close all the way.

Your back hit the cool wall behind you, Higuruma’s body pressing up against yours. This was a strong man, and you sometimes forgot that poking the bear would get you in this exact position. 

His hand immediately slid under the slit of your dress. Fingers slipping between your slick folds.

“Fuck.” His he exhaled.

His fingers dragged through your wetness, spreading it, teasing you so damn slow. His forehead dropped to your shoulder.

“You’ve been wet all night for me haven’t you baby?” His voice was deep, hoarse.

You moaned softly as his fingers circled your clit, slow and controlled. “Tell me how bad you need me.”

Your hips bucked against him. Your hand reaching for the back of his head, gripping his hair. “You know how much I need you.”

His lips peppered against your shoulder and began to move up your neck. You could feel his fingers slip inside of you. 

“Hiromi! Fuck!” You moaned.

He'd continue pumping his fingers as he dropped to one knee. His hand moved the fabric of your dress aside as he latched onto your clitoris with accuracy.

“Mmm! Yes Hiro! I love how that mouth feels on me. Keep going baby.”

He would heed your words, lifting one of your legs so that your new Louboutin heel pressed onto his shoulder. It gave him a lot more leverage, but even still, you weren’t sure that this elevator ride would be long enough for him to make you cum.

“Don't doubt me baby.” His sharp eyes looked into yours as his fingers curled inside of you.

It was like he read your mind and challenged your thoughts. Like he took it personally. You were ten floors away from the lobby now, and he was going to make you cum before you hit the ground.

“Shit!” Your hand grabbed his hair tightly.

You could feel it. Shame on you to ever doubt a man who knew your body so well. He was just really good at this. Good at unraveling you.

You gasped—surprised that he could ever do it. Again, this was the man who knew your body better than you did.

Your walls constricted, and you could feel that rush. It was euphoric every single time, and how he knew the exact amount of pressure to keep applying so that you could ride out this orgasm as long as you could—he was perfect.

Ding!

The elevator reached the ground floor, and Higuruma pulled away. His fingers withdrew and went straight to his mouth as he sucked every last bit of your arousal off of them.

You lowered your leg, and released his hair.

Both of you fixed yourselves as the doors slid open. It was as if nothing ever happened.

The two of you headed straight for his car. Neither of you were in any state to drive… not that you wanted to, and not that you were going to.

Seemed like you got there with haste. Probably because the two of you couldn’t get to the damn car fast enough. 

You’d not go to the passenger’s side, no. You’d go to the driver’s side, opening the door.

“After you.” You smiled sweetly.

His hand brushed yours as he stepped past you, leaning in to kiss you slow and deep before he sat down. 

“Take it out.” You looked down at him.

He didn’t hesitate. His hands went straight to his belt, his zipper, and then, his cock was freed.

There it was, that pretty cock you loved so much. Thick, flushed, veiny, and just throbbing for your touch. Goodness your mouth was watering.

You looked around once, quickly. Just to make sure no one was around. Then you leaned down.

The moment your mouth wrapped around him, Higuruma groaned low and rough.

“Fuck baby.” His hand was quick to grab your hair.

You took him deep, slow- like torturously slow. Letting the tip hit the back of your throat as you swallowed him. 

He’d gather more of your hair to move it out of the way. 

You pulled back, kissing along his length, dragging your tongue against his tip before taking him deep again. Higuruma’s head tilted back against the seat, breath heavy, thighs tensing beneath your hands.

“Yes baby. You’re doing so good. Keep going.”

You pulled off of him, breathless, grinning as your lips still pressed against his skin. You then reached into his pants, pulling his balls free and cupping them gently before taking them in your mouth.

His body tensed, and a low moan rumbled in his chest. His hand tightened in your hair, and his cock throbbed as you sucked him so perfectly- teasing him with your tongue. 

You went back up—circling his tip before sucking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. 

It was so sudden, but Higuruma pulled his cock from your mouth. You barely had time to react before he kissed you messy and rough. 

His voice gravely and full of need, “I need to be inside you baby.”

You grinned against his lips, “Yes, sir.” 

He stroked himself as he watched you adjust your dress, raising it so that you could get in position to straddle him. You reached down, guiding his cock to your entrance. Then slowly, you sank down all the way to the hilt.

You both shared a broken and shaky moan. His hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging in. One of your legs was between him and the armrest- the other outside of the car attempting to stabilize.

The moment you sank down on him, the moment he stretched you open, filled you completely, you didn’t give him a second to adjust. You rode him immediately. Fast, hard and relentless.

“You feel so fucking good baby.” He moaned out.

Your nails scratched down his chest, breath stuttering, “I know.”

Higuruma threw his head back, groaning loud, voice grizzly, like his moans were coming from the depths of him.

His hands gripped your waist, trying to steady you, trying to pace you—but you weren’t having it. “Don’t help me.” You panted, “I got this.”

“Fuck!” He tried to keep his voice lower, but he just couldn’t. “Feels so fucking good…”

He could barely get the words out. You felt too good, too tight, too perfect around him. His hips jerked up involuntarily, his breath coming out in sharp, uneven pants.

“Oh shit—” He exhaled harshly.

You bounced faster, harder, your hands pressing against his chest for leverage. He was so deep, so thick, stretching you in a way that made you shudder with every movement.

His moans only got louder, filthier. “Yes. Bounce on me just like that baby. I love that sound- fuck. So wet for me like a good girl. Keep going.”

He was being quite vocal right now. Yeah, you liked that. Even if your words didn’t match, the way your pussy squeezed him tightly told him everything he needed to know.

His fingers dug into your thighs, his head tilting forward just enough to watch as your clothed breasts bounced with every movement, teasing him, taunting him.

Higuruma didn’t hesitate. He pulled your dress down, freeing you completely. “Look at you—fuck—you look so fucking sexy.”

His eyes were wild, hungry, completely ruined as he watched you take him so well. He was so lost in it, so lost in you. In love with you.

For a good while you kept it up. Riding him at that same relentless pace, gripping his shoulders, rocking your hips down in a way that made his cock throb inside you- but then you started getting tired.

Your movements didn’t slow down much, barely noticeable, but he knew. Of course, he knew.

Higuruma didn’t even mention it. He just wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight. Just like with everything else you needed help with in your life- he took over.

His hips snapped up, fast, brutal, punishing. “Oh fuck Hiro-”

You collapsed forward, moaning into his neck, gripping onto him as he fucked into you harder. It was overwhelming the way he angled his hips perfectly. The way he hit your g-spot over and over, like he knew exactly how to win over your body. It wasn’t a guess though. He knew. He always knew.

“You like that?” His voice was rough, commanding. “You like my cock fucking you like that?”

You could barely think, barely breathe. 

He thrust up harder, faster. “Tell me. Say it.”

“Mmm! Yes, I love it. I love it! I love your cock so much Hiro—”

His mouth latched onto your breast, sucking your nipple, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak and occasionally stimulating you with his teeth.

You gasped, arching against him, completely at his mercy. His lips trailed everywhere—your chest, your collarbone, your throat. 

Your walls tightened around him, and he groaned. “That’s it, baby.”

It always took practically nothing for him to get you to cum on his cock. Nothing at all. Just a few strokes and he had your entire body shaking-  trembling against him and screaming his name.

“Hiromi—”

He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, his hand slipping between your bodies, rubbing your clit in tight, precise circles. You never had a chance to recover. It was too much, too stimulating, too good.

Your body locked up again, legs trembling, hands clutching onto him for dear life. A sharp gasp left your lips—then a deep moan. Your entire body went weak as your second orgasm hit you hard and fast. What a high.

A rush of wetness spilled between your thighs, soaking his lap. Higuruma’s head tilted down, watching, breath ragged.

“There it is.” His voice was deep, almost reverent.

He gripped your chin, pulling you up to kiss him, slow and deep. You were still trembling.

“I’m gonna cum, baby.”  His voice was breaking, his body shaking beneath you. “Gonna cum inside you.”

His hips snapped up one last time, burying himself deep, and then—he stilled.

You felt it. The warm rush of his release filling you, spilling deep, pulsing inside you in waves.

His lips found yours again, softer this time. He held you there, panting against your lips, savoring the aftershocks, the warmth, the way you still felt so tight and perfect around him.

He sighed, pulling you against his chest, letting you rest against him. His fingers traced lazy circles against your back, his lips pressing against your temple.

You stayed there for a moment, content before you spoke softly—“You okay to drive?”

Higuruma’s hand slid up your back, his fingers splaying gently across your spine.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

You tilted your head, studying him.

“You sure?”

That’s when his expression shifted. His usual teasing smirk was gone, replaced by something serious, steady, unwavering.

His fingers cupped your jaw, tilting your face to look at him. “Honey, I would never play with your safety.”

Your stomach flipped. His voice was so firm, so sincere. He leaned in, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to your lips.

Then, his tone lightened just slightly. “Wanna come to my place?”

“Yes.”

You’d been to his house before, of course, but it never stopped being exciting when he invited you.

Still, you pouted slightly, shifting in his lap. “I don’t wanna get off.”

Higuruma chuckled, his hands smoothing over your waist. “You have to, sweetheart. Unless you wanna go another round right here.”

Your pout deepened. “Promise you’ll fuck me when we get home?”

Instead of immediately agreeing, he exhaled through his nose. “No.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m not gonna keep calling it fucking. I’m going to make love to you.”

You rolled your eyes immediately, groaning. “Wow, Hiro.”

He just watched you. Completely serious.

“I don’t go to the gym and work around the clock on your case after hours because you’re a good fuck.” He lifted a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you. I’m in love with you. You know that.”

You hated how those words hit you straight in the chest, sharp and warm and overwhelming. Maybe you were scared to hear it because you felt undeserving of it?

“Stop.”

“No.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “I love you. I’m not afraid to say it.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“You can take all the time you need if you’re not ready to say it back. But I’m not scared to tell you that I fell in love with you.”

Your chest ached. You hated this. You hated how earnest he was, how every word was coated in absolute certainty. You could handle his teasing. His smirks. His smartass remarks. But this? You didn’t know what to do with this.

He  didn’t stop either. Hed continue talking. About how you’re the first person he thinks about in the morning and the last before he falls asleep. How he loves your attitude, your wit, your stubborn streak, the way you take no shit but melt in his hands so easily.

How he thinks about you constantly, even when you’re not around. How he loves the way you say his name, the way your voice drops just a little when you whisper “Hiromi” in the dark.

The longer he spoke, the harder it was to hold back your emotions. Your eyes started to sting, throat tightening. You could feel it coming…and then—it broke.

The first tear slipped down your cheek. Followed by another.

Higuruma sighed softly, watching you. “I hate when you cry. He murmured. “But I love your cute little cry face.”

You sniffled. “Hiromi, you’ve never seen me cry.”

His lips curled. “Yes, I have.”

You blinked, frowning. “When?”

His smirk deepened. “When I had my dick down your throat for the first time.”

A sharp gasp left you, followed by a laugh, wet and incredulous. “You asshole!”

You swatted his chest, laughing between your tears. Higuruma just chuckled, reaching up to brush a tear from your cheek. That was another thing he was good at. He knew how to break the tension.

You patted the tears from your face with both hands, sighing. “This is so ridiculous.”

You looked down, shaking your head, voice lightly incredulous. “You’re over here professing your love to me while you’re still balls deep. What the fuck, Hiromi?!”

He laughed, loud and genuine. Then, he tapped your thigh lightly, nudging you. “Come on, pretty girl.” He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you home.”

You nodded at his words, and it seemed as though both of you agreed, but neither of you made any effort to get up. No, you were far too comfortable now. 

Still seated in the driver’s seat, your body draped over his lap, his cock still buried deep inside you, softening slowly, but now twitching again. His hand rested flat on your lower back, warm and possessive.

“We should get home.” He whispered with no real meaning behind it. His voice was rough now, post-release husky, laced with the strain of self-control.

You hummed. “Yeah?”

He shifted slightly beneath you, and you both gasped—a sharp inhale, mutual and instinctive. Your pussy clenched again around his cock.

He groaned softly, head falling back against the seat. “Fuck.”

“Really, Hiro? Gonna kick me out of your lap just like that?”

He lifted his head to face you, “No.” He shook his head. “I’ll stay inside you all night if you let me.”

That made your eyes darken, made your body tense and clench around him again.

“Really?” Your head tilted slightly.

His hips started moving again. Slow, strong thrusts, deliberate. Just enough to make you feel the slide, the stretch.

“Really.”

You leaned in, dragging your lips along the line of his jaw, up to his ear. Your tongue flicked over the lobe, then you sucked it between your lips.

“Show me.” You moan right into his ear. “In the back seat.”

Normally, he might’ve paused. Normally, he’d look you in the eye and ask, is that what you really want, sweetheart? Not tonight. Not with how your pussy gripped him when you said it.

He pushed the door open with one arm around your waist and lifted you with him. Your legs wrapped around him, dress pushed up around your hips, his cock still nestled deep inside you.

No shame. No caution. No looking around. He walked you to the back seat, opened the door, and laid you down in one fluid motion, never pulling out. His body followed yours, and he reached to close the door behind him.

Then—he started to move. No teasing this time. Just a brutal rhythm, deep and relentless, his hips slamming into yours with a desperate hunger.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every reaction—every time your jaw dropped, every time your brows furrowed from how deep he hit, every gasp, every moan.

“Fuck, baby…” His voice was already breaking. “You sound so good. I love the way your pussy sounds all wet like that.”

The filthy wet sound of him slamming into you over and over, slick and loud, filled the space.

“God, listen to that.” He groaned. “You’re soaking me, baby. You’re soaking my cock. Keep doing that.”

You could hardly respond—your brain short-circuited with each thrust. He leaned closer, face just inches from yours, his hips still punishing.

“You look so sexy like this…”

You moaned, hands digging into his biceps.

“Is it too much, baby?” He teased, his voice going soft, mocking. “Say the word, I’ll slow down. Promise.”

You glared up at him through heavy, wet lashes. “Shut the fuck up, Hiromi.”

He laughed—a deep, low sound that sent a jolt through you. “You’re perfect, you know that? So fucking good for me.”

Your moans were rising in pitch now, your legs trembling. He knew. He felt it—the way your pussy was fluttering, tightening again.

“You gonna cum for me again, baby? Gonna soak my back seat?” His eyes looked so hungrily into yours. 

You nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth, “Y-Yeah, baby—fuck, yes—”

“That’s it.” His hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing your clit with quick, ruthless circles. “Make a mess for me. Cum all over my seats, pretty girl.”

You screamed his name, “Hiromi!”—as your orgasm hit hard, clear liquid gushing out of you as your body arched beneath him.

“Yes, baby.” He gasped, looking down to where you squirted across his cock, down your thighs, soaking the leather beneath you.

His eyes were blown wide, his voice hoarse with praise.

