#and promises when she’s back she’ll be working and pay it back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aviawrites · 2 months ago

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anastasia antoinette (sinners)

!s: smoke x female!oc, stack x female!oc

summary: Anastasia Riley has cut out a life for herself in Mississippi in the few years since her move. She works as a dancer and escort at the Johnnie Ram Club almost every night under the jurisdiction of her boss, Francis. When she learns that one of her wealthier clients has the same face as his brother, their entanglements lead to the pathway to her dreams. (7.7k)

a/n: hello again and thank you for the love on these sinners stories! this one is a lot thicker in plot (what’s new) and i’ve recently learned what self indulgent stories are and realized that that’s what i do 100% of the time. also, again, im going to preface this with the fact that i am black. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: sexual harassment and assault, prostitution, misogyny, swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), guns, smutish

in this story, our characters name is: Anastasia Riley || (Ann-uh-stage-uh)

📍 The Johnnie Ram Club - Jackson, Mississippi || 10:00pm

I dab away at the red lipstick that’s smeared onto my chin, staring intensely at the lightbulb-lined mirror. Behind me, I hear a group of girls rush into the dressing room.

“He said he wants a girl who knows how to make drinks,” Cleo remarks.

“You saw how he was dressed?” Etta scoffs. “He got money. I’ll do anything he asked me to do.”

I look back. “Girl, you couldn’t make a whiskey neat even if he promised you a belt of hundreds.”

“Man, shut up, Ana,” She rolls her eyes. “If you’d have seen him—“

Francis shoves the door open, barely fitting in the doorway with his pot belly. The hair on the top of his head is rapidly thinning, his age getting the best of him as his pale skin gains another ten creases by the day. He points at me.

“Stasia, you’re up.”

“Oh no, Francis." I shake my head. “I’m off in 30.”

“Then you best make this one quick,” he snaps back. “I don’t want him waiting. Now come on.”

I roughly set my lipstick down, reluctantly standing from my bedazzled seat and rolling on my black gloves as I make my way to Francis and into the main section of the tiny nightclub.

He leads us, briefing me on this “high paying client” who requests a girl who can mix drinks, the client that the girls were talking about. It only goes in one ear and out the other as the intense irritation at my dragged out work night takes up all of the space in my head.

However, this all changes when I see him standing there. Etta didn’t tell a lie, he’s dressed nicer than most of the men who frequent this club, a fitted wool suit with a top hat to match. I quickly flip into work mode, plastering on a smile as Francis introduces me.

“This is one of my best girls, Stasia,” he says. The man only stares stiffly, smoking a pipe out of the corner of his mouth. “She’ll make whatever drink you want.”

Francis retreats, but not before tapping me on the butt, nearly making my smile drop. Nevertheless, I place my hand on the man’s chest.

“Hi, mister fancy." I seductively smile, rubbing my hand up and down his shoulder. “Want to play a game?”

He doesn’t loosen up, only gives me a cold nod as his eyes scan my body.

“If I can guess one thing right about you, we go into that private room over there.” I point to a magenta curtain across the floor. “Alright?”

“Alright,” he speaks for the first time, his voice low and gravely with a Delta accent.

“Hmm,” I place my gloved finger on my chin. “You look like a man with a story…I bet you got a million of ‘em up here.” I tap on his temple. “…But none you’re willing to tell me the truth about.”

The client pauses, his eyes boring into mine as he softly nods again, blowing his pipe smoke the other way.

“Well, how about you take me in that room and tell me some lies?”

I grab his hand, leading him behind the velvet magenta curtain and into one of our biggest private rooms, latching the metal clips closed on either side to ensure our privacy. Across the room from us is a matching velvet sofa, a full bar on the wall to the right of it. I’m usually the only one using this private room, as I’m the only girl who knows how to mix drinks — Such talents come in handy in a profession like this.

He’s awfully quiet and timid, not doing anything without my instruction. I don’t mind it, much better than the overly pushy and slightly drunk clients I’ve dealt with before. I push him toward the couch, pulling his thick coat off. When he falls onto the sofa, I follow him, straddling his lap.

“You’re so tense.” I take his hat off and place it on the couch, beginning to massage his biceps. “Relax a little.”

I see him struggle with it, taking a deep breath and holding his eyes closed for a moment as I continue working on his arms.

“What do you want me to make you?”

He shrugs. “Whatever you wanna make me.”

“Come on,” I chuckle. “You’re dressed this nice and don’t got a drink of choice?”

He shrugs again, eyes more focused on my body rather than the question at hand.

“Alright…” I swing my leg over his, standing up and heading to the bar.

I first pour a shot of bourbon, my heels thudding against the old carpet.

“Here, to loosen you up.” I hand it to him.

Once I return behind the bar counter, my quiet client downs his shot, finally speaking to me first.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t remember?” I smile, setting up my drink supplies. “‘Stasia, he called me. Short for Anastasia. But I got ten different short names besides that.”

“You like ‘em?”

“As much as the next person.”

“But what you want me to call you?” he interrogates.

“No one’s bothered to ask me before," I say honestly. “I think I prefer Anastasia. That’s what I was given so that’s what I’ll take.”

“Anastasia.” He nods, testing how the name sounds on his tongue. “Where you from, Anastasia?”

I answer in between shaking his iced drink. “Alabama, originally. But my family moved us down here a few years ago.”

“Mmm. Why’d y’all move?”

I laugh, pouring his drink in a glass. “You sure asking a lot of questions.” He doesn’t laugh, only stares at me as he leans back on the sofa. “We left for my daddy’s work. You know it’s a depression these days, gotta adjust to what you can make work.”

“I know it." He nods.

I’ve slipped out of my heels by the time I’m walking back around to him, chilled drink in hand. I straddle him once again, placing it in his.

“Every sip you take is an item of clothing gone.”

He immediately takes a swig. I giggle, that one shot of bourbon has turned him completely loose. As promised, I take both of my glittery gloves off, resting my arms on his shoulders.

“So tell me about yourself, mister fancy.”

“Smoke.” He corrects me.

“Smoke,” I repeat. “You tell me some truths now. Or lies, I’m free to listening to either.”

“Well, we just came back.” He looks up at me, eyes glued to mine. “Throwing a party for some of my people in the Delta.”

“We?”

“Me and my brother." He takes another sip.

“Where’d y’all come back from?” I ask whilst removing my dress. This game never lasts long, and it was never intended to. But the more he talks, the more I wish I had on more so he could keep going.

“Chicago. We stayed up there seven years.” All of his answers are just discreet enough to keep me in the dark. Even after we’ve spoken, I feel like I have no idea who this Smoke is.

“Y’all military?”

“We was.”

“There are some stories you can tell me,” I grin.

Smoke doesn’t. Instead, I hear the ice in his glass begin to shake as his hands subtly quiver. He looks down at them, a look of grief and frustration on his face as he internally asks them to stop.

I’ve seen PTSD before, plenty of soldiers come in with the wish to forget what they saw in those trenches. I should’ve known better than to ask. Smoke’s demeanor has changed and he fights back tears.

“Shh, shh.” I place my hand over his, stroking it with my thumb. “We ain’t gotta talk about it.”

He shakes his head as if to shake the memories out of his brain, taking one last long sip of his drink.

Not much more talking happens before I’ve pulled his lips to mine — Smoke kisses me hungrily, like he’s trying to get so caught up in our kiss that he can’t think about anything else, anywhere else. It’s when he’s finally on top of me that he pulls my hand around his neck, placing pressure as to ask me to squeeze. I comply, keeping my hand there as passion flows through his lips. He removes my last article of clothing, a flimsy pair of fishnet stockings. They’re thrown to the floor as he pushes my legs apart, undoing his belt.

He loves me slowly, emotion filling each one of his thrusts as he grunts and groans in my ear, keeping his head buried in my neck. I cradle his head as he holds my legs open, power in his thrusts.

The club has nearly emptied out except for a few girls gathering the last of their things by the time Smoke and I are done. Before he leaves, he thanks me, something no one’s ever done before. He leaves me with $50, a $35 tip — A bigger sum than I’ve ever received in one go. I catch myself wanting to see Smoke again that night…

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📍 The Johnnie Ram Club || 9:00pm

Francis has already spoiled my mood by the beginning of my shift, demanding I pay him some random amount of money that I earned — A percentage that seems to ebb and flow as he pleases.

“Half, Stasia. We ain’t going through this again.”

“That’s five times my highest rate. You didn’t even find this client for me, Francis,” I argue back. “He walked into this club on his own free will, the hell I’m paying you for?”

“For bringing you to him, damnit. I give you a lot in this world, girl,” he points in my face, “and you ain’t been nothing but ungrateful. Now you give me my money or you go home for the night, your choice.”

I stare at him for a moment, not bothering to hide the hate in my eyes. They stay on him as I pull out some of Smoke’s money from my bra, counting off $25 and throwing it at his feet.

“You lucky I’m doing this today,” I spit, turning my back to him.

“You always do, honey!”

As I walk into the main room full of couches, poles, and stages, I see one very familiar face. I try to speed past him, not in the mood to be harassed and groped by this returning client — Why Francis hasn’t yet to bar him from entering? His money. Give that man a dollar and he’ll do anything.

I’m not quick enough. The client has already spotted me and jumped off of the couch by the time I’m halfway across the room.

Eddie isn’t a good looking man, not by an any means. He’s whiter than Francis, a phenomenon that I didn’t think possible until I saw it with my own eyes. His straggly brunette hair rains dandruff on me whenever he’s near and his smell ain’t so hot either. Nevertheless, Francis continues to let him in, as long as his dollars are right.

“I was looking for you last night, angel,” Eddie smiles, displaying his brown teeth. “Just the thought of you gave me blue balls. I just wanted to jump on you.”

“I’m off tonight, Eddie,” I lie, averting my head in order to avoid his breath. “I only came in to cash out. Another girl will have to take you tonight.”

“Oh, but you’ll stay for me won’t you? I got cash.” He gets closer than I’m comfortable with, his small frame making him look up at me.

I look away, ignoring Eddie and his typical pushiness. It’s not until I feel his bony hand on my breast that I turn back to him. His arm is wrapped around my waist and his hand rests on my boob — He just stares at me, not speaking or anything, just wears a stupid smile as he holds me.

Trying not to cause a scene, I push on his chest, afraid I might break a bone with how thin he is. Even so, he’s got the grip of ten men, not letting go even when I push him with all of my force.

“Let me the hell go, Eddie,” I say, stumbling backward over my own heel. “Let me—“

“He bothering you?” I hear from behind me.

Eddie finally releases me from his clutch, looking at the client behind me. It’s none other than Smoke. Usually I can’t remember a face, especially from a one-time client — But I’m sure this is Smoke, his face looks the exact same as last night. Only…Today he wears a natural smile, showing off a gold grill that I must’ve missed last night.

“No it’s—“ I wipe my hands on my dress, ridding myself of Eddie’s germs. “I’m okay.”

“Oh.” He tilts his head, stepping in front of me and toward Eddie. “‘Cause it looked like this nigga was harassing you. Is that what it looked like to you, ma’am?” he looks back at me.

“I don’t want no trouble.” Eddie rapidly licks his red and cracking lips, putting his hands up. “I’ll see you later, angel.” He makes a pathetic attempt at winking at me.

I shiver at the memory of his cold hands on my body before turning to Smoke.

“Sorry you had to see that,” I say.

“Nah, I’m glad I did.” He smokes a cigarette. “Who let him in here?”

I simply shake my head, not wanting to talk about Eddie any longer than I have to. Looking around the club, I see almost no one here. Sure, a few regulars with their regular girls. But Smoke is the only newcomer around.

I might as well earn my $25 back, I think to myself.

“You care for a room and a drink? I’ll make it for you myself.”

His smile grows wider, nodding before taking my hand. “Lead the way.”

We head for the magenta room, same as we did last night. But this time, when we walk in, all of that tense and timid energy has dissipated. Smoke takes his own jacket off, walking over to the couch and spreading his legs, completely relaxed. In the process, he’s taken his suit off as well, only being left in a white t-shirt, accentuating his muscles.

“You have a drink of choice tonight?” I tease. “Or you want me to pick for you?”

“How ‘bout a Sazerac?” His eyes scan my body as I slip out of my heels, heading to the bar.

“A Sazerac." My eyes widen. "And how the hell do I make that?”

He laughs. “It’s an Old Fashioned, but meaner. You gotta add absinthe and sugar cubes straight outta New Orleans.”

I didn’t think he was able to talk so much after our last encounter. But now he walks with a chillness to him, in great contrast to the cold and serious demeanor he held yesterday.

“I’m sorry, baby. We’re fresh out of sugar cubes tonight.”

“Don’t e’en worry about it,” he assures me. “You’re enough sugar for me.”

Giggling, I beginning to make an Old Fashioned with added absinthe and lemon. Just like yesterday, Smoke begins asking questions.

“Remind me your name, mama.”

“Anastasia,” I remind him, feeling slightly offended that after everything, he doesn’t even remember my preferred name.

“Anastasia what? You gotta introduce yourself with your full name to gain respect around here, baby.”

I eye him. “…Anastasia Riley."

“Where’d you learn to make drinks, Anastasia Riley?”

“Before he was a miner my daddy worked at a bar, damn near ran the place.” I find myself quickening my pace, longing for Smoke’s touch again. “Taught me how to mix from an early age.”

“These folks paying you real dollars around here?”

“Some of ‘em,” I shrug. “Others pay in credits, ain’t no difference to me”

He eyes me, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you working in the fields too.”

“No,” I assure him. “But some of my kin do, so I give it to them. It don’t bother me none.”

Walking over to him, I place the drink in his hand, but he sets it on the side table. Once I straddle him, he crosses his watch-lined wrists across each other on my ass, locking me in place.

“What’s got you so bold tonight?” I ask, scooting closer to him.

“That’s how I am, baby.”

“Mm,” I hum. “Not how I remember it.”

He brushes off my comment, simply pulling my head in for a kiss. Smoke is faster today…rougher. I have no issue with more demanding clients, but his quick turn around caught me off guard tonight. He lightly spanks me, his other hand holding my head tightly as our kisses intensify. Smoke pulls my dress up from the bottom, exposing my fishnets.

“You want it?” he asks in between hisses, palming my ass harder now.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Hard or soft?”

My laughter escapes me, forcing me to break our kiss. “You a whole different man tonight.”

He scrunches his face up, finally acknowledging my remarks. “What you talking about, baby?”

“Wasn’t you here last night, mister fancy?” I joke.

“No,” his brows furrow.

Mine do the same as I tilt my head, not seeing where he’s going with this.

“No, I’m sure you were. Navy hat, a little scared? — Much more than you are tonight.”

He stares at me, his expression changing from confused, to deep in thought, to realization all within a few seconds.

“…You a fuckin’ lie,” he mumbles.

“Excuse me?”

He breaks out into a laugh. “You mean to tell me my twin brother walked his scary ass in here and got some pussy?”

Twin brother?

My hand flies to cover my mouth, pulling myself off of him and sitting on the couch.

“I could get in trouble for telling my other clients to you,” I gasp, completely breezing over the fact that this ultra-relaxed Smoke isn’t a Smoke at all. “S— So who the hell are you?”

“Stack.” He smiles wide, holding his hand out to shake. I do so, feeling more awkward than if I had left him hanging. “Confidentiality ain’t a problem, ma’am. I won’t tell.” He gets up, beginning to put his suit back on. “But I’m afraid I can’t fuck you if Smoke already did.” He sucks his teeth. “It’s a damn shame.”

Once he puts his hat back on, he pulls cash from his pocket, the same way his brother did. I shrink in humiliation. I should’ve known this wasn’t the client from yesterday. No one is a reserved mess one day and a boasting spirit the next.

As if they planned it, Stack hands me $50, far surpassing what I planned to make back tonight.

“For your troubles,” he cheeses, his grills now being a telling difference between him and Smoke. “You have a nice night, Anastasia Riley.”

I stay put on the couch as he unhooks the latches, running into Francis on his way out. When I listen closely enough, I can lowly hear their conversation over the club music.

“Gone so soon?” Francis asks. “She’ll let you do anything you want to her, trust me. Did you see her tits?”

Motherfucker.

My hands go clammy with embarrassment as Stack politely declines, mentioning something about other commitments.

“Did you pay her?”

Please say no, please say no, please say no—

“Nah, not tonight,” Stack fibs. “Maybe I’ll pay Miss Riley a visit another time.”

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Buzz of the Smoke-Stack twins has finally reached me. Not only from girls at Johnnie’s, but through literal word on the street too. I passed plenty of folks on my commute home through the Delta last night who had the names Smoke or Stack in their passing conversations. I had no way of knowing, but these people spoke about them like legends, myths from years ago that they never thought would return. I only moved here a few years ago, nowhere near eight.

Regardless of the rumors surrounding them, I’m enjoying getting to know Smoke myself. He seems to be doing the same — So much so that he invited me out. It was a fancy restaurant, fancier than I’ve ever been in at least. Smoke turned out to be more of a gentleman than I expected, holding doors open and ordering my meal for me. Our small talk was short lived, quickly turning into a conversation like none I’ve had before. He acted interested, really interested, in what I had to say. He wasn’t too keen on sharing details of his own life, but it bothered me less and less the more he showed interest in mine.

Eventually, I shared with him my dream of moving to Hollywood and becoming a film actress — Something I’ve been too embarrassed to tell any of the girls in the club. But Smoke doesn’t laugh at me how I expect they would. Instead, he invites me to that party that he told me about. A Juke Joint down at the old sawmill, telling me it ain’t much, but if I want creativity and some good blues, it’s the place to be.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I work tonight.”

“Alright.” He nods, respecting it. “What if we pay you for the night?”

There’s no time to answer his question before something catches my eye. Behind Smoke, right over his shoulder, I see a small short frame, scraggly hair in patches lining his head.

“I— I gotta go, Smoke,” I say, grabbing my bag and hat.

He frowns, following my gaze and seeing Eddie staring intently at me as I walk away.

“Wait, wait.” He follows after me, leaving bills on the table. “Who is that?”

“No one.” I roll my eyes, walking out of the door with Smoke hot on my trail. “A client. One that I don’t want to see in the club, ‘specially not outside of it.”

“He do something to you?” he asks with the same tone his brother had when he saw Eddie yesterday.

“It’s fine.”

“That ain’t a no.” He eyes Eddie through the window. “Well if you leaving, at least let me drive you home first.”

A smile grows on my lips, trying my best to forget about Eddie staring at me from his seat. “I couldn’t—“

“Don’t do that, Anastasia,” he sighs. “I want to.”

“I ain’t even going home, Smoke,” I laugh.

“Where you going?”

“You remember the audition I told you about? The one for the film in California?”

He nods. I feel silly for ever believing that he’d forget my name, not when he hangs on to every one of my words like this.

“I been looking for a dress for it. I want to make a good impression when I fly out there.”

“I’ll pay,” he says without hesitation.

I laugh again, shaking my head. “I’ll take the ride, Smoke. Keep the money.”

“I got it to spend.”

“Oh, I know you do. I’ll let you know when I need it. Today ain’t that day, though.”

Smoke silently obliges, placing his hand on the small of my back and leading me to his car. Eddie stares at us until we pull off, and Smoke’s grip on the wheel tightens — But he makes the decision to obey my wishes, and ignore it. It only makes me like him more.

————

📍Dress Shop || 11:00am

I use some of the cash I earned from Johnnie’s to buy a simple white dress, nice enough to make a good impression, but modest enough to conceal my profession. As I exit the store, a satisfied smile on my face, I spot an all-too-familiar man across the dirt road. He crosses, sporting a sly grin as he walks through his own cigarette smoke.

“Y’all are just everywhere, huh?”

“You got a face I wouldn’t mind seeing everyday,” Stack shrugs. He looks down to my bag. “What’s that?”

“Just a dress. Bought it for my audition in California next month.”

“Mm,” he hums, raising his brows. “You an actress?”

My cheeks go warm, feeling a little embarrassed telling a client what I really want to do. “Hopefully one day.”

“I got a few connection out there, you know. A few no-good niggas who may know a guy. I could hook you up if you want,” he says, pleased to have something to contribute.

“Y’all and your handouts.” I shake my head.

“Not a handout, an offer.” He points at me. “Smart businessmen take offers, Miss Riley.”

“Well, I ain’t a businessman and I never claimed to be smart, Stack. So now what?”

He nears me, my head tilting up as his frame towers over mine. “So now you tell me why I smell my brother’s cologne on your person.”

I scoff, hiding how caught off guard I am at his comments. I’ve grown so blind to its potency I completely forgot to keep it in mind when hugging Smoke this morning.

“That’s none of your concern now, is it?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Or maybe I want to know how serious y’all are before I do anything else.”

“He’s a client, Stack. Just like you are. That’s all I’ll say,” I bluff, attempting to walk past him.

He places a hand on my waist, stopping me.

“That’s all I am to you, Anastasia?” he asks, oddly close to my ear. “A client?”

“You can be whatever you want to be, Stack.” I roll my eyes, pushing his hand off and continuing my trek home.

As long as you pay, I think.

But then I think of Smoke — I wouldn’t make him pay. Hell, I find myself wanting to pay him to spend time with me more often than not. It’s an odd feeling in my stomach, to fall for a client like this. If he wasn’t so good to me, I’d call it scary.

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📍 The Johnnie Ram Club || 8:00pm

I barely get through the door before that fat old white man stops me for the second night in a row, pulling me into the dingy and barely lit “office” in the back of the club.

“What now, Francis?” I huff.

“I give you chance after chance, Stasia. I’m a very forgiving man when it comes to you in this club, and that’s out of the kindness of my heart.”

Bullshit, that’s ‘cause of the money I put in his pockets.

“Did you know that a high — Very high paying client saw you out today with another client. Just out in the daylight like it was your husband or something.” He stresses. “How does that make you look, Stasia? Parading around like a taken woman when you got men waiting for you here?”

“The twins are the highest paying clients I got, Francis — The highest paying clients you prob’bly ever gon’ see,” I snap back, in disbelief that he continues to bring up Eddie like I give a damn. “So if keeping them close is a problem for you, find me a man who’s gon’ pay me more.”

“Oh I did, sweetheart.” He smiles, his missing teeth drawing more attention than his present ones. “He might’ve cussed me out all kinds of ways, throwing a tantrum like I never seen — But he’s willing to pay. A lot more than what them twins paying.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Hell no, Francis. I am not servicing that fucking freak.”

“But you are, darlin’. For three times what he pays normally? — You can do anything for an hour, baby.”

Rage boils inside me, in utter disbelief that he continues to pimp me out to weirder and weirder men for a cut of money that he doesn’t even deserve. I decide I’m not doing it, turning my back to Francis and walking toward the biggest private room we have, itching to make a drink for myself before Eddie even shows up.

That doesn’t happen. I should’ve known from the lack of pushback from Francis when I left the room. Once I latch the curtain closed and turn around, my eyes adjust…And I’m face to face with Eddie. He’s shirtless, coils of hair littering his chest as he leans back on the sofa, his legs spread. Grinning, he licks his browning teeth, patting his lap.

It angers me for him to sit where the twins sat — They’re ten times the man he is. Either way, the twins ain’t paying for my flight to California, nor my room and board. At least that’s what I tell myself, maybe I’m too full of humility to allow myself to take what they offer.

I can do anything for an hour.

I inch myself forward, trying my best to disassociate from my own body and imagine myself anywhere else. It doesn’t work. I hesitantly take a seat on one of his bony knees, afraid I might break it. Instinctively, I pull up my strapless dress.

“No, no. Leave it.” He pulls it back down, his fingers caressing my breast. “I’ve always wanted a private room with you, angel.”

“Is that right?” I choke out, not daring to look at him.

“Mm-hmm. Just had to get a piece of this.” He runs his hands up and down my sides.

Eddie goes on this way, asking me the strangest questions as his requests get weirder and weirder. I nearly gag when he asks me to stroke his chest throughout our conversation, his shedding chest hair getting caught in my nails. He inquires about my shower routine, how I choose my underwear, and my best description of what my body odor smells like. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I notice that only fifteen minutes have gone by. I blink back tears, preparing myself to tell Eddie how I can’t do this, and leave empty handed. But just as I’m about to wrap up our conversation on how I remove my body hair, he grabs my hand, pulling it toward his crotch. He just holds it there over his jeans, his breath getting heavier. In the span of a few seconds, he’s grunting repeatedly, his stomach tightening and convulsing. It’s not until he brings his mouth to my neck in his arousal that I abruptly stand up, chills running down my body.

Eddie only throws his head back, coming down from his climax with a smile as I stare down at him, adjusting my dress. He pants, looking at me as if we’ve just had the best night of our lives.

“You did so good for me, angel,” he says. “Lay with me for a minute?”

“I— I wish I could,” I stammer, shaken up. “But I really gotta go, Eddie.”

A breath of relief escapes me when he accepts it as truth, pulling cash out of his back pocket and handing me more money than I’ve ever seen in a night.

…

My face has gone red with the amount of scrubbing I’ve done in this girls bathroom. I ignore the banging on the door as I leave the water running, doing my best to convince myself that the water trailing down my face is from the faucet. My outfit lays on the floor, leaving me in my underwear as I stare at my reddened body in the mirror, smeared lipstick staining my face. I don’t allow myself to think about it too much, afraid that I’ll quit my job where I stand if I do.

Instead, I reapply my makeup as best I can with my tears ever flowing. I look nowhere near as glamorous as I did walking in tonight, but that’s become the least of my worries. As I step into a spare l dress that I keep in my locker — Orange and long, much more modest and comfortable than I’d ever wear in this club — I take one final deep breath, wanting nothing more than to smell that lasting cologne right now.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

Walking past the kind doorman, the scene in front of me is electrifying. Joints in Alabama were never my speed, too much klan and too little music. But this — This was like a dream for anyone who called themselves creative. Women and men alike dance together, allowing themselves to freely enjoy the music without the confines of society. Outside of these walls is none of their business, in here, they are free. In here, I’m not a service provider and my body isn’t a product — I’m a consumer, and it feels damn good to be on this side of the bargain. It isn’t long before Stack and his golden grin approach me, drink in hand.

“You lookin’ fine as Delta wine, Miss Riley,” he laughs. “Everybody treating you good in here?”

I smile, aware of how terrible I look, and aware of how much Stack doesn’t care.

“This is amazing, Stack.” I look around. “All these people enjoying themselves...never seen nothing like it.”

“We all ‘sposed to enjoy ourselves here.” He hangs his arms around my waist, placing mine around his neck. “Just listen to the music…”

Our bodies press against each other, his lips staying near my ear as our pace fluctuates with the speed of the music. He periodically sips his drink, whispering compliments in my ear each time he does, as if he knows I need them. Just as his hands roam lower, I see his clone walk past us. Smoke and I meet eyes for a moment, my body unable to react before he turns away, walking into a room near the stairs.

“Excuse me.” I break our rhythm, pulling away from Stack and following Smoke into the room.

He’s facing the wall when I enter, spinning around once I close the door behind us. Pipe smoke surrounds him as his eyes roam my body, keeping one hand in his pocket as he always so mysteriously does.

“So how you know him?” he asks, trying his best to act unbothered.

“…He came to the club once. He’s just a client…” I shrink under his gaze.

