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madelinerobistat · 5 months ago
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wumblr · 5 months ago
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wow ! image by magdalena bay named most "song to bleach your hair to" of the summer for the first year in a row 🌈🦄✨
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5sospenguinqueen · 2 months ago
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Taste | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader
Summary: She’ll just have to taste you when he’s kissing her. When Max and Kelly break up, the pair of you start something sweet. But, it only lasts a short while when your conflicting schedules drive him back into her arms. 
Warnings: Kelly Piquet slander. 
Requested: No, I’m just obsessed with making up fantasies whilst I drive home from work with my music on
Faceclaim: Sabrina Carpenter (yes, I know she’s used a lot but I stole her song and her occupation so why not steal her face) 
F1 Masterlist
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f1wags just posted
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liked by user1, redbullracing and others
f1wags max verstappen and kelly piquet both confirmed they have seperated, posting a short statement on their instagram stories. the news comes after months of speculation after explosive arguments were caught on camera
3,306 comments
user1 omg did anyone see that red bull admin liked this and then unliked it
user2 thank god! i’ve been waiting for this day for ever
user3 can we see him date someone his own age now that didn’t go after him when he was a teen? 
user4 finally! turns out manifesting works 
user5 he always looked so upset after they argued. hopefully he finds someone good for him
user6 hear me out, but how hot would he look with yn ln
→ user7 like they’d ever cross paths. he’s an athlete and she’s a pop star 
→ user6 yes but my point is that they would look hot together 
→ user8 he did have one of her songs playing in the background of a stream once?
user9 i love how she’s really laying it on thick in hers and he’s just like “yeah, it’s over” 
→ user10 we love an unbothered king
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mclaren just posted
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liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and others
mclaren we have a special guest in the garage this weekend. thank you @/yn_ln for joining us
6,098 comments
yn_ln thank you so much for having me! i had an amazing weekend but i don’t think i’ll be in a rush to do hot laps again
→ landonorris don’t be like that. i know you had fun! 
→ yn_ln idk who trusted you with a licence but they should be fired
→ landonorris idk why they call you short and sweet :( 
user1 she looks soooo good wtf  liked by maxverstappen1
oscarpiastri it was really fun having you in the garage. thank you for making lando seem tall. now he’ll be in a good mood for the rest of the weekend
→ yn_ln f1 girlies, can you tell me if he’s dating the curly haired one?
→ oscarpiastri well played. i apologise for bringing your height into this
→ user2 yes, yes they are, yn
user3 chat, is this real? my fave singer in my fave team’s garage! two worlds colliding 
charles_leclerc omg please stop by ferrari. my girlfriend, alex, absolutely loves you
→ yn_ln come pick me up! (‘cause i don’t know my way around the paddock) and i’d love to meet her
user4 omg somebody tell max. i hope she gets lost and stumbles into red bull
→ user5 my delusions might come true if that happens
→ user6 he saw her when charles was walking her over to ferrari
→ user4 and?! 
→ user6 nothing. he turned around and went back into the garage
→ user7 yeah after he went bright red! 
f1wags just posted
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liked by user8, shortnsweet and others
f1wags only two months since his split from model, kelly piquet, max verstappen has been linked to singer, yn ln. the pair have been spotted numerous times on dates and caught in moments of affection
2,999 comments
user8 yn’s clothing brand liked this! 
→ user9 that doesn’t mean anything?
→ user8 well, considering that is her own brand, and they’re a part of her image, i’d say it means something 
user10 anyone else notice that they’re wearing different outfits in every photo, which means they’re all from different days/dates
user11 i’m going feral
user12 okay but you can’t even deny that this is them because it very clearly is 
user13 people said i was crazy when i talked about these two being together! 
user14 they’re so hot together. i might actually combust 
user15 i’m (s)creaming
user16 the hand holding 🥹 they’re not just fucking
user17 my new otp 
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kellypiquet just posted
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liked by maxverstappen1, piquetjr and others
kellypiquet my 🩷
2,987 comments 
maxverstappen1 ❤️
→ user1 aha this is such a dry response lmao 
user2 wtf? i thought he was with yn
→ user3 that was just a rumour 
user4 he looks much better with yn 
→ user5 yeah but she can’t give him the stable relationship he needs so no wonder he went back to kelly. she’s always there lmao 
→ user6 yeah because she never lets that man go. she’s possessive and it’s not healthy
user7 max is so cute with p 
user8 my favourite thing about this post is that all of these pics are old because max is currently in a press conference with his long hair, not these short strands
user9 how could he leave yn like this? they were so cute together 
(comments on this post have been disabled)
yn_ln just posted
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liked by landonorris, kellypiquet and others
yn_ln in honour of my tour starting, please enjoy my new single taste! 💋
14,033 comments
user1 omg a new album, a new tour and an additional song?
alexandrasaintmleux got this on repeat 
→ charles_leclerc this is true. it’s all we’ve had in the car
→ alexandrasaintmleux don’t act like you don’t know all the words 
user2 this was 100% written because of the max situation
jennaortega but how hot do we look 
user3 not kelly liking this! 