“Fuck, baby, I wish that was in my mouth. You taste so good when you cum.”

Still he didn’t stop. He fucked you through your high, chasing your pleasure and drawing more out of you. One orgasm. Then another. And another.

Your body had no chance to recover. He just kept pounding into you, deeper, rougher, his own breath turning frantic.

Then, without warning—you felt him still. His body tensed above you, cock buried to the hilt. You gasped when you felt the first hot rush—his cum spilling inside you again, thick and deep.

“Oh my God, Hiromi—”

He held you down, gritting his teeth as he emptied into you. You could feel it leaking already, even with him fully sheathed.

He brought his lips to yours, kissing you through the aftershocks, through the mess.

Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him close as you whispered breathlessly, “Baby… can we sleep like this?”

His head rested against your shoulder.

“With me still inside you? With my cum still inside you?”

You nodded lazily, lips brushing his ear. “Just for 15 minutes.”

He chuckled, still panting, still trembling.

“Fifteen minutes…”

The two of you rested now. His weight was on top of you. Heavy, comforting. Cock soft but warm inside you.

You could feel the slow thump of his heartbeat against your chest, feel his breath slowing as he kissed your neck once. Your thighs were sticky, the heat of both your bodies fogged up the tinted windows of the car.

Your arms wrapped tighter around him, pressing your nose into the collar of his shirt. He smelled like cologne and sex. And honestly? You loved it.

You breathed in deep. “You smell so good.”

“Yeah?” His voice was gravelly, his throat dry.

You nodded into his shoulder. “Even mixed with the smell of our sex. Especially because of it.”

He hummed against your skin, then tilted his face slightly, lips brushing your cheek as he whispered, “That’s what making love smells like baby.”

You snorted. “No, Hiromi, we smell like sweat, cum, and you being balls deep in me for who knows how long now.”

“I beg to differ.”

You grinned, tired and flushed, relaxing completely beneath him. Your body ached in the best way—your thighs trembling, your cunt full and leaking, your muscles giving up.

Then, you felt it. That slow twitch. That subtle swell. That dangerous fullness returning.

You stilled. “...Hiro?”

He didn’t answer.

“Hiro—” You repeated. “I can feel you getting hard again.”

He sighed, like he was trying to keep it cool, but then his voice came out low, lazy, filthy.

“I wanna eat your pussy, baby.”

You blinked. “Hiro… you came inside of me.”

He rose up a bit and started pressing kisses down your chest, slow and unhurried.

“Did you hear me?” You gasped as his tongue flicked out, teasing your nipple. “Hiro, you’re not that nasty, are you?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his mouth dragging lower.

“You know I’m that nasty, baby.” His voice was husky, dark, hungry. “Nasty for you.”

Then, even lower—he kissed your stomach, then your navel. “Now keep your legs back. Let me clean that pretty pussy.”

Your breath hitched. “Fuck.”

He shifted again, pulling out of you with a wet, obscene noise. He could see the mix of your cum and his spilling out of you, slick and hot against your ass as he pushed your thighs back.

He stared for a moment. His fingers spread your folds open.

“So fucking pretty.” He breathed, eyes hungry as he lowered his face.

He kissed your inner thigh first, slow and open-mouthed, then bit you, sucking until the skin bruised. Then he did the same to the other.

He didn’t waste much time before his tongue met your pussy. Hot. Wet. Perfect.

“Oh my god, Hiromi—”

He groaned into you, his hands pushing your legs apart more as his tongue slid between your folds, lapping up every bit of his own cum mixed with yours.

“So messy.” He growled. “So fucking good.”

His tongue swirled around your clit, sucked it into his mouth, flicked it until your hips bucked into him.

You whined, hand shooting down to grab his hair. “Fuck—yes, yes, right there—”

One of his hands pumped his cock slowly as he devoured you, and the other gripped your thigh like he was anchoring himself.

“I love how you taste, baby. Gonna clean you up so good.”

You couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t even breathe right.

He pressed his tongue deep into you, fucking you with it, twisting and stroking your insides as your thighs shook. That sexy nose of his was always in the right place, wasn’t it? Right on your clit and feeling immaculate.

“H-Hiromi—fuck—”

He didn’t stop. He buried his face deeper, sucking, groaning into you like your pussy was his favorite place in the world.

It would be an insult to his skill to say it took nothing for you to cum. No, he knew your body, and that’s why when your orgasm hit, it hit hard.

You cried out, back arching as you squirted—gushing hard, flooding his mouth, soaking the seat again.

He moaned like a man starved, slurping it down.

His tongue slid lower, between your ass cheeks, licking up every drop that ran down. Worshipping you.

“So good, baby. So fucking good. So perfect for me.”

You were shaking, clutching at his hair, your head thrown back, your whole body lit up.

He finally pulled back, licking his lips, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. His cock was red, angry, twitching.

You blinked at him, dazed and breathless. “Hiromi.”

He reached up to stroke your cheek, but you sat up slowly.

“I wanna taste your cum.” You looked at him with those irresistible siren eyes.

His eyes went wide. His hand stilled.

You moved in, grabbing his cock and pumping it slowly. He was close already.

“Wait—fuck—baby—”

You licked his tip, tongue swirling, then took him into your mouth inch by inch.

“Fucking hell—”

Your mouth was warm, wet, so gentle, so perfect. He was panting, his hand on your head, barely able to keep his hips still.

“You’re too good to me. Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum—”

You kept going, sucking deep, tongue dancing around his tip as you stroked him.

Sucking him off genuinely did take nothing. There was something about your lips on his cock that made him cum so fast every time. It was flattering.

Hot, thick spurts of his seed shot into your mouth. You took every drop, not missing a single bit, lips locked around him until he gave you everything.

Then, slowly, you pulled back and opened your mouth, showing it to him. His cum. Still there.

You smiled, swallowing again before leaning in to kiss him. He pulled you in fast, messy, deep, greedy. Your mouths met in a hot tangle of tongues and breath, sharing the taste, sharing everything.

When you finally pulled back, you collapsed against him.

“I’m so tired, Hiro…” You mumbled, cheek against his chest.

His arms wrapped around you immediately. “You did so good.”

“I can’t move.”

“I’ll take you home, sweetheart. Seriously this time.” His lips pressed to your forehead. “We’ll sleep after a bath. I’ll be the big spoon just how you like it honey. Tomorrow morning I’ll order breakfast. I’ll have your favorite tea too.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, “Thank you, Hiromi…”

[kkochigomi]

fuck up my life; hjs

milestone celebration masterlist

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ pairing; han jisung x afab!reader (+ lee know)

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ words; 12.3k

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ genre; smut, angst!!!

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ warnings; very toxic relationship, two deplorable dirty cheaters, public sex, mutual masturbation, choking, very rough sex, bondage, ball gag, unprotected sex, slut shaming, large cock, dubcon(? just to be safe), slapping, squirting, spanking, biting, casual sex, you're going to hate mc and Jisung they're horrible people and just when you think it can't get worse hooooo boy

↻ ◁ || ▷ : If you can't set aside your morals for a story centered around two cheaters, I don't blame you, but this fic ain't for you lol. This is the first part of the second story! I'm so late to 1.5k that we're close to 2k, so I can't wait to start writing that one. Right now I'll just focus on the other two parts of this :*)

act i ➻ yeah right

Your blue eyeshadow was too flashy. Your cut crease and eyeliner too sharp and intense. Your overlined nude lipstick was downright gaudy. Feeling pleased, you stand from your vanity and inspect your outfit in the full-body mirror to your left. 

The thin silk fabric cinched in slightly at your waist, accentuating your breasts and hips. You’re basically telling men to look at them. Oh, and that slit. You turn to get a better look at it, tsking when you catch a glimpse of the swell of your ass. With how high the slit runs up and how short the dress is to begin with, you might as well just go out in your underwear. You looked like a cheap, tacky whore.

It was perfect.

With one last look in the mirror, you adjust the collar of your dress. With there being no sleeves on your dress or anything covering your shoulders, the thick piece of fabric was the only thing keeping you from flashing the entire club. Long strips of silk cascade down your back after you tie it securely around your neck. 

You flounce past your drunken boyfriend on the couch, the loud click and clack of your D’orsay heels taunting him to take a look. He scrambles to sit up and doesn’t bother turning off the TV. He’s annoyed but not that bothered by you leaving the house in this state.

“What, are you going out to find someone to fuck?” He slurs. You spare him by not even glancing once. You’re sure he doesn’t want to be seen when he’s being a belligerent fool. “Huh? Is that what you’re doing? You look like a prostitute!” He yells more frantically when he realizes he’s not deterring you. You snicker before finally looking back at the poor man. His shirt is more stain than polyester and his blue-striped boxers sit crooked on his hips. His hair is a mess and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“‘Twas the goal, my love.” You smile with a wink before leaving him to drink himself to sleep.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You hadn’t been to The Eve in years, since before you were cleansed. You enter and become engulfed by the pulsing music and dancing bodies. Looking around you can’t help but smile. This is where you belong. Across the room is a man who doesn’t share this sentiment. He feels out of place. He glances around nervously at the shameless PDA and lousy dancing. He should be at home with his loving girlfriend. 

Jiwoo is breathtaking. Her expressive eyes and radiant smile keep his lungs in constant lockdown. It’s true that she and Jisung are extremely different. She’s an early bird while he’s a night owl. Her active lifestyle makes Jisung seem sedentary. Also, she doesn’t want to have sex much at all. And when they do have sex, it’s vanilla missionary. At the beginning of their relationship, Jisung was convinced her lifestyle just needed some getting used to. Three years later and he's only gotten less strong-willed. He’s suffocating.

He needs to breathe.

Jisung has been off the market for quite a while now. After moving in with Jiwoo, his priorities shifted. He’s not a kid anymore. It’s time for him to get serious and settle down. So, no, Jisung hasn’t been to a club in a minute. It was all stressing him out, but he was dressed up and he was already here. He should at least get a drink.

One drink becomes two and two become four. Jiwoo would be pissed. He already feels guilty about keeping how he’s feeling a secret, and now he’s drunk and alone. He can already hear her lecturing him. He laughs to himself, forehead thudding on the surface of the bar. 

Everyone around him looks so carefree as they dance and shove their tongues down each other’s throats. How do they do it? Maybe he should get up and try. The dancing part, of course. Maybe he was drunk. Pushing through the sea of bodies was a blur. He was just determined to get somewhere in the middle. The more he’s completely surrounded, the more immersed he feels in the atmosphere. He gets it now, he sways his body to the music.

The people surrounding him brush against him, sometimes even knocking into him. It only helps him levitate higher. With an extended exhale he floats until he’s hovering in the atmosphere. A body brushes against his front, pulling him back down to Earth. His eyes travel down to an ass against his crotch. Electricity crawls up his legs, prickling at his skin. He doesn’t realize his hands are resting on your waist until the fabric of your short dress rides up.

“At least tell me your name before you take my clothes off.” Your voice is sweet, seductive, it makes his head swim. He yanks his hands away and tries to back up only to bump into someone behind him. His body is propelled back into you, and your behind is back against his groin. He groans, hands gripping your upper arms to keep you at a distance. “What’s wrong babe?” His hands slip from your soft skin as you flip around to face him.

The face put to the seductive voice was a near perfect match. There was a look of intrigue behind your alluring gaze as you examined Jisung. He couldn’t help feeling a hint of danger as you looked him over. The way you hold yourself indicates explicitly how confident you are. As your eyes travel back to his face he nearly flinches from the sharpness of your eyes. Did you think he was pathetic? 

Jisung clears his throat and squares his shoulders. Your smirk and snort make him shrivel up again. You lean in with an earnest look on your face.

“You seem like a sweet guy.” You smile before sauntering elsewhere. Jisung looks down, alarmed by his hand reaching out for you. He physically pulls it back with his other hand. His encounter with you sobers him up immediately and he rushes out of the club. What he should be doing is being there for his girlfriend and being upfront with how he feels.

On the way home he chews on his lip, regarding the bulge in his pants nervously. He takes a shower before even thinking of crawling into bed with Jiwoo. He sighs deeply as he joins her under the covers. It’s warm and comforting, despite how his thoughts prod at him. He should wait until the morning instead of waking her. He extends his arm to hold Jiwoo but hesitates. His mouth falls open slightly as he stares at the back of her head.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“Jisung. Jisung!” His girlfriend’s annoyed voice jolts him awake. She throws a hand through her messy hair that just falls back around her face. He squints as the sun intrudes his eyesight, it was definitely way too early to be awake. He looks up and smiles groggily.

“Good morning.”

“Don’t good morning me, you made a mess!” She gestures agitatedly at the bed. Jisung pauses before ripping the covers away. The moist feeling against his hip and upper thigh becomes more apparent when he sees his soiled boxers and sheets. He looks up at Jiwoo as she makes a frustrated noise. She pulls the fabric of her nightgown, looking nauseated by the semen coating it. The throb Jisung feels in his groin is downright reprehensible. Whenever they have sex, Jiwoo makes him pull out and cum into his hand. The sight of his semen on her makes him aware that not only did he cum in his sleep, but he’s hard again. 

“Don’t just sit there, clean it up!” Jisung scrambles up from the bed, wrapping the comforter around him when he hears the increasing urgency in her voice. Jiwoo was repulsed by bodily fluids. Saliva, semen, sweat, all of it. She gagged once when he accidentally came in her mouth. The incident made both of them swear off blowjobs. Jisung was completely willing after the look on her face. He felt horrible. Yet here he is, getting turned on while she’s freaking out.

“I’m so, so sorry.” He laments as he rips the sheets off the bed. He watches with remorse as she rushes to the bathroom. His uncomfortable hard-on made him wonder what got him all worked up in the first place. He’s had many dreams where Jiwoo was a nymphomaniac and did unspeakable things to him. Even then, he only woke up with a boner, he never came in his sleep.

Dread fills his body as flashes of his dream enter his mind. That residual heat lingered the entire time he was awake, only now is he realizing where it came from. Images of you with your breasts exposed while bouncing on his cock fill his brain. 

“Such a sweet boy.” You moan lewdly.

Jisung shakes the dream away and clenches his eyes shut. It was because he was drunk. That was all. He loves Jiwoo.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You brace yourself as your hand wraps firmly around the doorknob. With a sharp inhale you push the door open and are immediately greeted with your boyfriend still on the couch. Minho had cleaned up, it was the afternoon after all, and he fixes you with a disappointed scowl. He takes the time to realize that you’re wearing another man’s shirt again.

“What the fuck-”

He rushes over to you and you raise your arms into the air expectantly. He grits his teeth before pulling the souvenir sweatshirt over your torso and head. This time he doesn’t toss it in the garbage, he angrily throws it to the ground. 

“I thought that would piss you off.” You grin, eyes tracking him as he fumes.