Smoke shakes his head, a light scoff escaping him as he struggles to keep his composure.

“I spent money on you, Anastasia.” He nods scornfully. “Spent time on you. And you go and lay with my brother—“

“No.” I near him, but he turns away, sucking his teeth. “I never did, Smoke. I didn’t even know you had a twin. But when I realized he wasn’t you, we stopped.”

He pouts his lips, pure disgust on his face as he looks everywhere but at me. Tears threaten to fall as my lip slightly frowns…He looks as if he regrets ever meeting me.

“I swear ‘fore god, I never slept with him,” I begin, timid. “But Smoke, you know this is my job…”

“But I don’t give a damn.” His voice raises. “It ain’t your job to almost sleep with my brother after you slept with me. It ain’t your job to keep it from me, and it damn sure ain’t your job to meet him again tonight, Anastasia. It’s fucked up.” He points his pipe at me.

I fail at containing my tears, quickly wiping them away in hopes that he won’t see. “Smoke…” I whisper. “I didn’t know.“

Suddenly, he steps toward me, examining my face. He bends to my level, lightly tilting my head to the side.

“What the hell is this?” he asks, pressing his fingers on my neck.

The spot is tender, feeling like a bruise when pressed. The crinkle in my brow quickly smoothens out as I remember the night I had before I showed up at the Juke. Smoke steps back, wiping a frustrated hand over his face.

“Stack do that?”

“No.” My head falls, not having planned on revealing my endeavors with Eddie to him tonight.

“Don’t lie to me, Anastasia. Who did that to you?”

“Please. Let’s just let it—“

He ignores my excuses, walking past me and reaching for the door. I place a hand on his chest, surrendering.

“Okay, okay,” I sigh. “You remember Francis from the club?”

He stares intensely, a skepticism on his face as he waits for the story. “Mm-hmm.”

“After Eddie saw us out today he blew up on me, saying how it’s bad for business because he’s a high paying client. He took a payout. Gave Eddie a room with me before I could stop him. Eddie um,” I gesture to my neck. “I stopped him right after.”

Smoke’s face has turned from confused to blindly furious in a matter of a few seconds, no longer bothering to smoke his pipe. He reaches past me and for the door again, pulling it open and shouting for his brother. He pulls me by my hand nearer to him, giving Stack space. When he enters, Smoke relays the entire story to him, being sure to leave out Eddie’s name.

“You ain’t gon’ believe who did that.” Smoke points to my neck.

“Who?” He looks between us, not putting two and two together yet.

My eyes stay glued to the floor. “Eddie.”

“That dude from the club?” Stacks eyebrows raise. “He set you up with that nigga?”

“That’s what the fuck I said.” Smoke shakes his head.

“Oh, we can handle that,” Stack assures me, his finger on my chin lifting my head. “We can handle that tonight.”

“And you ain’t going nowhere alone ‘til we sure it ain’t a problem no more.” Smoke chimes in.

I nod, not feeling an ounce of worry for Eddie or what will happen to him. Whatever they have planned, I want them to do him worse.

There’s commotion outside coming from the gambling room. Stack excuses himself, rushing past me and toward the arguing voices across the Juke.

Smoke’s eyes stay on my neck, a scowl on his face. “I don’t like seeing that on you.”

He pulls a few bills from his suit pocket, counting them before deciding to just give the whole thing, holding it out for me.

“Leave that place,” he suggests, sounding less like a plead and more like a demand. “And all those sons of bitches. Leave ‘em all behind.”

I stare down at the money, $200. A thousand different outcomes rush through my head. But at the forefront of my mind is, possibly, the worst one. An image of myself returning to Johnnie’s with a begging bowl flashes in my mind. There are too many undecideds to make such a choice. Whether it be in a week or in a year, these twins will lose interest in me, and I’ll be without a job. I think back to when I first took the job, broke and desperate. I know what it is to not have money, the way people look at you, how they treat you — I won’t ever put myself in that position again. The fear alone makes me shake my head.

“I can’t…” I whisper.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m ain’t,” I say, convincing myself more than I’m convincing him. “But I’m scared, Smoke. I been broke before—“

“I been broke before, Anastasia,” he assures me. “That ain’t gon’ be us no more. I’ll put you in the square, get you a job with Grace and Bo if I have to.”

‘Us,’ he said. We’re a team.

“I can’t be someone else’s charity case, Smoke. You know this.” My lip quivers, not knowing why I’m saying what I’m saying. “I gotta get myself out of the mud.”

“You think Eddie's the only one like that?” he asks, frustrated. “You want to stay holed up in there getting touched on by niggas like that?"

I look down, not letting myself consider the life he’s offering. I’m so used to this, so good at this, the thought of leaving it for men I met only a couple of days ago is too much change for me at once.

“I have no choice.”

He gets closer, forcing me to look up at him. “You don’t see this money right here?”

“Two hundred ain’t gon’ get me by for as long as I need to get by, Smoke. I just can’t.”

Smoke just stares at me, making me more self concious each second he does. Eventually, he just nods, leaving me with a simple “Alright,” before squeezing past me and slipping out the door. But not before leaving the money on the table, as if he’s giving me one last chance.

As the door slams shut, I collapse onto the floor. Why I’m so dead set on being independent, I don’t know. Maybe it’s my daddy’s dying and mama’s leaving that made me this way. The thought of relying on Smoke’s connections, kindness, and abilities shakes me to my core. More than that, the fear of the unknown may be scarier than the fear of Francis demanding money from me every night.

But the moment Francis crosses my mind, Eddie crosses my mind. I can feel his hands on me still, his knee digging into my skin as his breath infects my neck. I think about what Smoke told me: Will there be more Eddies? Could I handle more Eddies? That thought shakes me, even more than the thought of relying on Smoke. It isn’t until now that I remember all of the groping and the comments and the tears that prickled my eyes after each encounter. I can’t do that for the rest of my life, I won’t. I’m smart enough to know that I deserve more than a life of Eddies and Francis’ — And as I stare at the money on the the table, I finally start to see a new path waiting for me.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

📍 The Johnnie Ram Club || 1:00 am

My leg shaking makes a repeated tapping noise, drowned out my the rain coming down on my cab — The only one I’ve had since my first year in the city, paid for with a portion of Smoke’s $200. I just stare at the building, all of the memories I’ve made racing through my head.

“Ma’am, you either have to get out or pay for the wait,” my driver tells me, staring back.

I take off my black gloves, folding them neatly in my lap before paying my driver. After one last deep breath, I open the car door, running toward the club to escape the rain.

My resignation is a blur. I feel like I’m walking in slow motion the whole time, only hearing my own heartbeat thump in my chest. Francis is where he always is, sitting in his office, the squeaky fan running on its last leg as smoke fills the room.

“Stasia.” He looks at me. “You ain't scheduled tonight, are you?”

I don’t respond, only handing him my gloves, a $50 bill sitting on top of them.

“This is more money than I owe you, but I don’t feel like hearing that mouth of yours no more,” I spit.

He stares at the money and then back up at me, getting out of his chair and putting his hands on his hips.

“This about them damn twins?” he asks. “If so, you owe me a lot more than that, darlin’.”

I scoff. “I’m worth a lot fuckin’ more than you’ll ever be able to give me, old man,” I assure him turning my back to him and throwing up a sly middle finger.

“You turn around right now, Stasia! You can’t leave like this, they ain’t gon’ pay your bills forever. Not like I have!” Francis word vomits, not having the physical ability to run after me.

“Tell Eddie he can go fuck himself, Frannie!” I shout back, walking away. “Join him while you’re at it!”

I leave Johnnie Ram with a smile on my face, never minding the rain. As dignified as I feel, a small and dull fear lights in my chest. Fear of the unknown.

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📍 Film Set Trailer || 3 YEARS LATER

This is one of my biggest films yet. They’ve given me my own makeup and hair artists, my own dialect coaches to push the southern out of me, even my own trailer for my off hours. As I sit down at my vanity, exhausted and ready to end the night, a picture on the side sends memories flooding back. Smoke, Stack, and I on the night of their Juke Joint sits pretty under one of my lightbulbs, hearts surrounding Smoke.

Before I returned to that Joint, rained on and jobless, that was one of the best and worst days of my life. But once I returned, something else was lurking outside of that blues joint, someone else. I barely made in inside in time before Pick-Poor-Robin-Clean and his buddies showed up.

We know the terrors of the night now, the twins an I. They took hold of my Smoke and never let go that night, even if he was never bit. The moment he shot those few standing klansmen outside of the sawmill, the old Smoke was gone — Perhaps he was already gone the minute we found his brother bleeding out on the floor, or maybe when Stack started talking through the door like he was never down. I’ll never be sure which exact moment my Smoke was gone, but something did change in him that night. Something I’ve yet to get back.

Smoke and I had plans, at least ideas of one. We threw out concepts of what we’d do after I left Johnnie’s. Maybe live together, start a family, move to the fancier parts of Mississippi. I was foolish enough to still dream so big after the devil visited us that night. But I never saw Smoke’s face after that, our only contact being yearly notes in the mail and weekly checks. Stack visits me more than Smoke does these days, but under a strict oath to leave Sammie and I alive and well.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing Elijah Moore. He showed me the finer things in life in the short time I had him — When to take what I was given and when to demand more. When to pull out a gun or when to light a cigarette instead. Smoke showed me blues like I had never heard blues, safety like I had never felt safety, and love like I had never felt love.

I don’t let myself linger too much in the past. Sometimes when I cry out at night, I don’t know if I’m talking to God or Smoke, but they both comfort me all the same. I’ll always wonder what could’ve been, what life we could’ve had. But Smoke told me I’d never be without money again, and that’s stay true. It’s more than a sinner like me could ask for.

#elias moore #elijah moore #sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners fanfiction #sinners fic #sinners imagine #sinners movie #sinners oc #smoke and stack #stack sinners #stack x reader #smoke sinners #smoke x reader

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never-rxne · 2 months ago

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─── modern au sevika: silly domestic headcanons

content warnings: none. just fluff. as promised :)

"i'll give you my love, don't think i could love you any more than this i like you, i like you so much god, i think i really love you why are you so handsome? i'm nervous how can i deserve this person who listens to me? it's you this is how i adore you." (G)I-DLE, "Give Me Your (주세요)".

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ sevika’s love language: being annoying. when she gets comfortable enough around you she’s basically like the eldest brother in an asian household who got into a top college so he gets the asshole pass. gets especially annoying when she wants attention but you’re preoccupied. motions to tip your bottle up as you’re drinking from it. randomly takes your book, flips through it, puts the bookmark in another place, then hands it back without a word. flicks you on the forehead, never hard enough to hurt, but when you get fed up and whine that it does, she’ll laugh and suddenly pull you close to plant a hard kiss where she flicked. also ruffles your hair aggressively as she passes by. if you protest about it she looks back with a raised eyebrow and the most innocent expression on her face that it just makes you laugh.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ goes through your camera roll after a trip and insists that she took any photo that came out well even when she clearly did not. you both fully know who actually took the picture (you) but she starts these petty arguments purely to mess with you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ when she gets sick you cook her favorite foods for her and she’ll follow you around the kitchen wrapped in a blanket, criticizing every choice you make in spices.

“why don’t you just go lie down?”

“if you don’t add the cumin the curry will taste wrong.”

“sevika, go lie down.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ good at lifting but terrible with cardio, she gets winded after like 15 minutes. you started forcing her out of the house for daily walks through the park to build her stamina. grumbles but will go along without complaint if you promise to pay for the gelato on the way back home.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ will watch comedy movies without a twitch of the mouth but cackles at the most unfunny parts of horror/drama movies.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ has a sixth sense when it comes to keeping you out of danger. covers the edge of a table with her hand to keep you from banging your head. grabs you by the shirt and yanks you back before you walk into the street in front of a car. it's second nature for her.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ has the maddening habit of whistling anything she heard on the radio the day before. you don’t need to turn on 106.7 Light FM to know what classical track was playing because she’s been whistling the William Tell overture for the past hour while she fixes the sink in the kitchen.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ sometimes has dreams about something vaguely mean you did and sulks for the whole morning about it. it won’t even be a seriously bad dream—it would be something small, like you ignoring her when she tried to talk to you or the tone of your voice was irritable and it hurt her feelings. in the dream. refuses to tell you until like a week later when she mentions it in an offhand voice.

“THAT'S why you didn’t want the coffee i made that morning? are you serious?-”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ incapable of giving compliments. her brain does not work that way. every sweet thing she wants to say to you gets lost in translation from her thoughts to her speech and she’ll end up saying something that would sound like a backhanded compliment at best, a downright insult at worst. you’ve gotten used to it though. when she says you look like a hairless cave rat you know she means you look so adorable she wants to put you in her pocket and carry you around. when she says you look like you just survived a train wreck you know she means she’s worried about how tired you are and wants you to rest.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ almost never initiates physical affection in the day (her pride won’t allow it) but in her sleep she refuses to let go of you. if you wriggle away from her unconsciously she’ll take it as a personal affront, and just pull you closer. even the hot summer weather won’t stop her from using you as her teddy bear. just keep the fan on and throw the blankets to the floor, she needs to feel your pulse beat against her skin to be able to fall asleep.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ your contact on her phone is just your full name without a profile picture. her contact on your phone is “hubby 💞” and her pfp is a ridiculously goofy 0.5 pic of her looking up at you that you took standing on the chair while fixing a lightbulb in the living room. she told you to delete it. of course it's the first thing you see when she calls you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ she walks around a lot when she’s on a call with her parents. paces around the room absent-mindedly picking things up and putting them down in a different place. her voice changes when she’s speaking hindi. it gets softer, the edge in her voice when she speaks english is gone. you can always tell when she’s speaking to her father—her tone is more subdued, she keeps her eyes down, and for just a moment the uncertain young girl she once was is revealed in her expression. when she gets off the phone she goes back to what she was doing before, but she’s quieter than usual, lost in thought, her mood subtly darkened. when she calls her mother, on the other hand, you hear your name come up a lot in the conversation. sometimes she throws a glance at you across the room, and winks.

end note: the dash of angst at the end couldn't be avoided i'm sorry i'm sorry also sorry i didnt have the time to make this longer but... ~sevika fluff for the soul

#rune's headcanons #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika fluff #sevika headcanon

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kidicaruslover911 · 2 months ago

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a/n: I put wife/gf on these women depending on how much I personally like them and on some it’s just fitting for the situation but girl feel free to imagine whatever you want 😭

gf!vi who, whenever you’re outside and need to leave for a second or have to take care of something even if minor, insists on holding your purse for you often trying to figure out how to not look like she just stole it, gf!vi who blows air into your ear to tease you and gf!vi who gets all proud and won't stop smiling whenever a kid swoons over how pretty you are- eyes turning soft yet envious green as soon as it's followed with an innocent marriage proposal, because hey! so that's not how things work; sorry, she has to inform the child that this lady right here, is taken. believe it :p

gf!sevika who is sick and tired of your need to be hyper independent (she understands dw) and who literally has no idea how she’s supposed to be courting you if you won’t even let her hold the door for you. “FREE YOU” (she will) she screams, begs and prays internally every single day, trying to ease you into letting her handle things for you and gf!sevika who’s trying to make you understand that she truly isn’t your enemy and quite literally is on her hands and knees, ready to dote to your every need 24/7 (when she can)

gf!mel who will literally be letting you in on all her products and shares them with you, gf!mel who will also be applying lotion and oils onto your skin to have you radiating just as much as her if not even more. plus she has you smelling like heaven so- gf!mel who will be (if you have any) retwisting your locs whenever it is needed and gf!mel who loves to go jewelry thrifting with you and will apply your lip combo for you

gf!lest who affectionately refers to you as her miss/lady, many times also when conversing with others, gf!lest who you share cigarette kisses with, gf!lest who gently scratches your back with her long onyx colored nails and gf!lest who will trace and kiss all over your moles, pointing out how you must’ve had an indubitably fierce and fiery lover in a past life, joking about how she’ll have to kiss you all the more for you to be covered in thousands of them in a next lifetime…

wife!ambessa whose silver kinky locks you love to comb through lovingly whenever she’s getting ready for the day, wife!ambessa who has you putting on a fashion show for her whenever she’s bought you another few tons worth of clothes, wife!ambessa who keeps a leg between your thighs when the two of you share a bed- not always in a sexual manner, it’s simply a habit of hers, it's comfortable and your legs often end up tangled with one another, and wife!ambessa who has a thing for neck tattoos, especially those that rest at the base of the nape

gf!jinx who'll be in a full blown fight with someone talking about how she really can't be messing around with them for too long this time around because she promised her girl she'd be back at xy o'clock, gf!jinx who’s eyes bulge out after throwing her jacket onto a puddle just for you to walk around it😭, gf!jinx who will be experimenting with crazy makeup looks on you and gf!jinx who seems to sleep like a dead person, yet who's grip tightens as soon as she feels you slipping away from her; either that or she instinctively moves closer to you whenever she senses some sort of unwanted distance between your bodies

wife!caitlyn who places her hand on your knee/thigh, thumb caressing slow circles on it while repeating she will be paying that damn restaurant bill- and everything else actually; put your purse away girl, what do you think this is??? wife!caitlyn who isn't the best at posing for pictures and who every single time opts to find your eyes, using them as a point of focus as she always ends up getting lost in them; like this, she never has a bad photo, especially when you're within the frame, always looking at you, a stare that is ever loving and tender

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angel06babysworld · 19 days ago

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I Blame the 6 Year Old.

singledad!rafe x babysitter!reader

Chapter One

⋆｡°✩₊⭒𖥔⋆˚₊✩˚₊⋆𖥔⭒✩°｡⋆

The interview was supposed to be quick. Ten, fifteen minutes tops—just long enough to get a read on her, hand over the emergency contacts, and confirm she could handle a first grader without losing her mind. Rafe hadn’t planned on offering the job before she even sat down.

But then she smiled. Nervous, a little too wide, chewing on her bottom lip like she was trying to hold something back.

“Hi,” she said, breathless from climbing the porch steps. “Sorry I’m late. The bus broke down a mile out and I didn’t want to reschedule, so I just, um… jogged.”

She was sweating. Her oversized tote bag kept slipping off her shoulder. And she looked painfully young—baby-faced with hopeful eyes and a folder full of printed references clutched to her chest like a shield.

Rafe blinked. “You jogged here?”

“I’m not usually this sweaty when I meet new people,” she promised, trying to laugh it off. “It’s been a long week.”

She looked like a kid. But then again, thirty-two didn’t feel as old as it sounded—until moments like this reminded him how long it had been since he was twenty-one.

He held the door open and nodded her in. “Come on. I’ll grab you some water.”

The inside of the house was quiet. Clean in a way that wasn’t fussy—just lived-in. A pair of glittery sneakers sat by the front door, a pink backpack half-zipped and leaning against the wall. She clocked them instantly.

“You said your daughter’s six?”

“Ellie. She’s in the backyard. Wants to meet you, but she’s pretending not to care.” He handed her the glass of water. “She’ll come in when she’s ready.”

She nodded, took a sip, and offered another small smile—softer this time. “I’m really good with kids. I babysit for a few families already, and I just finished my early childhood development course this spring. Still in school, though. So I’m flexible, just… not rich in free time.”

Rafe leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “What are you studying?”

“Elementary education.”

He let that hang in the air a moment. It made sense. She spoke gently, but with purpose. Like someone who’d taught herself to hold space for little voices, to wait out messy feelings with patience instead of panic. He’d met a lot of babysitters. Not all of them came with that kind of calm.

“I work weekends at the diner on Main,” she added quickly. “But weekday evenings? I’m free. And mornings, if you need help getting her to school.”

“You don’t drive?”

She hesitated. “No. I mean—no, not yet. I’m saving up. Kinda buried in student debt right now.”

Something in Rafe’s chest tugged. He hadn’t expected honesty. Most applicants led with fluff. This girl just laid it bare. And weirdly, he respected it.

Ellie wandered in ten minutes later, dragging a coloring book behind her. She didn’t speak, just climbed into a kitchen chair and stared.

“Hi, Ellie,” the girl said softly. No baby voice. No big performance. Just a smile and a wave, like she’d been waiting. “I like your headband.”

It was shaped like cat ears. Sparkly and crooked. Ellie blinked, narrowed her eyes, and finally—finally—said, “It’s from Target.”

Rafe watched, amazed, as she slid the coloring book across the table toward the girl.

“Do you like dinosaurs?” Ellie asked.

“Love them,” she said without missing a beat. “My favorite’s the parasaurolophus. It’s a long one, but I like the noise it makes.”

Ellie’s whole face lit up. “That’s mine too!”

Rafe didn’t move. Just stood there, arms still crossed, wondering how the hell someone could go from total stranger to Ellie’s favorite person in under five minutes.

He cleared his throat. “So. When can you start?”

She looked up, surprised. “You want to hire me?”

“Ellie,” he said, without looking at her, “what do you think?”

Ellie didn’t even glance away from her coloring. “She’s nice. You should pay her a lot.”

The girl burst into a laugh so soft it made Rafe’s stomach twist. And then she nodded.

“I can start Monday,” she said, smiling again, this time with something steadier behind it. “Thank you. Really.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking. That he hadn’t expected her to be the one. That maybe this job was a bigger deal than she realized—for both of them.

Instead, he just said, “Don’t thank me yet.”

And when she knelt down beside Ellie and started coloring like it was the most natural thing in the world, Rafe realized he’d already made up his mind.

This wasn’t going to be simple. Not with someone like her in his house every day.

But it was already starting to feel right.

And for now, that was enough.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @matthewswifeyy

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threeacttragedy · 4 months ago

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Entry 20: The One Where We Take a Course in Rear Window Ethics

Oh, hey, hey – you’re back!

Yes. I, uh – we need to – uh... What the hell are you doing with that Exakta VX camera fitted with a 400 mm Kilfitt lens?

Come here. See those open windows across the courtyard?

Uh, yeah…

Well, I’m trying to zoom into that apartment –

Wow. Because that’s not creepy as fuck.

Oh, don’t be so modern. This is New York City, 1954. It’s fine.

Yeah, okay. I need you to focus for a moment. Seriously – put down the zoom lens. Headquarters called and wanted to know why Dorothy was still in Oz. You know we were told to take her home.

No – actually we were told to throw stones at that wannabe Wizard. And we did. Kind of. Okay, whatever, but surely you can feel the shift. At the very least we’ve infiltrated the base camp with a bunch of flying monkeys. They’ll take care of the rest. God, there’s one in there –

And we were supposed to help Dorothy find her way back home.

Meh, don’t worry about Dorothy. I don’t think she’s ready to go home. Even after the ping-pong bullshit of the past few weeks, she’s still standing on her own two feet. Although Toto continues to be a mild pain…

But –

But nothing. Dorothy’s had the power to get her own ass home this entire time. When’s she’s ready, she’ll go.

Okay, well, obviously you’re not going to be of any help as you seem preoccupied with spying on your neighbors. So, I’m going to need to borrow the hot air balloon. Where’d you put it?

Oh, it’s on the—wait! If you take our balloon, how am I supposed to get around? I’m not staying here indefinitely. There’s no air conditioning in this damn apartment!

How about I promise to come back for you? Maybe.

Damn you. Fine, I’ll go with you. Let me get my shit together. Here, hold my camera – and don’t drop it!

Hmph, this is heavy. How does it work? I just look through this and… <points camera towards apartment across the way> Oh – this is interesting. What the hell did you say was going on over there? “…[S]tart from the beginning…Tell me everything you saw – and what you think it means.”

You know those days when you have no choice but to catch up on the work you’ve been blowing off for the past few days (maybe even weeks)? Well, last week, I was having one of those days. The work I’d been pushing down my list for weeks finally needed to be addressed. Regardless of how mind-numbing it was, it had to get done otherwise things were going to start going awry.

I’m one of those people who – when working on the mundane – has a mind that tends to wander every few minutes or so. I find myself Googling things like, “What is the fastest animal on the planet?” And, for your own Useless Knowledge, the cheetah’s land speed of 60+ mph doesn’t come close to the peregrine falcon’s dive bomb of 240+ mph.

Anyway, to keep my mind from wandering, I usually have something running in the background to force my brain into paying attention to two things at once – somehow that helps me maintain focus. The most popular “something” is almost always one of the many (quite possibly too many) British detective shows available for streaming. But, the other day, I simply wasn’t in the mood to rewatch Season 3 of “Dalgliesh” for the seventh time.

So, after a bit of scrolling, I put on an old movie I hadn’t seen in years: “Rear Window.”

The 1954 original, of course.

I’m rarely impressed by anything put out by Modern Hollywood, but the old shit – well, there are some legit classics out there, including this one.

One of the reasons I’ve always been fond of this movie is because you go into it knowing the “bad guy” right from the word “go.” I’m one of those extremely annoying people who can guess the villain within the first few chapters of a book, or within the first twenty or so minutes of a movie (like I said, I am rarely impressed by Hollywood). However, I will admit, one book did slip by me. Damn you, Agatha Christie. Honestly, though, the thrill I felt with being wrong was far more memorable than anything I’ve ever felt with being right. Good or bad, a surprise always leaves its imprint, doesn’t it? Plus, the hysterical elation my father must have felt – and later exhibited – knowing I was going into the final few chapters wrong – well, damn him, too. And, no, the book was not “Three Act Tragedy.” That one was quite easy.

Okay, enough about Ms. Christie. Back to Mr. Hitchcock.

As I sat busily typing away and listening to the dialogue of “Rear Window” playing in the far reaches of my office, it suddenly occurred to me that the parallels between “Rear Window” and the Lukola fandom were rather, well, thought-provoking. Here we have a man (and later his sidekicks) peering into the personal life of another human being. Our protagonist in “Rear Window” witnesses an event (a cover-up, actually) and sets out to prove it – all from the perspective of an onlooker looking in. Sound familiar? I thought it might.

So, welcome to your course on “Rear Window Ethics.”

Now, I cannot intertwine “Rear Window” with the Lukola fandom without dragging your ass into the story. Actually, I could – but it’s far more entertaining for me (and hopefully you) if I form a nexus between you and the movie.

Therefore, you, of course, get to align yourself with L.B. Jefferies (played in real life by Jimmy Stewart). If you’re still in this fandom, it’s because you’ve witnessed something you simply cannot ignore and you’re almost certainly hellbent on proving it at this point.

It’s very likely most of you entered the Lukola fandom alone. You watched some portion of the World Tour and became intrigued. Your mind began to wander, which sparked some urge in you to do some digging. Eventually your investigation led you to the Devil – sorry, I mean, social media. There you met like-minded junior investigators, and you’ve now found yourself chatting with these newfound friends and theorizing in the burrows of underground group chats.

So, about your sidekicks…

The part of “Stell-aaaaaa!!!!” (yes, that is my hat-tip to Jake) is given to your most “inventive” Lukola friend. You know, the one that has their own “theories” channel in your private chats; the one who scurries down the rabbit hole – not in search of the White Rabbit – but in search of the Cheshire Cat. Stella is the reason you think outside the box. In “Rear Window,” Stella (played by Thelma Ritter) is Jefferies’ nurse (Jefferies is injured and bound to his apartment; hence why he has so much free time to gaze out the rear window). This friend will throw anything and everything against the wall to see what sticks – even if it occasionally takes a deep-dive into how to cut up a body in a bathtub.