→ user4 i like to think the middle picture is aimed at her for stealing yn’s man
redbullracing blue is definitely your colour
→ mclaren she looks better in orange 
→ scuderiaferrari we think she should try red next 
→ yn_ln i’ll wear whatever colour invites me to watch rich men drive around in circles next
→ alpinef1team pink it is! 
landonorris i liked the parts where you died
oscarpiastri oh so you’re allowed to make height comments but i wasn’t?
→ yn_ln please refer to the end picture
user5 chat, i can’t stop thinking about “he pins you down on the carpet, makes paintings with his tongue” 
→ user6 max verstappen, i was not familiar 
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yn_ln just posted
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liked by redbullracing, oscarpiastri and others
yn_ln i heard there’s some sort of race on so i thought i would show some support. let’s play spot the team
10,001 comments 
user7 omg did you see that charles and alex were there! 
→ user8 and pierre and kika
→ user9 well, we know who got charles in the divorce 
user10 we all know who red bull wants in max’s garage 👀
→ user11 the fact that they liked a gossip post of him dumping kelly and are now all over yn’s insta 
user12 okay but the placement of the bulls has me weak in the knees
user13 who’s your favourite driver? 
→ yn_ln daniel ricciardo
→ danielricciardo showing this to everyone i know
→ user14 does that include max? liked by danielricciardo 
user15 we love a petty queen because you can’t tell me the writing isn’t aimed at kelly and max 
→ user16 and the bull instead of the kiss
mclaren we’re hurt. truly hurt that you didn’t post a pic with our logo 
→ yn_ln you have a whole insta post dedicated to you! 
alexandrasaintmleux the hottest concert i’ve ever been to
→ charles_leclerc still can’t believe she arrested you when i was right there
landonorris does this mean you can come to the race? like you’re practically already there??
→ oscarpiastri i second this
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requests open. i'm just slow haha
coming soon; lewis hamilton baby angst
this wasn’t due out until next week but MAX WON!!! And so I’m posting this in honour of that. I’m just sorry this was planned as angst 😬😂
tag list
@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25
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barnacles34 · 8 days ago
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Professional Hazard (And Blue Tongues)
Karina x Male Reader
9k words
18+ smut
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'I expected you to have...'
'Grey hair? Glasses thick as tank armor?' You lean back. 'Let me guess—ancient and decrepit?'
'Something like that.' She toys with her iced americano, ice cubes clinking.
'Get that more than you'd think.'
'Can't imagine why.'
'Sure you can't.'
She straightens in her chair. 'Well? Are you going to ask your questions or what?'
'Did you have something specific in mind?'
'I thought you'd at least come prepared.' The sharp edge in her voice softens, adapting. 'After that email you sent.'
'I am prepared.'
'Do you know who I am?'
'I know you're Karina. I know you agreed to fund my little Italian vacation.' You keep your voice flat, unimpressed.
She laughs, short and sharp. 'They really sent someone who knows nothing.'
'Biographers aren't exactly growing on trees these days. Most of them are busy dying off.' [1]
'That's comforting.'
'About as comforting as your enthusiastic response to my email.'
'Ah.' She smirks. 'My monument to hubris?'
'Your words, not mine.'
'Christ, you're not exactly sunshine and roses, are you?'
'If only you knew.'
'Oh, I think I do.' She leans forward. 'People like me—we're your bread and butter. Desperate enough to take the abuse just to get that book written.'
'Quick study.'
'Experience, darling.' She draws out the last word like stretched taffy.
'If immortality's what you're after, we're off to a rocky start.'
'Not even grateful for the Italian holiday?'
You meet her eyes. 'Bribery's nothing new. Don't expect it to polish your image.'
'Tough nut to crack, aren't you?'
'I have what I need.'
'Meaning?'
'Let me put this delicately: my last subject bought me a year at New York's finest.' [2]
'Fantastic.' She rattles her ice cubes harder.
'You know what I think?' She sets down her drink with deliberate care.
'Enlighten me.'
'I think you enjoy this. The whole "unimpressed biographer" act.'