“Aren’t you tired?” He asks exasperatedly. A grimace flickers through your smile but you force it back. “Aren’t you?” You quip back, angling your face closer to his. Your heartbeat accelerates when he doesn’t move away.

“You want me to fuck you? Is that why you’re doing all of this?”

You bite your lip, not shying away from his aggression. “So why don’t you fucking ask like a normal person?” He shoves you backward and you hit the door. A moan is pulled from you involuntarily. He growls, unbuckling his belt before shoving his pants down. His hands are rough as he grips you, spinning you around and pushing you into the door. Anticipation rips through you until you’re close to trembling. He makes quick work of hiking your dress up and moving the shamefully thin fabric to the side. 

“This what you want?” He wraps his arm around your chest before shoving his cock inside you. You moan out, still not answering him. He squeezes your jaw hard with his other hand. “Fucking answer me!” His voice is piercing right next to your ear and you jump, pussy clenching around him. You whimper but your resolve stays intact. He grunts as he continues to fuck you in a position that curves your back uncomfortably. 

“You’re not answering because you know you’re a whore.” His voice wavers under the power of his thrusts. “Did you let him cum inside you?”

“You think I’m disgusting don’t you?” You moan. He doesn’t answer, giving you the same treatment you gave him. He instead wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes until your eyes roll back. He doesn’t speak anymore. The living room fills with grunts, heavy breathing, and the sound of his skin impacting yours. 

He shoots his load inside you with jerky thrusts, tightening his hand around your throat until your hearing and sight get cloudy. He lets you breathe before shoving you away. You gasp in air a little too quickly, losing balance from the shove and falling into a coughing fit. Your knees burn from scraping the floor after the impact. As dread starts to spread, you count in your head; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6-

“Stand up.” His voice sounds uncaring but his hands are gentle as he lifts you off the ground. A genuine smile almost creeps through as you clear your throat. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up.” You can hear his bite start to wane. 

He took longer than last time but he still did it. He always comes around. 

Despite what he said, he ends up being the one kneeling between your legs while you sit on the toilet. You wince as he wipes between your folds. The cloth is damp and cold. He doesn’t speak the entire time. His jaw is tight and his thick, dark brows are drawn together. “I could do this myself.” You stare down at him before sighing.

“Minho.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you remember that shirt I wore in high school?” Minho’s hand hovers in the air as he hesitates. You puff air through your nose as you smirk. “Because I’ll never forget how you scolded me. You were so nerdy with your glasses.” You giggle.

Minho continues wiping away at your mound. “You came stomping up to me and said “those words are inappropriate for school!” and told me to put on the proper uniform.”

Still nothing. Is he doing it because he knows what his silence does to you or because he genuinely doesn’t want to speak to you? The former is better, you can grapple with spite. But you can see his face softening. He’s reflecting on your fond memories, but he still says nothing.

“You never stopped. You’re still that nerd in the glasses trying to get me to behave and probably always will be.”

Minho finally looks at you. He scowls at you and you brace for him to blow up. But he just drops the rag with a gross splat before leaving the bathroom. You shoot up from the toilet.

“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t like the sound of that.” You chase after him. “You want to give up don’t you?-” He slams the bathroom door in your face and you listen as his heavy shoes thud away.

Your nostrils burn with each inhale. The air is dry, you said that to him when you bought this apartment together. He didn’t listen to you.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung was dozing off at work. It was his fault for jizzing in his sheets. He guesses Jiwoo could’ve just cleaned herself up and waited for Jisung to wake up to wash the sheets and scrub the mattress. But she didn’t and there’s no point in thinking about what if’s.

Still, he was probably gonna be here for a while. Probably gonna have to work overtime. He already planned to put his right hand to good use in the bathroom, making sure to stay quiet. Jiwoo would surely ask why he didn’t ask to have sex. She doesn’t know he watches porn or the type he watches. She’d probably faint, thinking the man she’d been with for three years was some debauched pervert.

Turns out he didn’t have to work overtime. He takes the extra hours at his disposal to take a walk through the city. He told himself he was just walking around aimlessly, but his feet were walking a specific route. Taking him to a place he should be swearing off. He can see the neon sign in the corner of his eyes, bright green and screaming at him. Walk past, you should be home by now.

He hesitantly peeks at the sign. If he were to walk in right now, would you be there again? Jisung curses under his breath, shaking the thought from his head. He shouldn’t be thinking such a thing right now. 

She was strange anyway, he thought. Calling him a sweet guy from such a brief exchange. What did she know?

Jisung eventually gives up on his walk, ignoring his brain screaming at him to take a peek inside. When he walks through the door Jiwoo is sitting on the couch, frantically nipping at her nails. She shoots up when she sees him.

“There you are.” She breathes, as if she’d been holding it. She bounds toward him and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest before he can even hang his coat up. “I was worried you’d be working overtime tonight.” She chuckles, failing to disguise how nervous she seems. With his features wound tight, he flicks his sleeve away to look at his watch. It’s 9 pm, she should be in her pajamas already and reading a book in bed.

“You waited for me?” He asks, puzzled. Though, he was more fretful than anything. 

“Yeah, I wanted to apologize.” She slowly pulls away, guilt weighing down her cute mousey features. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” Her eyes flit up at him before she shuts them with a sigh. “Or woken you up.”

Jisung blinks, realizing she probably saw his dark circles. His fretting got stronger the more she spoke and suddenly he found himself in total panic mode. "Y-you don’t have to worry about that! I’m the asshole. I knew very well you don’t like body fluids.”

“You were asleep, Jisung. How could you have known?” She implores. She was right, it’s not like he forced himself to cum. But that part was only a cover for what he was truly guilty about. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be him. Right as he takes a breath, Jiwoo is sighing and stepping away.

“I’m gonna go get ready for bed now. Oh, and–” Jiwoo spins back around and gives Jisung an emphatic look. “You’re not an asshole, Jisung. You’re sweet. The sweetest guy I’ve met.”

After Jiwoo is closed within the bathroom Jisung feels multiple emotions tugging at his stomach. He should tell her. About everything. How he still isn’t used to their different preferences. His browser history. Going to the club. The dream.

He rushes after Jiwoo, pushing the bathroom door open to see her naked body. She squeaks and covers herself up. “J-Jisung? What…”

When he feels himself start to get hard he immediately shuts the door. He could just relieve himself and try again later. But where? She was in the bathroom. She’d be pissed if he came anywhere else. 

He kneels on his bed with uncertainty before collapsing on his face. He definitely shouldn’t do it here, but he still starts jutting into the mattress. The comforter is wiped clean of her scent so his fantasizing was dulled. But he still humps with fervor, finding something inside him egging him on. He clenches the comforter and lets out a squeezed grunt once the shower comes on. 

Jisung has been a no-good boyfriend. Apparently her friends keep banking on her to be the first to get hitched in her friend group. If only they knew what he was thinking about right now. They’d beg her to break up with him, plead her to stop shopping for rings. Maybe one of them would even speak up about the sneaking suspicions they’ve been harboring this entire time.

“I knew he would do something like that. He looks like the type to have wandering eyes.”

He whimpers, hiking a knee higher to really press his groin against the mattress. “He definitely checks out other women, he probably does it shamelessly too.”

It would be Haseul, he can feel it in the way she looks at him. She knows, she can sense that he’s no good. Jisung unbuttons his jeans to let the tip of his cock peek out from under his underwear. It feels so hot and soft against his stomach that he’s able to ignore his concerns about making Jiwoo upset. He even spits into his hand, a thick glob like he fantasizes about, before smoothing it over his cock head. 

He moves to his knees, gripping his shaft with two hands and fucking into them. With puffs of airy moans, he lets his eyes flutter shut and fantasizes about spraying his cum all over the bed. Oh, Jiwoo would get so upset. She’d call him disgusting and probably kick him out. She’d break up with him because of how bad he is.

He’s so close he can feel the heat swirling in his groin but then the shower shuts off and he hurriedly stuffs himself back in his pants. As he zips and buttons himself back up he can feel that euphoria slipping away, leaving him cold and unsatisfied.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You linger outside your door a little longer today. You can hear the tv blaring behind it. Maybe if you come in later than usual you can conjure up some more of his passion. He’s been colder. You’re pushing it.

It was unlike you to be so antsy but the possibility of you getting to him made you open the door. Minho glances up at you, only to look back at the tv like it was nothing.

For the first time in years you felt wary about the shirt you borrowed from your escapades. You stand in the living room, waiting for anything. He could even break up with you and it’d be better than this. Feeling suffocated, you leave to your room. You barely got any sleep at your one night stand’s house. You couldn’t stop thinking about how you’ve entered a new phase. The one where they realize you’re not worth it. That you’re easy with no thrill.

You strip your clothes off and lift your covers, slipping beneath them. You angrily wipe away the tear that slips free as you lay your head on your pillow. This is what you wanted. You were asking for him to stop pretending to care about you. He’s finally done it.

When you wake up it’s dark out. Minho is nowhere to be found. Not in the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, or the spot he’s carved out for himself on the couch. 

You wish you could track him down and force him to face you. What would you do then? You’ve tried pissing him off and pushing him until he has no choice but to blow up at you. What if he doesn’t do that anymore.

Your eyes scan the faces of each mid-height male dancing under the dim lights. They’re desperate to find those pouty lips. That annoyed stare that didn’t change the fact that he resembled a rabbit.

Him being here is past wishful thinking. Him being here means he’s decided to meet you at your level. It took a lot of letting him down to get him to even fuck you the way he does now. The day he becomes a degenerate to understand you is decades ahead, if you two make it that far.

You see a pair of glasses that feel familiar. Thinking of the Minho from when you started dating used to be sweet. But seeing those thick rimmed, square glasses make you sick right now. You clench your fists. Being in this atmosphere this long without a drink feels strange, but it doesn’t stop you from making your way over to the guy with the glasses. You shove at his shoulder, forcing his attention on you. 

Jisung stares at you like a deer in the headlights. He wonders if you somehow know about the naughty dreams he had about you, or that he’s happy to see you for the worst reasons. His thoughts won’t shut up. They indulge in the nasty fantasies while simultaneously telling him he’s a monster because of them. 

Jisung wipes his sweaty palms off on his t-shirt, only then do you recognize him. It’s hard to forget someone who wears a t-shirt to a club. The same person you saw nudging their way onto the dance floor seemingly in a trance. You’re still unclear why someone like him stumbled in here, or why he’s back.

“I-I’m sorry, you probably mistook me for someone else.” Jisung distances himself discreetly with a nervous smile.

“I didn’t.” You flash him the same smile you’re sure scared him off last time. You expected him to chase after you, but when you looked back, he was rushing out of the club. You should stay away from people like him. He’s practically trembling. Your eyes drag slowly up and down his frame. “You’re a sweet boy, you shouldn’t get involved with someone like me.” You say as if he told you he was interested. You’re being insanely presumptuous, but you have your reasons.

“I would never. I have… I have a girlfriend.” Jisung announces proudly. At that moment, the both of you come to an understanding. He got a boner when you guys danced together and now he’s unabashedly staring at your cleavage.

And Jisung? He’s aware of how obvious he’s being. The lust is as pleasing as it is painful. He’s drunk on it, eating up the black, strapless bustier hoisting up your tits and miniskirt tempting him to imagine your panties. His current behavior isn’t very sweet of him, you both think.

And it’s exciting all the same.

The lights bathe both of you in shifting hues as you swirl your hips against his groin. Your hand reaches to rest on the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his breath ghosts on your neck. Time is stuck in slow motion as you both relish in the teasing. It’s exhilarating, sending shockwaves through both your veins. 

Jisung’s breath labors more and more the further he gets into his fantasy. He’s already decided that your panties are red and lacy. The straps are thin and sit high on your hips. You have on a matching strapless bra and the cups cut so low that your nipples accidentally pop out when he yanks your top down. His burlish hands grope harshly at them while he bites your neck.

Your filthy moan makes his eyes snap open. His lips are actually on your neck and his hands have moved up from your hips to your breasts. Thankfully he didn’t expose you to the rest of the club, but that’s the least of his concerns. This is it. He can’t go back now. His erection is pressed firmly against you, riding up your skirt, and his hands are squeezing your tits. Jiwoo would be absolutely devastated. Fuck, fuck, fuck, desperation pleads and claws at him. Crippling shame and guilt wrack throughout his body.

This time a filthy noise leaves his mouth as his hips jerk against you. His cock is throbbing and his head is swirling with need. The fantasy has escalated. You’re gagged and bound, writhing underneath him. He grabs a handful of your pussy. He’s ripped from his fantasy once again once he feels lace on his fingers. Your face turns against his, your mouth grazing his cheek as you buck uncontrollably in his grip. Jisung grunts and presses you hard against him. Hot seed spurts up from his tip, soiling his underwear.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung rushes home and slams the door behind him. He rests against it, steadying himself. His heart feels like it’ll give out. He can’t stop replaying what happened. It makes his knees weak and triggers a deep ache in his pants. It feels so fucking good to think about. It feels so incredibly bad to think about. Jisung collapses to his knees with an anguished sob. 

“I’m so sorry.” He sputters out.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Your routine was interrupted. You return later that same night to see Minho asleep on the couch. You wonder if he’d feel relieved if he saw you returning home early. 

He shouldn’t.

You’re still thinking about him. You don’t know his name and you’ve never seen anything but an imprint of his dick, but he’s running through your mind. You want fuck him bad. Bad enough that you’re touching yourself in bed. You let out a whine when the memory gets to the part where he runs away. He ran away from you again.

Now you know it’s because of guilt rather than being intimidated. There’s a chance you'll never see him again. It makes you more upset than you care to admit. You know what it feels like when you like someone. You avoid them like the plague and feel like throwing up at the thought of them. They make you imagine a bright future way too early. This is not that, but it’s not like your other one night stands either.

Thinking of him makes you think about the state of you and Minho. You sprawl out in your empty bed after climaxing. The cool parts of the sheets sizzle against your hot skin. You stare blankly out the window, hoping sleep will take pity on you and save you from your thoughts.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You sit at the edge of your bed for what feels like hours. Today you wish you could get to The Eve early. You’re disgusted with yourself. You want to plan your outfit and pick out something extra special. What the fuck is wrong with you. The door opening almost breaks you free from being locked in place. 

“Were you here all night?” 

You look up at Minho, who’s taken aback by the fear in your eyes.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” His concern is strong enough to show on his face, but not to come further into the room. You bite your lip and focus back on nothing. 

“Why are you worried about me?” You ask in disappointment. It’s easy to understand why someone on the outside would think it was disappointment in him. It wasn't. 

He leaves after that. Either he asked himself that question and came to his senses, or–

You sigh, shakily standing from the bed. It doesn’t matter.

Later that night, Minho is gone again. Not there to see you dressed up with more intent than usual.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“What have you been up to lately?”

The question was like a metal pipe crashing into Jisung’s skull. He whips his head around to gape at her. The fear in his eyes catches Jiwoo off guard but she laughs it off.