Next, we have Detective Doyle, Jefferies’ long-time friend (played by Wendell Corey). Doyle is quite possibly your spouse, haha, or anyone who side-eyes your involvement with this fandom. Doyle half listens to Jefferies’ theories and usually counters Jefferies with an alternative piece of evidence. But don’t fret, although Doyle teases Jefferies about his wild theories throughout the film, Doyle is, in fact, supportive of Jefferies and does comes around in the end.

I’m going to switch gears for a moment but not before acknowledging that, yes, I am aware I’m missing a player here. Don’t worry – she will arrive shortly.

Alright, on to our subject matter: Lars Thorwald.

Thorwald (played by Raymond Burr) is our straight-outta-Hitchcock-baddie who has been spotted by Jefferies trying to cover up the murder of his wife. The obvious parallels I’m going to draw between “Rear Window” and the Lukola fandom are (1) Thorwald’s crime being equivalent to the World Tour and everything that has happened thereafter, and (2) Jefferies’ obsession with proving Thorwald is guilty being comparable to the fandom’s obsession with proving Lukola is real.

Now, I’m going to get the ball rolling by fast-forwarding through the World Tour all the way up to where I last left you – the post-release of “Mis-Directed.” Recall that shortly before the book’s release, in a surprise turn of events, Luke appeared with Antonia at the Boss event held January 30. However, this was almost immediately negated by Luke snubbing Antonia post-event (and perhaps even more shockingly, Antonia’s mirrored lack of acknowledgement of Luke). And try as Nicola might, there’s no skirting around the innuendo made throughout that fan-fic of a book.

“Watson! Get up! There’s fuckery afoot!”

Who the hell are you?

I’m Dad. Who are you?

Ah, not that guy!

Yes, that guy. Of course, Dad has entered the room. After all I needed someone to fill the role of Lisa Fremont (also known as Grace Kelly). Lisa is your Lukola friend with the highest degree of common sense. She takes the “evidence” presented and looks at it with some realism. She is never going to take the Dwight Shrute Route and state something as “Fact,” but she is the one you rely on to delineate between what makes sense and what doesn’t. In short, this is your friend who understands human nature.

Alright, before I really get this ball rolling –

Since I’ve now added a third wheel (Dad) to the back-and-forth dialogue of my two wizard-chasing-balloon-riding-time-traveling-narrators, I suppose I should also give these two imbeciles names.

You first.

Uh, well, I’m Charley and that’s –

I’m Crowd.

Full credit for these two make-believe idiots is given to my dad. He created the personas of “Charley and the Crowd” for my two nieces a few years ago. They would show him their dolls and my dad would narrate what was going on in their stories. Of course, my nieces regularly corrected him with, “No, Pap��, that is not what Barbie is doing!” Still, Charley and the Crowd stuck around, playing the role of two, usually counter-productive and sometimes ignored, news anchors at a Macy’s Day Parade-like event hosted by my nieces’ massive collection of L.O.L. Dolls.

And just for clarity’s sake, during the dialogue between Charley, Crowd, and Dad, actual statements made by Dad will be in quotations. Any statement not in quotations was added simply to move the story along.

Let’s begin (finally).

In “Rear Window,” every time Jefferies and his sidekicks present their findings to Detective Doyle attempting to prove Thorwald’s guilt, they are thwarted by evidence discovered by Doyle’s investigation. It’s a constant back-and-forth throughout the movie; however, regardless of how “solid” Doyle’s evidence is that Anna Thorwald is still alive, Jefferies remains sat on the hill that Thorwald killed his wife. It was this parallel – not the peeping Tom aspect of the movie – that piqued my interest last week. No matter what was thrown at him, Jefferies remained steadfast in his opinion Thorwald murdered his wife. Nothing budged him. I realized Jefferies’ level of resilience mirrored every diehard Lukola’s reaction to every piece of contradictory evidence thrown at them. Nothing budges them.

The tail-end of January and all of February was a bit wild in the Lukola fandom. I mean, there were a lot of narratives being thrown around only to be counteracted by another event. As I mentioned earlier, we ended January with the Boss event but that flame was quickly extinguished by Luke and Antonia’s complete lack of follow-up. Luke had the perfect opportunity to make it “official” with Antonia – to finally shut down the Lukola shippers – but he didn’t.

Crowd: Antonia not doing anything with it is the biggest tell, in my opinion.

I’m not going to spend much time rehashing the Boss event because I already discussed it in Entry 18 (link below), but I will touch on two things that I believe deserve an Honorable Mention.

The first being –

Charley: Why didn’t Antonia have her phone or even a handbag at the Boss event?

I mention this little detail because it was echoed at the BAFTA afterparty Luke attended with Antonia on February 16. In fact, I suspect this may be the modus operandi when Antonia attends an event with Luke – she is not given the opportunity to have a phone with her. One would think, at the very least, you would see Antonia entering and/or leaving an event with some kind of handbag or clutch. But we have pictures of Antonia entering both the Boss event and BAFTA afterparty without one. I will acknowledge we don’t see her leave these two events; however, if we rewind time, Antonia does not have a handbag with her during Papsmear.

Dad: “Well, that’s extremely odd.”

I don’t believe I’ve mentioned it before – at least not on this blog – that my dad has an eye for women’s fashion. My sisters and I grew up under his critical eye and, to this day, my father doesn’t know where he went wrong with my older sister. This is entirely why he was given the part of Lisa Fremont, the movie’s style icon in the form of Grace Kelly. The fact that Antonia is never seen with any type of handbag at these events sparked his interest.

Dad: “[It seems] they [at a minimum Luke] wanted complete control [of what Antonia could take away from the event]. No handbag. Nowhere to hide a phone. No rogue pictures floating about.”

Charley: Yes, it does seem that way.

The second event I wanted to mention was – although neither Luke nor Antonia liked the Boss grid post of the two of them entering that event together – Nicola did. Now, this wasn’t an immediate like. In fact, Nicola waited almost two weeks to like the post, on February 12.

Crowd: The day before Nicola went back and liked that post, that video was being dissected across social media.

Dad: Why?

Charley: Because it was suggested Luke said, “Let’s get this done,” as he walked inside the event with Antonia.

Dad: “I don’t hear shit.”

I will admit, when this video was initially sent to me, I didn’t hear anything except the background noise. However, when I was told what was allegedly being said, I was able to hear it. This very well could be the power of suggestion but the timing of Nicola’s like on this post is, at a minimum, noteworthy.

Once we leave the Boss event, we stumble right into “Mis-Directed.” I’ll post the links to my review of that book at the end. It is what it is – and it’s a whole lot of…umm, yeah…maybe Dad said it best.

Dad: “Either your Lukola thing is real, or Ireland is a psychopath.”

Crowd: Seriously, who let this guy in here?

I’m going to have to hard agree with my dad on this one. Not necessarily about Nicola being a “psychopath,” but the references made in the book are too on the nose for it not to be intentionally Lukola- and/or Polin-coded.

I’m also convinced this book was edited after the World Tour, with the most obvious example of this being demonstrated with the quote: “The dates here coincided with the time period of Leicester Square… Below the words was a symbol of a V-shaped flying dove. At first glimpse, it strongly resembled two raised fingers.” If our duo is to be believed, Luke and Nicola had no idea prior to the World Tour that the fandom would go wild over Colin’s fingers. But after the release of Part 1, any mention of “two raised fingers” would send the fandom into a feeding frenzy. And it’s such an extremely random bit of innuendo, I have trouble believing the author came up with it on her own.

Charley: When you think about it, if Antonia hadn’t shown up at the Boss event, the Lukola fandom would have taken the book as confirmation that Lukola was real.

Indeed, a hefty portion of the fandom would have done just that. The fandom was already convinced that Luke and Nicola spent the holidays together – even without direct evidence – because there was evidence that Luke and Nicola did not spend the holidays with Antonia and Jake, respectively.

Antonia appeared to be with family at Christmas and in the Maldives over New Year’s – without making even the slightest insinuation that Luke was with her.

Jake seemingly spent the holidays with Dylan B., as demonstrated by his pre-Christmas stories with Dylan in their (basically) adjacent hometowns – without Nicola, who, by her own account, was in Galway. Jake and Dylan’s Christmas stories were followed up with their jointly hosted New Year’s Eve party – at which Nicola was not present (as evidenced by Nicola’s comment to an attendee’s New Year’s Eve post: “Have the best night miss yous”).

Dad: “It is weird they [Nicola and Jake / Luke and Antonia] wouldn’t spend any of the holidays together. One? Sure, maybe. But all? No.”

But, even with that statement, my dad chose to play the role of Detective Doyle (a/k/a the Devil’s Advocate of “Rear Window”) regarding the holidays because –

Dad: “Misty [Antonia] was with her dance troupe. Jake was with his friends. Ireland was doing her thing. But no one knows where Thang [Luke] was. Everyone else has a trail except him, which is odd. He could have been with Ireland, but you can’t prove it, so what you have is not really evidence.”

Charley: Thanks, Dad.

But, let’s face it, my dad is right. There’s no solid evidence that Luke and Nicola spent their holidays with each other or anyone else. You can apply the same theory to the birthdays. The only “evidence” we have that two people did not spend a birthday together was Jake posting a belated birthday greeting to Nicola followed by Nicola posting what appeared to be an intimate birthday dinner for two, presumably from the night before. We can surmise Nicola’s birthday date was not Jake, otherwise he would not have posted the late greeting.

About Jake’s birthday –

Crowd: Oh, yeah, “hard launch No. 54” because Nicola used a red heart in her birthday story to him.

Charley: You mean the same one she used in a story for another friend just the other day?

Crowed: Yep.

Dad: “I don’t know what to say about those people [the Jakolas]. They need to resubmerge or something. There’s no relationship there [between Jake and Nicola].”

The Jakolas are banking this “hard launch” on the fact Nicola posted a birthday story for Jake, but not for Luke, and vice versa. These are the same people who will argue that Luke and Antonia not posting about each other’s birthdays is because they’re private – but, in the same breath, refuse to acknowledge Luke and Nicola may not post about each other’s birthdays because they’re private.

I believe it’s worth mentioning that no one from the Bridgerton cast except James Phoon posted about Nicola’s birthday on January 9. When Nicola acknowledged her birthday greetings the day after, she did not repost Phoon’s story nor did she repost fan-favorite JVN’s birthday story. And I should have placed bets on this next part – no one from the Bridgerton cast posted about Luke’s birthday on February 5. Surely, I’m not the only person who saw – and anticipated – the comraderie there.

What the Jakolas should have been focusing on with Jake’s birthday was the fact that it was Dylan and Becky’s boyfriend that were wearing matching “Jecky” shirts at their joint birthday party. No one else had that shirt except for the two people believed to be their significant others. Although I’m not fully convinced Jake is dating Dylan, I am one hundred percent convinced Jake would date Dylan over Nicola.

Charley: What’s next?

Crowd: God, there was so much shit going on in February! Uhh, let’s jump to Valentine��s Day. Nicola attended the IFTA’s with her mother and sister, and Luke attended a GQ dinner event alone.

This holiday follows in the same vein as the previously noted holidays, except it’s Nicola and (amazingly!) Luke that are both accounted for. Jake was presumed to be in Sheffield rehearsing for his play; and Antonia was nowhere to be found, not even at the GQ dinner.

However, Antonia does make a brief reappearance at a BAFTA afterparty alongside Luke on February 16.

Crowd: But it was a repeat of the Boss event. The next day, neither acknowledged the other.

Charley: And Luke was reported to have left the party after only an hour – without Antonia. He even posted a picture of himself getting into a car alone.

Dad: To me, “[i]t seems like Thang took his dog [Antonia] for a walk and left her at the dog park.”

Two days later, Luke – actually out for a walk – is papped getting coffee, alone. Is it horrible of me to say that the most exciting thing about these pictures was the untucked versus tucked shirt? I’m not even sure why I’m taking the time to mention this except I felt there would be some side-eye if I did not.

And to be honest, I’ve left out some details and minor events from the months of January and February because, if I were to add them, this post would be twice as long as it already is. For example, don’t get me started on sunburns, tan lines, and “sunny places.”

If we were in the movie, “Rear Window,” everything stated up until this point would run parallel to the back-and-forth between Detective Doyle and our Trio of Peeping Toms. Evidence is presented by the Trio, which is then countered by Doyle. Doyle’s evidence is dismissed by the Trio because, again, they’re hellbent on proving their case, so they continue theorizing and digging into Thorwald. All that leads up to the movie’s climax.

Charley: Have we finally made it to the SAG?

Crowd: Yes, yes, we have.

Charley: Dad – Dad – wake up!

Dad: Huh?

Alright, the fucking SAG awards. This would be about the point in “Rear Window” where Lisa gets caught by Thorwald rifling through his belongings in search of evidence. We’re in the audience biting our nails because Jefferies can’t do a damn thing to help Lisa except watch everything unfold. And that’s what we did with the SAG awards. The entire Lukola fandom was hyper-focused on Luke and Nicola – and they did not disappoint.

Forget all the drama we endured from the sideshow characters and the nonsense that came with them.

Forget Luke being AWOL for six months.

Forget everything except the “hug heard ‘round the world.”

The ice was broken; the champagne was flowing. Luke and Nicola’s joint SAG appearance was like the World Tour on steroids.

Dad: Can I say something?

Crowd: Fuck. What?

Dad: “It was their season, right? So, their joint appearance on the red carpet wasn’t earth shattering. Neither was them sitting together. It was their night to celebrate.”

Crowd: Who invited this wet blanket to the party?

Dad: I wasn’t done. “Their season has run its course, right? They’ve ‘graduated.’ So why are they the focus of mainstream media?”

Charley: <thinking> Because there’s something newsworthy there?

That is your climax. Not their SAG appearance – because everyone can have their own interpretation of Luke and Nicola’s behavior and those interviewers’ Q&A’s – it was the mainstream media going ga-ga over Luke and Nicola that sent the Lukola narrative tumbling out the window. If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll understand that reference.

By the following day, Luke and Nicola were everywhere. I genuinely appreciate the “Librarians” of the private group chats – those people who track and record every single post, story, like, non-like, follow, unfollow, literally everything – their job was grueling last week. The Sincerely Ignorant Lukolas who jumped ship months ago were frantically trying to climb back on board, while the Jakolas were desperately trying to find their Dramamine. The Defectors went silent except to remind their hive of hornets not to worry; that they will get “a reminder soon…”

Charley: A reminder of what?

Crowd: Oh, that there are two side characters floating about.

Well, lo and behold – right on schedule – a random picture of Luke and Antonia in an elevator surfaced the day after the SAG awards. The problem with the picture was that it was dismissed by Lukolas almost immediately. The account that dropped the picture on X was suspicious. Antonia’s hair and clothing seemed “so last year.” The Lukolas were far more focused on Luke and Nicola liking anything and everything to do with the SAG that day than to pay any attention to the “same old song and dance” about Antonia. Even Nicola liking Jake’s very bland “Nicola” comment on her grid post was dismissed with a “shooing” wave of the hand and an uninterested half laugh.

On February 25, the “insinuation” pictures were at it again. In fact, it was a rather busy day. An event host posted a picture of what appeared to be Antonia perfectly centered at an L.A. hotel pool. The story was reposted by the hotel itself. In fact, that’s the only reason the picture was found by the fandom. A new elevator picture of Luke and Antonia dropped; however, it, too, was dismissed fairly quickly, regardless of it being dropped by a different, less dubious X account. The Lukolas just didn’t give a fuck about Antonia. Luke was the subject of a blind that insinuated he had spent most of his time at the SAG looking in a mirror. And the evening was rounded out by something that would have rocked the boat in June 2024 but had little effect in February 2025 – Nicola followed Antonia on Instagram and vice versa!

Oh, shit – Jefferies just lost his grip and fell out the “Rear Window.” But he didn’t die! So, that’s a plus.

The following day, February 26, Antonia started to remove tags from her Instagram account including the “Soho” New Year's 2024 picture of Luke and his friend group, which included Antonia. And Nicola responded to the “mirror” blind about Luke with “I can confirm this is 100% not true [laughing/crying emoji].” So, interestingly, we had Antonia backing further away from Luke and Nicola stepping up to defend him.

Crowd: So, where do we go from here?

That’s a good question. The thing I’ve learned through this “course” is that the Lukolas are now unmoved by the shenanigans happening around them. You can serve Antonia to them on a silver platter, and they’ll flag down the waiter and ask them to return her to the kitchen. And you won’t find Jake anywhere on their menu (hence why I didn’t even bother to mention Jake’s play).

Dad: I think “the whole thing has run its course.”

It really has. The Lukolas are tired but unyielding. At this point, they just want their version of Thorwald to confess. The narratives running parallel to each other (i.e., Lukola vs. Jakola vs. Lutonia) can’t go on much longer. One of them is going to crack under the pressure.

Remember, “Three can keep a secret…”

P.S.

Dad: “Is Ireland still wearing that ring?”

Me: Yes.

Dad: “Then why did you call me?”

Me: <deep sigh>

#lukola #nicola coughlan #luke newton #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only #my humor

350 notes · View notes

authorhjk1 · 1 month ago

Note

Please write SNSD Yoona's birthday smut. I asked last time, but you asked me to tell you again a week ago, so I'm asking again.

May 30, 2025

(Yoona X Male Reader) wordcount: 8410 words

Yoona lets out a soft gasp as she gazes out the taxi window. The driver says something in French that she can’t quite catch, but she’s far too captivated by the scenery to even try to understand.

The clear blue ocean stretches endlessly, its waves glimmering under the evening sun. Rocky cliffs rise in the distance, their jagged edges glowing gold in the fading light. Below, the beaches curve like smooth ribbons of pale sand. The small town of Cassis comes into view, its narrow streets lined with pastel-colored houses and bustling cafés. Perched on a nearby hill, she spots what looks like a small medieval castle, its silhouette outlined against the soft pink sky.

She lets out a sigh of relief, feeling her shoulders drop. She made the right choice. For months now, she’s longed for a vacation. Something quiet, something peaceful. No crowds, no busy city noise. Just a warm beach and a small town where she could breathe, relax, and clear her mind. Cassis, a hidden gem in southern France, had caught her eye while browsing travel sites a few weeks ago. The hotel listing promised ocean views and just a few minutes’ walk to the Mediterranean shore. Now, seeing it with her own eyes, she knows it’s even more beautiful than she imagined.

As the taxi winds through the narrow streets toward the hotel, the sky deepens into rich purples and oranges. The journey from Korea has been long and tiring, and Yoona feels the weight of travel on her. Tonight, she decides, she’ll find a simple restaurant nearby, enjoy a quiet dinner, and explore the town tomorrow when she feels relaxed and full of new energy.

When the taxi pulls up in front of the small hotel, the last rays of sunlight catch on the white stone walls and the delicate wrought-iron balconies. It’s less like a hotel, she realizes, and more like a charming holiday house divided into flats. She steps out, stretching her legs, and pulls her suitcase from the trunk. After paying the driver and offering a polite “merci,” she turns toward the entrance with a flutter of anticipation.

A woman in her fifties opens the door just as Yoona rings the bell, her smile warm and welcoming.

“Welcome to Cassis."

The woman says cheerfully.

“Hello."

Yoona replies, smiling back.

“It’s really beautiful here.”

The woman’s French accent wraps around the words, making them feel soft and charming, even if Yoona has to concentrate a bit harder to catch every syllable.

After the formalities, the hostess leads her through the entrance hall, past light-colored stone walls and polished tile floors, and up a sleek staircase.

Soon, they stand in front of a turquise door.

“Here you go, honey.”

The woman says kindly, handing over the key.

Yoona steps into her holiday flat and stops, taking it all in.

The space is sleek and modern, far more stylish than she’d imagined. The walls are painted a bold, deep violet that somehow works beautifully with the soft gray curtains and light floor tiles. A large, low bed with a silky bronze cover glints softly under the light from a sparkling chandelier overhead. By the wall, a black leather sofa offers a cozy spot to relax, while the sliding glass doors open onto a balcony furnished with rattan chairs and splashes of colorful cushions. Through the glass, Yoona can see the tops of pine trees and, just beyond, the glimmer of the Mediterranean Sea under the fading sunset.

What truly catches her breath, though, is the photograph mounted proudly on the wall above the bed.

It’s a stunning, high-resolution image of the ocean. The waves are glittering under the sun like a field of tiny diamonds. But the highlight of the shot is a majestic whale captured mid-leap, its powerful back still submerged while its massive fin sends a spray of water droplets arcing into the air. The droplets catch the light perfectly, making the whole scene look as though it’s been sprinkled with stardust. Yoona can’t help but step closer, drawn into the image as if she can feel the salty air on her skin.

She smiles, feeling the weariness of her journey melt away just a little. Setting her luggage down near the foot of the bed, she runs her fingers lightly over the cool surface of the bedside table, then looks out again through the balcony doors. The peaceful sound of the sea, the soft colors of dusk, and the promise of a quiet night make her excited for the next days to come.

Yoona takes a few moments to wander slowly through the flat, trailing her fingers across the smooth countertop by the small kitchenette, opening a few cabinets out of curiosity. She tucks her suitcase neatly beside the wardrobe and carefully unpacks a few essentials. Her toiletries, a fresh, cute dress for tomorrow and her favorite paperback novel that she always travels with.

Deciding she doesn’t want to venture too far tonight, she grabs her small shoulder bag and heads back downstairs.

The hostess is still in the front hall, flipping through a ledger behind the counter. She looks up with the same warm smile when Yoona approaches.

“Excuse me."

Yoona says as she walks up to her.

"Do you know a good place where I can get dinner nearby?”

The woman’s face lights up.

“Ah, yes! You should go to one of the restaurants at the marina. Very good food, fresh fish, beautiful view.”

Yoona tilts her head slightly.

“Can I walk there?”

“Of course, of course! About fifteen minutes by foot. Very easy.”

The hostess reaches behind the counter and pulls out a small stack of flyers. She hands one to Yoona, the glossy paper slightly cool and smooth to the touch.

“Here. This will help you find it. Has the names of restaurants, cafés… even the little museums and shops.”

Yoona murmurs her thanks and steps aside, her eyes drawn to the flyer’s cover.

It’s another photograph, and it’s breathtaking.

The image shows the marina at sunrise. The sky is painted in delicate pastel shades: soft peach blending into lavender, fading upward into pale blue. The water reflects the colors perfectly, like a liquid mirror, broken only by the slender silhouettes of moored sailboats. The masts rise like fine ink strokes against the glowing sky, their reflections stretching downward in rippling lines. Along the edge of the marina, the white stone buildings are touched by the first warm rays of sun, casting long, gentle shadows. There’s a hush to the scene, a sense of stillness just before the world wakes up.

At the bottom corner of the photograph, Yoona’s gaze catches a small detail. Two initials, written in graceful, almost delicate script: JK.

She tilts her head slightly, curious. The photographer? she wonders, feeling a flicker of intrigue. The composition is so beautiful, so full of feeling, whoever captured this moment has an eye for light, for mood, for quiet magic.

She smiles softly to herself, tucking the flyer carefully into her bag. With one last glance at the peaceful front hall behind her, Yoona steps out into the fresh evening air, ready to discover a bit of Cassis and enjoy the first night of her birthday getaway.

Yoona walks slowly down the narrow street, her sandals softly clicking on the warm cobblestones. The air is filled with the faint scent of salt and blooming flowers, and the gentle hush of the sea carries on the evening breeze.

To her right, the street opens up to a stunning view. The deep blue ocean stretching wide, its surface now kissed by the lavender glow of dusk. A beautiful beach runs along the edge of the town, the golden sand still holding the warmth of the sun. A few couples walk barefoot near the waterline, leaving delicate prints behind, while children chase the last waves before being called in for the night.

Yoona pauses, pulling out her phone. She lifts it carefully, framing the scene: the soft ripple of the water, the pastel sky, the silhouettes of the little boats anchored further out. She snaps a few shots, smiling quietly at the peaceful beauty captured on her screen.

Finally, she continues on, following the map on the flyer until she reaches the marina. The restaurant is easy to spot. Small tables set outside under a striped awning, strings of warm fairy lights wrapped around the railing, and the low hum of quiet conversation filling the air.

Yoona picks an empty table at the front, where she can watch the boats bobbing gently in the water. She settles in, smoothing her hands over the tablecloth, and lets out a contented sigh. This was exactly what she needed.

After a few minutes, a cheerful young waitress comes over, smiling as she greets Yoona with a polite,

“Bonsoir!”

She places a menu on the table and disappears inside, leaving Yoona to browse.

The menu cover is a photograph of the restaurant itself, taken at sunset. The light is golden and soft, painting the marina and the boats in a dreamy glow. She flips it open and scans through the offerings, eyes dancing over descriptions of fresh seafood, handmade pasta, crisp salads. Her gaze lands on a dish featuring salmon, prepared with local herbs and served alongside roasted vegetables and lemon butter. Her mouth waters a little as she smiles, decision made.

When the waitress returns, Yoona points to the dish on the menu and orders.

“I’ll have this, please.”

As she’s about to hand the menu back, her eyes catch on a tiny detail in the bottom corner of the cover. The initials JK. Her heart gives a little flicker of recognition.

“Excuse me."

She has to ask, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Do you know who took this photo? I saw these initials,JK on another picture earlier.”

The waitress brightens, clearly happy to answer.

“Ah! Yes, that’s the photographer. He lives here in Cassis. His pictures are quite famous . At least in France, and across Europe, too. You see his work in many places around here. He’s… how do you say… a local treasure.”

Yoona’s fingers lightly brush the corner of the menu where the initials are printed. She smiles thoughtfully, a new spark of intrigue settling in her chest.

As the waitress heads back inside, Yoona leans back in her chair, glancing once more at the marina bathed in twilight. She takes a slow breath, feeling the quiet promise that her birthday trip might turn out even more interesting than she first imagined.

Yoona takes her time with her meal, savoring each bite of the delicate salmon, the roasted vegetables perfectly seasoned, the crisp glass of white wine that pairs beautifully with the fresh flavors. She watches the marina as the night deepens, the masts swaying gently in the breeze and the reflections dancing on the darkening water.

By the time she finishes and settles the bill, she feels comfortably full, her body pleasantly relaxed from the wine and the sea air.

Instead of walking back through the streets, she decides to take the more scenic route. Down by the beach.

She slips off her sandals, holding them in one hand as she steps barefoot onto the cool sand. The night air is soft, and the waves reach lazily up the shore, occasionally brushing against her toes. She walks slowly, feeling the fine grains shift under her feet, breathing in the salty air. A thin mist has begun to gather over the water, curling in delicate tendrils that glow faintly under the moonlight.

Eventually, she reaches the end of the beach, where a low cliff juts out, its rocky base partly swallowed by the tide. A small wooden stairway is built into the cliff, leading back up toward the town.

Yoona is about to head up when she notices movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone is kneeling on one of the larger rocks near the base of the cliff.

It’s a man, holding a camera, his posture focused and intent as he adjusts the lens.

For a brief second, Yoona’s heart skips. Could this be the photographer she’s been hearing about? But she quickly dismisses the thought. It’s too much of a coincidence, surely.

Still, something draws her forward.