You pull out your notebook, unhurried. 'That'd make a great chapter one. "Local girl psychoanalyzes writer, lives to regret it."'
'There it is again.' Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. 'Tell me, do your subjects usually last long enough for chapter two?'
'The interesting ones do.'
'And the boring ones?'
You flip open to a blank page. 'They get a lovely rejection letter.'
'Which I didn't.'
'Yet.'
She leans back, studying you. The late afternoon sun catches the edge of her glass, throwing prismatic shapes across the table. 'You really don't care that I could walk away right now.'
'The door's right there.' You click your pen. 'But we both know you won't.'
'Because?'
'Because you didn't spend three months negotiating with my publisher just to storm off over hurt feelings.'
'Maybe I just like wasting time.'
'Maybe.' You meet her gaze. 'But people who like wasting time don't usually have a dozen designer brand sponsorships.'
Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or respect. 'So you did do your homework.'
'I always do.' You position your pen over the blank page. 'Now, shall we begin with the real questions?'
'Shoot.' She shifts in her chair, the late afternoon sun warming the cafe corner we've claimed.
'Tell me about your sister.'
Her eyebrows lift slightly. 'Not starting with the obvious questions?'
'Would you prefer those?'
'No.' She smiles, genuine this time. 'She's a nurse. Like our mom.'
'Close?'
'Very. She's the only person who still calls me Jimin.' She stirs her americano. 'Probably the only person who can get away with it, too.'
'Why's that?'
'Because she knew me when I was just the quiet kid who'd rather read in corners than talk to anyone. Before all of...' She waves her hand vaguely. 'This.'
'Still prefer corners?'
'Sometimes.' She considers the question. 'There's this tiny bookstore in Seongnam. When I go home, I still visit. They have this perfect spot by the window.'
'What do you read?'
'Whatever catches my eye. Last week it was about sharks.'
You raise an eyebrow. 'Sharks?'
'Don't look so surprised.' She laughs. 'They're fascinating. Everyone thinks they know them, but they don't, not really.'
'Speaking from experience?'
She takes a long sip of her drink instead of answering.
'You don't have to do that, you know.' You set your pen down.
'Do what?'
'Deflect. Turn everything into a metaphor.'
She meets your eyes for a long moment. 'Force of habit.'
'Bad one.'
'Says the person who's been matching my deflections word for word.' A half-smile plays at her lips. 'We're quite the pair, aren't we?'
'Difference is, I'm paid to be difficult.'
'And I was raised to be.' The words slip out before she can catch them. Her fingers tighten around her glass.
You wait.
'You're good at this,' she says quietly.
'At what?'
'Making silence comfortable.' She looks out the window. 'Most people try to fill it.'
'Most people aren't trying to understand.'
She turns back to you, something shifting in her expression. 'Is that what you're trying to do? Understand?'
'Would that be so terrible?'
'No,' she says.
'Progress.' You pick up your pen again. 'Though I've just realized something deeply troubling.'
'What's that?'
'Your americano's been empty for ten minutes, and you're still pretending to drink it.'
She glances at her glass, caught. 'Method acting.'
'Ah yes, the classic "I'm too invested in this conversation to pause for a refill" performance.' You wave to catch the barista's eye. 'Oscar-worthy.'
'Says the person who hasn't touched their...' She leans forward to peek at your cup. 'What even is that?'
'Green tea.'
'Pretentious.'
'Says the person who ordered an iced americano in winter.'
'It's barely spring.'
'Case in point.'
The barista arrives with fresh drinks. Karina raises an eyebrow at your cup. 'Still green tea?'
'I'm consistent.'
'Boring.'
'Strategic.' You take a deliberate sip. 'Can't blame caffeine jitters for whatever honesty slips out.'
'Sneaky.'
'Professional.'
'Same thing.' She stirs her new drink, ice cubes clinking. 'So what's next in your strategic interrogation?'
'Thought we agreed to drop the deflection thing.'
'Old habits. Ten seconds at a time.'
'That's oddly specific.'
'It's how I learned to swim.' At your questioning look, she continues, 'Ten seconds of courage. Then you can panic all you want.'
'Does that work?'
'Got me here, didn't it?' She gestures between you two. 'Letting a stranger with a notebook and suspiciously consistent beverage choices pick apart my life.'
'You could always run.'
'To where? Croatia?' She laughs at your surprised expression. 'What? I have dreams.'
'Of Croatia specifically?'
'Of anywhere that doesn't know my name.'
'That's rather poetic for someone who just called me pretentious.'