“I’ve been washing more of your favorite t-shirts lately. I thought you only saved those for special occasions?” She wiggles her eyebrows at him. She’s being cheeky, but the bile climbing up Jisung’s throat doesn’t care about that. He should tell her now before it gets worse. She’s such a wonderful woman that she’d probably forgive him. She’s so perfect, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Jisung’s cock twitches.

“I’m just trying to do more things that make me happy.” The words fly out of him, not a stutter, wobble, or voice crack in sight.

“D’aw,” Jiwoo pouts, touched as she sets down the dish she was drying to come sit next to him. She wraps her arm around his shoulder and pulls him in before placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I’m really happy to hear that!” Her smile slowly fades as worry takes over. “You know, I was worried that you seemed really down lately. I was thinking of canceling on the girls next month…”

“No!” A strange authoritative tone crops up. Jisung gives Jiwoo a firm look. “You’ve been excited about this trip for so long! You should absolutely go. The only reason I may have been down lately is because I’ve been feeling a little suffocated. I decided to try new things around town and it’s been helping.” Jisung turns his body toward her, grabbing both her hands. “Don’t you worry about me, okay?” One could say ‘trying new things around town’ wasn’t a complete lie, but it still worries him that he’s lying to his future wife so easily.  

“Okay… but if you need me to cancel-” Jiwoo attempts to rush out, but Jisung hits her with an even firmer look. 

“Go.” He says simply. With that, Jiwoo is back to beaming. She throws her arms around him and gives him a tight squeeze. Over her shoulder, Jisung’s smile fades.

Later that night, Jisung plants his dirty lips on a sleeping Jiwoo’s cheek before leaving.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung is anxious as he searches through the club. He doesn’t see you anywhere at the edges of the club. The last place to look is in the middle. Jisung pushes his way through, feeling his body buzz the further in he gets.

In the middle he spots a woman with a low waisted, flowy skirt and bandeau top. When you twirl around, the skirt’s front is revealed to be asymmetrical, almost tattered in appearance with its two high slits. You move closer to him, the hunger in your eyes matching his. You breathe hotly and grab his face. All the pent up passion built up overnight culminates in a sloppy kiss. A kiss that you can barely call a kiss with your tongues laving at each other’s mouths and chins.

Another boundary has been broken. Jisung grunts, grabbing you by the throat and yanking you away from him. The shock in your eyes would give him pause before the kiss. Right now, Jisung’s lust has taken over. You might slap him or tell him off now, and he’ll respect your wishes. But you don’t do anything, other than flashing pleading eyes at him. His nostrils flare as his breathing gets heavier. He leans in and draws your bottom lip back with his teeth. After he releases it he’s leaning by your ear. 

“Open your fucking mouth.” He growls. 

Your mouth lolls open, your eyes begging even more. Jisung spits into your mouth, some of the saliva landing on your chin. You close your mouth, putting on a show of cleaning up your mess with your tongue. Jisung balls the back of your skirt within his fist and pulls you closer. Your tongues are exploring each other’s mouths as Jisung reaches under the front of your skirt. He gasps against your lips when his fingers dip straight into your wet heat. You chuckle before licking a stripe up his cheek. The skirt you’re wearing isn’t short, but the slits in the front are high enough that one bold dance move could show the entire club your cunt. 

Jisung nearly whimpers, steeling himself before plunging two fingers in immediately. You moan loudly, the loud music drowning it out. Jisung keeps you pressed close enough that only someone paying close attention could see you getting your hole fingered. Your head lulls, resting against his chest as you shut your thighs around his hand. Jisung lets go of your skirt to tug at your hair. He yanks your head back. 

“Open them back up. Now.” He spits next to your ear.

You bitch and whine, but you still do it. An intense heat overwhelms his cock. He should fuck you right now. He should tear your skirt off and use the tattered fabric to bind your wrists together while he fucks you right in the middle of all these people. The club goers bump into both of you at all sides. One stumbles backward, propelling you forward and plunging Jisung deeper. Jisung licks his tongue into your open mouth. 

Your tongues tangle together while a droplet of your juices trails down Jisung’s forearm. 

“I’m gonna cum! Choke me!” You plead pathetically. Jisung doesn’t hesitate to oblige, squeezing until your eyes roll back. Jisung finds himself mimicking your pained expression as your cunt spasms around his fingers. He grinds pitifully into nothing, reverting back to his fantasy. Your bandeau is made into a makeshift gag as he fucks you so hard your tits spasm in different directions. Your entire body jiggles from the force. 

The feeling of your hand cupped around his bulge lights up his synapses. He groans, it’s guttural as sperm shoots into his underwear for the second night in a row.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung watches Jiwoo carefully, who just thanked him for doing laundry more often. Things are better than before, the two of them are more affectionate. She even has sex with him a little more. He doesn’t cum, which she was initially concerned about. He reminded her that this was ideal in their situation, and she felt better instantly.

Jisung realized long ago that missionary did nothing for him. He started to fantasize about you during it, but decided that was somehow crossing the line. Not the countless times now you’ve made him cum in his pants. Not the fact that you and Jisung have your hands down each other’s pants every night now. Not the fact that he now knows a list of what turns you on and has it memorized.

Jiwoo leaves tomorrow.

That fact replays in his mind as he watches Jiwoo maneuver around the kitchen. She catches him staring and smiles. He smiles back. 

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You chuck the bag over the high rim of the dumpster. You feel lighter, and it’s not just because you’re no longer lugging a heavy trash bag of large t-shirts, sweatshirts, and hoodies. 

When you walk back in the house Minho is familiarly pushing you back against the door. His eyes are wild, and you can’t recall a time he’s looked this crazed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He grits before grinding his jaw. He’s fuming. That in itself scares you a bit, but it’s also that he’s been getting more and more antsy for the past month. 

“I-I don’t…”

“Bullshit.” He spits, making you flinch. He releases his tight grip on your shoulders, sharp eyes still trained on you. “You’re fucking disgusting.” His voice cracks a little. 

You’re not scared he’ll do something to you. Well, not anything abusive anyway. You’re scared because he knows you’re up to no good. You don’t know if he’s narrowed it down exactly, but you know he’s onto you. 

Seeing Jisung is the highlight of your day. Your body ignites in goosebumps as soon as you see him. Something about him, the horrible thing he’s doing, makes you feel even better about yourself than all the years Minho dedicated to fixing you. 

“Fuck you.” He spits before retreating into the bedroom. He’s been spending so much time in there that you took his place on the couch. You sleep there in your day clothes, crying yourself to sleep. 

When you see Jisung that night, you’re more exhausted than usual. He pulls your hair like he usually does, smashing his lips against yours. You don’t love it as much as you usually do. You just want to climb into bed with Minho and hold him. A part of you knows he even wants you to. But you can’t. You don’t deserve it. So you cry as you kiss someone else’s boyfriend.

He laps up the tears and you’re slowly soothed. You’re not sure to what extent, but you’ve come to understand that Jisung is a monster. He frequently brings up how wrong it is that he’s treating his girlfriend like this. His cock throbs when he talks about how he knows she’s planning to propose. He cums after imagining her face if she saw the two of you. 

“So, do you want to come over tomorrow?” He asks with a twinkle in his eye. You were both stood outside of the club. The same day he described in detail his fantasy of his girlfriend forgetting something and coming back only to see her boyfriend balls deep in you, he revealed that she actually is going away. And now he’s making another part of that fantasy a reality. You take a long drag of your cigarette, mascara smudged all around your eyes. You blow, realizing you’re not the least bit repulsed. You feel good.

“Yeah.”

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You linger outside of the bedroom door, hand repeatedly reaching for the knob but deciding against it. Your eyes flutter shut, remembering how warm his embrace used to be. 

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

When Jisung opens the door, something feels off. Maybe it’s the lack of loud music and dancing bodies bumping into the both of you, but the hunger isn’t there yet. 

You shuffle inside, annoyed when he whistles and rocks on his feet. 

“D’you want something to drink?” He says, not meeting your eyes. 

“No. Is that the bedroom?”

“Yeah…” He hesitates before he answers and swallows hard after. “Yeah, let’s uh… let’s head inside.” Jisung offers to hang your purse up on the hook by the door, right next to a wooden bat. You do it yourself.

The bedroom is pleasantly designed, it’s clean and organized, and there’s a picture of Jisung and his girlfriend on the nightstand. A part of you was scared he was lying about it, this cements it. He hurries over to lay it down after seeing you stare at it. 

“So um, I have a few things in mind, but we could of course do whatever you want to do.”

So far this is a complete let down. You’ve confirmed that he’s an actual monster, but now you’re not so sure about his dominance. Was it just a fluke while you were at the club? You didn’t come here to be asked how you want be fucked. You sigh, considering going home and crying yourself to sleep again. While looking at the floor you see two feet plant themselves in front of you. 

When you look up at Jisung, you don’t intend for your eyes to be as glassy and pitiful as they are. It’s Jisung’s turn to sigh. 

“You’re just hopeless, aren’t you?” Jisung runs his knuckles down your cheek. The gesture confuses you, but then you notice his eyes. Before you can get excited, his hand is wrapped around your throat. Your eyes flutter shut. “Gonna make me do all the work? Hm? Can’t even fucking talk?”

You’re too busy relishing in the wave of relief crashing over you to realize you’re being disobedient. A slap across your face brings you back to reality. 

“Fucking. Speak.” He demands lowly. 

“N-no, I won’t make you do all the work–”

“Then get your ass on the bed. Hike it in the air.” 

You rush over, kneeling on the bed and pulling your dress off. Jisung comes over and yanks it the rest of the way, impatiently. He grabs your head and shoves it into the mattress before grabbing the rope from the nightstand. He told Jiwoo he wanted to learn sailor knots when she found it. He wasn’t completely lying, which is why he was able to demonstrate some for her.

Even a simple one was enough to convince her, that same knot is enough to restrain you and fulfill one of his biggest fantasies. Jisung unbuckles his belt not only to relieve some of the building pressure, but also to bend it in half. He raises the belt before swinging it down. The leather laps painfully against your ass. Your body jolts and you gasp. The sting doesn’t go away before the next lash. Another and another, Jisung is completely relentless. He stops only to haphazardly free his bottom half. 

You feel the bed dip again behind you, whimpering like a puppy. Then you feel his hard cock against your ass. You chant pleas under your breath, cunt clenching desperately to feel him inside.

“Don’t know how to shut up, huh? That’s okay,” Jisung leans over, grabbing the ball gag from on top of his nightstand. One of the many things he picked up this morning in preparation. He fastens it securely around your head, pulling the ball further into your mouth until you can’t coherently beg anymore. 

“If I were you I would stop that begging. It’ll only take longer for me to fuck you, okay?” Jisung’s voice was laced with sympathy undercut by a sinister undertone. You nod against the bed, trying to quiet your whimpering. 

You yelp as the belt lashes against you again. 

“What the fuck did I say?” He warns in a growl. You panic, silencing yourself immediately.

Swing after swing after swing after swing. Jisung punishes your ass until it’s red hot and tears have thoroughly soaked your cheeks. You gargle softly against the gag. 

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

You pant excitedly as he grabs your hips and pulls you closer. 

“If I do this for you, give you what you want, you have to keep it up. No noises while I fuck you open.”

You nod frantically, trembling from the sheer anticipation. His tip prods against your entrance. You knew he’d be the biggest you ever had from the times you jerked him off, but feeling him attempt to push into your hole made your eyes blow wide. You panic again, worried you’re not going to stay quiet. 

Then he shoves his way in. Luckily the force makes you choke on your scream. Your legs shake, fists balling tight. You’re pleased when you hear Jisung’s euphoric moan. He stays submerged inside you, but he’s moaning uncontrollably. 

“F-fuck, I can see your asshole fluttering, baby girl.” Jisung sounds like he might cry. He slaps your ass, this time with his own hand, testing your silence. With that, he starts moving. The pace is already brutal. His rhythmic, chesty moans show just how much this is getting to him. Does his girlfriend fuck him at all? Whatever. She doesn’t deserve this anyway. This is all for you. 

Your feet jerk up from the bed with each punishing thrust. It’s like he can’t help himself, he has to go balls deep every time. Each thrust with your cunt stroking him pulls a different string of moans. You’ve never heard him so vocal, and it’s never been so hard to shut up. He’s milking your pussy so good it’s making you cry. Silent sobs squeeze from your body as his body drapes over yours. He grabs your throat, making it even worse. Your sobs become audible, but he doesn’t even care. You’re both too far gone to care about how loud you’re both being.

His bottom lip drags from your shoulder up to the apex of your neck. He’s croaking out moans right next to your ear and you know he’s gone. You tug at your restraints, wishing you could touch and claw him right now. 

His seed is hot as it spurts into you. The sensation sends your body down, flat to the bed. His hips follow, continuing to buck into you as your orgasm rockets through you. You essence squelches around him until it forces him out, continuing to spray and soil the both of you.

The two of you lie there with loud, hoarse pants for what feels like hours. You expect to turn and see the sun rising. It doesn’t matter because it’s sunny inside your body. The minute Jisung unties you, you’re reaching to hold him close. Your hands travel down his back and over his shoulders like you’d been craving. Somehow the come down is still so euphoric. You both buzz long after you’ve cum.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

It was two years ago that Minho put a code on his phone. He doesn’t use it for anything but checking emails and making calls, so he didn’t worry about most of the traditional phone activities. You never understood why putting a code on his phone was included in that, and you warned him multiple times that he would get his phone stolen. You knew that a code wouldn’t keep someone from getting in if they really wanted to, but you weren’t saying it to help him out. Besides, he’d just shrug anyway. 

So you went through his phone. 

You guys had a fight, back when they used to be coherent, and then he put a lock on his phone. All that to say, you couldn’t have prepared for Minho’s spotty appearances lately if you wanted to. You were serious about tracking him. The unknown was sure to kill you. Death was the only thing that could come from pain like this. You didn’t actually do it this time, did you?

Was he at someone’s house? Someone who’s been begging him to ditch you and enter a healthier relationship? Who could it be? He doesn’t go to church, his family either lives far away or are constantly going on trips, his friends have essentially rage quit their friendship… who else does that leave?

You wish that meant there was no other way he could’ve connected with someone, but it’s not true. He’s handsome and a great guy. There’s no way no one has approached him in all these years.

Your vision has long blurred, the show on the television becoming blobs of color. You haven’t showered since you’ve been with Jisung. You feel gross but have no desire to move. Whenever you hurt him, it’s intentional. Sometimes you even spend the night alone at a hotel and buy a shirt from the men’s section the next morning, pulling it onto your frame right before you get to the door. Right now, it’s completely subconscious. You’re going to Jisung’s in an hour and it’s the only thing that makes you feel like anything other than death. The warm feeling you get at the idea of being with Jisung doesn’t come from wanting a reaction out of Minho. That brings a dark, gnarling fear out of the depths of your soul.