She walks carefully across the sand, approaching him with a polite smile.

“Hello."

She says softly, holding up her phone.

“Would you mind… taking a picture of me?”

The man glances up, his eyes sharp and thoughtful. He gives a small, apologetic smile.

“The fog will lower the quality."

He says in lightly accented English.

"But… sure, if you like.”

Yoona steps forward to hand him her phone, but he gently shakes his head, lifting his camera slightly.

“This will capture your beauty much better than a phone ever could.”

Heat rises to Yoona’s cheeks at the unexpected compliment, and she lets out a soft, flustered laugh.

“O-okay,"

She agrees, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She turns, positioning herself so her back faces the sea, and instinctively shifts into a graceful, practiced stance. She’s posed for thousands of pictures before and it shows. There’s a natural elegance in the way she holds herself, the subtle turn of her chin, the softness in her gaze.

The man is quiet behind the camera, but his fingers move deftly, adjusting settings, snapping a few shots, stepping slightly to one side, then the other. His eyes are drawn to the effortless way she transforms in front of the lens. Poised yet genuine, her presence filling the frame with an understated intensity.

Suddenly, the slow sweep of a lighthouse beam arcs across the dark water.

The man’s breath catches slightly, an idea flickering to life.

“Wait."

He murmurs. He gestures toward the rock he had been kneeling on.

“Would you stand up there for a moment?”

Yoona hesitates, glancing between him and the rock. She’s unsure of his intentions but senses no threat. Only a quiet focus, an artist’s attention.

She steps carefully onto the rock, balancing as she turns to face him.

He lifts the camera again, watching intently as the lighthouse beam slowly returns. His finger hovers over the shutter.

“Hold that pose."

The light cuts across the shore, and in that precise moment, the camera clicks.

The photograph captures Yoona bathed in the ethereal glow of the lighthouse, the mist in the night air catching the beam so that the entire scene shimmers with an almost dreamlike quality. She stands framed by light, the fog, the sea, a figure suspended between earth and ocean, between shadow and brilliance.

You lift the camera again, feeling the weight of it steady in your hands, and wait for the slow return of the lighthouse beam. Yoona stands gracefully on the rock, the ocean stretching out behind her, the fog curling softly in the night air. As soon as the light sweeps over her, you press the shutter. Click. Another perfect capture. Without a word, she shifts. A small tilt of her head, a delicate change in posture, a gentle curve of her arm. You don’t need to tell her what to do. She moves instinctively, reading the moment, sensing the light.

And you… you can’t help but be quietly captivated.

You take a few more shots, timing each one carefully with the beam of the lighthouse, until the light finally fades and she steps down from the rock. For a moment, you hesitate. You want to say something. To thank her, to keep this connection going. But your words stick in your throat. Finally, you clear your voice softly.

“Would it be alright if I sent you these pictures?”

You ask, trying to sound casual.

“Maybe… your number or email?”

Your heart beats just a little faster. You know you’re asking for something personal, and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Yoona pauses for just a second, glancing at you thoughtfully. She’s clearly weighing it, you’re still a stranger, after all, but then a soft, knowing smile touches her lips. There’s something about you, something about this strange, beautiful moment, that feels comfortable, familiar.

And maybe, she senses, you’re hoping for a little more than just sharing pictures.

She gives a small nod.

“Alright."

She says quietly, pulling out her phone and reading off her number.

Relief and a flicker of excitement warm your chest as you save it carefully.

“I’ll send them tonight."

You promise, offering her a smile.

You both exchange a soft goodbye. You watch her walkup the stairs, her figure slowly blending into the dark cliff, until she disappears into the distance.

Back in her room, Yoona steps inside, placing her sandals by the door. She walks over to the photograph above the bed. The stunning shot of the whale, its back half still submerged, its fin sending glittering droplets into the air.

A sudden thought makes her pause.

"Wait… I never asked for his name."

Her eyes flick down to the corner of the picture, where the elegant initials JK are marked.

"Could it have been… him?"

A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she touches the frame lightly with her fingertips.

She’ll find out soon enough.

Yoona steps into the small but beautifully tiled bathroom, letting the warm shower water wash away the salt and sand from her walk along the beach. She tilts her head back, eyes closed, feeling the tension melt from her shoulders.

After drying off, she wraps herself in the soft robe provided by the flat, towel-dries her hair, and then moves in front of the small mirror. She runs a brush through her damp strands, smoothing them out before slipping into a light pajama set. By the time she climbs into bed, the night outside has deepened into a peaceful hush. The window is slightly open, letting in the faint sound of the waves and the cool, salty air.

Yoona settles under the covers, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling through her messages and social media. She’s just about to put it aside when a notification pops up. An unfamiliar number, a new message.

Her heart gives a small, excited jump.

Opening it, she finds a text from you:

"Hey, it’s me. I wanted to send you the pictures. Hope you like them :)"

Attached are several image files.

Yoona eagerly taps them open one by one. The first few are the casual shots by the beach, which look lovely. But when she gets to the ones with the light of the lighthouse, she actually lets out a small, surprised breath.

They’re stunning.

In the photos, she’s bathed in the dramatic, sweeping light of the lighthouse beam, the fog curling softly around her like something out of a dream. The combination of light, mist, and her poised figure makes her look almost ethereal — like she belongs in another world.

Without thinking, she types back quickly:

"Wow… these are amazing. Thank you so much for taking such beautiful pictures."

A moment later, you reply:

"You don’t have to thank me. It was an honor to photograph someone as gorgeous as you."

Yoona feels her cheeks flush, smiling at the unexpected compliment as she sinks deeper into the pillows.

The conversation doesn’t stop there. You two end up texting for another hour or two, the exchange flowing easily despite only having just met. She learns you’re local to Cassis, that you’ve lived here for years, and it comes up that she’s here as a tourist, alone for her relaxing week on the beach.

You offer, a little shyly, to show her around tomorrow.

“Like a personal guide.”

You say, half-joking.

Yoona hesitates for a moment, then types back:

"That sounds really nice. I’d love that."

The both of you say good night to each other.

As Yoona sets her phone on the nightstand and curls under the blankets, she can’t help but smile.

She closes her eyes, her thoughts drifting to you. The quiet photographer with the gentle eyes, the one who made her feel like she stepped out of a dream tonight.

Before long, she’s fast asleep, the sound of the sea mingling with the soft rhythm of her breathing, the promise of tomorrow dancing in her dreams.

The next morning, you arrive at Yoona’s flat a little before nine, carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers you picked up from a stall by the marina. She opens the door with a bright smile, her hair loosely tied back, dressed casually in a light black dress and sandals.

“Good morning."

She says, a touch of shyness in her voice as she accepts the flowers with a soft laugh.

You lead her down to a cozy café near the square for breakfast, where you both sit at a small table under a striped awning, sipping fresh coffee and sharing flaky croissants with butter and jam. Conversation flows easily. She tells you about Korea, about how she wanted a quiet relaxing trip, and you share little details about growing up in Cassis, about your love for photography and the way light plays off the sea here.

After breakfast, you wander through the town together.

You show her the narrow, winding streets with their pastel houses, the tiny art galleries hidden in side alleys, the old stone steps that climb up to the small castle she’d noticed on the hill when she first arrived. She stops often, lifting her phone to take pictures, though you notice she sometimes glances at you as if comparing her photos to the ones you might have captured.

At the small local museum, you explore side by side. Old maritime relics, paintings by local artists, and a photography exhibit featuring, to Yoona’s quiet delight, several works signed JK. She glances at you playfully, her eyes sparkling with suspicion. You just smile softly and say nothing.

By midday, you take her to a seaside restaurant for lunch. Fresh grilled fish, crisp salads, and glasses of cold rosé under the shade of an umbrella. Afterward, with the sun high overhead, you both decide to head down to the beach.

You sit together on the sand, shoes off, feeling the warm grains between your toes. Yoona laughs as she splashes her feet in the water, the waves playful and cool. For a while, you both just watch the horizon, letting the peaceful rhythm of the sea fill the space between conversations.

As evening approaches, you bring her to a restaurant you know. One tucked slightly away from the busier marina, quieter, more intimate. You’re given a table outside, where soft candlelight flickers gently between you.

Yoona looks radiant in the evening glow, her hair catching the fading sunlight, her eyes warm and relaxed from the day’s adventures.

You sip wine together, the conversation turning softer, deeper. She leans forward sometimes, her fingers lightly tracing the base of her glass, laughing at something you say. You can feel the shift between you, the gentle hum of attraction growing stronger, unspoken but undeniable.

Dinner lingers well past sunset, the air cooling slightly but the candles keeping your table bathed in a soft, romantic glow.

You press Yoona gently but firmly against the door outside her flat, your mouth on hers. Her hands clutch at your shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as she pulls you closer.

The kiss is slow at first, exploratory, her breath catching softly as your lips brush over hers again and again, but soon it deepens, the restraint between you slipping away.

Her back arches just slightly as she melts into you, the world around you both narrowing to this one heated, breathless moment.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the faint echo of the sea, the whisper of the waves, but all you can focus on is the taste of her lips, the press of her body, the way her hands tighten on you as if she’s been waiting for this all day.

Your lips stay locked as Yoona presses herself closer against you, the soft warmth of her breath mingling with yours. But after a long, breathless moment, she pulls back just slightly, her chest rising and falling as she looks up at you.

There’s a flicker of hesitation in her dark eyes. Not out of doubt, but out of the natural caution she’s always had. And yet… there’s something stronger in her now, a pulse of excitement running through her veins, telling her she wants more, that she wants this.

Her lips curl into a faint, almost teasing smile.

“Do you… want to come inside?”

She whispers, her voice low, a little breathless.

You don’t need to answer with words.

A moment later, you’re both moving through the open door, hands tangled, mouths finding each other again in a hungry kiss.

Yoona lets out a soft gasp as your tongue meets hers, her arms pulling you even closer, one hand sliding up into your hair, fingers tightening just slightly. The other tugs at your collar, drawing you down as she leans back. Her hips bump against the edge of the small wooden table behind her, and without thinking, she lifts one leg to wrap around yours, drawing you even tighter against her. With a small, breathless laugh, you guide her back, lifting her smoothly onto the table’s surface. Her hands stay on you, holding on as if she doesn’t want to let you go, as the kisses deepen and your heartbeats quicken.

Your palm moves instinctively to hold the thigh of her wrapped leg, fingers sliding just slightly along the soft skin, while your other hand rises, cradling the back of her head, guiding her into another long, lingering kiss.

You can feel the tension vibrating between you. The way your body aches to pull her closer. The way she leans into you, her breath catching as she meets you kiss for kiss, movement for movement.

And yet, somewhere under the heat, you still wait, holding yourself back, waiting for her signal, her permission.

Yoona senses it, feels the way you’re barely containing yourself and that realization only makes her pulse race faster.

She breaks the kiss just slightly, leaning in close to your ear, her voice a whisper.

“Explore.”

The single word is like a spark.

You feel her shiver slightly as your hand slides down from the back of her head, tracing the delicate curve of her back, moving lower until your fingers rest at her waist, then her hips, then the soft firmness of her ass.

Yoona’s breath hitches and she responds by slipping her hands to the buttons of your shirt, quickly undoing the top few. Her fingertips dive underneath the fabric, gliding over the warm skin beneath, tracing your chest, your sides, drawing you even closer.

The air between you feels electric now, the room narrowing down to just the two of you, tangled, breathless, poised at the edge of something that neither of you wants to stop.

You’re both lost in the rhythm of each other’s touch. Your hands roaming her waist, her back, feeling the soft curves beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Yoona’s breath warms against your mouth as she presses in closer, fingers sliding under your shirt, nails grazing lightly over your skin.

You can’t help it. The words slip out in a low, almost awed mumble between kisses.

“God… you’re perfect… like you were sculpted. You’re not even real, are you?”

You feel her body shiver slightly against yours, the compliment sparking something even deeper in her. But then, just as you’re about to pull her in again, she suddenly pulls back, her eyes bright and glinting with a spark of excitement.

“Get your camera."

She says softly.

You blink, heart racing, confused for a moment.

The camera?

But the way she looks at you - playful, daring - leaves no room for questions.

You fumble back toward the door, where your camera bag lies half-forgotten, dropped in the heat of the moment when you first stumbled inside together. Your fingers close around the familiar strap, and when you turn back, the sight in front of you steals your breath.

Yoona has lit several candles scattered around the room, their warm, golden light flickering over the walls, casting soft, dancing shadows that make the air feel intimate, enchanted. Before you can even fully take it in, she’s already pulling you back toward her, her lips crashing onto yours once more. The camera is still in your hand, slightly awkward, but you barely notice. You taste the faint trace of wine and the sweetness of her lipstick on her mouth. You inhale the subtle scent of her skin, mingled with the salt of the ocean air still clinging faintly to your clothes.

Slowly, the two of you edge toward the bed, the movement unhurried but hungry, every step drawn out by the deep pull between you. Your legs bump against the mattress, and before you can react, Yoona presses a hand to your chest and gives a firm push.

You land flat on your back, the bed creaking softly beneath you, heart pounding as she climbs onto you, straddling your waist with effortless grace. She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers.

“Start taking pictures.”

It takes you a second to fully process her words, but when you do, you fumble to bring the camera up, breath tight in your throat.

From your angle, lying beneath her, Yoona looks taller, almost regal, the curves of her body framed by the play of light and shadow. The candlelight glows warmly against her silhouette, her face mostly veiled in darkness, leaving the shape of her figure illuminated like something from a dream, almost unreal.

Your breath hitches as she takes your free hand and places it on her bare thigh, the skin smooth and soft under your palm. You feel her guide your hand slowly upward, and with every inch, the hem of her dress lifts slightly, teasingly.

Your heart pounds as your fingers brush higher, the camera clicking softly between you, but just when you’re about to see more, Yoona lets your hand fall back down with a soft laugh, as if she’s teasing not just you, but the camera itself.

You stare up at her, completely captivated, the lens trembling slightly in your hand as you take shot after shot, each one capturing a version of her that feels both intimate and untouchable.

Yoona stays perched on top of you, her legs folded neatly around your waist as she slowly raises her arms above her head, her body stretching elegantly in the candlelight.

Click

You take another picture, heart pounding.

She lets one arm fall back down, her other hand resting lightly on her head, fingers curling through her hair, her gaze sultry and calm.

Click

Another photo. Her side profile now, the elegant line of her jaw, the softness of her mouth slightly parted.

She shifts again, gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail, exposing the delicate curve of her neck, the smooth sweep of her shoulder.

Click

You can barely breathe as you capture her through the lens, mesmerized by the way she moves, by how she plays with the light and shadows.

Then she places one hand firmly on your chest and leans back slightly, arching her back, her other hand still cradling her head, her lips parted, eyes half-lidded.

Click

Another breathtaking image, another moment sealed forever.

But then, Yoona’s hands move slowly, deliberately, to the hem of her dress. You watch, breath tight, as she begins to lift it, inch by inch. Without realizing it, you let the camera lower onto the mattress beside you, your attention entirely consumed by her. Your eyes follow every movement, every inch of newly revealed skin. The soft dip of her waist. The smooth stretch of her stomach. The elegant curve of her hips.

By the time she’s peeled the dress fully away, she’s left in nothing but a red bra and matching panties, the warm candlelight playing across her glowing skin. You’re still staring, caught somewhere between awe and desire, when she lets out a soft, slightly embarrassed laugh.

“Aren’t you going to keep taking pictures?”

She teases, her voice light and breathless.

Jolted back to reality, you fumble briefly for the camera, lifting it again with shaky hands.

Click

A shot of her kneeling above you, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

Yoona shifts again, one thumb slipping under the thin strap of her bra, drawing it slightly down her shoulder. You feel yourself react instinctively, the tightness in your chest, the tension building between you, the way her movements pull you deeper under her spell.

Click

Another shot as the strap slides halfway down her arm.

Click

A second strap, now loose, slipping delicately around her other arm.

Click

Yoona smiles faintly, fingers reaching behind her back, fumbling lightly for the clasp of her bra. With a soft click, the fabric loosens, held in place now by just one hand at the center.

You hear yourself exhale sharply, your breath catching in your throat, your heart racing. And you take another picture of her kneeling on top of you as she holds her bra.

Yoona had always known she was beautiful. It was something people told her every day, in passing compliments, in lingering stares, in admiring smiles. But here, now, straddling you in the flickering candlelight, with your wide, breathless gaze fixed solely on her, she feels something entirely different. This isn't casual admiration. This is raw, unfiltered desire, and it stirs something deep inside her. Her confidence swells with every glance you steal, with every shaky breath you take as your eyes trace her body like it is a masterpiece. She feels powerful, sexy, untouchable. And yet completely wanted. Your genuine, wordless awe makes her heart race, makes her bolder, makes her want to tease, to dare, to peel back every layer and show you just how captivating she can be. For the first time in a long time, Yoona doesn't just look sexy. She feels it, burning through her veins, humming under her skin, making her want more.

Yoona’s breath shivers softly as she slowly lets the bra slip from her fingers, the delicate red fabric falling to the mattress beside you. She keeps one hand draped loosely across her chest, but even so, you can see the gentle curve of her small, perky breasts, the candlelight gliding over her skin like liquid gold.

You hesitate, just for a heartbeat, before lifting the camera again.

Click

She watches you, her eyes dark and shimmering, and then, with a teasing slowness, she lets her hand fall away completely.

Your breath catches.

Her bare chest is now fully revealed, and for a long, pulsing second, both you and the camera are utterly transfixed. The soft swell of her breasts, the way her skin glows in the flickering light, the delicate tension in her posture. She’s mesmerizing.

You lift a hand almost without thinking, fingers reaching gently, reverently, to brush over the perfect curve of one breast.

Click

The camera captures the moment, but your focus is divided. Your touch, her warmth, the rising heat between you.

Then Yoona surprises you.

She takes your hand carefully away from her chest, guiding it upward, toward her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, she draws two of your fingers past her lips, closing around them slowly, teasingly, her tongue pressing lightly against your skin. Your breath stutters as you snap another picture, though now your arm blocks part of the view, hiding her chest from the lens, but still leaving enough to stir your pulse even faster.

While your fingers rest inside her mouth, you watch as her own hands slip down her body, smooth and sure, traveling over her stomach until they reach her hips. With a playful, sultry little tug, she hikes the waistband of her red panties just slightly higher, framing the curve of her hips, showing herself off in a way that’s equal parts bold and graceful.

Click

Another shot, though you barely remember pressing the shutter.

Finally, she lets your fingers fall gently from her mouth, her lips curving into a faint, playful smile.

“Am I…”

She breathes, voice low, teasing,

“still beautiful?”

For a moment, you can’t find your voice. You feel the words rising, but they come out instinctively, without thought. Not in English, but in a soft, reverent murmur of French.

“Tu es magnifique… hors de ce monde…”

Yoona blinks, her cheeks flushing lightly even though she doesn’t understand. But the tone, the quiet sincerity in your voice, makes her heart flutter all the same. She feels your clothed cock press against her core, which finally makes her break the moment of silence between the two of you.

"Take them off."

Her whisper is low and filled with lust. For a moment you're not sure what she's talking about. But the your eyes fall on her panties. With your free hand you reach for them. Slowly, you begin to pull them down and Yoona lifts her body a little. You take another picture with the hem of her panties right above her pussy.

The two of you make eye contact again and then you carefully pull the red fabric off and down her thighs. Your camera falls onto the mattress, forgotten for the rest of the night. You can't take your eyes off her flawless center. Her small, beautiful folds hide her clit and the entrance to her snatch. While one hand draws circles around her labia, the other holds onto her waist for support.

Yoona lets out an embarrassed moan, suddenly very aware of the fact that she's completely naked while you're fully clothed. Her mind gets overwhelmed by your teasing fingertips which brush against her folds without actually touching her properly. Her own fingers move down to undo your pants.

So far the night has started at a slow pace, but now the flame of passion as turned into a full blown fire. When you finally brush with your thumb over her clit, Yoona is taking out your hard cock. She looks down on it as she wraps a hand around your length, but you can't see her expression, her face in the dark. Only her eyes seem to reflect your own lust. As she gently strokes your cock and you carefully play with her folds, the two of you communicate without talking. Yoona lifts herself further off of you, her red panties gliding down her thighs. She moves along your body and then turns around. A moment later she's basically lying on top of you. Her pussy is mere inches away from your face, while you feel her lips graze your cock.

"So pretty."

You murmur to yourself as you wrap your hands around her waist. Pulling her close, you stick out your tongue to taste Yoona for the first time. Simultaneously she wraps her lips around the tip of your cock, one of her hands holding its base, the other lies flat on your thigh.

The two of you pleasure each other, your hot bodies melting together. Everything about Yoona is perfect and her pussy is definitely no exception. You let your tongue brush over her folds and past her clit, making her moan around your cock. The vibration sends shivers along your spine, which makes you dig your fingers into her soft waist even further. Yoona is eagerly sucking on your cock, trying to satisfy you as much as you are satisfying her. It's a competition, but teamwork at the same time.

You don't know how much time you already spent with her lying on top of you, but you don't care. You could eat her pussy the whole night and still crave more. One of your hands moves from her waist to her ass, exploring her tight cheeks, before giving each of them a squeeze. In response to that, you feel Yoona removing her hand from your base. A moment later you feel your tip brush against the back of her mouth. First it's kinda hard, then some sort of soft squishiness. A moment later your tip slips down her throat.

"Oh god!"

You gasp into her pussy at the unexpected move. Instinctively your hips thrust into her mouth and you feel yourself going even deeper. You make Yoona choke on accident, but you reward her by pressing your tongue flat against her clit. You apply pressure, making her squirm a little. She eventually lifts her head off your cock to catch her breath.

"It feels so good."

She moans, but you're not sure if she means your cock or your tongue. You continue to eat her out either way, while your hand on her ass moves a little lower. A jolt of new sensations rushes through Yoona when she feels one of your fingers graze her puckered hole. It feels good, but unfamiliar. She begins to move on top of you, deciding that she's doesn't want that right now.

You want to apologize, afraid that you overstepped a boundary, but she isn't saying anything, so you stay quiet. Yoona moves back to her original position with her pussy now hovering above your stiff cock. But this time she isn't facing you. You have an amazing view of her flawless back and firm ass. One of her hands moves along her folds, gathering some of her slick, before she uses reaches down and gives your cock a few more strokes. You shiver in anticipation as you Yoona looks over her shoulder back at you. She bites her lip, the light of the candles dancing on her face. You watch your tip disappear and you can feel how her wet folds take your shaft in.

The feeling of being inside Yoona's pussy has your head spinning. You instinctively reach out to her, your hands finding her butt. You stop her from lowering herself even further for a moment.

"You're so tight."

The words leave your lips before you can hold them back.

"You're so big."

Yoona replies with a sigh herself, her head rolling back.

Eventually, you loosen your grip on her ass, allowing her to continue her way down your cock. It feels like it takes hours. You watch her pussy lips stretch around your cock, tightly gripping it while they slide down along your length.

"Oh my god, oh my god."

Yoona whispers when her ass meets your hips. You're fully buried inside of her.

The two of you don't move, savoring the feeling of being connected like this. Only what feels like half an hour, Yoona slowly begins to lift herself up. Your hands glide up along her back to support her. When only your tip rests inside her snug pussy, you hear another shakey breath escape her lips, before she moves down again.

Yoona begins to ride you in reverse. Slowly. As she's getting to know your cock, adjusting to its size inside of her. You watch her hair slowly sway from left to right in the rhythm of her steady bounces.

After a couple of minutes, Yoona begins to pick up the pace a little. You feel her pussy glide up and down your length. Her tight lips hug your cock, while she herself feels every inch of your cock brush against her inner walls. The two of your share one moan after another. The only other sounds in the room are the claps of her ass hitting your hips and the waves hitting the beach outside.

As the night progresses, the two of you change positions. Yoona has turned around after you asked her to and is now riding you while you sit up straight. Your arms around her waist pull her body flush against yours, while her arms are wrapped around your back. Her small perky breasts are just at the right hight for you to put your mouth on them. You lick and kiss her soft mounds while Yoona continues to ride you.

"Do I feel good?"

Her breathless whisper makes you realize how much effort it must take her to move up and down.

"You feel amazing."

You shift your attention from her chest to her face just long enough to answer her.

"I never want this to end."

"Keep going then."

She smiles down at you, before pushing your head back into her tits. You capture one of her nipples with your mouth and you start to suck on it. It makes Yoona moan even louder. She picks up the pace a little, more energy now rushing through her. The two of you are just a pile of limbs, basically one single body. You alternate between her nipples, trying to give them both equal attention. As her pleasure continues to rise, Yoona starts to drag her nails over your back. It doesn't hurt, but it stings a little as she digs them further into your skin. A small prize to pay for hearing this gorgeous woman moan so beautifully while she's riding your cock.

You feel the temperature of Yoona's body continue to climb. The heat that radiates from her core only makes you put in more effort. One of your hands moves up to squeeze one of her tits, while the other moves down to squeeze her ass. You continue to alternative between her nipples, which are now glistening with your saliva.

"More. More."

Her breathless whisper has a sense of urgency to it. At this point she's almost clawing at your back. Yoona feels the pleasure inside of her continue to rise as she bounces up and down on your cock.

"I-I think I'm gonna...."

A load moan escapes her lips and cuts off her own words. She impaled herself on your cock in a slightly different angle. Your tip grazed a new spot. A more sensitive one. Yoona begins to see stars.

"Gonna... Gonna cum!"

Yoona trembles in your arms as she orgasms around your cock. Her tight walls contracting around your leaves you breathless. Her head sinks onto your shoulder as she holds onto you. She stays quiet as her climaxes washes through her in small waves. Your cock stays fully buried inside of her.

After a couple of moments Yoona moves again. She isn't riding you, but just lazily grinding her hips. She kisses your shoulder and neck as she rides out her high.

"That was unbelievable."

She whispers into your ear. Her words give you goosebumps. You're proud of making her cum. But you can tell that she's a little tired now.

"Let's lie you down."

You kiss Yoona's forehead, before carefully lifting her off your cock.

After changing position, you're now aligning your cock with her pussy once more. Yoona is lying on her stomach now, while you're kneeling behind her between her spread out legs. Once more you hold onto her waist. You push back into her tight cavern, making Yoona moan again.

Since the two of you are now more familiar with each other, you don't start slowly. You quickly pick up the pace. Thrusting into her from behind makes her petite body rock back and forth on the bed.

"Squeeze my ass again, please."

You're happy to do as she says. Your hands move from her waist to her ass. You give her playful squeezes as you continue to fuck her into the mattress. An occasional slap here and there earns you small gasps while you admire the ripple of her cheeks.

Yoona's amazing tightness has you groaning, while you eventually lean over her. Exploring the town the entire day and now having to fuck her start to take their toll on you. Yoona tightens around you in random intervals, which doesn't help you last long either. But you don't want to finish early. You take your time and when you feel yourself getting closer, you slow down a little, trying to prolong your orgasm.

But eventually, everything has to come to and end. By now your basically lying on top of her. The only thing separating her back from your chest is a thin film of your combined sweat. She feels your warm breath against her cheek as you groan into her ear. She likes the sounds you make, because she knows it's because of her. She is making you feel good.