'I contain multitudes.' She mock-bows in her seat.
'Walt Whitman now?'
'See? You're not the only one who can be insufferably well-read.'
You make a show of writing something down. 
You flip to a fresh page. 'Tell me about Croatia.'
'Nothing to tell. Just a place.'
'There are plenty of places that don't know your name. Why that one?'
She traces the rim of her glass again, a habit you've started to recognize as her thinking gesture. 'Have you ever seen those old coastal towns? The ones with narrow streets and buildings that look like they're having conversations with each other?'
'Been to a few.'
'I want to get lost in one.' She looks up. 'Properly lost. No GPS, no itinerary. Just... walking until my feet decide to stop.'
'Most people want to be found.'
'Most people haven't spent years being findable.' The sharpness in her voice surprises both of you. She softens it with a smile. 'Sorry. That sounded more dramatic than intended.'
'Don't apologize. It's the first time you've stopped performing since we sat down.'
'I haven't been—' She stops. Laughs. 'Okay. Point taken.'
'Progress. Again.'
'You're keeping score?'
'Always.' You tap your notebook. 'It's kind of the whole point.'
'And how am I doing?'
'In being honest or deflecting?'
'Both.'
'You're averaging about fifty-fifty.'
'Generous scoring.'
'Strategic encouragement.'
'You're good at that.' She stretches slightly. 'Making people think they're in control of the conversation.'
'Are you not?'
'Please. We both know you've been steering this ship since you sat down.' She pauses. 'Though I will say, you're the first interviewer who hasn't asked about my routine yet.'
'Your routine?'
'You know. "What time do you wake up? What's your skincare regimen? How many hours do you practice?" That whole song and dance.'
'Would you like me to ask?'
'God no.' She grins. 'But I'm curious why you haven't.'
'Because routines are what people do. I'm more interested in who they are.'
'And who am I?'
'Still figuring that out. But I know you crack your knuckles when you're nervous.'
She stops mid-crack, caught. 'Observant.'
'Professional hazard.' You lean forward. 'Tell me something real. Not about routines or schedules or practices.'
'Like what?'
'Like what you think about at three AM when you can't sleep.'
She's quiet for a long moment. 'Sometimes I forget what my natural speaking voice sounds like.'
'What do you mean?'
'You spend so many years modulating everything—your voice, your laugh, your reactions—until one day...' She shrugs. 'One day you catch yourself using your "public" voice to order coffee at 3 AM in an empty convenience store, and you realize you can't remember what you used to sound like.'
'And that bothers you.'
'Wouldn't it bother you? Losing something that fundamental without even noticing it was gone?'
'Is that why we're here? Trying to find it again?'
'Maybe.' She smiles, but it's different now. Unpolished. 'Or maybe I'm just tired of having "public" and "private" versions of everything.'
'Including your voice.'
'Including my entire existence.'
'Right.' You snap your notebook shut. 'We're getting gelato.'
[1] The suspicious rate at which biographers are "dying off" has become something of an industry joke. Three prominent biographers mysteriously retired after attempting to write about a certain K-pop company's CEO. Totally not suspicious.
[2] The Plaza Hotel, to be specific. Said subject was a tech billionaire whose autobiography mysteriously never made it to print. The hotel suite, however, maintains legendary status among New York's housekeeping staff for its impressive collection of empty green tea bottles and rejection letters.
She blinks. 'What?'
'We're walking.' You stand, gathering your things. 'Unless you have somewhere to be?'
'Are you actually asking, or is this another strategic move?'
'Both. Neither. Whatever. Does it matter if there's gelato involved?'
A genuine laugh escapes her. 'Fair point.'
The early evening air hits your faces as you step outside. She pulls on a cap—more habit than disguise.
'Left or right?' you ask.
'You're the one who lives here.'
'Technically, I've been here three days.'
'And you already know where to get gelato?'
'First thing I do in any city. Professional secret.'
'Ah yes, the biographer's handbook. Chapter One: locate ice cream immediately.'
'Chapter Two: never reveal your sources.' You turn left. 'Unless they're wearing a questionably large cap and hiding from their own voice.'
'Low blow.' But she's grinning. 'Also, my cap is perfectly sized.'
'For what? Smuggling library books?'
'That's... oddly specific.'
'Says the person who just quoted Walt Whitman in a cafe.'
You find the gelato place tucked between a bookstore and a vintage shop. The owner, an elderly Italian woman, lights up at your approach.
'Due?' she asks.
'Sì,' you reply, then turn to Karina. 'What's your poison?'
She studies the flavors intently. 'What's the most unusual one?'