You don’t like Jisung. You love Minho. That much is apparent when you see Jisung. He doesn’t give you butterflies. You just feel comfort in the way he can still fuck you with traces of his girlfriend everywhere.

Jisung freezes mid-greeting to look at your old clothes. You’re definitely different from your encounters at the club. He noticed you go from dominant and intimidating to submissive very gradually. It hit its peak when you had your arms crossed in his bedroom yesterday, refusing to initiate anything. He chuckles at you which earns him a scowl. He tugs you inside and kicks the door closed, leading you all the way to the shower. He’s back to taking complete control, pulling your dirty clothes off one by one. 

He steps behind you once his clothes are off, smoothing his hands over your now moistened skin. The hot water aids in raising the temperature between the two of you. Jisung finally feels you relax against him. He moves his hand down between your legs. He parts your thighs, letting the water trickle over your mound. His cock gets hard fast when he’s with you. You feel his shaft rest rigidly in between your cheeks as he lathers soap all over your body.

To your disappointment, he doesn’t fuck you in the shower. He simply rubs your body everywhere but where you need him. He steps out the minute all the suds have been rinsed off your skin. He tepidly dries himself off, tossing the towel over his shoulder. You watch him clean his glasses before putting them back on, only for them to fog right back up. He looks over at you questioningly. 

For a moment, with his eyes obscured, you can transplant the image of a younger Minho onto him. Your mind starts to wander to an alternate reality where Minho knew you were a lost cause right off the bat. How different would your dynamic be? Would there be one at all?

“You should’ve been on the bed by now. Hurry up and dry off.” Jisung’s voice and expression ooze with disappointment that makes your core hum. You dumbly turn off the water while keeping your eyes trained on his naked figure. This is your first time seeing him completely bare. You almost saw it yesterday, as he took a shower right after you chickened out of staying any longer.

When you climb onto the bed you hike your ass in the air again. His hand thundering down on your ass makes you jolt. “Not today.” He grunts as he lies down on his back. He rests his hands behind his head. 

“You were a fucking brat yesterday. Immediately putting me to work and then not staying quiet. Did you think I missed that at the end?” Jisung raises his eyebrows, scolding you both with his words and his eyes. You wish you could put the Jisung you first met and this one side by side. He is totally relaxed while easily maintaining control.

“Straddle me, and hold your arms together behind your back. You’re putting in work today.”

You bit your lip to stifle the whine threatening to get you punished. This is a pillow princess’ worst nightmare. Your eyes unwittingly move to his cock which is so hard gravity is failing to lay it flat on his stomach. Your fleeting thought to disobey just to get more effort and attention from him disappears. 

So you clasp both your wrists and slip onto his cock. You didn’t realize how wet you were until his head slid past your entrance. His cock feels so hot and so does his skin when your calves graze his thighs. It’s electrifying yet inviting. You get the urge to lean against his chest but he’d probably pull out, and that would annoy you enough to make you cry. 

And so you bounce, letting him see the front of you fully nude in all its glory. How your tits bounce and hips swing. He grabs your hips but not to guide you, to dig his fingers into flesh. 

This, you figure, is one of his favorite positions. You figure because it’s the first time he’s cum twice for you. That, and it’s the only position he repeated. For the next two weeks, he has bounced you on his cock while standing up with your legs tightly secured around him, had you flat on your back with your legs in the air on his dining room table, had you halfway off the couch while straddling him again, and so on. He always shows you a picture or a video once you get to the area of his choice. His calm dominance melts away just for a moment as he excitedly presents it to you. Him baring his deep passion to fuck you strangely doesn’t push you away. You find yourself squeezing your thighs, wide eyes matching his as he shows you the position.

The two of you have gone from barely speaking outside of sex to making out as soon as he opens the door. You both giggle like schoolkids in anticipation. You both joke through a blur of lips and teeth.

But that excitement and glee fades as soon as you’re back in your dreary apartment. The escalation of childlike joy when you’re at Jisung’s directly translates to escalated sorrow when you’re back at yours. 

You only catch glimpses of the back of Minho these days, either retreating to the bedroom or out of the apartment. You have the urge to sleep over Jisung’s for the rest of the time Jiwoo is gone. That somehow feels like crossing a line that’s comically insignificant at this point. You know Jisung would understand what you mean. That night you took a shower at his place, he washed your clothes for you.

“You could stay until they’re done.” Jisung suggests after some tense silence.

“No, I should go.” You shoot it down immediately. The option has always been unspoken but ever present. To stay a little longer, watch a movie, drink some water, maybe actually cuddle. Not like what you did the first night, where you ran out of there as soon as you realized you were caressing someone else.

“In what clothes?” Jisung chuckles. You glare at him again. You hate when he does that. Well, you did, until you realized you’re both horrible enough to have fun while being unfaithful. 

“Can’t I just borrow some of hers? I’ll wash those and-”

“No.”

Just then, the Jisung from the first time you met him was back. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, but you could see the raging conflict behind them. So you left with some of his clothes instead.

You told him you were in a relationship, but not much else about it. Since then there was a mutual understanding of each other. It made your tension trickle away wrapped in his arms. You were able to at least disassociate so the depth of the pain became less apparent.

Then Jiwoo would call.

Jisung was sickeningly sweet over the phone. You laughed to yourself while listening to his overexaggerated joy when speaking with her. The humor rotted away when catching glimpses of her voice. She's elated to speak with her boyfriend. She can't sleep without him. There's no way they're not getting married soon.

In the corner of his bedroom the space grows vast, Jisung suddenly on the other side of a treacherous fissure.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You enter the apartment as soon as Minho leaves his room. He stares at you, clearly shocked. He probably expected to be gone before you came home, so you wouldn’t see him dressed up with his hair styled and your favorite cologne on. It’s been a long two weeks, so the stinging in your eyes turns into tears fast. He pushes past you and leaves the apartment, leaving you to collapse to the ground. The pain is immediate because the denial has shriveled up. You’re being forced to accept that it’s happening. Anger swiftly takes hold as you’re reminded of one hard to swallow truth. 

You stand up and grab the lamp beside the entrance. You shove it to the ground, the delicate glass covering shattering before the bulb does the same. You send the potted plant into the tv, throw a stack of plates onto the floor. Once your energy is spent, the fact is still there.

You have no right to be upset.

You throw a tantrum and break things because you made your own bed, but you have no right to do that either.

You deserve this.

You deserve him bringing a new girl home and fucking her loudly in the bed you used to share. You deserve him coming home every day and telling you what a worthless piece of shit you are. You deserve him introducing you to the girlfriend he’s been hiding from you and shoving his tongue down her throat right in front of you.

You deserve him giving up on you and admitting you were never fixable to begin with.

Your stomach caves from the sheer force of your sobs. Your body contorts, tangling within your bed sheets and kicking the cover off. You force yourself to imagine all these things he deserves to do to you even though it feels like it’s setting you on fire. You cry and cry until your body feels hollow and you stare numbly at the wall.

The sun rises.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Your ears pick up each sound but it’s muffled. The sound of the door opening. The sound of his boots crunching against glass. The sound of him crying. The sound of him leaving. 

The sun sets. It’s time to see Jisung. 

Your body wobbles as you sit up. Your body feels like a ton of bricks. You rush to the bathroom, finally emptying your bladder. You’re going to his house with the same clothes from the day prior again.

He opens the door, chuckling just like the last time you did this. “No work today?”

You’re not in a laughing mood, though. You thought things would be like they had been. You’d be depressed while you were home and cheerful at Jisung’s place. But no, the tears break free and stream down your face. Jisung pulls you into the house, asks if you’re okay. He shouldn’t. People like you don’t deserve sympathy. You grit your teeth, grabbing his jaw and pulling him forward. He stiffly places his hands on your waist, hesitantly accepting the kiss.

You cup his cock, making him moan and grant your tongue entrance to his mouth. You push him toward the couch until he flops down onto it, looking at you in bewilderment. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He asks just before you devour him again. You guide his hands to your breasts, whimpering when he pinches your nipples. 

“Fuck me.” You plead, voice weak and eyes glassy. Your eyes don’t plead him like they usually do. You’re deeply hurt, your lip trembling and shattering his heart. 

“Babe c’mon, let’s stop–” Jisung reaches up to caress your face, laughing awkwardly.

“Don’t call me that.” Your tone is venomous as you swat his hands away. Jisung is taken aback. Not because of your tone, but because he hadn’t realized he called you that.

Exasperated, you huff and reach for his dick. Once it’s free, you’re awkwardly shimmying off Jisung’s basketball shorts. Jisung is finding it difficult to find the words he’s looking for. It’s too late anyway, you’re sinking down onto his cock. Sex with you is like a defibrillator. It jolts life back into him, no matter how much the guilt is getting to him. It lets him set aside his worries for now to just focus on how wet and tight you are around him. The constant access to you is dizzying. Just when he’s coming down from his high, you’re back with another dose.

Without Jisung’s strict rules or constant orders you’re able to think. It’s horrible.

“Fucking choke me– ngh! Yell at me!” You grit out.

With this Jisung is back to reality with you. He stammers, your eyes and your words conflict each other.  He considers it, playing along while his heart’s not in it. The sex is going to be subpar today clearly, so it doesn’t matter what he does next.

“Jiwoo called me earlier today.”

You’re chugging along, hoping this transitions to him hissing demands at you. 

“Well, she calls me every day. I used to think it was because she was worried about me. I thought that was the same reason she hugged me so long before she left,” Jisung’s voice is conversational despite the strain your cunt squeezing him is giving it. His eyes are fussing with a conflict again. You stop, in exasperated shock that he’s opening up about this right now.

“She even gave me this look before she went out the door. So I kept telling her every time she called that I was okay and that she should have fun. That she didn’t have to call me every day. But today…” Jisung feels his heart clench as he recalls her words.

“Things are going really great recently, aren’t they?” She laughed, it sounded so sweet. Jisung could hear the commotion of activities more fun than being on the phone in the background. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I think about you so much that it's hard to have fun while I’m here. I miss you so, so much… and I realize now that I don’t like being without you.” She laughed again, but this time Jisung could tell she was crying. “I kinda wanna come home?” 

She was asking him.

“W-what did you say?” You swallow hard, trying to hide the horror in your eyes. Would he really tell her to come home? Is she about to walk through the door and fulfill his fantasy? Your stomach drops as you glance over your shoulder.

“I said no.” Jisung says quietly. You turn back to see his bitter smile. “I stayed on the phone with her for hours to soothe her and convince her to stay.” Jisung huffs, attempting to blink away his tears and failing. His head droops, hiding from you. He hiccups, “She was so happy with me after I did that. She-”

You cradle his face, slowly lifting it to face you. Jisung looks upset at this, shoulders bouncing as he begins to cry harder. You try to wipe away his tears with your thumbs, shaking your head when they quickly get replaced.

“It’s better this way.” You say weakly. 

“What?” The frustration leaks through Jisung’s anguish. He tries to shake away your hands but you grab him more securely and force him to look in your eyes.

“You don’t want her to know how awful you truly are.” 

Seeing the pain intensify in your eyes, Jisung stills. Knowing he understands now, your hands drop from his face. Suddenly, you feel more alone than you have in weeks. You start to get up but Jisung’s hands caress your face now. A tear hangs on your eyelash as you gaze wearily at him. You wish he’d just let you go. At least rotting in your bed, you’d be faced with one facet of pain. Staying here with him is like watching the last bit of color drain from the world.

He's not sure exactly what happens when you walk out that door. What he does know is you come back weaker than before. He sees the dread in your eyes at going back.

“Stay here.”

“No–”

“Stay.”

You stare at him, wondering if he’s just saying this because you’re the only one he can engage in this kink with. Then he kisses you. He inhales deeply as he threads his fingers through your hair. He captures your lips, detaches to breathe and captures them again. The lack of tongue or teeth feels foreign. You can’t remember the last time Minho kissed you like this. It’s only been drunk and sloppy, rough out of anger, or awkward in pursuit of keeping your trash-fire relationship a secret. 

The only thing close to Jisung’s trembling lips against yours was when Minho first found out you fucked someone else. He pleaded with you to tell him it didn’t mean anything, to tell him that you still loved him. His lips then were frantic, refusing to let you slip away with his hands caging you in. If only you did slip away back then. His life would be better now.

But Jisung is steady. The underlying shame and regret don’t dull the passion flowing from his lips. His hands feel like they're caging you. Begging you to just stay.

Another boundary has been crossed. The final one. There was no redemption to be desperately dug up to salvage your souls as you kiss each other like the world might tip off its axis if you stop. The two of you only break apart to moan as you ride him. Your hips grind against his lap, his dick as far in as it can go. You moan into each other’s mouth as Jisung’s climax brings you closer to yours.

And yours comes and goes. Your freshly showered bodies lay as close as you can get in his bed, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You jolt awake multiple times during the night, jolting Jisung awake with you. He just soothes you back to sleep, not asking about your nightmares detailing each scenario you forced yourself to imagine two nights ago.

Jisung leaves early in the morning, whispering to you to lock the door if you leave.

“You can stay, though.”

To your horror, Jisung kisses your cheek. Him falling for you hadn’t crossed your mind. He had always been so sex focused that romance seemed like a distant afterthought. He could have rubbed circles into your back each time you awoke because he was being nice. Your rationalizing is cut short as an even more horrifying thought rears its ugly head.

You wished he had kissed you on the lips.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Judging by the mess you left behind, Minho must think you’re on a rage fueled bender right now. He never did check if you were in the room that morning, so maybe he thinks you trashed the apartment, left, and never came back. You know for a fact he’s worried. Very little could stop Minho from worrying about your safety. That’s why even someone like you never played that card to get his attention, and why you’re worried sick. You pace around Jisung’s apartment. Your phone is still at the apartment, shattered from your temper tantrum. He would probably report the incident to the police before he contacted you, but the sight of your phone broken on the floor with you nowhere to be found doesn’t encourage confidence.

The thing is, you can’t go back and face him. Walking in, completely unharmed and freshly showered, with some other man’s clothes on and guilt evident on your face would just cement it for him. All you would do at that point is apologize, and what’s left of his soul would shatter right in front of you. You clamp your hand over your mouth, unable to bear the image of Minho realizing there’s actually someone else. You’re horrible to him, but the only thing he could be sure of is that you only love him. You imagine it’s the only thing keeping him around.

Minho putting together that all these years of pain and suffering and praying you’ll change has culminated in someone else getting the appreciation he deserves could change him forever.

So you lower your hand from the door knob.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

That night with Jisung was different. You were both so overwrought with guilt that you spent the evening taking turns soothing each other. When you finally had sex, it was more tender than it ever should be. He was hovering over you, looking straight into your eyes and he smoothed his hand over your hair. He peppered soft kisses all over your face. You loved every second of it. You showered together again and cuddled in bed. 