You want to whisper her name, but you don't know it. The two of you decided not to exchange names. She doesn't know who you are and you don't know who she is. Even after spending the entire day together.

"I'm close."

You say that instead of her name. Her breath hitches in response. Yoona turns her head a little, trying to look at you.

"Just cum inside."

Her three words make you pick up your pace. Just the possibility of getting to cum inside of her gives you new energy. You continue to fuck Yoona, until you can't hold on any longer.

A long, drawn out deep moan escapes your lips right next to her ear. Yoona lets out a moan herself when she feels your warmth flood her pussy. Her tight walls hig your cock. You never felt this good in your life as you empty your load deep inside of her.

After you regain your ability to think straight, you slowly slide off of her and sink next to her into the mattress. You don't want to put your weight on her for too long if it's not necessary. The two of you lie in silence next to each other. You want to say something, but you're not sure what exactly.

Yoona is facing the same problem. She doesn't know what she's supposed to say now. Hoping that you go first, she stays quiet for a while. Eventually, she notices how your breath has become slower. How it has established a steady rhythm. You've fallen asleep.

She sighs, the weight of what happened today finally coming down on her. Yoona feels a little bit of your cum escaping her pussy.

Then she suddenly hears her phone vibrate for just a second. Then again. And again. And a forth time. It dawns on her that it must be past midnight. It's now May 30th. Her birthday. She feels her eyelids getting heavier and begins to drift off to sleep.

----------------------

Hi everyone!

I hope you enjoyed it. I'm afraid I got a little bit carried away with the build up, but I already cut out a lot.

Stay healthy!

#ask #anon #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #yoona girls generation #girls generation smut #girls generation #snsd yoona #snsd smut #snsd #yoona smut #lim yoona #im yoona #yoona

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mothmanssweetsucculentass · 11 months ago

Text

ZZZ Headcanons

Help this game has taken over my free time I love these characters sm <3 Billy Soukaku and Ellen my beloved

Nicole: has a not so secret hobby of bedazzling anything and everything. It’s a real problem in the Cunning Hares apartment, nothing is safe from pink rhinestones and stickers

Anby: cracked at rhythm games to an alarming degree. Can do a 2 person extremely hard DDR song all by herself

Billy: I don’t know how they did it but they programmed an android with autism. Has his own version of a skincare routine which is basically just maintenance on all of his tiny mechanical parts. Can also gain power multiple ways, including solar power. The apartment complex where the Cunning Hares live had a blackout once and everyone used Billy as a personal charging port. Nicole promised to pay him in Starlight Knight merch.

Nekomata: cuts her own hair and offers to do it for other people. DO NOT trust her when she says she’s good at it

Grace: did gymnastics as a kid which is why she’s able to pull off a ton of backflips and flexible maneuvers in battle

Anton: uses actual cement to keep his hair spikes in shape. Koleda caught him in the act once and instead of chewing him out, she decided to apply some to her own hair and now they’re cement combover gang

Ben: is completely vegan and loves chilling at hot springs a lot. Still sleeps with stuffed animals btw

Koleda: I’m making it canon right now Koleda is trans and you can’t do shit about it. Also has welding as a hobby and made most of her accessories from scratch

Corin: when not in Victoria Housekeeping Co uniform, is a Jfashion junkie. I’m talking super dedicated Lolita fits, menhera inspired clothing, the whole shebang. She ofc designs a lot of her own stuff like her bear backpack and is also responsible for a lot of the accessories Victoria Housekeeping Co wears (Rina’s bows, Ellen’s shark jaw head and neckpieces, Lycaon’s eyepatch and tail straps). She also has a massive crush on Ellen and is too scared to admit it

Rina: has a fur allergy and can’t keep animals around. Which also means she’s allergic to Lycaon. She has to take so much Zyrtec before clocking in but has such a good poker face that Lycaon has no idea. Ellen knows tho

Lycaon: specifically wears the heeled boots and has his odd posture because he’s self conscious about his digitigrade legs, he thinks they’re unsightly for a butler of his standing to have. He also tries to encourage Ellen to wear a long maid dress like Rina does to hide her tail.

Ellen: coincidentally falls into a lot of shark stereotypes. She loves seafood, has to constantly be fidgeting or she feels like she’ll go mad, and the kicker, she gets frenzied around blood, or if the thing she’s fighting puts up a struggle. Corin accidentally cut her hand while repairing her saw blade once and both Lycaon and Rina could barely hold Ellen back once Corin began bleeding. Ellen feels awful for scaring the already timid girl. Corin secretly thought it was hot and would die on the spot if anyone knew that

Soukaku: despite being a huge foodie this girl cannot cook for shit. Is also physically cold to the touch and during the summer her coworkers will ask her to hold their drinks because they’ll stay cold. Soukaku always secretly sneaks sips every time they do this to her.

Miyabi: has the worst sleep schedule known to man. Sometimes you’ll find her awake at 3AM and conked out by 4PM, other times she goes to bed at 8PM and wakes up at 4AM. It’s inconsistent and irregular and a gamble trying to contact her outside of work because she might not even be awake

Harumasa: GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY. Also pretty cracked at chess and other strategy games. Is also a major old fashioned guy and doesn’t own a lot of modern technology. He’s not into retro or old stuff, he just doesn’t like new stuff

Yanagi: her glasses are fake. When she was younger she needed them, but her vision had naturally gotten better over the years, so she now wears contacts, but for some reason still insists on wearing her glasses. Loses them constantly during battle.

Lucy: even though she was forced to play piano as a kid, she really wanted to be a sporty girl and play stuff like soccer and baseball. Now she has the freedom to take part in the sports she likes and watch them surrounded by the people she likes

Piper: insanely picky eater to the point it drives Lucy up a wall. Is also picky about a lot of other things, like how different fabrics feel, different comfort levels of chairs and beds, girl is a complainer and will always find something to complain about

Lighter: has a side gig as a tattoo artist, has really stable hands too

Soldier 11: has 5 younger brothers, a younger sister, and 2 older siblings who she doesn’t see super often. Has divorced parents who also liked to adopt, which is why she has such a huge family. Her younger brothers love it when she comes home and plays secret agent military with them

Seth: can’t drive. That’s it send tweet.

Qingyi: is outwardly dismissive of meditation tricks and hacks and tips but utilizes that shit in private ALL the time.

Zhu Yuan: shares the vegetables she grows in her garden with all her neighbors. Is also a REALLY good cook to the point people have encouraged her to potentially consider a different career path

Jane Doe: the rat girl has pet rats go figure. But in all seriousness she’d die for her little guys. She has a white one named Cocaine and a brown one named Tobacco and a gray one named Crystal Meth. She thinks the names are hilarious and every time she introduces the rats to other people their facial expressions are priceless

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angelicalchaoticabyss · 3 months ago

Note

Don’t ask why I’m writing this at 6:04 am because at the time I’m writing this I’ve been awake since 2:35 am because I’m stress about school and this fics have been my medicine.

So, can I ask for the ultimate cookie reader! that had just escaped the lab and is just confused and touched starved wreck, that the five beast find. Since Dark Enchantress is planning to betray them (I think idk) they don’t bring ultimate cookie reader back to the lab. STRICTLY PLATONIC because my aroace ass can’t handle romantic stuff (mostly)

We'll Protect you

Mystic Flour Cookie:

Mystic Flour Cookie is by far the gentlest/nicest with you. In her own apathetic way. She sees the selfishness of Dark Enchantress Cookie and her cruel wishes towards you. And she will not stand for it. Mystic Flour Cookie gladly welcomes you in her pagoda, allowing you to share in her knowledge and wisdom.

She teaches you a lot about yourself and trains your heart to be more stable and calmer. She enjoys watching you play with Cloud Haetae Cookie, although she has had to step in when your incredibly baked strength tends to get too much for the lion dog.

She doesn’t mind when you try to touch her, like holding her hand. She’ll lightly hold your hand back but other than that not show much to you. But she does understand that you need this and will occasionally pet you like she does Cloud Haetae Cookie.

Burning Spice Cookie:

Burning Spice Cookie can be mean at times, but he means well for you. He quite enjoys the strength you have no idea what to do with. He sees how you have little control over it, so instead he trains you to both fight and control your massive power. He likes having you as an apprentice and having someone who can match him if not best him in a fight.

Once you’re properly trained, he teaches you the tides of change, how the constant flow worked and how boring it can become. When it comes to touch, he’s VERY hands on to show you how to do everything properly. He’s not the most physically affectionate with you (In a friendly way), but if you want a hug from time to time, he’s willing to give it as a reward for all your hard work.

Burning Spice Cookie is utterly enraged that Dark Enchantress Cookie would betray them, and he feels even angrier that she’d use the equivalent of her own child to do so. So, in his mind…you’re his child now. And he would never use you as a means to an end.

Shadow Milk Cookie:

He’s honestly the most eager to have you in his domain, after all his spirit was there as you were being created. He finds you most amusing and is very touchy with you. He’d squeeze the daylight out of you if you let him. He’ll hold your hand, pat your head. But in exchange he will treat you like a child, his child. After all, he was there to watch you bake so why wouldn’t he consider himself one of your fathers?

He'd help you control your incredible stores of magic and use it to your advantage. He’d also teach you the wonders of deceit and when to use it, but he would never lie to you. And you can promise that he would be there if you had a nightmare, shaking in your sleep and crying from the oven. He’d soothe your heart and promise to keep you safe.

As for Dark Enchantress, he’s not surprised she’d try to betray them, but he’d make sure she’d regret it. Due to his lack of trust in many cookies, he wasn’t one to fall for her lies so easily. And he’ll double make sure she pays for the hell she brought you into.

Eternal Sugar Cookie:

They are by far the cuddliest with you…but also in a lazy way if that makes sense. While they sloth around in their domain they’ll often have you in their arms. While they nap on clouds, trees, the ground, you name it. Eternal Sugar will often be cuddling you while you and they sleep the day away.

They’ll teach the wonders of finding time to relax and be slothful instead of worrying about everything. Though sometimes, they’ll be the one awake while you sleep, petting you and whispering comforting words to keep your nightmares away. They care for you like they would their own child after all.

As for Dark enchantress, they had feeling it was too good to be true with her so they wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. But they WILL make her suffer if she comes for you. You’re their little sloth after all.

Silent Salt Cookie:

The least touchy of the beasts and well…doesn’t really speak. They train you in how to use specifically swords and conquer your incredible speed. The most you’d get from them is a pat on the back or a hand lingering on your shoulder when you need comfort. However, while very rare, Silent Salt may also take off their helmet so they can look you in the eyes to show sincerity.

It takes you a while to fully understand Silent Salt Cookie and their methods, but you came to learn they did care about you. Unlike the others, Silent Salt Cookie doesn’t come to view you as a child to care for, but more of a little brother/sister/whatever to protect and guide. To teach.

For their opinions of Dark Enchantress betraying them and her potentially coming after you…well…they’re fully prepared to cut her in half next if it means keeping you safe.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cr #crk #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr x reader #crk x reader #mystic flour cookie #burning spice cookie #shadow milk cookie #eternal sugar cookie #silent salt cookie #mystic flour cookie x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #eternal sugar cookie x reader #silent salt cookie x reader #platonic

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meazalykov · 5 months ago

Text

different worlds

esmee brugts x reader

summary: why would she want to be with someone so ordinary as you? you thought to yourself

warnings: angst

you’ve been with esmee for three years now, and it’s been nothing short of amazing. even with the distance, you’ve made it work, and not just work…thrive.

she’s in barcelona, living her dream playing football with her dream club, while you’re back in the netherlands, knee-deep in textbooks and labs, working toward your bioscience degree that will hopefully grant you the path to move down to esmee in spain.

it’s not easy, being apart. some nights feel heavier than others, especially when you’ve had a hard day at university and all you want is to hear her laugh in person or feel her arms around you. she always knows, doesn’t she? it’s like esmee has a sixth sense for when you need her.

she’ll call you just as your chest feels too tight to handle, her voice soft and steady, grounding you as you spill out your frustrations.

on her end, esmee works tirelessly. the intense schedule is packed with training, matches, and media commitments, yet she never makes you feel like a second thought. you know how much energy football takes out of her, but somehow, she still sends you late-night texts about the things she can see from her balcony or pictures of her post-match meals, accompanied by funny inside jokes that only the both of you can know.

you’ve both made a promise to visit whenever there’s a free day. sometimes, it’s you hopping on a flight to barcelona, your heart racing as you land and see her waiting for you at the airport, her smile brighter than any sunrise.

other times, it’s her coming home to the netherlands, her suitcase clutched in one hand and pretty flowers for you in the other.

the time you get together is never enough. every moment feels precious, like you’re trying to hold water in your hands. she’ll curl up beside you on your couch, her head resting on your lap as you scroll through your notes or finish an assignment.

she claims it helps her relax, even though you know she always falls asleep within minutes.

every goodbye stings, but neither of you let it show too much. esmee kisses you like it’s a promise she’ll be back soon, and you hug her like you’re trying to memorize the shape of her. you’ll wave her off at the airport, holding it together until you’re back in your car, the scent of her perfume still lingering on your jacket.

distance is hard, but it's something worth fighting for with es.

it’s something you try not to think about too much, but the thoughts creep in when the nights feel too quiet, or when you scroll through social media and see another photo of esmee at training or celebrating a win.

she looks so confident now that she is in her second season with barcelona.. she’s so radiant, like she was born to be under the spotlight. sometimes, you can’t help but wonder how you fit into her world, with your notebooks, lab reports, and quiet lame routines.

esmee doesn’t need college like you do. she’s already made it… her career is the kind of thing people dream about…playing for barcelona, traveling the world, making people’s happiness spark with every match.

you, on the other hand, are still figuring things out, navigating your degree, hoping that all this work pays off someday. it’s not that you’re not proud of what you’re doing..you are. you love bioscience. when you compare yourself to esmee, it feels like you’re standing in her shadow.

there’s this insecurity that pokes at you, though you’d never say it out loud. she’s so cool, so effortlessly amazing, and sometimes you feel…ordinary. you think about how many women footballers date each other..how they must understand each other’s lives in a way you never fully could.

esmee has told you a hundred times that she loves you, that she doesn’t care about any of that, but your brain doesn’t let you believe it all the time.

then there’s the dutch national team. you know how close those players are, how much time they spend together. the thought of her meeting someone who shares her career, her lifestyle, someone who gets it on a level you can’t…it makes your chest tighten.

what if esmee realizes one day that it’s easier to be with someone like that? someone who doesn’t have to fly in for visits, who knows exactly what it’s like to juggle matches, training, and recovery?

it’s not that you don’t trust her..you do. esmee does not have the capacity to hurt you in a way like cheating. however, trust doesn’t always stop the little voice in your head from whispering all the ways you could lose her.

you’re scared, because esmee is your whole world. you know she tells you you’re hers, but what if someday she wakes up and decides she needs someone else? someone better? someone who doesn’t feel like an outsider in the world she thrives in?

the thoughts have been relentless lately. they whisper doubts that echo louder the more you try to ignore them. the insecurity has always been there but this past week, it’s felt more like a roar.

you love her more than anything, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that you’re not enough for someone like her.

so when she asked on tuesday if you’d be coming to barcelona that friday, you hesitated. your answer came slower than it should have.

“i can’t,” you said after a beat.

“i have a bioscience lab to complete.”

it wasn’t a lie. your coursework has been piling up, and you genuinely do have a lab due. but in the past, you’ve always found a way to make it work…to book a late flight, to finish early, to prioritize her in the way she’s always prioritized you.

this time, though, the weight of your doubts held you back.

“okay,” esmee said softly, her voice calm even though you thought you caught the faintest hint of disappointment.

the rest of the week passed slowly, each day heavier than the last. one week turned into two, then into three. you didn’t book a ticket. you told yourself it was because of school, but deep down, you knew the real reason:

you felt unworthy. the longer you stayed away, the more convinced you became that she was better off without you.

you noticed her calls became less frequent, her texts shorter. it wasn’t that she wasn’t trying…she always sent you good morning and good night messages, little updates about her day, or photos of her meals…but the warmth, the easy closeness, wasn’t there.

you knew you were pushing her away, but it felt safer than facing your fears head on.

the distance you created didn’t make you feel any better. in fact, it only made the doubts louder. scrolling through social media didn’t help either. you saw photos of esmee at training, videos of her celebrating on the pitch with her friends like kika and ellie, snapshots of her laughing with ingrid and mapi.

she looked so radiant, so confident, like she belonged to a world you could never fully understand.

you kept imagining scenarios in your head..esmee meeting someone else, someone who shared her life in a way you couldn’t. someone who could keep up with her training schedules, her travels, her world. the thought of her with another footballer, maybe even one who plays for the dutch national team if not for barcelona, felt like a knife to the chest.

one friday afternoon, you’re sitting in a cozy café in amsterdam with a friend who insisted on meeting up. you didn’t think much of it when they texted you earlier that morning, urging you to take a break from studying.

you hadn’t been out much in weeks, so you reluctantly agreed.

the café is warm and inviting, the smell of coffee filling the air. you’re halfway through a latte, distractedly picking at a muffin, when the door opens, and a rush of cool air sweeps in.

you glance up out of habit, and your heart stops.

esmee stands in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room until they land on yours. she looks different than she does on the pitch..dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, her hair pulled back into a simple bun.. different from her braids..but she’s still just as breathtaking.

your friend shifts awkwardly in their seat, mumbling something about needing to run an errand before quickly excusing themselves. it hits you then..

this was a setup. they knew.

esmee walks toward you, her strides purposeful, her expression a mix of concern and something else you can’t quite place. she stops in front of your table and slips into the seat your friend just vacated, her hands resting on the edge of the table.

“hi,” she says softly.

you swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of how quiet the café feels.

“hi.”

“just hi? are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asks, her voice calm but firm.

you glance down at your hands, unable to meet her eyes.

“what do you mean?” you ask weakly, though you know exactly what she means.

“three weeks, y/n,” she says, her tone gentler now but still insistent.

“you haven’t come to see me. we barely talk anymore. i feel like you’re pulling away, and i don’t understand why.”

the lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. you’ve been dreading this conversation, but now that it’s here, there’s no way out.

“esmee, i—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. you take a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you try to steady yourself.

“i just… i feel like you could do better.”

es’ brows knit together in confusion.

“what?”

you look up at her finally, tears brimming in your eyes.

“you’re amazing, esmee. you’re playing for barcelona, living this incredible life on your own. and i’m just… me. i’m stuck in school, trying to figure out my future while you’ve already got everything figured out. sometimes, i feel like i’m holding you back.”

es’ expression softens, but there’s a flicker of hurt in her eyes that makes your chest tighten even more.

“is that really what you think?” she asks quietly.

you nod, the tears threatening to spill over.

“i just… i don’t want you to wake up one day and realize you could be with someone who’s more like you. someone who understands you better.”

for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. then, she reaches across the table, taking your hands in hers. her grip is warm and steady, grounding you.

“y/n,” she says softly,

“you’re not holding me back. you’re everything to me. do you know why i love you? it’s because you remind me of what’s happening outside of fotball.when i’m with you, i don’t have to be ‘esmee brugts, the dutch footballer.’ i get to be just… me. and that means so much to me.”

es’ words hit you like a wave, breaking through the wall of doubt you’ve built around yourself.

“we’re not in different worlds,” she continues, her voice firm but gentle.

“we’re in the same world. this one. here. together. i don’t want someone else. i don’t need someone else. i need you, i only want you.”

the tears spill over then, and she lets go of one of your hands to brush them away, her touch light and reassuring.

“please don’t ever think you’re not enough for me,” she says, her eyes searching yours.

you nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. she smiles softly, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

masterlist

#esmee brugts x reader #esmee brugts #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #oranjeleeuwinnen

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jeneveuxrein · 1 year ago

Text

off the table (BLACKPINK Rosé)

word count: 13.5K

(meh, could've turned out better, but it'll suffice)

-- -- --

The door slams, startling you enough to flinch as you drop your controller on the carpet. When you pick it up to continue with your game, there’s a dramatic sigh.

“Everything okay?” You ask politely, rolling your eyes when you see your opponent score a basket since you weren’t able to play defense.

“No,” Rosie says flatly. You hear her keys tossed on the entry table before she sighs again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offer. You even pause the game.

“Maybe later,” Rosie says as she passes by, “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh alright, well—” You aren’t able to finish your sentence because the sound of her door shuts before you can.

You shrug, indifferent to her mood. You unpause the game, continuing on as if nothing happened.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about her, she’ll talk to you when she’s ready.

-- --

You were desperate at the time. There were too many things happening at once, that you forgot to look where you were going to live next. The only reason remembered was because the building manager showed up at your condo to do an inspection—a week before your move-out date.

It was your fault, ignoring the paper notices in your pile of mail and the emails that flooded your inbox. You had just finished the last of your exams. Your job pushed you to take, time passing by, that it completely slipped your mind.

Once the inspection was over, you called everyone and anyone you knew if they had a spare room on short notice. Most of them were either living with their significant others or had a roommate already.

Except for Lisa.

She was the only one with a viable lead. One of her best friends had recently moved back to Seoul from Australia and needed someone to offset the cost of the mortgage.

You found out Lisa’s friend was a woman. You were hesitant because you had never lived with a woman except for your mother and sister when you were younger. You voiced the concern to Lisa, who laughed because you were ‘too adorable’ and that it didn’t matter to Chaengie if she lived with a man.

You bit the bullet and agreed to meet with Chaengie, come to find out her name was actually Chaeyoung or Roseanne, but she preferred Rosie if you called her by her English name.

Rosie was nice enough, easily charming you and making you feel comfortable when Lisa introduced you at her place.

It was a nice condo in one of the more luxurious areas of Seoul. Open floor concept with floor-to-ceiling windows and separate rooms on opposite sides of the unit had you wondering what Rosie did. When you found out she was a lawyer, it made sense for her to afford a place like this. You were on the fence about what your share would be because it couldn’t be cheap, likely double what you were paying for your condo.

After the brief tour, there wasn’t much since it was half-furnished, Rosie surprised you by telling you that you could pay as much as you do for your current place. She could afford the mortgage on her own, but she wanted someone to live with more than worrying about the money.

It was a no-brainer, a steal in your opinion because living here at a discounted rate would work in your favor. Plus with passing your exams, you were expecting a bump in your salary.

You agreed, promising that it would only be temporary until things settled down. At most, six months was what you projected, but Rosie said to stay for however long you liked.

That was almost a year ago.

Living with Rosie wasn’t what you expected.

You had no experience with living with a woman and the last time you had a roommate was when you were at university.

You figured she’d want her space, not wanting to intrude or bother her whenever she was home. In the beginning, you kept to your room for the most part unless you had to cook, which wasn’t often. Your job had you putting in long hours at the office that you would crash as soon as your head hit the pillow.

It wasn’t until about a month or so in of living together and work slowed down, allowing you to come home at a decent hour when Rosie knocked on your door, asking if you wanted to watch a movie together.

That was the turning point where it became calling her your roommate seemed like an inaccurate description.

You spent more time with Rosie, getting to know her on a personal level. She had this way of sharing about herself that made you want to share too, something you hardly did. She made you laugh as she told you about her day. She would make you eat actual food instead of relying on takeout, asking you to help her cook.

She was someone you admired that it created a dilemma when you realized you developed romantic feelings for her.

It was short-lived because you found out by accident that she didn’t see you as anything more than a really good friend.

You woke up late one Sunday morning. You heard voices in the kitchen, which wasn’t out of the norm as Rosie had her friends over frequently. It was a conversation you shouldn’t have listened to, but curiosity got the best of you when your name came up.

You recognized the voice—Jennie, one of Rosie’s friends you met a few times—asked, giggling, “Have you slept with him yet?”

“What? Unnie, that’s absurd. He’s my roommate,” Rosie answered, heavy emphasis on the label.

You were hiding, tucked around the hallway corner as the women conversed. Your mother used to scold you for eavesdropping, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“So? He’s hot,” Jennie stated matter-of-factly. You blushed at her comment. “He looks like he works out and there’s something about him that I know he’s just good in bed.”

“Jennie!” You imagined Rosie’s face shocked at her friend’s brazenness. “He’s my roommate,” She emphasized again. “I have not, and will not, ever look at him like that. He’s a really good guy, but he’s off limits.”

“Does that include me?” You heard Jennie yelp after her question, the sound of skin-on-skin contact was enough. “If you’re not going to sleep with him, why can’t I?!”

You didn’t bother listening anymore, deciding that you would go to the gym instead of joining them for brunch. You walked away feeling a little dejected, knowing where you stood with her, but you respected it. Things could get messy, especially since you lived together.

(Though if you stayed a minute more, you would’ve heard Rosie say that she thought about asking you out once you move out.)

As time went on, your feelings for her grew. It was hard not to, with how much time you spent together, your friends even asked if Rosie was your girlfriend based on how you often mentioned her.

It wasn’t like you could not not talk about her. She became part of your routine, part of your life that you found yourself riddled with guilt whenever you went out on dates with women who were genuinely interested in you. You were certain you would’ve been too, if your feelings for her didn’t loom.

That didn’t stop Rosie from telling you about her dating life. It wasn’t as detailed compared to if she was talking to Lisa or Jennie, but it was enough to sting every time.

You made a rule to yourself that you’d never bring a woman over, keeping those activities away. You were human after all, and you had needs.

Rosie was unaware of the self-imposed rule, and there were a few times you caught her night-time partners leaving in the morning. Sometimes it would be the same person. Other times just passing flings you never saw again.

It was what it was, and Rosie didn’t seem in a rush for you to move out.

Though at some point, you would have to. You didn’t want to overextend your stay. You hoped to remain friends with her, regardless of how you felt.

It would probably make it easier for you to get over these unnecessary feelings.

Right?

-- --

You scoop the sliced up fruit into the blender, eyeballing how much milk you needed, when Rosie walks into the kitchen. You send her an easy smile before turning the machine on to blend the ingredients so you could make it to work on time.

Rosie stands on the other side of the kitchen island, waiting for you to finish. When you’re done, she says, “I’m sorry about last night.”

You raise an eyebrow, “For…?”

“I felt that I was short with you. You didn’t deserve that,” Rosie says apologetically.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” You smile, nodding reassuringly. “Whatever happened, just know you can talk to me.”

“I know,” Rosie returns the smile, standing abruptly to make her way over to you as she wraps her arms around you. You hope she didn’t feel you tense up because any physical affection with her leaves you dizzy. “I might be home a little later tonight. Jennie and Lisa want to take me out.”

“Okay, just text me if you need me to pick you up,” You can’t stop smiling around her. “I’ll probably just be here, playing video games.”

Rosie makes a humming sound, sinking into your body before taking a sip of your smoothie. “You haven’t been on any dates recently, everything okay?”

The statement throws you off. It’s not like Rosie isn’t aware of your dating life and when you’re not home, but she’s never said anything like that.

“Er, I just noticed you haven’t been out as much,” She backtracks, her hand rubbing your back.

“Been busy with work,” You reply noncommittally. It’s true, work has been busy with your boss on your ass about finishing the security protocol for the new application that was developed. You probably should find some sort of release to ease the tension, but that could wait.

“Well don’t work too hard, okay?” Rosie looks up at you, eyes filled with worry that you’re overexerting yourself. She boops your nose, grinning when you make a face. She lets go of you and blows you a kiss, “I’ll see you later. Have a good day!”

And with that, Rosie’s out of the condo, leaving you more confused because that was just weird. It was even weirder that you missed her close to you, but that was something you were familiar with.

Oh well.

Someone’s trying to break in.

It sounds like it, based on the aggressive knocking on the front door that has you rushing out of the shower. You only have enough time to throw on a pair of sweats, that when you swing open the door, wolf whistles ring through your ears as your eyes fall on Rosie first before realizing she’s being held up by Jennie and Lisa.

“What the fuck happened?” You step aside as they usher your roommate inside, worry etching across your face.

“Jeez,” Jennie scoffs, “Hi to you too, oppa.”

Once you close the door, you immediately reach for Rosie, steadying her as Lisa takes her shoes off.

“You smell nice,” Rosie slurs out, nose falling right in the crook of your neck. You stumble slightly, bringing an arm around her back to make sure she doesn’t topple over. “Did you just come back from working out?” She asks, sighing contentedly against your skin.

“Yes,” You nod, hoping she or her friends don’t see your cheeks turn red. “Are you okay?”

Rosie giggles, nodding deeper into your neck, “Just a little drunk.” She holds up her thumb and finger in front of your face, meaning she’s really drunk.

You practically carry her to the sofa with Jennie and Lisa in tow. They’re whispering something about you and you hear the latter mention how toned you are. Your face feels hot, but you avoid looking at them by having Rosie sit.

“I’ll be right back,” You say as they sit on either side of Rosie. Her head falls on Lisa’s shoulder, eyes barely open. “I’m going to put a shirt on.”

“Please,” Jennie smirks, “By all means. None of us mind if you don’t.”

You roll your eyes after she winks, earning a chuckle from Lisa. You refuse to engage anymore, not giving either of them the satisfaction, and leave to your room.

When you return, fully clothed, Lisa is nowhere to be found and Rosie’s much more awake than when she arrived. Jennie’s over in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water, raising the pitcher to you, which you shake your head.

“You okay?”

Rosie nods, shyly looking away, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be like this.”

“It’s—”

“Chaeng, you literally got dumped for something so stupid,” Jennie cuts you off, aggressively slamming the fridge door. “It’s fine that you got drunk. You deserve to. You look hot, and people noticed.”

There’s a lot of information to process, but you focus on the fact that Rosie had a boyfriend and you weren’t aware of it.

“Uh,” You aren’t sure how to respond.

“We’ll tell you about it,” Jennie appears in front of Rosie, holding the glass to her lips. “Lisa just went out to get some soju and beer.”

This wasn’t how you expected your night to go, but it looked like you didn’t have much of a choice.

You take whatever Lisa bought out of the bag. It consisted of soju and beer along with a bunch of snacks that seemed a lot like Rosie’s favorites.

While waiting for Lisa, Rosie changed into more comfortable clothes. She asked if she could wear your hoodie since you left it out, which you didn’t see any issue with. Jennie, on the other hand, snickered as if there was some secret you weren’t a part of.

You wanted to know what happened between Rosie and her boyfriend, but you didn’t want to be nosey. You respect her privacy, especially since you didn’t know she had one in the first place.

As Lisa places the glasses on the coffee table, Jennie tells you the reason why Rosie got too drunk at happy hour to make it to the club.

Apparently Rosie’s now ex-boyfriend was an asshole.

Just not in the way you’d think.

Jennie waits to see if Rosie will elaborate behind you, but her eyes are closed, head resting on one of the pillows. When there’s no response, Lisa asks a question that had you almost dropping the bottle you’re pouring.

“What?” You stop what you’re doing, staring dumbfounded at the two women across from you.

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear her,” Jennie rolls her eyes. “Are you against foreplay?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” You feel the tips of your ears burn because you might consider these two your friends, but they weren’t your friends that you spoke with things like this with.

“An honest one,” Lisa answers, taking the bottle out of your hand to continue pouring the shots. “You’re of the male species, so we want your perspective on it.”

You piece together what kind of asshole Rosie was with, and that could never be you.

“No,” You mumble. “I’m not.”

“Like you actually do it, right? It’s not just rubbing your dick over the girl and calling it foreplay?” Jennie’s choice of words has you annoyed.

“What? You know what foreplay is, right?” You grab the shot glass, taking it in one go because it’s very much needed with where this conversation is heading. You ignore the scowls on their faces when you drink without them.

“I do,” Jennie points to herself, then tilts her head to Lisa, “She does too, but Chaeng, on the other hand, hasn’t been with someone who’s as… let’s say, giving in that department.”

“Leave him alone you two,” Rosie yawns, stretching her arms up before sitting up. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s just keep drinking.” She reaches over you, since you’re sitting on the rug, and takes the soju bottle instead of a glass.

Everyone watches Rosie take a lengthy swig before sinking back into the sofa. The defeated look on her face makes you want to hug her, which you will, but not in the presence of her friends. They’d relentlessly tease you both, something you can’t handle. There’s two of them.

“To shitty sex?” Lisa raises her glass.

“The absolute shittiest sex,” Rosie adds, holding the bottle up.

You have thoughts about that, but you can’t let yourself get too deep in them. It doesn’t help with the little (big) crush you have on her.

You’re most likely delusional, but you think you could be someone that would show her what real sex was like.

Then again, like she’d give you a chance.

“Get home safely, okay?” Lisa smiles, nodding as she holds Jennie up. “Make sure she drinks water.”

“God, you’re so fucking nice,” Jennie slurs, eyes barely open. “Why don’t you just date Chaeng? She’d be so much happier. You’re also, like, really hot.”

“Okay!” Lisa pulls her a little roughly, glaring even though Jennie is oblivious. “Time to go. Thanks again for having us over, we’ll see you soon.” She rushes out, turning before her friend could say anything else.

You chuckle as they walk away, Lisa muttering something to Jennie that has you wondering how much truth there is to that statement. It’s a nice ego boost to find out Jennie, and by extension, Rosie, think of you as attractive. Even if it’s on a superficial, physical level.

After you shut the door, you find your roommate curled on the couch. You wonder if she’s still awake, knowing she switched to water while the three of you continued drinking. You grab one of the blankets, unfolding it, when she yawns.

“I’m still awake,” Rosie mumbles, one eye opening that stops you from covering her. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“You’ve apologized to me three times today,” You cover her body anyways, joining her on the couch. She gets cold easily. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry you’ve been having shitty sex.”

Rosie groans, burying her face into the pillow, “God, that’s fucking embarrassing too. I’m sorry you—”

“It’s fine,” You wave dismissively. “Seriously though, that’s terrible.”

“Tell me about it,” Rosie sighs dejectedly, shaking her head. “For once, can’t a guy I date just return the favor?”

You try not to react, but the alcohol you’ve consumed has lowered your inhibitions, so you boldly ask, “Has no one ever gone down on you?”

Rosie sits up, tilting her head curiously as she stares at you, “Well people have, but I guess never enough for me to enjoy it? I don’t know. Lisa and Jennie hookup from time to time, and share, in great detail, what they do. It makes me wonder if I’m missing out.”

“I’d say you probably are,” You nod, recollecting memories of the women you’ve slept with thoroughly enjoying the action when you do it. You get off on it alone, but that’s because you like doing that.

“God, who the hell do I have to meet to experience it then?”

It’s a question you’re not expected to answer, but you find yourself saying, “No one. I can do it.”

You want to smack yourself in the head for even suggesting that. It’s treading into dangerous waters because you have to remind yourself who she is in your life. She’s your roommate, for god’s sake.

“You would?” Rosie asks innocently, as if this was as simple as changing the lightbulb in her room. “Like actually?”

“Um,” You clear your throat, averting your gaze from her imploring one. “Yeah if you really wanted. I enjoy it so I’m not expecting anything in return.” Your face feels on fire.

“Okay,” Rosie nods, and your eyes meet hers. “There’s no pressure if you change your mind.”

You scan her face, searching for something—anything—that she’s actually serious. You can’t tell if she is, and she senses your hesitation by adding, “I’m drunk enough to want it, but not that drunk where I don’t know what I’m doing.”

That gives you some reassurance, but you care the most about how it would affect your friendship. It would have to change something, right? You’ve always separated feelings and sex when it comes to one night stands or flings, but you have real feelings for the woman in front of you, that could either help or hurt you.

You’re not sure which is worse.

When you still don’t say anything, Rosie continues, “It won’t change anything between us. Just think of it as friends helping each other. Well, I guess in this case, you’re just helping me, but I could return the favor?”

You shake your head, “No, that’s unnecessary. I’ll manage.” A flat out lie because you know that you’ll become a ball of sexual frustration. You’ll likely have to reach out to someone in your phone book to help out the problem you’re creating for yourself.

“Are you sure?” Rosie asks softly, hand reaching out to your forearm. Her thumb gently rubs your skin, and your body heats up at the contact.

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, trying to focus on what you’re about to do. “So how do you want to do this?” You’re not sure if kissing is a part of the deal, but you don’t want to push your luck.

A blush appears on Rosie’s cheeks, shyly looking away. “Um, how do you usually do it?”

“Are you really asking me about my moves?” You smirk. It earns you a light slap on the arm. “I don’t have very much.”

Rosie scoffs, leaning back into the couch, “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Because I have none,” You chuckle, moving to stand in front of her, in between the couch and coffee table. You kneel, pushing the table slightly back to give you more space. “Comfortable?”

“Nervous,” Rosie breathes out as you settle on your knees.

“Don’t be,” You murmur, reaching for the edge of the blanket. “If you want to stop, just tell me.”

You pull the blanket off, letting it fall to the ground. There’s a sharp inhale and you grin, meeting her eyes locked onto you. “Let me know, okay? I’ll stop, no questions asked.”

“Okay,” Her voice shakes, body trembling as your fingers hook onto the waistband of her sweats.

“This is about you. I can say with one hundred percent confidence that whoever refused to do this is a fucking idiot.” You mean it because with someone like Rosie, she deserves to be worshiped.

And even if you’ll never be her boyfriend, you could do this.

You gently tug her sweats off. She lifts her hips up, making it easier for the both of you, and once the clothing’s removed, you notice her cute underwear. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a simple black bikini cut with a small pink bow at the top. It’s adorable really, chuckling that her legs reflexively close.

“Don’t be shy,” You rest your chin on her knee, tilting down to place a soft kiss on her skin. Her legs slowly spread, granting you access to more skin.

“That tickles,” Her body shivers as your lips curl up.

Your fingers grab the waistband of her underwear, slowly dragging it down her legs, watching them join the discarded pile. You settle in between as her knees separate, inviting you to taste her. Your cock stirs at the sight of her pussy, clean and well-kept, that your mouth waters.

You will, but you can’t give in just yet.

You pepper kisses along her inner thigh, ghosting over her skin that has her absolutely squirming. You place your hands on her knees, spreading her wider and holding her still. You alternate between thighs, sucking lightly on the skin. You shouldn’t want to leave marks, but you can’t help it. You’ll deal with the repercussions later.

Because the only thing on your mind is her and her alone.

By the time you reach the apex of her thighs, Rosie sucks in a breath. You briefly glance up to her eyes low, teeth clenching her bottom lip. She gives you the smallest nod before you swipe your tongue in between her folds.

You let out a breathy groan the moment her slick meets your tongue. Your mind shuts off, body turning on auto-pilot as you explore her center.

“Fuck,” The word falls from your mouth after tentative licks in between her folds. She squirms at the ministrations, taste buds ablaze as her slick drips down your chin.

“Holy shit,” Rosie lets out a pretty moan, music to your ears as you insert your tongue inside her pussy.

You swear she gets wetter, the scent of her pussy against your nose has you breathing deeply, soaking all of her in. You move with ease, licking and tasting all she has to offer.

“You’re making a fucking mess,” You growl out when you see the small wet spot form on the couch. You should probably put something under her, but the sounds she’s making are too good to stop.

“I’m so fucking wet,” The sounds she’s making has you moaning against her pussy as your cock pulses in your sweats. “You feel so good.”

Rosie’s hand shoots to your head, fingers threading through your hair. It forces you to look up at her, and you shove your hand underneath your sweats, gripping your cock, because the sight is unholy.

You’ve always been attracted to Rosie, that much was obvious the first day you met her. You’d be an idiot if you didn’t see the stares people threw whenever you were with her. Though, she was oblivious to it all, smiling back that would have them swooning.

But like this?

You’ve never seen anything hotter.

You don’t know when it happened, but her hand slipped underneath her shirt, exposing more skin as she touched breasts, squeezing, massaging as your tongue continued its movement. Her hair’s an unruly mess, hair sticking up as a light sheen of sweat covers her face.

What really gets you is the lust-filled gaze, eyes narrowed, silently asking to continue. You’ve never seen her like this, and you can’t help but stroke your length. You keep your eyes locked on hers, tongue swirling in, over, around her pussy, leaving no spot untouched.

Her grip on your hair tightens as she rolls her hips down, nose brushing against her clit. You slip your hand in between her legs, fingers teasing her outer lips before slowly inserting your index finger.

You watch Rosie’s eyes bulge, gasping, choking for air at the surprised intrusion. Her head tilts back, moaning as she rubs herself over your lower face.

Rosie says your name like a prayer, a promise, an oath, that you’ll keep. You’d live your life in between her legs if it meant you get to hear her moan your name over and over.

“God,” Your eyes roll back, intoxicated by her taste, getting harder the more she squirms against your mouth. “If I’m really the first person to actually do this, you’ve been having shitty sex.”

“You are,” Rosie says through gritted teeth. “I realize that now.”

Her pussy practically sucks you in, your middle finger joining as her walls quickly squeeze around you. You want to make this last, but by the way she feels, and the way her breaths shorten with each inhale, she’s close.

“Fuck,” Rosie’s hand never left your head, shoving your face deeper in her cunt as her legs spread wide, knees touching the couch. “I think I’m going to cum.”

“Go ahead,” You command, too lust-driven to watch what you say. “You’re so fucking hot. You feel so good around me. I wonder how you’d feel wrapped around my cock.”

You break character for a moment, explicitly sharing what you want. For a brief second, you wait for her to pull away because this is for her. Her body reacts differently. Her inner walls tighten deliciously after mentioning that, lighting a fire under you.

“Yeah? You want that?” You taunt, scissoring your fingers, curling, rubbing the muscles. “Your pussy wants my cock huh? God, I’d cum so fucking fast.”

Your thoughts are all over the place, thinking of any and every position you want her in. You need something to relieve yourself as your cock throbs in your hand, blood rushing south as you feel dizzy.

On top of you, watching her hips swivel as she tries to take all of you. Or you’d want to see her ass bouncing on you, legs spread over your knees as you fuck up into her, impatient. Or bent over the couch, ass high as you impale her along your length, so hard that she falls over.

You don’t realize you’re talking to her pussy, muttering all the filthy things you want to do, until she gushes over your face, screaming as her orgasm rips through her body. Her walls keep your fingers locked in, but that doesn’t deter you. You continue moving your fingers, curling up just enough to hit that spot inside her before both hands are around your neck, holding you there as she thrusts herself on your face.

You feel lightheaded. You can’t breathe, suffocated by Rosie’s thighs, keeping you there as she grinds haphazardly all over your face. You groan, choking out air as your tongue repeatedly flicks against her clit that has her body spasming.

When you pull away, you gasp, chest heaving as you stare at the blissed out woman in front of you.

“Holy…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, eyes closed as she’s not faring any better than you. “Your mouth.”

Embarrassingly enough, you came inside your sweats. You rest your forehead on her thigh before giving her one last peck. You lean back, using the collar of your shirt to wipe your face.

“So,” You nod, as if what you just did was an everyday occurrence. “I hope you enjoyed that.”

“Thanks for that,” Rosie gets out in between breaths, eyes opening slowly. “Seriously.”

“Anytime,” You cringe because it makes you sound desperate. If she asked though, you would do it again. And again.

And again.

“I might have to take you up on that,” Rosie sighs dreamily. You chalk it up to the hormones clouding her brain, especially since her orgasm was strong.

You feel the wetness in your pants, which thankfully they’re black so you couldn’t see your release staining. You distract yourself by gathering Rosie’s clothes. She’s still trying to catch her breath, body limp against the cushions, so you help dress her, slipping her underwear as best you can.

“It’s fine, I can do it,” Rosie says so softly that you look up, meeting her gaze and something shifts. You can’t describe it, but you could feel something close to adoration just by the way she looks at you.

Again, you’ll blame the hormones and alcohol, but it scares you to see that she might, in some kind of way, like you the way you do.

“Let me.” You’re stubborn in that sense. You’ve always been respectful of women. You do your best to make sure they’re comfortable, and aftercare is a part of it. Rosie relents, letting you dress her before covering her with the blanket again. “There. Want me to carry you to your room too?”

“Stop,” Rosie blushes, averting her gaze to anywhere else. “You’ve done enough. I’ll get there, just let me be.”

You nod, rubbing her knee before standing up. “Goodnight Chaengie.” You smile as she lets out a contented sigh, snuggling deeper into the couch.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for Rosie’s return, as you sit on the couch. The very same couch you were in between Rosie’s legs.

You haven't seen Rosie since Friday night. The following morning, you expected to see her, but you woke up to a text message that she would be out for the weekend with her family in Busan, something she mentioned before about a wedding she had to attend.

It was a blessing in disguise since it gave you time to ruminate over what happened.

You weren’t entirely sure how you felt. You knew for certain that you were horny and needed to fuck someone to get out all the pent up tension that your hand could not provide you. You wanted to do it again (and a whole lot more), but that wasn’t something you could ask of her.

You hoped things between you hadn't changed because it would, for a lack of a better word, suck, if it did. You’d have to find a new place to live when you’ve gotten so used to being in her presence. You’d have to change your number because you wouldn’t be able to face her. You’d also probably have to never talk to Lisa again because the chances of you seeing Lisa with Rosie in tow were high.

(You’re just being dramatic at this point, but still.)

Rosie sent you a message about an hour ago that she’d be home soon. You contemplated ordering take away from one of her favorite spots, but opted not to and would just ask her if she was hungry as soon as she walked through the door.

You had to make it seem like nothing changed anyways.

You almost don’t hear her walk in, too absorbed in your own head that the sound of her whistling breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Hey oppa,” Rosie greets as she sits next to you, leaving a friendly amount of space in between.

“Roseanne,” You nod, smirking when she rolls her eyes at the use of her full name. “How was the wedding?”

“Same old, same old,” Rosie sighs, shoulders dropping as you watch the tension leave her body. “My aunts kept asking me when it would be my turn to get married since Alice-unnie’s engaged, and the disappointment on their face when I told them I’m single was priceless.”

You chuckle, “I’m sure you could be in a relationship if you want to. It’s not like people aren’t interested.”

“Eh,” Rosie shrugs, “I know people are interested, but after the last one, I think it’s in my best interest to be single to figure out what I want.”

She has a point. You haven’t been in a relationship in years, at least nothing serious where you considered marriage. Sure you have flings here and there, but it wasn’t more than just sharing a few meals and spending nights with women who weren’t looking for anything serious.

It was nice, but there were times you wanted something more than just that.

You imagined it a lot over the weekend with Rosie, which you partly blame on your feelings for her and watching her cum on your tongue.

“That’s good,” Is all you can really say without delving too deep in the turmoil you felt over the weekend.

Rosie checks her phone for a bit, leaving a lull in the conversation. You want to say something to address what happened, but you feel awkward doing so. You stare blankly at the blank television screen as she responds to whoever.

“What’s wrong?” Rosie asks after a couple minutes.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” You rush out, avoiding her gaze burning on the side of your face.

Rosie places her phone on the coffee table before turning to face you, tugging on your arm. You can’t help but look at her, noticing the concerned look she’s giving you. She waits, and you relent, sighing, “Fine, I thought things would be awkward.”

“Awkward because…?” Rosie trails off as you watch her face blush, realizing what you mean. “That? Nothing’s changed. Sure, you might’ve set the bar really high for people in that department, but it’s nothing to make things awkward between us.”

“Rosie,” You deadpan.

“Oppa.” She knows how much formalities like that irritate you, especially when it’s just you two.

“You sure?” You ask, needing this reassurance from her because your friendship with her has become one of the most important things to you.

Rosie nods enthusiastically, smiling, as she leans forward to rest her head on your shoulder, “Yes. More than sure. I felt comfortable the whole time and I don’t regret it.”

You smile, the guilt of taking advantage of her lifting off your chest. It doesn’t lessen how you feel about her, but at least you could live with knowing that.

“Sooo…” Rosie drawls out, playing with the sleeve of your shirt. “Did you want to do it again?”

What?

“Uh?” You’re dumbfounded.

“I mean you could say no!” Rosie says quickly, pulling away. “It was nice, like really nice, and I think it could be fun to do it every once in a while.”

“You’re actually serious?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” Rosie shrugs indifferently.

You internally groan because you feel your cock starting to get hard at the thought of doing that again. You gain nothing from this except material for you to use after the fact because you still wouldn’t be able to ask her to help out.

“Sure why not.” You’ll deal with your hormones after, in a very cold shower.

“Really?” Rosie beams, giggling as she sinks into the couch.

“Here? Or…?” You glance behind her to the hallway.

“I don’t mind the bedroom,” Rosie whispers.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

You stand abruptly, scooping Rosie in your arms, that she squeals at being carried. You chuckle as she playfully hits you, arms encircling around your neck tightly.

“You’re so annoying,” Rosie mutters against your neck.

You try to ignore the sensation of her breath on your skin by pulling her closer to your body. You don’t want to drop her after all.

“Yeah, well, in about ten minutes, you’ll be saying something else.”

“You promise?”

“Absolutely.”

-- --

It was a mistake, telling your friends about your situation with Rosie. They asked why you seemed happier because you couldn’t just be happy without a reason.

Rosie may be the reason why, but well, you didn’t have an excuse.

She is the reason why.

Which is an odd thing to say because you literally don’t get anything out of this except a shit ton of sexual frustration that you deal with—alone. You haven’t had the heart to ask anyone on a date lately, or entertain the women that you meet when you’re out and about.

You’ve done everything to Rosie you possibly could, yet she doesn’t get tired of your mouth.

At the rate you two were going, you’ve had to have developed some kind of jaw problem.

She asked one night, after you washed your face, while watching one of her shows before you went to bed, if she could sit on it. By her logic, and something you found out accidentally, she finds men who take care of themselves to be attractive. Not that that comment went to your head because then by your logic, she would have to find you attractive.

There was a time when she wore an oversized shirt and nothing else except for cute cheeky underwear that you tried very hard not to notice as you were making a smoothie. It didn’t help that she kept shaking her hips in front of you when you asked her if she wanted something, which was met with her bending over against the counter. It wasn’t like you could say no, especially when she slowly pulled her underwear down.

Then, there was another time after a night out that she practically pushed you to your knees to eat her out right against the door.

With too many times in between, you’ve basically haven’t had a decent, satisfying release since this one-sided arrangement started—two months ago. Your hand could only do so much for you.

Your friends may have noticed you were happy, but they also saw how on edge you were that they asked what was going on. You might’ve been a little too loose with your words to say you’ve been spending time with Rosie by doing that for her, but then you haven’t gotten anything out of it.

“Bro, you just gotta fuck someone if she’s not going to fuck you,” Jungkook says in your ear as Taehyung and Minwoo nod in agreement.

“It just feels wrong to,” You sigh, shoulders dropping as you drop your head on the table.

“Wait,” Minwoo raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying you like Chaeyoung?”

Your silence is enough for them.

“Dude!” Jungkook slaps your back, much harder than you expected, jolting your head up. “What kind of shit is that? You haven’t fucked her. Hell, you guys haven’t even kissed.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” You almost growl out, eyes narrowing toward Jungkook that he switches spots with Taehyung.

“Well that says a lot,” Minwoo nods to himself in confirmation.

“What?”

“You do like Chaeyoung, but we sort of—minus Kook—already knew,” Minwoo explains, sipping his beer.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right,” Shoulders dropping as you admit out loud that you do like Rosie. You may even be in love with her, but that’s something you’ll keep to yourself.

Minwoo and Taehyung shoot you a sympathetic smile that makes you feel worse. Jungkook, however, completely misses the point, “Well why don’t you just fuck her out of your system?”

“Do you always have to talk so crassly about women?” Taehyung sighs, shaking his head while slapping the back of Jungkook’s.

“What!” Jungkook rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot he hit. “I get it. It must be hard to live with someone and do something like that with them for nothing in return. By the way, you’re a saint because if I—” Jungkook doesn’t finish that statement as Taehyung hits him again.

“Sorry Tae,” Minwoo shoots you a look, “I sort of agree with him.”

“You what?” You and Taehyung speak at the same time.

“It’s not healthy by any means. You’re probably a god in her eyes, but let’s be honest, you know you need to,” Minwoo says matter-of-factly.

“I mean, I guess? It just feels wrong to,” You reason, trying to make up an excuse.

“Why? It’s not like you’re dating. She’s single as far as you know. I’m sure you could find someone tonight if you really tried,” Minwoo encourages, nodding his head to the crowd in the bar.

“I invited Jeongyeon,” Taehyung says suddenly.

“What, why? It’s supposed to be a boys’ night out,” Jungkook whines, pouting like a puppy that you all ignore.

Taehyung glances at you before answering, “Nayeon’s in town. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to see her since she’s hardly around.”

“Dude,” You glare at Taehyung, who isn’t fazed by your tone. “Are you fucking serious?”

“What?” Taehyung shrugs. “You two ended just fine, and she’s also single. So why not have a nice one night stand with someone you know very well?”

You want nothing more than to punch Taehyung in his face, but you also do not want to get kicked out of this bar you go to often.

Im Nayeon.

A woman you haven’t seen in years, but she’s also the woman you dated for about three years.

The breakup was amicable. No bad blood between you. Life was pulling you in different directions that neither of you wanted to give up your dreams to stay together. Nayeon moved to Busan while you stayed in Seoul.

You’d be happy to see her on any other occasion, or maybe, any other moment in your life where you weren’t pining for someone that was your roommate.

The problem is, Nayeon would actually be down to have sex with you. A problem that’s too tempting in the state that you’re in where, as your friends eloquently put it, you need to get laid.

“I’m going home,” You stand, digging through your pockets for whatever bills you had.

“Too late,” Minwoo mumbles before you hear Nayeon’s obnoxious laugh behind you.

“What? Leaving already? I just got here, oppa,” The all-too familiar voice says as you turn around. You’re met with a toothy smile and eyes squinted that you can’t stop the smile forming on your face.

Fuck.

You’ve missed Nayeon. She has always been someone that made you laugh even when you’ve had the worst days. She still has the same obnoxious laugh and teases you to no end, but she’s different from how she was.

Nayeon still has that level of immaturity when it comes to trivial things, but the way she carries herself proves she’s much more confident and sure of herself. She listens to what you tell her whether it be about work or how your sister wants you to spend more time with her, giving advice when appropriate.

Your friends left you two alone when a billiards table opened up. Jungkook and Jeongyeon nodded approvingly like they were expecting something to happen tonight, which as things were unfolding was highly likely.