“Minho? Is that his name?” The sound of his name makes you flinch. You move away from Jisung who looks at you in confusion. 

“Don’t say his name!” You shout, stumbling out of bed. He blinks at you as you start to gather your clothes. He follows after you, stammering an apology. 

“Y-you said his name in your sleep yesterday. I’m sorry– I–”

“Just stop!” You’re more panicked than angry, which comes through in your voice. Your voice is loud, so it could be heard through the door. Pounding against the door makes you gasp, you stumble backwards. Jisung catches you, pulling you close.

“Who’s there!” Jisung shouts.

“Open the door!” Minho shrieks, his throat sounds like it’s tearing from the sheer force. Jisung grabs the bat, readying it before swinging the door open. Before he can even threaten him, Minho is pushing past him, eyes frantic as they search for you. When he finds you, you see it. You’re clean, unharmed, wearing nothing but Jisung’s shirt as you hug your body. 

He’s putting the pieces together.

Your mouth feels dry, your tongue feels like it’s swelling. The way Minho’s shoulders slouch makes your chest ache. He shakes his head at you in disbelief. 

“Your purse.” He gestures weakly at the bag sitting on the couch from when you entertained the idea of going home. “The tag is connected to my phone because I knew you’d do this.” Despite being so quiet, his words slash you open. 

“Minho…” Your trembling hands cover your mouth. This is it. This is it.

“Minho I didn’t mean to scare you I swear–”

“You can have the apartment.” The words fight their way from Minho’s mouth, but he’s not able to look at you. 

“Minho?” You try pitifully. Minho just drops his head, lingering for just one more moment before leaving. Jisung is quick to hold you, caress the back of your neck as if to cushion the incoming sobs. But they don’t come. 

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“For some ungodly reason, he’s going to keep paying your lease.” You gape at the woman. She doesn’t introduce herself, but you know it’s her. The one he wore your favorite cologne for. 

“He told me not to but fuck it– don’t contact him.” She shoves a finger into your face. “Don’t go looking for him, don’t make this any worse than you already have for the past twelve years.” She pauses, waiting for your reaction, seemingly expecting you to explode on her. You nod, finally closing your mouth that had been hung open this entire time. 

“Okay.”

She looks confused before she shakes her head and walks off of Jisung’s porch. 

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung comes home with Chinese takeout. 

“I’m going to set it on the table.” He says breathlessly as he takes off his coat and hangs it on the coat hanger that his girlfriend undoubtedly picked out. She’ll be back in five days. He’ll erase any signs of you and go back to normal. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks.

“What the fuck are we doing?” You say before you can stop yourself. It’s quiet for a moment, and you refuse to turn around and see his face. 

“What?”

“Why would I sit at that table and eat with you?” You stand up, finally turning around once the emotions stirring inside you are potent enough. You interrupt him before he can answer.

“Your loving girlfriend is going to come home soon.”

“That doesn’t change anything. I mean, we can still meet at your place–”

“She’s going to propose to you, Jisung.” He freezes for a moment, but you can tell by his face that he still doesn’t get it. 

“Do you seriously think she’ll never be suspicious? That she won’t wake up one night and realize you’re not there? Then she’ll pretend she’s asleep and hear you walk out. Then she’ll be more aware of the clues. You smell like perfume that’s not hers, there was a small amount of lipstick smudged on your collar, you’re sexually satisfied all of a sudden,”

Jisung swallows, “Then we’ll be careful.”

“Are you seriously willing to risk your relationship?” You ask, a nasty hint of amusement in the way you raise one brow at him. He closes his mouth.

You laugh loudly, the laughter spiraling out of control before you finally catch your breath.

“I fucking knew it.” Your expression sours, settling into a bitter one as you yank your purse off the hook.

“Don’t leave…”

“I don’t give a fuck about you. Don’t waste your time on someone who wouldn’t care if you died. Focus on your fucking fiancée.” You look back slightly before slamming the door behind you. 

Jisung wasn’t sure why he felt a bit panicked. His heartbeat accelerated as he stabilized himself against the counter. The slam of the door echoed in his head over and over until Jiwoo was kneeling in front of him, surrounded by all their friends and family. Everyone swooned, there were tears in Jiwoo’s eyes and all her friends' eyes. 

“Han Jisung, will you marry me?”

Jisung looked around frantically, feeling like the world was spinning. Only then did he realize why he was immediately panicked by you leaving. It was solidified by the fact that he couldn’t get in contact with you. He never did get your address, and you either never got another phone or changed your number.

Jisung’s breaths felt like they couldn’t break free. 

He was suffocating.

“Yes.”

-> end of act i

skz masterlist

milestone celebration masterlist

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 5)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

Part 5 -

After brushing his teeth, he roughly tossed a towel in my direction. The fact he even owned a toothbrush surprised me given that his teeth honestly looked yellow, but then again, the amount of chain smoking he was doing probably had something to do with that. Plus, red lipstick was notorious for making stained teeth look worse - I guess red paint was no different.

He seemed to find it amusing that I dragged a chair from the kitchen into the bathroom to jam under the door handle. I didn't care what he thought of it; I wasn't crazy enough to trust him. Not one bit. What if he took it upon himself to faithfully recreate the iconic shower scene from psycho? I didn't want my blood spiralling down the plughole as I breathed my last.

Once I was barricaded in the bathroom and under the hot water, my tense muscles began to relax a little. My black eye still stung, tinged purple and the edges turning sickly yellow as my body began trying to heal it. Thankfully my scraped up feet were faring much better, one of the few positives of being stuck here was that I hadn't been on them much as they were healing. I let the water wash over my body, seeping into my scalp and over my face. It felt as though it might wash off some of the strangeness of the last couple of days. I closed my eyes and imagined this was all just some sort of break from reality, one that I could snap out of and be back in my own apartment. Maybe I was just in the shower before going to work - but then again, part of me was still relieved that wasn't the case. Nothing could make me miss that job.

I grabbed the cheap 3-in-1 bodywash, shampoo, and conditioner, laughing a little to myself at the ridiculousness of men's shower products being like this. I missed my own separate counterparts, but at this stage anything would do. Despite the havoc it would probably wreak on my hair, it did at least smell nice. I did my best to comb it through with my hands and rinse it all out.

Finally satisfied with my efforts, I turned off the water and stepped out into the cold. Hurriedly drying myself down and getting dressed again, feeling very vulnerable in my nakedness, I threw my head forward and gathered my hair up into the towel. I twisted it and tucked it in. Then I pulled my socks and boots back on, my feet already feeling the cold. At least there had been hot water. Removing the chair and stepping out of the cloud of steam, I made my way back into the main living space.

I was met by the sight of J hunched over a mirror at the table. His back was to me as I approached and I coughed to announce my presence. He turned in his seat, revealing his half painted face for a moment. His surprisingly tanned skin was peppered with patches of white paint.

Part of me felt disappointed to see his real face vanishing. Although, maybe to him, this was his real face now... I approached the table slowly, chair still tucked under my arm. I set it down and sat on it facing the wrong way - so that the back of it was against my torso, and my arms folded against the top. Propping up my head with one hand I watched him as he continued to rub the white paint onto his face.

"You need something?" He grumbled.

"No, I'm just observing. I figure no one else sees this..." I gestured.

He gave me a look, which I found difficult to read (maybe that was part of why he put the makeup on in the first place.)

I couldn't deny the part of me that felt drawn in by the spectacle. I knew it was fucked up, but it was like morbid fascination again. I watched his every move as he put down the white and picked up the black. How fitting that the smile would be the last part... He was using his fingers and a grubby little paintbrush to apply it all, leaving white and grey smudges on his hands. In a sort of trance-like desire for understanding I reached out a hand for the cracked white paint. The logo of any brand had long since rubbed off, leaving a broken disc of chalky paint with a cracked lid. I absent-mindedly traced the cracks with my finger tips, not realising I was now the one being watched.

I became aware of it when he reached out and his fingertips brushed against my temple - the place where the metal plate was holding my skull together. Involuntarily, I recoiled at him touching such a vulnerable spot.

"Sorry," he muttered.

This shocked me more than anything else had yet and I blinked in confusion. Had he just... apologised to me?

"It's just a reflex," I responded flatly.

He said nothing as he continued to black out his eyes. I carried on tracing the broken mosaic of the white paint.

"You know..." I began, "in Japan there's a long history of repairing broken pottery with precious metals..."

I put the white paint down and carried on my little monologue.

"I'm pretty sure that they used medical grade titanium on me, and given what that's done to my health insurance prices, it may as well be a precious metal," I chuckled a little under my breath.

"Mhm, and why'd they do that?"

"I think, because they find new beauty in it. The pot is changed forever, and instead of tossing it out, they embrace it. The metal really highlights the cracks. I like the idea."

He turned to face me.

"I meant why did they put a metal plate in your head, and why does that mean you pay more to live? Don't you see, that's crazy..." He said slowly.

"Oh." I blushed feeling kind of stupid.

He grinned.

"But, I like the other thing," he said, leaning forward with the black paint brush.

He began to apply paint to my face, tracing my scars. Despite his animated body language, he had a surprisingly steady hand - something which was probably useful when you dealt with explosives, I thought. It was strange to see his face, so close to my own, and missing the signiature splash of red. His dark eyes looking down the bridge of his nose at his handiwork, his tonge sticking out a little in the left corner of his mouth... If I didn't know who he was, I would have found it endearing.

He leaned back in his chair with a pensive hum in that rumbling voice which had become so familiar to me now. I couldn't see what the result of his artistic exploit was, and was a little afraid to find out. He manually turned my head to the side as he returned with the paint brush.

"You know you could just ask rather than cranking my head around like that. I'd like to keep it attached," I muttered, a little pissed off.

He found this very humourous, bouncing around in his seat with laughter.

"Stop it, I'm serious!" I snapped, irritation rising.

He stopped laughing fairly abruptly - becoming very still in a way that raised the hair on the back of my neck.

"You should never be serious, doll, it's so boring."

Before I could come up with a response, he put down the brush and turned the mirror towards me. My eyes fell on my reflection and the web of black cracks he had highlighted for me. My reaction was visceral, a mixture of self-loathing and yet, somewhere in there, an appreciation for the artistic look it gave. It really did make it look like a fork of lightning.

The idea of drawing attention to something I so often tried to hide, or at least shrink, to blazenly emphasise something I attempted to distract from, often for other peoples' comfort more than my own... I felt a surge of emotion and my eyes stung with tears. He watched my body language intently.

"You don't like it?" He asked.

"I, I don't know how I feel about it..." I shook my head.

"I think, it makes you even more beautiful... And you are beautiful," he urged with an intensity that scared and thrilled me in equal measure.

No one had ever really told me that, not even before the accident. I always thought I was unremarkable, in every way. I felt overlooked for my intellect and any asthetic value I did have. It felt just as gut-wrenching as when the kind shop girl had said she thought I was pretty.

My world was so quiet these days, and so devoid of any kind of praise. Hot tears begin to brim in my eyes. It was hard sometimes not to feel so angry at the way people treated me. Sometimes I felt like i'd died that day, the me I knew certainly had. As much as I'd struggled to like whoever that girl was, I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I felt like a ghost. No one even knew I was here, and that was painful... but also oddly liberating.

I laughed a little hysterically, as I picked up the red paint pot. The negative words of my co-workers, people on the bus, random men in the street, all flickered through my mind. Ordinary people could be so cruel it astonished me sometimes. And here I was. Sat opposite a man who was supposed to represent the worst of the worst. And he was telling me I was beautiful. It's a funny world we live in...

He watched me with a kind of intense fascination as I wrestled my inner thoughts. It struck me that perhaps I was hard for him to read.

Suddenly, something clicked. I let go of my panic and confusion, resigning myself to acting on impulse instead. I didn't weigh up the risks for once: constant calculation was exhausting. Sometimes I wanted to just do things - I decided I could deal with the potential fallout later.

I grasped my hand under his jaw and forcibly turned him to face me. His eyes flashed with a kind of fire, though whether it was rage at me returning the favour of manhandling him like that, or something else, I couldn't tell. I wasn't sure I needed to know which.

I dipped a finger into the red paint and began to put the missing smile back on his face. Turning him this way and that, I felt giddy with the feeling of power it gave me, however fragile that power might be. Somehow, knowing just how dangerous he was only heightened the feeling...

As I covered the last of his scars with the red, I moved my finger to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut as I carefully applied that part more like I would my own lipstick, keeping it neater and mostly within the lines. I felt him let out a little rumble of approval, the vibration of his voice through his lips against my index finger.

I withdrew and looked him over, smudging out both his smile and the dark circles with my other hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Blending is your friend," I joked in a sing-songy voice.

A strange kind of smirk crept into his features.

"You surprise me," he purred.

"I know," I said back, with a smirk of my own. It was true, I had worked out that much.

When I was satisfied at the job well done, I wiped my hands on some paper towel, removing the worst of the paint residue. He was still watching me intently, like he might burn a hole right through me.

"You got a staring problem?" I chided, crossing over to the kitchen area.

I opened the cupboard which I had found the vodka bottle in and perused the various other old dusty bottles. I pulled a couple out and set them on the counter trying to read what they were.

"What are you doing?"

"Well I figure, since i'm stuck here... and shit is getting increasingly weird, I'm gonna need a drink," I shot back.

Some of the bottles weren't even labelled.

"What is this... moonshine? Drain cleaner?" I chuckled.

"Well, you could always do a taste test: everything is drinkable... some things only once," He erupted into laughter.

As much as I hated to admit it, he'd made me laugh too. I opened one of the bottles without a label. The smell was so strong I wondered if it was pure ethanol.

"Whoah, I feel like this one could burn my eyeballs out just with the fumes," I exclaimed.

I picked up another bottle, this time one with a label in Russian. He grabbed the bottle from my hand and held it up in the light.

"Overproof, not legal but, uh," he gestured melodramatically to the various other less-than-legal apparatus strewn about the place.

"It's not even open, I wonder why," I said sarcastically.

With a flourish, he pulled out a butterfly knife, cut the metal foil from the neck of the bottle, and popped the stopper.

"Are you actually going to drink that?" I asked in horror.

He sniffed it and screwed up his face immediately.

"No."

I took the bottle from him and felt my eyes water at the vapour. Overcome with impulsive curiosity I put it to my lips and took a swig. J's eyes widened in amusement and anticipation.

For a split second I thought it would be fine, and then it started to really burn. I coughed and choked for a moment before managing to regain a little of my composure. My face was red hot. It definitely was vodka, the strongest I'd ever tasted.

"I think you might have a few screws loose, doll," he grinned.

"Maybe," I spluttered out, between more coughing.

"Careful, they might ship you off to Arkham," he teased.