“So are you dating anyone?” Nayeon asks after finishing the third round of drinks.

You hesitate, quickly shaking your head as the bartender comes over and asks if you wanted anything else. It buys you some time, but once the drinks are poured, Nayeon waits for an answer.

“I’m not,” You take a hefty swig, choosing your words carefully because Nayeon has a tendency to dice and analyze stuff like this. “It’s a bit complicated?”

“When is it not with you?” Nayeon teases, biting her lip to hide her smile. “Tell me about her.”

You thought it would be weird to talk to your ex-girlfriend about the woman you’re currently interested in, who happens to also be your roommate. She doesn’t say much, except for clarification on minor details, as you do your best to give a condensed version of who Rosie was to you.

When you bring up that night, you wait to get scolded for taking advantage of Rosie, Nayeon surprises you by remaining indifferent. If you were looking at her, you wouldn’t have missed her eyes slightly narrowing as you describe how much Rosie uses this ‘perk’ frequently.

You finish, and the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter, like you can actually sit up straight for once. You see the wheels turning in Nayeon’s head, picking her words carefully.

“Tell her how you feel,” Nayeon says softly, leaning slightly forward just enough to smell her perfume.

“It’s really not that simple,” You sigh, leaning forward as your shoulder brushes against hers.

Nayeon rolls her eyes, “It seems pretty cut and dry. You accidentally fall in love with your roommate, eat her out so well that you’ve practically ruined her for any other person, that she actually ends up falling in love with you too, but is too scared to do anything about it since you’re roommates. The only thing to quote unquote keep you is to ask you multiple times throughout the week to eat her out. Am I wrong?”

“You’re so annoying,” You shake your head.

“But you’re not saying I’m wrong, so just either tell her how you feel,” Nayeon reiterates, resting a hand on your thigh, “Or you’re going to get blue-balled to the point of insanity. Which for what it’s worth, is a loss for her because whenever you’re really riled up, sex is amazing.”

“Nayeon,” You grit out, reaching for your drink because this is not what you want to talk about with her, of all people.

Realization crosses her face and she giggles, hitting your thigh three times before saying, “You’re frustrated, aren’t you? Oh this is gold. I can’t believe you, of all people, are having trouble sealing the deal.”

“Fuck off,” You pout, turning away to hide the embarrassment on your face.

“Hey,” Nayeon says softly, affectionately, that it’s jumbling your thoughts as you try to separate how you feel about Rosie and the pent up energy waiting to be released. “I’m just kidding about the whole ‘sealing the deal’ part. It took a while to win me over.” It’s a joke between you because she was the one that pursued you after working on a project together.

“Nayeon,” You sigh dejectedly as you turn to face her, resting your face in your hand.

“Hm?” She raises an eyebrow after she sips her glass. You ask a question, but it’s barely audible. “Speak up.”

“Do you want to spend the night together?”

Nayeon doesn’t answer right away, choosing to swirl the ice in her glass.

It gives you a chance to drink some water because the alcohol is definitely getting to you if you brazenly asked your ex-girlfriend to spend the night. There’s a part of you that wants her to say no thank you, but there’s a more selfish part that wants her to say yes.

“When was the last time you had sex?” Nayeon asks after a few minutes, dragging it longer than necessary.

The question catches you off guard, but you answer, “Probably three months ago.”

She makes a humming sound, raising her hand for the bill as the bartender walks by, “Fine. On one condition.”

“What?” You shift on your seat, excited and eager that she’s agreeing. You pull out your wallet, handing your card to the bartender before he could hand her the bill.

Nayeon leans forward, invading your space to feel her breath against your skin. You brace yourself for whatever she has to say.

“Fuck me like I’m her.”

You hear footsteps across the hardwood floor, but it’s not enough to stop you from what you’re doing—making a smoothie. It isn’t until two arms wrap around your stomach that prompts you to stop.

“You and these damn smoothies,” Nayeon mumbles, nuzzling her face into your back.

“I made you one too.” Nayeon giggles, sneaking a hand underneath your shirt. Your muscles flex at her touch. “Having fun there?” You ask as her finger traces up and down, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Always with you,” Nayeon kisses your shoulder blade, peering her head around to watch.

It’s nice to be like this with Nayeon. It’s familiar, the same sort of routine you had after spending countless nights together. You had a tendency to wake up before her, especially after a night like last night.

Nayeon was insatiable—still is—and you both reaped the benefits of your sexual frustration. She wouldn’t let up, practically begging you to do all the things you wanted to do, as if it was Rosie you were fucking. She didn’t care how hard or fast you went because she knew how you were when it came to sex.

There’s a bit of guilt that you couldn’t make it to your room. Nayeon practically jumped on you as soon as you entered the apartment, dragging you to the couch before the door fully shut. She was in your lap before you knew it, stroking you to a full mast that had you seeing stars. One moment you were groaning against her lips, the next she was kneeling in between your legs.

The rest of the night was just you taking all your pent up frustration out. Nayeon welcomed it, spurring you on by whispering the thoughts you’ve had about Rosie in your ear. You nearly lost yourself to the sensation of Nayeon’s body wrapped around yours, overwhelming you when the picture of Rosie popped into your mind.

It was almost morning by the time you both tapped out, exhausted and relaxed. You had never had anyone stay in your bed, but it was nice to cuddle with Nayeon before sleep took over. Rosie wasn’t home, vacationing with her family on Jeju Island, so you weren’t expecting their paths to cross. Nayeon had plans with her sister and mother anyways before she had to return to Busan.

“Is your roommate home?” Nayeon asks once you hand her the smoothie.

You shake your head, turning around to face her, “Rosie’s coming home tonight.”

Nayeon leans into you as you place your free hand on her waist, gently rubbing her back. “So…” The teasing glint in her eyes spells mischief.

“Seriously?” You knew Nayeon had a high sex drive, but you’re not sure you have anything left. “Four times wasn’t enough?”

“One for good luck?” The smoothie’s on the counter, her arms wrapping around your neck as she stands on her tiptoes. Her lips brush against yours, murmuring, “You know you want to.”

You couldn’t ignore the effect she has on your body, cock awakening when she presses her body just enough. Nayeon’s hot, and she knows how to push every single one of your buttons.

“Why not right here?” Nayeon nips at your bottom lip, sucking lightly.

“There’s food on the counter,” You reason, eyes closing as you move your lips languidly against hers.

“And…?” Nayeon pulls away, dropping on her heels.

Your eyes open slowly, hand immediately dropping when they land on Rosie standing in the hallway.

It’s like a deer caught in the headlights. You watch her mouth open and close, but no sound comes out. Nayeon senses your body tense, head turning slightly and a grin forms on her face.

“Hi,” Nayeon says casually. She turns around so that her back’s against your front. She loops your arms around her waist as you stifle a groan at her bottom pressed directly over your crotch. “I’m Nayeon, it’s nice to meet you. You must be Rosie right?”

You didn’t realize Nayeon’s clothing choice because she’s wearing one of your shirts, falling mid-thigh. She’s wearing her underwear, at least, but even that does nothing to hide the small love bites you left on her skin.

Rosie clears her throat, “Yeah.” You hear her voice crack. “It’s nice to meet you too. Um,” Her eyes shift to yours, “I’ll leave you two alone. Sorry to, uh, intrude.”

You’re barely able to get a word out before Rosie rushes to her room, leaving you and Nayeon to watch her door quietly shut. The woman in your arms chuckles, shaking her head.

“That was rude,” You lightly scold, pinching her stomach.

“Look,” Nayeon shakes you off before turning to face you, crossing her arms, “Give it a month, at most three, you’ll be together.”

“You were toying with her,” You roll your eyes, mirroring her stance.

“How?” Nayeon snaps, eyes glaring. “Neither you nor I knew she was going to be here this morning. Maybe her seeing you with someone else was a wake up call.”

“Yeah but still, you didn’t need to do all that,” You argue. It’s a weak position, but you had to justify it somehow.

“Don’t act all high and mighty. You literally came inside me twice. Call a spade a spade, you fucked me while thinking of her, which I have no issue with. My issue is, how long can you act like you’re not in love with her?” You almost interject, but she raises a finger, “I know you are. Give me that, at least.”

Nayeon stares, waiting for your response, but you have nothing. She’s right in every sense because you are in love with Rosie.

“It may have been a few years since we dated, but I still care about you,” Nayeon continues to talk, sending you a sympathetic smile, “Just be honest with yourself and her. There’s something there.”

“Okay,” Your shoulders sag, avoiding her gaze. You’re probably pouting based on Nayeon’s fingers suddenly cupping your chin, tilting your head up. “What?”

“It’ll work out, trust me. You might not know girls as well as I do, but it was all over her face.” You raise an eyebrow. “She’s jealous.”

-- --

You’re confused, stumped even on how to proceed.

Things have been awkward.

It’s not like you’re avoiding each other because you still see her in the mornings and evenings. It’s always a brief conversation about how things are going, then Rosie excuses herself either to her room or she has plans.

You might as well be avoiding each other.

You feel the need to explain yourself, but Nayeon has been in your messages saying that you owe her nothing because it’s “her thing to deal with”—whatever that means. You tried asking her to explain, but she was adamant to just wait.

It’s been a couple weeks since you spent the night with Nayeon. Rosie’s been distant ever since.

Lisa’s birthday party is this evening and you briefly spoke with Rosie to go together, but she isn’t home yet. You caught her this morning to confirm plans, which she was all for, quickly agreeing before she left for work.

Rosie’s late. You have half the mind to call her and ask her where she is. The party started at seven, and when you glance at the clock, it’s five past. It’s normal to arrive late to events, but it’s a good drive across town that Lisa would give you a hard time if you show up after Jennie.

You contemplate leaving without Rosie when the front door swings open a minute later.

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and my coworker needed help with her opening statement,” Rosie rushes out when she sees you sitting on the couch. “Give me, like, three minutes.” She doesn’t give you a chance to respond as she hurries to her room.

You weren’t planning on drinking. You haven’t since you saw Nayeon because you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of Rosie. It’s the first time since that morning where you’ll actually be hanging out with her, even though your friends will be there too.

You don’t keep track of time, but the sound of heels on the hallway floor brings your attention to Rosie. Your jaw nearly drops because she’s absolutely stunning. She’s wearing this brown sheer outfit? You don’t know how to explain it. It’s revealing, her pale skin looks luminescent under the fabric. Her top’s fucking open, stomach showing as it flows over her skin, rustling through her purse before her eyes meet yours.

“Ready?”

You clench your jaw, averting your gaze before returning. You prayed to whatever higher being that she doesn’t realize you were practically undressing her with your eyes. You try to play it cool, nodding with a soft yeah.

Rosie nods, “Let’s go.”

You desperately want to reach out, pulling her body against yours to whisper to her all the things you want to do to her, but you don’t. You just hoped that things would go back to normal, whatever normal was.

Rosie laughs, shifting in your lap as Jennie tells her something about someone they know. You stifle a groan as that particular movement has your cock straining against your slacks. You readjust your legs, as Rosie settles more into you, having the nerve to loosely wrap her arm around your neck. You don’t know if she knows what she’s doing to you, but you have a feeling she does.

The party’s in full swing. A few of Lisa’s friends are singing off-tune while the rest are conversing, drinking. You could be enjoying it more, engaging more, if it wasn’t for the problem in between your legs. Something caused by the very woman who’s animatedly talking about another person they know.

The drive from the apartment wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good. The conversation was stiff, forced, and the songs from Rosie’s phone filled the silence. You felt like you didn’t know what to say after the night with Nayeon, embarrassed that she caught you like that, even though your ex-girlfriend aggressively reminded you that you two weren’t dating. Rosie spent most of the ride on her phone, typing away to whoever or scrolling through her socials.

Stop lights had never felt so long.

It wasn’t until you parked that Rosie broke the ice.

“I don’t want things to be weird between us,” Rosie said quietly, unbuckling her seatbelt to face you. “I’m sorry I was rude to Nayeon, and I’m sorry if I’ve been distant.”

You changed your position, turning your head, “I’m sorry too. Let’s just go back to how things were before?”

She tilts her head, expression unreadable that the hairs on your neck stand. There’s a sudden tension in the air that you can’t quite place, but being this close to her has your senses heightened.

“Sure,” Rosie’s voice barely comes out in a whisper, “Let’s do that.”

It was nice to see all the people here to celebrate Lisa, but what made it even nicer was Rosie was always next to you. She might not have been directly part of the conversations you were having, but she was always close by. At one point, her fingers threaded through yours, palm soft against your skin.

When Jennie arrived, she immediately pulled you with her. She guided you to sit on the free space on the bench. You were about to move to make room when her hand was on your shoulder, stopping you, and she sat in between your legs.

“What about you, oppa?” The question catches you off guard, breaking you out of your thoughts. You haven’t been paying attention to their conversation, so you have no substance to contribute.

“You okay?” Rosie asks, a sly smirk on her face, confirming she knows exactly what she’s doing and she’s getting the reaction she wants. “You look… distracted.”

Clearing your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t sound too hoarse, “Just great.” It must not work based on the chuckle she lets out. “Sorry, what are you two gossip queens talking about?”

Jennie’s eyes narrow, huffing, “First of all, we weren’t gossiping. I was just telling Rosie about my trip to France with my mother. And to answer your question, I asked what was new with you.”

Oh.

That was easy to answer. There hadn’t been much going in your life since you last saw Jennie, which wasn’t too long ago. By the time you finish telling her about an upcoming business trip to the United States, a mischievous glint forms in her eyes.

“Dating anyone?” The woman in your lap stiffens at the question. “Rosie mentioned that you had someone over recently.”

“Oh well,” You shrug, not entirely sure how to answer. “Yeah, I did. It was just a one night stand.”

“So you aren’t dating her?” Jennie prods as the tension rolls off Rosie’s body.

“No, I’m not dating anyone.” You answer flatly, slightly annoyed with her sudden interest in your dating life.

“Interesting,” Jennie nods, crossing her arms as she leans back. She seems satisfied with your answer, glancing at Rosie who still feels tense. You sneak a hand around her, arm resting on her waist as you give a reassuring squeeze. Her body relaxes into your touch. You missed how Jennie observed the small interaction, only hearing her say, “Very interesting.”

This is dangerous, very dangerous.

You didn’t know what was worse–getting caught or dying. Though there was a thrill that came with the former.

You couldn’t pinpoint what changed, but as soon as you and Rosie entered the car, that same heavy tension was there. You couldn’t ignore it, and it didn’t seem like she could either, by the way she kept fidgeting in her seat as you drove home.

It snapped the moment you hit a red light because suddenly Rosie’s lips were on yours. You couldn’t help the small moan being swallowed by her mouth eagerly on yours. You practically melted into the kiss, leaning over to the center console, but the sound of the car horn blaring behind you had you reluctantly pulling away.

“How well can you drive?” Your eyes were focused on the road when Rosie’s hand rested on your thigh. You thought it was a weird question to ask. She had been in the car with you numerous times and you take safety seriously after a wicked crash when you were younger.

“Uh, pretty well?” You answered dumbly, braking slowly as the next traffic signal turned red.

“Good,” Rosie nodded, hand inching dangerously closer to your crotch.

“Chaeng,” You glanced down, watching her hand swiftly undo your belt. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Eyes on the road,” Rosie murmured. Her other hand reached over, unbuttoning your slacks just enough. “Don’t crash.”

Another car horn went off, giving you no choice but to drive. You saw Rosie move the seat belt, freeing her movement as her body leaned over the center console.

“Chaeng,” You groaned the moment her hand made contact, slipping your cock out of your briefs.

“Don’t crash.”

You couldn’t make any promises. Your body jerked when you felt her lips gently brush over you, tongue licking slowly over the tip.

You definitely weren’t expecting any of this tonight, but you weren’t against it.

Even if it jeopardizes your safety and life.

“Fuck,” You mutter underneath your breath as Rosie’s mouth takes you in again. She goes lower on your length, the apartment building getting closer. The grip on the steering wheel tightens when you hit the back of her throat. “Chaeng,” You warn, your control slipping as your foot presses on the accelerator.

Her mouth’s immediately off you, but she keeps her hand wrapped around you. Your body tenses, unsure of her next move. You focus entirely on the road, and not on her hand slowly stroking you.

“I had a feeling you were big,” Rosie says casually, leaning her head on your shoulder. “Do you think it’ll fit?” She murmurs against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Her lips press on your jaw, muscle tensing underneath her touch. You almost let out a sigh of relief when you take a tight turn into the driveway, but it comes out as a gasp because she decides to drop her head.

“Dear fuck,” You groan, peeling into the assigned parking spot. By the time you put the car in park, your fingers thread through her hair, hips thrusting up.

Hitting the back of her throat, Rosie shoots up, gasping for air before her warm, wet mouth’s around you once again. Your fingers tense, tugging at her hair when she chokes, throat constricting around your length. Your head falls back against the headrest as a pit forms in your stomach.

“I’m, I’m—fuck,” You can barely start your sentence, grip loosening as your vision blurs.

“You’re doing so well for me.” You know that Rosie’s talking to you, and the praise does something to you. “You deserve this,” She continues, hand steadily stroking with the occasional lick along the underside of your length. “I’ll be good for you. I’ll let you finish inside my mouth, yeah?” She goads, voice dropping an octave, driving you absolutely insane.

“Fuck, yes, yes,” You chant, nodding desperately before making a mistake that ends you.

You gain some semblance of control of your body, eyes opening and looking down right when Rosie’s pretty lips wrap around your cock. You whimper, hand shooting to the back of her head, as you release into her mouth. You choke out a few breaths, hips driving upward as you push her head farther along. You’re met with no resistance, feeling her throat relax when her nose touches your pubic bone. Your vision goes white, a guttural groan falls from your lips, feeling her cheeks hollow as you just keep cumming.

You don’t know where you start and she ends, but when it does, Rosie lifts her head. You see the smallest dribble of your cum on her chin, painting a vivid image of her face covered in you. You watch her bring her thumb up, wiping it into her mouth, licking her lips before meeting your fucked out gaze.

“Open your mouth,” You say quietly, lifting your hand to cup her chin. She follows your command, slowly opening her mouth, and all you see is pink, no trace of you inside. “Good girl,” You murmur, pulling her lips to yours.

Sighing contentedly, Rosie’s lips move languidly against yours. She pulls away after a few moments, resting her forehead on yours, “Sleep with me tonight?”

Whatever she wants.

No sleep was happening.

You were naive to think you’d actually be sleeping.

Once you made yourself somewhat presentable, in the event you saw another tenant, you let Rosie pull you out of the car. Your knees almost buckled the moment you stood, but she was there to catch you, giggling against your chest as she held you up.

“You’re being dramatic,” Rosie commented as you draped an arm around her.

“You sucked the literal life out of me,” You couldn’t help your bluntness. The hormones were still releasing and all you wanted to do was pull her into you more. “I could’ve crashed,” You added, unsure of how you made it, but thankful you did.

“Well thanks,” Rosie said, a blush forming on her face that you don’t miss. “For, you know, keeping us alive.”

You smiled, eyes drooping as Rosie dragged you to the elevator. She lightly scolded you when you’d drop your weight onto her, huffing cutely before snuggling deeper into your side. That was a win for you.

When you finally made it inside the apartment, your body was on autopilot and went straight to your room, Rosie glued to your side.

“Oppa,” Whining as she struggled to get out of your hold, “I want to change.”

You hardly pay her any mind, falling onto your bed and taking Rosie with you. She shrieked, hitting your back.

“Go change,” You mumbled, head turning to face her. “Come back when you’re done.”

Rosie booped your nose with her pinky, getting up before you could react. You heard her giggles as she ran out of the room. You were sure you were sporting a dopey smile.

You decided to follow suit. Changing in your mind was shrugging off your pants and haphazardly taking your shirt off, barely undoing any of the buttons. You tended to have a more thorough nightly routine that involved you sleeping in more clothes, but you were in too much of a relaxed state to care.

It could’ve been hours, dozing in and out of sleep, when it was really only ten minutes before Rosie returned.

“No pajamas?” Rosie scoffed playfully.

You opened one eye and saw her nightwear choice. An oversized shirt you recognized immediately since it was your shirt that went missing a few months ago. You chalked it up to being left on vacation, but here it was, barely covering the culprit’s body.

“No clothes of your own?” You retorted, earning a smack on your back.

“Whatever,” Point you. “Let’s just sleep now.”

Sleep my ass.

“I told you,” Rosie gasps, body trembling as she folds forward, lips pressed against yours. “I’d be good for you.”

“So fucking good,” You moan watching your length disappear in between her legs. “Such a good girl.”

You were on your side, your hand resting high on Rosie’s waist. You were trying to sleep, but she kept squirming. It wasn’t until she was pressed up against you that she stopped.

Or so you thought she’d just fall asleep.

As your body relaxed, inhaling the scent of Rosie so close to you, you felt her hand in between your bodies, landing perfectly on your crotch. She started slowly, cupping and rubbing your cock over the fabric. You couldn’t help the bodily response, hardening as time went on.

“Chaeng,” You moaned softly against her head.

“I want you,” Rosie whispered, her lips placing a kiss on the underside of your jaw. “Let me be good for you.”

You didn’t know how she did it, but you were suddenly on your back with Rosie on top of you. You couldn’t remember if she wore anything underneath your shirt, but the warmth of her center over your briefs has you lost in the sensation.

“You know,” Rosie’s hands worked quickly to pull you out, “I’m usually not this forward, but,” You whimpered when she guided your cock to her slit, “I’ve been thinking about this since you let me sit on your face while we were watching a show. Want to hear a secret?”

You nodded, too entranced by her playing with your cock against her. She could be telling you that she committed murder.

“I couldn’t help but touch myself again later that night,” Rosie inhaled sharply when she brushed you against her clit. “I saw your sweats tented and imagined what you’d feel like.”

If you remembered correctly, that time she mentioned wasn’t too long after the first time. That made you dizzy to think about because she already came over your face, but she still touched herself after.

And that was hot.

“Guess I’m about to find out.”

Bringing you to fill Rosie to the hilt, swallowing the moans she lets out against your lips. Your head falls onto the pillow, watching her steady herself as her body adjusts to the intrusion.

“Am I doing well?” Her eyes are low, barely being held open as you watch the pleasure wash over her face.

“You could do better,” You bring your hands behind your head. Her eyes widen when you roll your hips, telling her in a not-so-subtle way to show you just how good she could be.

Maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut, but you have never been known to say the most appropriate thing. Your words light a fire in her, and you see the switch happen in real time.

“Better?” Rosie shifts slightly, resting her knees at your sides while keeping you snug in between her warm walls. “Okay,” She nods before slowly raising her hips as your cock appears.

Rosie goes for the kill, slamming her body against yours. Your hands shoot to her hips, the move startling you. She repeats the motion again, again, and again.

“Good?” Rosie pulls away, sitting upright.

“So fucking good,” Is all you know how to say and you keep saying that when Rosie moves her body on top of you, undulating her hips.

You’re hypnotized as she works herself over you, swiveling her hips and rolling her body. You watch her movement stutter, realizing quickly she found the perfect tempo and spot. You can’t ignore the knot forming as she continues her ministrations. She’s moving faster, signaling she’s close. You also can’t ignore how soaked it is between your bodies.

“Such a good girl,” You mutter absentmindedly, her pace increasing as her inner muscles tighten. “Good girls cum, yeah?”

Rosie nods, mewling in your lap, “Yes, I’m good. I know I’m being good.” She babbles, eyes rolling back as she tightens forcefully around you, body wracked with tremors as her orgasm hits.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Your hips move on their own accord, thrusting up into her as your hands pull her along your cock. “Do you want me to pull—”

Rosie vigorously shakes her head, collapsing into you as she grabs your hands off her hips. She pins your hands over your head. You feel her walls contract, squeezing you tightly that you can’t stop yourself from cumming, painting her insides white. Your lips find hers, a filthy moan leaves your mouth as you let everything out.

“It’s so much,” Rosie gasps out, small aftershocks hitting her body as you roll your hips up, prolonging both your orgasms.

You didn’t realize how hard you were gripping her hands until you felt a gentle squeeze. She’s a mess on top of you, hair wild and all over the place as she catches her breath.

You kiss her temple, breathing hard as her body goes limp on top of yours. You carefully move to pull yourself out, wincing at the release in pressure. Her sudden intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed, kissing her again.

“Sorry,” You whisper. It all feels wet down there and the sicker side of you wants to see what it looks like, but you have a feeling this will happen again.

“Sleep,” Rosie mumbles, burying her face into the crook of your neck.

You chuckle, shaking your head. You agree that sleep is what should happen next, but you couldn’t leave her like this—as hot as it would be.

“Let me clean up first,” You coo. She doesn’t respond, the light snores you hear below has you rolling your eyes.

You do your best to maneuver yourself out from underneath her, minimally disturbing her as you roll out of bed. You grab what you need from the bathroom to come back to Rosie laying on her stomach. You try to clean the mess you made, internally battling with yourself if you should move to her room.

Rosie’s too adorable in your bed that you decide not to. You pull a pair of old shorts out, slipping it on her frame. When you're satisfied with what you could do, you shut the lights off.

You’ll have to change your bedsheets at some point, but Rosie curling into your side as soon as you slide underneath the comforter makes you forget about it.

-- --

You’re grinning as soon as you walk through the door. Your eyes immediately fall onto Rosie staring intently at her laptop screen as she chose the kitchen as her office for the day.

“Jagiya,” You say affectionately when you’re behind her, kissing her sweetly on the top of her head. “I have news.”

Rosie’s half paying attention, humming as you massage her shoulders. “What?” She asks distractedly, typing away.

“I’m moving out,” You announce, proud of the statement as the sound of her keyboard stops.

“You’re what?”

“I’m moving out,” You pull up the stool to sit next to her.

Rosie raises an eyebrow, confused at what you’re saying because you’ve been living together for two years and dating for almost a year.

It should’ve been a weird transition—the whole roommates turned lovers thing—but it actually wasn’t. It was almost too easy, in which the only problem you had was who’s room you were sleeping in.

“Where are you going?” She asks pointedly, crossing her arms whenever she felt she was getting tested.

It’s a test she’s thinking too hard about.

You say an address, one you’re both familiar with, and you chuckle when you see her nose scrunch.

“Uh… Okay…” Rosie trails off, puzzled at your news. “Did something happen?”

You see the wheels turning in her head, thoughts and memories flickering through her mind as she racks her brain over what you’re getting at.

“Nope,” You respond simply, popping the p. “Are you going to ask which unit?”

“You’re being difficult,” Rosie huffs, shaking her head. “Where the fuck are you moving?”

“This one,” You say simply, grinning as her expression goes blank.

“What?”

You reach out, pulling her body onto your lap. Nuzzling your face into her neck, “I’m moving in.”

“You’ve been moved in, dumb dumb,” Rosie flicks your forehead. “What’re you getting at? I’m getting irritated.”

“Well, oh love of my life,” You peck her cheek sweetly, ignoring the glare she sends your way. “Let’s turn my room into an office since we spend most nights in your room. Yours is bigger anyways.”

It’s been gnawing at you for the past month. There were a few things you had been waiting for too before bringing it up. Number one being this promotion your bosses really want you to have with a larger increase in your pay.

“What about all our clothes?” Rosie asks after a moment. Of course that would be on her mind, out of everything.