"Well, I think you could use that as drain cleaner, even if it's not meant to be," I said finally as I drank cold water straight from the kitchen faucet in a desperate attempt to stop the burning.

He laughed again at my antics.

When I had recovered I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My stomach growled, reminding me again how hungry for some proper food I was. I decided to test the boundaries of the little bond we seemed to have made.

"I'd like some real food, and a toothbrush," I blurted out.

"Oh you would? Is that a demand or a request?" He asked placing a hand in his pocket.

For a moment I thought i'd fucked up and he might be reaching for the knife, but much to my relief he pulled out a mobile phone.

"A request. Please, I need a square meal and something other than vodka for mouthwash," I urged.

He looked me up and down for a moment, that calculating look on his face again. I was being scrutinised and shifted a little on the spot. His gaze was so intense at times it was almost like I could physically feel it.

Finally he punched in some numbers and let the phone ring. When the line clicked and someone answered he turned away and paced by the window. I couldn't make out the conversation other than the odd snippet on our end. I took a seat at the table.

"No,"

"Don't ask why, just do as I tell ya,"

"Just get some different options..."

"Oh and I want a toothbrush."

"Are you hard of hearing?" He growled the final line as the guy on the other end seemed to be asking too many questions. After hanging up he sat down opposite me, elbows resting on the table and his hands forming a steeple.

Suddenly, a deafening crack rang out and the mirror exploded into a pile of fragments. An involuntary shriek escaped my mouth. He had a six shooter pistol in one hand. I was frozen in shock and fear for a moment, trying to get to grips with what had just happened.

I was looking again at my face in the mirror with the same mixture of conflicting emotions as before. I was starting to feel a little sad and it showed in the eyes of the girl staring back out at me.

"You... shot the mirror?!"

"We have a winner" he said mockingly.

"But, why?"

He rolled his eyes as though it should be obvious to me.

"It made you frown, problem solved".

"What the fuck? You could have hit me! I thought you said you didn't want to kill me!"

My heart rate was still pounding away in my ears and chest.

"I'm a very good shot," He said, waving the gun around all too casually.

I was dumbfounded, with nothing else to say as my brain scrambled to keep up.

"You don't trust me?" He urged, leaning across the table.

The habit he had of his tongue flicking out to the corner of his lip made me think of a serpent. Even when he seemed docile, there was always the threat of a strike. I still couldn't find the words.

"Doll, I didn't shoot you. Have I harmed a single hair on your pretty little head?"

"Well no, not since I got to the apartment, but -"

"See?" He cut me off, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head as if to say 'I rest my case'.

"Well... won't someone have heard that? What if they call the cops?"

"On this side of town? No. Besides, pretty much this entire neighbourhood is abandoned," he shrugged.

I frowned, still returning slowly from the startle response.

"Look," he slid the gun across the table to me, "you can shoot that in here and nobody will know."

He was testing me again.

I shakily reached out a hand to touch the gun. I felt like it had to be some kind of desperate hallucination but no - I grasped it and slid my finger over the trigger. It was cold to the touch. There was no way he would have handed me a loaded gun, I had to see for myself and checked for bullets.

"You... you just handed me a gun with three bullets in it?" I scoffed in disbelief.

"Mm-hm. Question is, what are you going to do with it?

Could I shoot him? Maybe non-fatally? And make a run for it? My head was reeling. If I did it, I could finally get out of here.

He watched eagerly, soaking up the moment of crisis I was experiencing.

"This really makes you tick doesn't it?"

"I'm a dealer of simple choices," he grinned.

I felt compelled to talk it through to myself.

"I guess you think i'm either too afraid to shoot you - maybe that I don't have the guts to do it - or, that on the slight chance you've made a terrible miscalculation, I do shoot you, and prove you right about us being the same."

"You're right on the money, I can't deny it."

I snapped the chamber back into position and took aim at him, trying my best to recall what little practice I had with guns. I'd shot a rifle once or twice as a teenager, but only the kind used for sport. I lined things up the best I could, squinting while I did.

I watched his reaction carefully. If he was afraid, it didn't show in the slightest. My finger felt heavy against the trigger as it hovered there.

"So what's it gonna be?"

I figured if the shots were heard and anyone cared, maybe they would send the GCPD to investigate. Or, if no one heard or no one cared, then it didn't matter if I fired the gun. Could I actually shoot another human being though? Even one this twisted? I thought about his unpainted face and at the last second, I let my hand drift so that my mark was less than a metre to his left. With a squeeze of the trigger I fired a shot straight past him and into the wall. I didn't flinch. He did with a laugh.

For good measure, I offloaded the other two bullets into the wall as well: better not to hand him back a loaded weapon. Then I slid the empty gun back across the table. I hoped the point I was making was understood well enough. The point being:

'No. I can't - or I won't - shoot you. Not right now, but that could always change.'

We stayed locked in a stare-off as I waited to see what he would do next.

"Did you mean to miss?" He asked, sounding strangely excited.

"Of course..." I said, trying to sound nonchalant about it rather than pleased I hadn't accidentally fucked up and painted the wall with the contents of his skull.

"Well, consider me grateful you didn't accidentally shoot me then, you don't seem the type to have have had much practice with firearms."

I shrugged, hoping he wasn't secretly holding it against me that I had somewhat endangered his life. In my mind, it was more than fair at this point.

Suddenly the electronic factory setting ringtone of a phone cut through the air and he stood up to answer it, peering out of the window. By now it was rapidly getting dark again, and raining heavily outside. He cut the call and slid up the old sash, latching it in place. Before long, one of his men appeared on the fire escape and handed him through several plastic bags.

"You forget something?" J asked sounding unamused.

"Oh yeah!" He exclaimed, patting down his pockets and withdrawing a packet with a toothbrush inside. He handed it over sheepishly and quickly retreated down the ladder again.

J shut the window again and put the bags on the table, setting the toothbrush down in front of me pointedly.

"Thank you," I said inspecting the toothbrush inside it's little plastic prison.

I began to rip open the plastic bags and was met with the smell of chinese takeout. There was a pretty obscene amount of food in total, but I figured if i'd been the guy tasked with getting it, I'd have gone overboard too - and he was told to 'get some different options'. I decided to turn on the old tv set again, to see if there was anything good on it.

It flickered to life part way through an old movie, which I recognised after a while as Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. From what little of it I could recall, it was almost at the final sequence. I left it on as we sat and ate. Since he wasn't likely to care, I deliberately abandoned my own table manners.

One thing I could say about his company, was that it drew attention to all the unwritten little rules I followed without question. Maybe there was a less extreme way in which letting some of the rules of 'civilised society' go could be a good thing. So many of the smaller ones were objectively pointless.

The man and woman on the tv screen were locked in a struggle, climbing a bell tower. The man, having found out the woman he loved didn't exist, that the woman opposite him had been impersonating a dead woman all along, was losing it. As old and melodramatic as the film was, I was on the edge of my seat. The tension was almost unbearable.

Eventually she either slipped or jumped from the tower, to her death. I had forgotten about the food in front of me, locked in a stupor watching the action unfold.

"You like this movie?" J asked.

I nodded.

"It's not bad, I've seen it once before, but a long time ago. Do you think she jumped or fell?"

"Hmm, do we know he didn't push her?"

"Mentally sure, but he didn't physically push her, I think she panicked when that nun appeared."

"Why'd you think she panicked?" He asked between chewing.

"I think it was the guilt. She thought the woman she helped to murder was back for blood. I kinda wish that was the case, actually, I love a little bit of poetic justice."

"Isn't that a little... cliché?" He said, hitting me yet again with a raised eyebrow.

"What's so wrong with cliché?" I shot back.

"It's predictable. It's, ah, it's boring," he said, waving his fork around wildly.

"Sometimes, sure, but the way I see it, you need to have your expectations met most of the time - otherwise there would be no surprises when something doesn't play out as expected. The unpredictable would become... predictable," I mused aloud, going back to eating my noodles. He seemed to be chewing on my words for a bit.

"You are right about that. People like the predictable, it makes them feel safe, people are happy when things go according to plan," he said with that wicked sort of half smile.

"Even you and I," I added, "We all have expectations of people. It's hardwired into us I think. Human brains are all about pattern recognition and replication. It's a double edged sword for us all..."

At this he made a kind of excitable sound and pointed across the table to me.

"I like you, I like that I can't always predict what you're gonna do. So many people are just too consistent."

"But see, without the predictability would you feel that way? Can't have one without the other! But that might be the alcohol talking," I chuckled.

I caught myself smiling at him. What was I doing?

Link to other chapters below:

[taylorcline]

there's nothing like new york. the city that never sleeps. oh, taylor loves it. it's so timeless. whenever she wasn't touring, nashville was always the home base. always. it was where her family was and the place she felt most like herself. but she had found herself with an la condo, too. maybe this was the next city that she needed to get a place in. another thing she loves? award shows. they're just so fun. she'll probably always feel nervous, but she loves any opportunity to get dressed up and mingle with others in the industry. this particular award show she was looking forward to see someone special. taylor abbott: twilight heartthrob, the current object of every teenage girl's obsession, and the reason why she has so many butterflies lately. it was no secret that taylor cline's dating history was the talk of gossip. any woman in the industry could tell you, women can't write songs about their exes without being seen as obessesive and crazy. but men? men are untouchable and they know it. so instead of receiving backlash for breaking up with his girlfriend over a twenty seven second phone call because he met a brunette actress on his video shoot, taylor got all of it for mocking him with his doll on video. suddenly she was the immature one for acting like a kid, even though she literally was one. but he was just a kid! he didn't know any better! she's crazy, no wonder he dumped her! the cherry on top being the cheap attempt of song writing that was released this past summer. a five year old could've written a better song than that. so he was mad that she was mad. it's not her fault he didn't have the balls to break up with her in person. besides, he should feel so lucky the other songs she had written about him were not seeing the light of day. well, there was always another album. after all, the brunette actress was just so much better than her.

but taylor-- taylor abbott came out of left field. the blonde didn't consider herself an actress. no way. sure she did a csi episode or two, but a rom com? it was simply insane. she loves rom coms and a song on the soundtrack? there were no words. meeting him was a breath of fresh air, if you will. not that she was really looking to date, the media would make a joke to stay away from her because she will write a song about you and ruin your life. (and it's a promise, she can assure.) however, with all the time the two had spent together, she couldn't help it. enchanted, from the moment she met him. the need to want to know everything about him, seeing things that reminded her of him and wanting to tell him about it, being excited and wanting him to be one of the first to know about things, the sickness she felt when they were apart. nothing about it felt platonic. it was more of a 'oh my god, if i don't hold his hand, i'm going to drive off a cliff' way. she had always been a hopeless romantic, falling fast, it was both a pro and con. it felt utterly ridiculous. well it did until she found out it was very much mutual. and now all she wanted to do was protect it. it was all so delicate and she wanted it to work so bad. plus, it was a funny thing, dating someone with the exact same name as you. taylor squared. nothing like it.

"taylor brooke!" "you don't have to middle name me, mom, i'm ready!" taylor announced, taking one last look in the mirror, red lipstick complimenting her silver dress. the carpet, a nomination, a quick outfit change, and a performance. then she could spend all the time she wanted with her other half. leaving the hotel and settling into the limo, she pulled out her phone from her bag. a few notifications graced the front of her maroon lg env2, the (1) missed call from tay tay <3 and the voicemail notification immediately catching her eye. hm? she has to fight back the huge smile as she hears his voice on the other line. oh, is she completely enamored with him. he's everything she's ever wanted and more. cliché? maybe she's just really happy. the flashing of the lights almost enough to blind a person, but never fully. this was the life she chose, after all. there's a sea of hellos, hi, oh it's so great to see you, how are you? as she makes her way through the crowd, blue eyes finally settling on a pair of green ones. the amount of time it takes for her face light up? a second tops. well, there was still some time before the show officially started, right? everyone move out of her way, please and thank you. excusing herself with a smile from her previous conversation, he now had all her attention. "so, you leave all your costars really cute voicemails, or am i just the lucky one?" taylor teased, pearly whites on full display.

a distinct, crisp bite of a september evening whistled through stand lights of new york. ribbons of hazy fog cuddled against the blades of grass that lined the corridor of radio city music hall, colliding abruptly with the geometric design of idle porticos. fingertips crested the lip of the opening of his suit chest, smoothing the soft grey fabric as if it were the millionth time he had done so that night. nerves sprouted from the depths of his feet, slowly cascading up a warm, novel sensation to his neck. the hollow dome held a multitude of collaborative echoes, including a sea of audiences matched with the appearances of celebrities of all walks of life. tonight, taylor abbott was simply another fan. a fan of taylor cline’s, that was evident. the relationship was still so brand new, clunky footing of an actor paired tantalizingly with america’s sweetheart. their origins were deeply rooted earlier that year. flushes of longing gazes and petrified conversations that he pleaded wouldn’t allow his soft crush to show form. at least, not yet. they were co-stars, sharing time onscreen while harbouring the inevitable feelings that he adorned for her now. it was somewhat spontaneous, how overnight he morphed from laggy co worker to imagining her delicate, dainty hands enfolded in his own. how each breath he inhaled was swiftly evaporated from his chest within nanoseconds as his jade irises settled on her. even for just a split moment, that was all it took for taylor cline to completely and irrevocably encapsulate him. but he was a nervous, rattled actor on the cusp of what he had hoped was a fulfilling career ahead. taylor cline had everyone’s attention. it was a risk, to believe he had any shot of mutuality, and yet? there he was, now into an amber, sun-setting september night as a plus one to witness greatness. within the last few months of keeping company, the nineteen year-old sat front row at the abundance of potential of her career. of course, that reasoning wasn’t a tactic in climbing any sort of social ladder at hand to abuse and manipulate the trust the two had already set out for one another. paparazzi had a predominate role in stirring up fabricated mess to evoke a reaction to those they spoke about. taylor was still wobbly fumbling through the highs and lows of newfound fame, an unsung blessing to be traipsing through it with the curly tow-headed singer by his side. he beamed with unadulterated pride of her accomplishments. if the future was any indication, he anticipated it to be just the beginning for her. whipping his razor phone out of his breast pocket, nimble fingers made work of him calling his girlfriend, hoping against all hope he would receive her voicemail. when it rung and beeped, that was his signal to speak, clearing the lump that invaded his throat before forming his words. “hey, cline. superstar. should i gear myself up to share you with all of these people who love you? kidding. i know how to share. i just wanted to let you know that i’m so proud of you, you deserve this. i’m right here cheering you on…just call me your biggest fan. break a leg tonight, sincerely your valentine’s day costar,” taylor concluded, a flash of a smile curled at each corner of his lips, front teeth sinking into the border of his bottom lip. ending the call, he shoved the device back into its rightful place, a slow sigh escaping into the air as he was ushered into the building. tonight, he wanted nothing more than to celebrate taylor. the girl whom he was gracious enough to call his girlfriend. girlfriend…girlfriend. girlfriend. that word was something to get used to.

[gothfoxgirlboy]

prompt: kissing booth

I was finishing up setting up all the booths for the con. There was only one booth that wasn't ready. Some company that was supposed to be showing off their line of makeup based on gems. I was kinda sad, I do love rocks and jewels.

After asking my boss what to do with the empty booth he said that I might as well watch over it in case they end up showing up.

I sit down in the empty booth, treated it like a extended break. However, as I was bored and only had a few sheets of paper and a market I wrote a sign that says "kissing booth 25¢".

I wasn't expecting anything, it was just a dumb joke for me to laugh at. But someone came up soon.

She was wearing all pink clothing, with bubblegum pink hair, and matching lips. Her outfit was accented with rhodolite jewelry. She looked like a bimbo.

"what a cutie you are!" She says with a valley girl accent. "And you're nice and cheap too!"

She drops a hundred dollar bill on the table. I pick it up gingerly, "I don't think I can break a 100"

"don't worry you don't need to." She grabs my collar and kisses me deeply. Teasing my lips with her tongue.

I was breathless when she pulled away. But she didn't let go of my collar.

"Pink is cute color on you." She giggles "come on you still owe me some kisses."

I follow her as she takes me to the back of the building, a group of girls is waiting there, unpacking boxes.

"I found our billboard girls!" The bimbo shouts. "I paid for 400 kisses and only used 1."

The girls look at me as we approach. I recognize the name on the boxes and as soon as I realize what these girls were they were all over me.

Each one was color coded with unique styles. A goth covered in onyx, a cottagecore outfit with pretty emeralds, a spring dress shining with citrine, a red carpet dress full of rubies, a saphire beach outfit, a diamond studded wedding dress.

Everything from their hair to their outfits to their lips were entirely a single color. They grab my hands. I'm awestruck at how beautiful each one of them is.

I hear them cooing over how cute I am as the girls begin to plant kisses all over me. As they kiss my hands I see perfect lip marks in bright colors, not matter how many times they kiss me their lipstick doesn't smudge or fade.

They kiss my neck and face. Each kiss makes me blush, and tickles me ever so slightly. The girls kiss me dozens of times all over.

Some of them are getting a bit handsy. I feel my shirt come up and my stomach being covered in kisses. Slowly they move up higher and higher. They reach my nipples and I moan.

Eventually they stop. The goth pulls out a mirror smiling smugly as she shows me my face. I'm covered in a veritable rainbow of lipstick marks, black and white and almost every color of the rainbow. The thought of the marks under my shirt makes me weak in the knees.

"Come on cutie, you're our advertisement board today. Come help us set up." One of them says, giving me a box.

Support my writing and game development on my Patreon.

If you enjoy tribute to @kitsunes-shrine

[kyunisixx]

chiaroscuro

artist!Robert Plant AU one shot.

a/n: this really started out as a song I wanted to write. But I knew I had to turn it into a longer writing!!

themes: fluff, mild implications of nsfw and tw: childhood trauma.

summary: in which Y/N becomes a muse for Robert, a landscape artist in more ways than one. (Man, that summary is so shit but let's roll with it)

pairing: artist!Robert Plant x fem!reader

chi·a·ro·scu·ro

the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting.

an effect of contrasted light and shadow created by light falling unevenly or from a particular direction on something.

"Lean back for me a bit more, darling. That's right, relax."

As she moves, the old sofa creaks beneath her. Chilled air gusts through a partially opened window, making her shiver and sending miniscule bumps all over her bare skin. Her eyes drift over the fixtures inside the cozy cabin, illuminated by an outmoded oil lamp situated on the man's table. Several tiny moths were floating around it as the flame wavered ever so slightly from the breeze.

Scattered were all paintbrushes and smudges of paint were messily smeared all over the table. A round board was placed so close at the edge (one she heard him call before —a palette). In the middle is a rustic cup with half-empty, now cold tea. But a paint-smudged hand grasped on its handle and swiftly brought it over to a mouth. 

Then her eyes met his.

His frizzled, curly blond locks are pulled into a disheveled bun. One he pinned up so carelessly with a thin, unused paintbrush as to prevent it from obstructing his view but a few ringlets managed to escape and are now framing his face.

Ivory-colored shirt, a few buttons undone to reveal smooth skin of his collarbones which were also marked with a few shades of paint. Some scattered across his jawline to his cheek. 

Lips are pursed and eyes are pulled into deep concentration, they are set into a particular part of her. As if to capture the exact curvature of the crease on her waist.

Salient was the cleft on his chin and the sharp edge of his cheekbones by the incandescent light lent by the lamp, making him look like a contrast between sinister and elegance.

He dipped a brush and carefully made short strokes on the canvas, pausing every now and then to look at her.

The sun was setting and the sky was shaded a dull gray, providing so little of brightness which seemed to have darkened even more being situated in a lush forest.

Many months ago at this time of the day, she would have just been getting up from her sleep. Wake up and get ready for a long shift. It was a routine she had gotten so used to every day.

Take a bath. Eat. Pick out an outfit. Put on makeup. Be into the persona.

She would become a completely different person as soon as she stepped into the establishment she knew for as long as she moved into the town a few months ago.

From having to move into different cities and using different names to hide her identity. All of it to escape the filthy and haunted ghost of her past. 

Screaming. Glass breaking. Bruises. Slamming doors.  All of the things a child shouldn't have to go through. She took a risk and ran away from it.

And here is where she ended up thirteen years later.

Lacklustre eyes unmoving as they steadily stared back at her in a blurry mirror inside the changing room. All the girls' chattering seemed to have been muted and faded in the background as she gazed at her reflection. She picked up the small item in her hand, before taking the cap off and swiped the crimson lipstick across her chapped lips, creating a thick shade.

"Y/N, you ready to go?"

She turned her head back to Don, the club manager. She smiled and moved her head in a single nod.

“Sure, Don. Just give me a short moment”. She adjusted the strap of her black velvet dress and walked on the familiar, dimly lit hallway. Her stilettos clapped quietly on the floor as she padded and stopped in front of a red curtain covering the doorway from the side to the stage. 

"How's it going, folks? Alright, alright. I'd get right into it. This is the moment you've all been waiting for. The crowd favourite, slithers like a python, mistress of the night; Marilyn"

Then, she waited as the main lights switched off and took her cue to enter as smoke filled the platform. Coloured lights gleamed right through. She situated herself right in the middle then circled her hand on the pole as the first note of the song started to hum quietly. Like a distant patter of rain—calm before the storm. Her hips moved into the rhythm and fluidly sneaked around the pole as the cloud of smoke started to clear out. Gazing into the crowd of men, her blood-red lips quirk into a smirk.

It was the only time she knew she had complete power and control. And she relished it, savoring the potency. 

Her hands smoothed all over her now slightly perspired skin as men clamored and hooted for her. Bills were haphazardly thrown into the dancefloor. Something that she wasn't used to when she first started, it made her feel cheap. Dirty. But her routine carried on almost every night, she eventually got used to it and had even grown to like it.

Then she spotted him. 

Big ball of golden hair illuminated by stage lights. He was situated amongst the sea of predators, his eyes followed the fluidity of her movements. But what struck her the most was the way he was watching her. It wasn't shadowed by lust, but more of an intense wonder and curiosity. It was as if he was memorizing each part of her curves, but for another purpose.

Her gaze somewhat mirrored his. He definitely wasn't strange-looking. Hell, he might have been the most beautiful man she has ever seen. He didn't belong to a place where no good men wander around. Both his beguiling beauty and aura was completely out of place for such a place like this.

The song then came to a stop. Her number was over but her eyes remained locked with his. It was only then she came back to consciousness as Don's voice boomed into the large speakers, signalling the end of her performance. She collected the bills scattered on the floor and walked off the stage, throwing a last glance into the crowd as she took her exit.

He was gone.

He wouldn't show up for a couple of days. She was sure, of course. The moment she steps out, her eyes would already be skimming through the lounge, and would sigh in disappointment if she didn't spot any sign of him.

"Have you seen your mysterious man yet?"

One of the girls she was closest to, Hershey, asked as she counted the thick block of bills on her hand.

"He wasn't out there tonight"

"You could have been hallucinating. Anyway, you told me he was 'like an angel'"

Hershey laughed, mimicking the way she had said the last part with a breathy tone and added, "Or could have been disappointed in your dance number, ran away and swore to not step a foot into this place again"

She stopped momentarily, chuckled lightly and sighed, "You may not be far from the truth but we'll see."

Then he would be there the next night, positioned right at a table at the back. His curly locks gave his identity right away, with his elbows propped up and fingers poised against his chin, bearing the same gaze. 

Later that night, he'd be waiting right outside of the club.

"The show was spectacular."

She tilted her head to him, nodded and smiled.

"Thank you."

She wasn't sure how it ended up with her sitting on a stool inside a cozy 24-hour operating diner so late at night, chatting with her "mysterious man" late at night, who introduced himself as Robert. He was apparently a landscape artist and has traveled the world where he finds inspirations for his works.

"The best place I have ever been to? Hm. I'd say Machu Picchu, set in the high mountains of Andes in Peru, above a river called Urubamba. I had to hike all the way up, and you could see the breathtaking view when you reach the top."

"That does sound very lovely." She sighed wistfully.

"Have you ever traveled anywhere outside the country?"

"Oh no, I have not. I move to different places a lot but I've never gone out, never had the chance to."

"Ah, you should! It's wonderful."

She nodded, "Do you only do landscaping?"

"Well, no. I do a little bit of abstract art but I focus mainly on landscaping. I was thinking of expanding more, though. Maybe portrait, or nude art."

"That's a good idea. An artist has to come out of his comfort zone and be able to become great."

"Yeah…", he trailed off, as if lost in thought. "I hope this doesn't come off as strange or I as a creep. But may I ask you to be my muse? Don't worry! We'll only do portrait." He added the last sentence quickly.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at him, her brows furrowed deep in thought.

"You don't have to s—"

"I'll do it."

A few days later, she was again popped up on a stool inside his flat just a few blocks away from the club. His place was spacious, but had a very rustic feel to the interior design. A few souvenirs from different countries were neatly placed on a shelf and most of his paintings were hung stylistically on the walls (in which she stared at in complete awe for what she could tell an hour each painting until he had to drag her away to his studio)

Her fingers fiddled as she tried to stay still under his calculating gaze. She never had much problem with how she looked and never had insecurities. Perhaps she just didn't care enough to be insecure. But at that moment, she thought of how she must've appeared to him and if she was good-looking enough to be an inspiration for his art.

"Are you alright there?"

"Yes! Yes, I… Yeah I'm alright."

His hand stopped and placed the paintbrush on the table. "Are you sure? If you're not comfortable or if you need a break, we could stop for a bit."

She shook her head vigorously, "No, it's okay. Don't worry."

"If you say so."

She let her eyes travel from his bare foot, to his khaki trousers, to his satin shirt with top three buttons undone, to his face. Oh, his gorgeous face. It was pulled into a deep concentration as he stared at his work, giving her some time to study his majestic features.

His eyes flickered to hers as if sensing her stare and playfully frowned, a small smile curled on the side of his lips.

"What?"

"What?"

He laughed, "You were staring."

"I was. Is it a crime?"

"No, I wouldn't say it is." He said with a teasing edge to his voice. 

It was their arrangement which they stick to a few times a week. On her day off, after work if she wasn't feeling too exhausted. There was an obvious attraction lingering inside the room of his small studio but none of them acted upon it other than just casual flirtations thrown around. He was a perfect gentleman and had always been accommodating. A couple of times he would insist on paying her in which she would always refuse to accept. 

"The tea you make for me is enough for a payment." She had jokingly said. "Do not worry about it, Robert. Really, it's okay. I'm making enough from my job."

One night, after their sessions, they had too many drinks and bottles were littered over the table along with his paint brushes which had long dried of paint. 

"Tell me about you, Marilyn. Mistress of the night, who apparently, slithers like a python." He mused, mentioning her alias. His glossy eyes filled with mirth.

She snorted, took a long swig of beer and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. 

"Marilyn is… Nobody. I'm nobody. I came from somewhere that in my mind, ceased to exist." She stared ahead. "I ran away from home. Who calls it a home anyway?" She laughed humorlessly.

"My parents fought a lot. They spent so much time fighting, they didn't even have time for me. Looking back at it now, I could have just preferred that. But then, they turned their anger towards me." She sniffed and quickly wiped the salty tears before they even slid down to her flushed cheeks.

"I went to my grandparents. They loved me so much and I loved them so dearly. But they were not my parents. Eventually, both of them passed away and I was left on my own. But I was eighteen. I didn't have to go back to my parents. So I went to different cities, finding places where I could feel like I could fit in. Looked for jobs, and then I ended up here. I made friends and I have my own place, but it still never felt like home."

He was quietly staring at her, and the silence was deafening. Then he lifted his free hand to her face and ran the back of his index finger to dry her cheeks. Her hand caught his and brought it to her lips and placed a soft kiss. 

"But with you, it feels… different. I like hanging out with you. I like being with you. You feel like home to me, Robert."

Her voice echoed softly as he took his time to reply. But he didn't, instead, he leaned down and sealed his lips against hers. 

He layed limply on top of her body as he shuddered from his release. Both tried to desperately catch for their breath as her hand smoothed down his back and the other combed through his damp locks. He slid out of her and dropped beside her, not too long before he enclosed his arms over her and pulled closer. He catches her lips on his in a lazy kiss and smiled.

"You feel like home to me too, Y/N."

Her heart soared and nuzzled her nose against his.

"I want to paint you like this. May I? You are so beautiful. In light and in shadow."

She blushed, "Yes, but right now? I'm tired."

"No, no. We'll do it tomorrow. I'll take you somewhere." His warm breath hit her skin as he whispered.

"Where?" She whispered back.

"Well, I'm not telling you that. But it was what I helped my Father build when I was younger. It's somewhat like a special place for me, and I want you to see it."

He gazed at her as he waited for her to respond.

"Okay."

Under the light of the lamp, she peers at him under her lashes.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Mm? I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You know what it is. Cut it out or I'll never get to finish this."

She huffs. "You're no fun"

"I can prove you otherwise in a few minutes."

He continued to do his finishing touches and leaned back to admire his work.

"That isn't too bad. But nothing compares to the real art."

"And what might that be?"

"You, my love." He stood up, walked over to where she was, placed his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her to him.

"I've been waiting for this for hours."

"I've been giving you hints and you insist on finishing your art."

He chuckled. "Of course I had to."

His fingers danced their way from her sides to her hips, rubbing along the marks littered across her skin.

"Are you ready to see it?" He murmured against her neck. She shudders as she nodded, giving their playful banter a break. 

He bit her earlobe softly, "Okay."

He walked over to his canvas and carefully turned it around to face her.

She gasps.

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