“We just move some things around,” You say easily, shrugging because that isn’t that big of a deal. “I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Rosie smiles, looping her arms around your neck as she leans forward. “But we really don’t have to do all that. I don’t mind working out here!” She gestures to the living room and kitchen.

You shake your head, smiling softly, “I know you don’t, but I do. You should be able to separate the spaces.”

It’s definitely more of a you thing because you want Rosie to be able to work without it bleeding into the areas she spends the most time in. She hasn’t complained, but you could tell she never actually relaxes when she’s home.

“You’re sweet,” Rosie mumbles, lips pressed against yours that you find yourself smiling. You lower your arms, wrapping loosely around her waist to bring her closer. She lets out a hmph before melting into the embrace. “You’re so good to me.”

The praises echoes in your mind, groaning softly when she moves her lips against yours. “So, so good,” She breathes out that the grip on her waist tightens.

“Chaeng.” She’s highly aware of the effect that has on you, but you’re preparing yourself for what she does next.

“I think I should reward you,” Rosie’s index finger trails down your jaw. “You take care of me so well.”

You can’t even say anything as Rosie kisses you one last time before taking a step back, slowly dropping to her knees. The sight of her in between your legs is one you never tire of.

“Be good baby,” You scratch the top of her head, undoing her ponytail as blonde hair frames her face.

“For you? Always.”

-- -- --

#blackpink smut #blackpink rose #blackpink park chaeyoung #rosie smut #park chaeyoung smut #park chaeyoung

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

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Yandere Sibling Cat Hybrids: Patricia and Pepper

Deciding to take on hybrids was something you were hesitant to do

Besides being morally controversial for you, it was a huge hit to your spending money

But you got tired of the faux pride you got donating to hybrid-care facilities

So instead you decide to walk into a shelter (one with good practices)

And you tell them upfront that you’re willing to open your home and heart to the ones who need you most

Crippled, rejected for looks, attitude problems

The helper lights up and then deflates before asking some leading questions

“Do you like cats?”

And that is how you are given Patricia and Pepper

This sister and brother duo are two sides of the same kind

Patricia has a luxuriously long tail and grooming routine that matches

“Are you illiterate? The signed packet told you I needed to be groomed, shampooed, and conditioned regularly.”

“Well yeah, that’s why I left everything in the bathroom.”

“Hold on! You think I’m doing this myself?! Nuh-Uh, You have so much to learn! Grab the brush and pull up a stool, now!”

Demanding as she is gorgeous Patricia is a cat girl with expensive tastes

Until that day she’ll likely swipe your credit card to buy the incredibly overpriced brand-powered shampoo

And just curl her lip at you when you confront her

“Don’t cry, if you keep working hard I’m sure you’ll pay it off.”

For as unhelpful and arrogant as she is, her brother is an extreme opposite

“I know you showed us to those extra rooms just for us but i-if you don’t mind my stench I think I can serve you better in your room!”

“What?!”

“I’ll be happy to sleep on the floor! I promise I’ll be useful!”

Pepper’s always so eager to help and talk himself down

You’ll literally have to fight him to make sure he’s sleeping and taking care of himself instead of the home

“P–please I’ll probably eat once I finish cleaning this one last thing.”

“Probably?! No, you look like you’ve lost too much weight!”

“Nooo please!”

This dynamic will be going on for a long while

You going to work and returning home to find either Pepper in danger needlessly risking his life

Or Patricia throwing out all of your childhood memorabilia because she felt it was tacky

Maybe for once you shed a tear

Or you yell

Or you just completely shut down from any conversation

In the end, you leave

For a long time

Longer than you’d go to the store or even work

You’re just gone

“Pat I think you did it again. You scared them off!”

“I scared them off? Please I know very few people who’d be happy coming home to a corpse.”

“At least I was trying to be useful!”

“I took care of the grooming they didn’t do, that’s plenty generous.”

“Thanks to you, they’re sending us away! I really liked this one!”

“Don’t blame me, you cur! They’re leaving because you appall them!”

They argue for hours

Because they are siblings

And it helps with filling the sound of you going through your nightly routine

By the end of it, both of their hair are sticking out

they’re pacing while nervously staring at the door

So many thoughts in their head

The embarrassment of being sent back

The disappointment and scorn from the employees when they return

The pain they felt when you reacted the way you did

The suffocating fear of you leaving them forever

They’ve had absent owners…but they were always that way

You were there even if you sighed and scolded them, you were still there

You might’ve kept to yourself but you didn’t ignore them

At the end of the day, they still ate together with you

… They really didn’t like this

When the lock on the door clicks and the light clicking of a turn begins

They’re leaping for the door

Capturing you in a hug you can’t escape from

“We missed you! I-I’m very sorry! I fished out and cleaned everything! Please forgive me! And please don’t just send me away! Oh and my brother too.”

“PLEASEDON’TSENDUSAWAYPLEASEDON’TPLEASEPLEASEIMIGHTBEPUSHEDTOSTRAPABOMBTOMYSELFANDBLOWINGUP—”

“Whoa whoa, I’m not sending you guys away. Also, Pepper what was that you were going to say?”

“WAAAAHHHH tHANK THAank YOu! WAHHH”

After Pepper can breathe, you don’t mind sitting down with them to finally speak

“I’m glad you’re not sending us away. I was certain you found us annoying enough to.”

“Oh no I do find you two annoying.”

“What?! wwwwWAAHHHH!”

“But I’m not going to send you away because of that. Also, I think it’s pretty crummy that I can even do that after all the paperwork I signed.”

“WAHH! I’M ANNOYING!?”

“Yes, Pepper now shush. That’s very mature of you I also appreciate your honesty.”

Ultimately they relax when it comes to being sent away

But they’re worried that you barely address your annoyance

“Even my friends annoy me. It’s not that bad.”

“But it is. I–we pushed you so far…we’d like not to do this again.”

“I-I think…Pat and I just want to please you…maybe more than just what your morals allow.”

Thus a new routine has begun

One that won’t have you leaving for hours on end

“Good Evening dirt on my heels, who’s going to give me a gift big enough to buy that Prada collar I’ve been eying?”

Now Patricia streams finding a small group of people willing to fund her interests allowing her to contribute to the home

Pepper continues to clean up the house but with new parameters

“Here (Y/n)! I took pictures of me eating all my meals today! See? Now can I get head pats?”

This works allowing them not to get on your nerves while you navigate life with your two hybrids

If they have any say in it that’ll be all you’ll be aware of

On the other side, Patricia and Pepper are taking their independence very seriously

“Pepper, did you finish your dossier on the coworker who called yesterday?”

“I did, here’s the file. I’ve already gone to the trouble of mapping out their routine; highlighting the best times depending on the method we use.”

“Good work. Now next report?”

“Yes! I found this while cuddling (Y/n) last night~ They got all giggly when I touched a specific spot with my tail.”

“...Last night where was I?”

“Dealing with the neighbor’s loud little pest.”

“Right…For equal treatment, I’ll be initiating our cuddle session tonight.’

“Hahaha…nice imagination Patty but that’s my job.”

Somehow fighting between the siblings still persist but you’d take that over the stalemate you two had before

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere siblings #yandere original character #yandere original characters #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere oc x reader #yandere hybrids x reader #yandere hybrid #yandere hybrid x reader #yandere cat hybrid

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the-californicationist · 9 months ago

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Cali's Kinktober: Day 03

Kinktober Masterlist in absentia lucis - "in the absence of light" John Price x f!reader Kinks > rape, torture, sensory deprivation Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

You are a new recruit to the CIA, and Kate Laswell sends you to some remote blacksite for your interrogation training. Your temporary commander, Captain John Price, gives you a safeword, but as your training begins, you realize that you feel everything except for safe.

Hey, did you see where the tags said RAPE? Okay, just making sure.

It was three flights and a cab. It was airport food and cold coffee. It was forgetting whether the date ended in a three or a four. It was paperwork and passports and finally a cold office. It was a long trip, and you were running on empty.

“What are your expectations, here, Katie? I don’t wanna do another Warsaw situ–” The man complained.

“This is nothing like Warsaw. She can handle it. Trust me.” Your boss replied, her voice crackling over the video call.

The man who complained squared his jaw and fixed his eyes on you again, looking at you fresh now that your handler, Kate Laswell, had vouched for you. You tried not to fidget in your seat. You didn’t sit up any straighter. You weren’t here to advertise yourself as the bravest or the toughest of anything. You knew you still needed a lot of training, and if he wanted to draw his own conclusions about you, then that was his business, not yours.

“Her scores are high. She beat your exam?”

“She did. Her field test and her ‘chute certifications were performed at a DF site here in the states.”

There was a long pause before Laswell spoke again,

“Do me this favor and maybe I’ll even let you borrow her for a recon mission or two. I know none of your boys are pretty enough to pass for party girls, but mine is.”

“That she is,” you heard his tone darken, thickening in his mouth like sticky sap from a tree, borderline inappropriate. When he saw your reaction to his comment, he turned back to the screen and said, “Alright, Katie. You got a deal. I’ll send her back once she’s out of recovery.”

“Thanks, John. Don’t go easy on her, or she’ll make you pay for it.”

“Is that so?” His wry smile sent a jolt somewhere in your belly that you didn’t appreciate.

She laughed and hung up the call. You waited, trying not to let the jitters or the exhaustion win out, battling both but feeling pulled in either direction just the same.

“So,” he turned his attention to you at last, “Did you lay in your fuckin’ pink princess bed when you were a little girl and dream about becoming a bloody spy, or is this some sort of complex I should know about?”

You shrugged,

“A man does what he must…”

“Careful, girl. Quoting Kennedy can’t be good for your health if you’re working in Katie’s office, hm?”

“You don’t need to know why I’m here, sir.” You used his title like a knife, flashing it right in front of his eyes and watching them ignite with his smoldering, quiet fury.

“No, but I bet I’ll find out during our time together,” he promised, making your heart clench with stress and anxiety, “What’s your safeword?”

“Red.”

“Red,” he repeated it to you as if he wanted to see how it felt in his mouth. Then, after a long pause, he explained, “I will also stop before the point of emergent damage. But, I will push you past the point of pain. You will sustain injuries. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, love?”

He seemed to be under the misconception that this was your first rodeo. You knew what you had come here for, and it wasn’t some drill sergeant to yell you into shape. You had already been through Delta Force’s operator training center - the parts they allowed CIA operatives through, anyway - and you’d surpassed what Williamsburg had to offer. You were aiming to serve as a Special Skills operative, the blackest of the black ops groups, and although you lacked the physical strength to be of any use in most field positions, you had one key factor that your fellow recruits didn’t have.

Men never expected a woman to be a threat.

Laswell had plans for you. She’d tracked down two high value targets, but they were well-guarded. However, there were usually strippers and dancers and prostitutes as far as the eye could see, always partying and coming and going at all hours of the night. You were her way in. But, it was your job to get back out. If you could survive, you’d be a hero. If you didn’t, well, she had more pawns on the board. Not to mention, you had a mission of your own to complete..

So, you worked harder than anyone. You jumped at every field training exercise, you took martial arts classes in every different format you could find, and you lived at the shooting range. You didn’t have a social life. Usually, if you were alone in a room with a man, your fists were connecting with each other’s faces.

You looked back across the wooden desk in front of you, over his nameplate - Captain Price - and into his startlingly blue eyes,

“I understand.”

He came out of his chair like a fucking demon, lunging for you without warning. As you stumbled backward, wielding your own chair over your shoulder, you sighed inwardly. You’d at least expected a more civilized initiation, maybe even a moment for a coffee, before he started in on his training. But, alas, that was not to be.

You crashed the wooden chair against his head, neck, and shoulder as he rounded the desk, keeping hold of the broken armrest as a weapon. You stabbed downward, aiming for his throat and not holding back. He blocked you, cracking your wrist against the rigid wood. You stepped into his space, kicking his heel out from under him and following him to the floor. His head hit the concrete with a bang, and you used that moment to pin the armrest against his throat, bearing down on him with all your weight, dislodging his trachea enough to cut his air supply.

He flung you off of him like a ragdoll, and your back slammed into the leg of the desk. You twisted underneath it, staying just out of his reach, small enough to fit through the gap. He scrambled up on all fours, cackling at you with a gravelly, menacing laugh before leaping up and over the desk to pull you out by your ankles.

You kicked up and over, making contact with his nose, and when he dropped your other foot, you launched your heel into his balls, making sure to aim as deeply as you could.

He coughed, and it was your turn to laugh.

Your victory was short-lived. He launched his body at you, shoving your back down on the desk. You felt the familiar bite of his nameplate digging into your skull, so you dragged it out and swung it at him, cutting him across his cheek. He hissed, yanking it out of your hand and tossing it to the ground.

The captain forced himself between your legs, pressing his body down on yours, and wrapped his hand across your throat. You fought like hell to get him off, twisting his pinky until you thought it might break, but he caught your wrists in his other hand, holding them at a terrible angle, choking you until you saw rainbow spots discolor your vision.

“Well,” he said, breathless and bleeding, “Christmas came early, dinn’it?”

Just making sure you read the tag that said this fic has RAPE IN IT. I'm just checking in again. Just want you to know. Okay, thanks.

When you woke up, you weren’t completely sure of it, at first. It was as if you were still asleep. You opened your eyes, but all you saw was an endless blackness. You couldn’t hear anything, you couldn’t smell anything, and you couldn’t move your jaw. But you could feel everything.

Your whole body screamed in pain. One of your hands was wrenched above your head, and the weight of your body hung from your broken wrist, making you cry out in whatever muffled way you could.

Then, something was removed from your ears, and you could hear again. It was still quiet, but the sound of the aircon and the noise of another person’s breath were like blaring sirens compared to the silence you had been steeped in.

“Look who’s awake,” John’s purr of a voice washed over you.

You tried to reply, tried to beg for him to cut you down, but you couldn’t speak. Your mouth was holding something round and pliant.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he patted your flank, and you were suddenly aware of your nakedness. He’d taken your clothes? You could hear him scooting a metal chair across the room towards you, and his pants rustled as he sat down, “Can’t have you talkin’ your way out of this one. Based on the three stitches in my cheek, I was wrong to underestimate you, darlin’. Shoulda listened to Katie, this time. But, look at you. Just a whisper of a thing.”

His rolling chuckle made your bones itch.

“Hard to use a safeword when you’ve got a gag on, yeah?”

You nodded, acknowledging the irony.

Price moved in the chair again. No, he stood. You could hear his boots sliding around you in a half-circle. He kept talking to you, his tone as casual as ever,

“Yeah, thought so. But, this isn’t one of those trainings, pretty girl. You won’t be needing one. I will stop when you’re ready to stop, not when you want to stop. You need to learn that, sometimes, your body…” His hand snaked its way around your thigh and you tried to kick out at him, discovering your ankles were tied together and anchored to the floor, “... is capable of so much more than you give it credit for.”

Your heart began to slam against your chest, and your breathing became labored. You were having a panic attack. If you could only see…

“Hey,” his tone shifted, becoming the instructor again, “Breathe slowly. In. Hold it. Out. All the way. In. Out. Tha’s it. Good.”

There was a long pause. You could smell him now. It was cigars and fire and gunpowder and smoke. It filled your senses, replacing your sight with scent.

“I’m gonna put your ears back on, and we’ll see what you can do.”

The world fell away again, and all you had was the smell of him. Then, he started his training.

It wasn’t the pain that upset you, not really. Pain was something you could move past. It was the surprise. You never knew when it was coming, nor where he was going to hit you next. Sometimes it was his fist. Sometimes it was a belt. Sometimes it was an electric shock. Legs, ribs, foot, arm, neck, belly… there was no pattern.

You also had no idea of the passage of time. You were infinite and you existed in the darkness of infinity. It was just pain forever with no reprieve.

Until it wasn’t.

The first time you felt his fingers pinching the tender peaks of your breasts, your whole body jolted. You hadn’t really responded to the pain in the same way, but to pleasure? It was unexpected in a different way. You didn’t think he would violate you. That wasn’t even something they’d tried to do when you were with the DF.

You bucked, hoping that your displeasure was noted for the record.

But, perhaps, your mind teased you, the lady doth protest too much? You had wanted him to touch you when he’d picked you up from the airport. When he shook your hand, hadn’t you measured his fingers and started wanting? Weren’t you eager for training to be over so you could be invited back to his flat for the after-work romp you knew would be on offer?

Hanging there like a slab of meat had changed things a bit, but it had not quelled your desire, unfortunately.

You wondered if he had reacted. You imagined him laughing at you. Was he enjoying himself? Or was this all apart of his brand of training?

I bet you choke out all the pretty girls… you sneered inwardly.

More pain. This time, your ass cheeks were the targets. The snapping bite of what felt like a belt hit you repeatedly and without mercy. You found yourself breathless from silently screaming, your tongue pressing against the gag for some sort of relief and finding none.

Then, pleasure again. His thick fingers fondled your pussy from behind, digging into your flesh and discovering the wetness hidden inside of your unused hole. There was no romance to his movements, but forcing an orgasm from you did seem to be his goal. And fuck, you lamented, he was good at it.

He doubled up, twisting two fingers deep inside of you, pounding them into your body all the way to the knuckle, fast and hard, dragging you towards the edge. Your legs began to tremble, and you knew your face must’ve looked a mess, because you were in total shock.

It felt like he was going to vibrate you right out of your skin, and still he moved faster. He wrapped his other hand around your belly, holding you in place, and you thrashed against it, fighting the mounting urge to come.

You were doing pretty well, you thought, given the conditions. Until…

His soft lips pressed themselves down onto your spine. It was just a chaste kiss, but it unfurled you like a ripcord. You exploded, your whole body convulsing in bliss, and although you were wearing a blindfold, you could see white streaks and stars dancing across your vision. You came alive.

Price pulled out of you, and you felt the stream of slick drip down your legs. He’d forced you to squirt, something you thought was completely faked, only for pornos. But, there it was, proof of its reality smearing down your thighs and onto the concrete floor.

Pain, again.

The searing sting of a taser in the sensitive flesh of your belly.

Fists and harsh palms.

The bite of a chain.

A sharp ache from a needle or a knife.

His fist closing around your index finger and snapping it cleanly in two.

You wanted to puke, but there was nothing to come up. Your belly bulged and hollowed, letting you gag and choke around nothing, going through the motions and yet giving you nothing to move.

Then, pleasure.

His hands were back on your pussy, finding your clit and teasing you until you jerked forward. But, his hand remained, insisting. And insisting. And insisting.

You lost track of how many times you’d toppled over the edge of your orgasm. There were no borders, not anymore. Your pleasure was bleeding and smearing all around you in one great wave, blinding you to the starts and stops from coming and not. You were drowning in it.

Just when you thought you might pass out, you felt the prod of his prick between your legs, entering you from behind. You couldn’t feel a condom. You tried to twist yourself away, rocking your hips to no avail.

This was definitely not protocol.

Those lips returned to the same spot on your spine, and you melted onto him, covering him like hot wax, sealing your body onto his cock like a brass signet, letting him leave his mark on you.

His hands found your breasts, squeezing them roughly, holding your body to him in a vicious embrace.

Then, he dug around inside of your mouth and yanked out the gag. You felt yourself make a terrible noise, but you couldn’t hear the sound that came out. You knew he could, though, because when he heard you, his cock throbbed at your entrance, and it made him push forward, dipping into you even deeper.

Wait… Captain Price. Please. Wait. Wait.

You wondered if you were as loud as you tried to be. In fact, you wondered if he could hear you at all because he did not stop. If anything, he went onward with even more fervor.

His mouth kissed its way across your back, and you could feel his stubble and the coarse hairs of his beard raking their way along your skin. His warm tongue leaving little wet stamps as it laved across you, tasting your sweat.

The way his fat prick was stretching you out made you question if he was using himself or the armrest of the chair that you had tried to kill him with. You hissed from the ache, but he didn’t halt his advance. Didn’t retreat. He just pressed further inside of you.

How much cock did this jerk have?

Finally, you felt his hairy base tickle the skin under your ass cheeks, and you knew there was an end to his incredible length.

What… why are you doing this? Why…

He pulled himself out in the same way he had pressed in, slowly and with a fierce persistence.

Then, he began to pound himself into you.

You were at the perfect height for him, and it made you sick to your stomach to know that it was deliberate. This had been his plan all along. And although most of you felt completely indignant, there was a nasty little demon in your heart that celebrated in it. He’d wanted you from the start, even after you’d made him bleed, maybe even because of it.

And that thought brought you no small amount of joy.

His hands had returned to your breasts, playing with them too roughly. John was pinching your nipples and craning his neck around to suckle from them, nipping at them with his teeth until you screamed from the pain of being bitten. Even then, your screams were a poor deterrent. It didn’t stop him from returning to them, crushing the stiff tips as he worked his cock inside of you, fucking himself up into you at a punishing pace.

He only pulled away to stick his tongue inside of your armpit, licking you over and over in a place where no one had ever even thought to lick, and you wished you could say, honestly, that it had disgusted you. But, it didn’t. If anything, it made you gasp with a new brand of pleasure. He had awakened something fresh and bright in you that you never meant to discover.

Then, he got brave. He shoved two fingers right into your slack mouth, and you immediately bit down, hard. You could taste blood, and you fought against his flesh, trying to crack the bone. But, he shoved them down your throat, and all you had to chew on was a fat fist that wouldn’t even allow your jaw to close much less to bite.

You could feel his fingers in your throat, deep down in a place where fingers were never supposed to go, and all you could do was swallow around them, trying your best to keep from drooling into your airway.

His cheek pressed into your shoulder blade. He was enjoying you.

The way his gentle kiss or the softness of his cheek ripped orgasms from you was concerning, to say the least. You hoped you could remember this moment, of how the way he rested himself against you as he was taking you against your vocal will was throwing your body down a deep well of dark, forbidden pleasure. How your vision burned white and gold and formed spots of colors that had no names as he fucked you into a different plane of existence. How you thought, if you got a late night text, written in his smoky, raspy Scouse accent, you would crawl your way back across the pond just so he could give it to you again.

Oh, my God… You screamed from the pit of your belly.

His thrusts never slowed. He was like a machine. All those muscles were being put to work, and you were the mission.

Had it been hours?

Days?

Did the world still exist outside of this concrete cube that you suspected you were in?

Would you starve to death in here?

The demon that apparently lived in your cunt rolled its eyes and said, who cares? I wanna come again and again and again…

And you did. You were so overstimulated that you thought even someone looking at you the right way would make you come. It had become painful, at one point, and now you were not numb… Numb wasn’t the right word. You were soft. Your mind and your pussy were just murky, oily, cock-filled vessels, happy they were full and unwilling to question what it meant.

When he finally pulled out of you, you were limp. You didn’t thrash or fight. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

You felt his fingers again, drawing out your foaming, frothy come into his hand. He used it to smear it along the rim of your asshole. Then, he began to fuck your tight hole with his fingers, one. Over and over. One. One. One. Then, he added a second. Two. Two. A thousand times, two. Three was a bit of a challenge, but he pushed through. Three. Two. Three. Two. Three. Three. Three. And then, none.

None.

Where did he go?

Pain. A heavy hand slapping across your bruised tits. Again. Again.

You were screaming, surely. You wanted to be, at least.

The flat of his palm beat itself against your breast over and over without mercy.

Then, his cockhead rested at the entrance of your asshole.

You didn’t beg this time. If anything, he should be the one begging, you thought. If you lived, you were going to make him remember you.

Price shoved himself inside of you with some force, but you took it. You waited until he was fully sheathed inside, and when he took a breath, when those lips rested themselves on the back of your neck, you beared down on him, hard.

You felt his breath catch as it skittered across your skin.

The demon in you chuckled in triumph.

C’mon, Captain. Is that all you got? You made the words come out of your throat, and you hoped he could hear you.

The way that his hand fisted itself in your hair told you that he had.

If you thought he had fucked your pussy like an animal, you had been mistaken. He took your ass like he owned it. Like it was his toy. There was no pleasure-seeking rhythm, no careful pacing or grinding movements. He was fucking you because he wanted to come. So, you made him.

Every time he dragged himself out, you let him go, but every time he pressed himself in, you fought him the whole way. Squeezing and pushing, squeezing and pushing, making your tight hole even tighter, rocking your hips to drive him mad with want.

You felt him lose control, his hot spend filling your ass and bursting out of his swollen head, soaking your hole. You pulsed around him, and you felt that soft cheek return to your shoulder.

Come for me, baby. Good boy. You giggled out loud.

He slapped you across the mouth, and you laughed harder, feeling his cock slip out of you, spent.

You can’t hurt me in a way that matters, John Price. Do your fuckin’ worst.

You felt him step around you, smelling his breath as he held you face to face. Then, the noise of the room came back and you could hear him panting, ragged and desperate. You felt the blindfold fall away and you could see him, your eyes shrinking in the dim light of the cell, hurt by even the smallest glow of light.

You were back, but you were not yourself. Not anymore. You were a different you. Someone he had made. He had crafted you with his own hands.

“Why? Why didn’t you beg me to stop?”

His eyes were burning into yours as he stared down at you, questioning what he had done, what you had done with him. You had used him like a sharpener, honing yourself to a high shine, and he didn’t understand.

When you heard your voice for the first time, you mourned it a bit, but you knew it would come back eventually. It was raspy, muddled, and barely audible, but you said it with your whole chest,

“I was made for this, and I could go all fuckin’ day.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long did he keep you prisoner?”

Kate Laswell, you fucking bitch.

He’d read your file. The real one. Not the one on your tagline, but the one that you and Laswell had hidden away.

“Five months,” you told him, a sick smile on your face, “But, you already knew that.”

He sighed, his hands on his hips, just as naked as you, which you found a little funny.

“Why’d you come here? Why would she…”

You watched him wrestle with the betrayal in his head, knowing he’d been manipulated. He’d walked right into her trap. You basked in his confusion, having almost as much fun as you’d had while he was railing you into oblivion.

“Laswell said you needed a way into the Ikon, some strip club on the border between Russia and Urzikstan. So, I said I would help.”

“And she knew I’d say no…”

“Unless you knew I could handle it.”

It was his turn to be in pain. You could see the fire of it creeping through his belly, knowing he’d just tortured a girl who’d written the book in torture. The surgeries and the psych consults were long, long behind you, but your run in with the Russian mob was not something you were ever going to forget. But, now, John Price was going to give you a chance at revenge. You were his gun, and you just needed him to point you in the right direction.

Suddenly, he cut you down, freeing you from your hanging place. You crumpled into his arms, letting him hold you as you collapsed. You used your hands to pet the worry out of his eyes, and he fought you for it, trying to stop you from comforting him. So, you grabbed him with what little strength you could muster, and you pulled his face to yours, pressing your mouths together, making him taste your blood from where he had cut your cheek against your teeth. He yanked his head back, furrowing his brow,

“No, stop…”

“Shut up,” you said, kissing him again and feeling his surrender as he held you tighter, pulling you into his chest even though he was ridden with guilt.

“We shouldn’t, love. I’m so sor–”

“Where’d you put that gag?” You pretended to look around for it, earning a slight smile and an exasperated huff.

You knew you’d made the cut, because when he fucked you this time, he didn’t hold back.

Whelp. Kinktober!

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