'Professional or personal answer?'
'There's a difference?'
'Professional would be something elegant. Personal...' You point to a vivid blue flavor. 'That one tastes like your childhood imaginary friend made a pact with a Smurf.'
She doesn't hesitate. 'Two scoops of that, please.'
'Really?'
'What?' She raises an eyebrow. 'Scared of a little blue tongue?'
'More scared of what my editor will say when the interview notes are stained cerulean.'
Ten minutes later, you're both leaning against a stone wall, gelato dripping in the warm evening air. Her tongue is, indeed, impressively blue.
'Yah! Why are you taking a picture?”
'Your tongue. I need photographic evidence for my editor.'
She complains, ‘self-respecting people would’ve walked a long time ago.’
‘And let me guess-’
‘Correct. Take a picture if you want.’
'Pulitzer worthy.' You take another bite of your considerably more dignified pistachio. 'So tell me about the sharks.'
'You're still on that?'
'You brought up marine biology in a cafe and then mysteriously changed the subject. I'm invested now.'
'There's nothing mysterious about it.' She licks a drop of blue from her knuckle. 'I just think they're neat.'
'That's the worst deflection yet.'
'Fine.' She pushes off the wall, starting to walk. 'When I was younger, I used to think they were lonely.'
You fall into step beside her. 'Sharks?'
'Mm. Always swimming, never stopping. Everyone afraid of them.' She shrugs. 'Stupid kid logic.'
'And now?'
'Now I think they're just... misunderstood.' She grins. 'That was terrible, wasn't it? Like a bad movie line.'
'Terrible. But honest.'
'You and your honesty fetish.'
'Says the person who just admitted to emotionally relating to sharks.'
She snorts, nearly dropping her cone. 'When you put it that way—'
'Oh, I'm definitely putting it that way. It's going in the book.'
'Absolutely not.'
'Chapter title: "The Shark Whisperer”. I can see it already'
She tries to hip-check you, but you dodge, protecting your gelato. 'I'm revoking your creative license.'
'Too late. The mental image of baby Jimin crying over shark documentaries is seared into my brain.'
'I did not cry over—' She stops. 'Okay, maybe once. But it was a very sad documentary.' [1]
The sun is setting now, painting the cobblestones gold. You pass a street musician playing something soft and acoustic.
'Your sister know about the sharks?'
'Of course. She bought me the books.' Her smile turns fond. 'Still does, actually. Sends them to me randomly.'
'Recent ones?'
'Last week.' She finishes her cone. 'She has... interesting timing.'
'Interesting timing?'
'Mm.' She wipes her hands on a napkin. 'Right after I told her about the interview. She sent me one about great whites. Said something about facing fears.'
'Subtle.'
'About as subtle as your interview techniques.' She eyes your notebook, still tucked away. 'Not writing anymore?'
'Memory's better when I'm walking.' You tap your temple. 'Also, harder to write about blue tongues while walking.'
'Still blue?'
'Devastatingly so.'
She sticks her tongue out at a passing window, checking her reflection. 'Oh god, it's worse than I thought.'
'Crisis?'
'Please. I once had to perform with my hair half-green because of a dye mishap. This?' She gestures to her mouth. 'This is nothing.'
'Half-green?'
'Not going in the book.'
'Already mentally drafting the chapter.'
She groans. 'I'm starting to regret this whole walking thing.'
'Because of the blackmail material or the exercise?'
'Both. Neither.' She pauses by a small fountain. 'It's just... nice.'
'Nice?'
'Yeah.' She sits on the fountain's edge. 'No schedule. No plan. Just... walking and talking and eating questionably colored gelato with a stranger who probably thinks I'm having a quarter-life crisis.'
'Are you?'
'Having a crisis or eating gelato?'
'Now who's deflecting?' 
And she pauses again, caught.
She dips her fingers in the fountain water, watching the ripples. 'Maybe I just wanted one normal evening. One conversation that wasn't prepackaged and pre-approved.'
'Mission accomplished, I'd say. Your tongue is literally blue.'
That startles a laugh out of her. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'
'It's going to be a running metaphor throughout the book. Deep, meaningful parallels between blue gelato and the human condition.'
'You're terrible at your job.'
'I'm excellent at my job. I got you to walk around Rome with blue teeth.'
'Is that the measure of success?'
'For this chapter? Absolutely.'
The street lamps are starting to flicker on, and the air has that peculiar Roman evening warmth that begs for a drink.
'Know any good bars?' she asks, as if reading your mind.
'Thought you'd never ask[2]. Fair warning though—my Italian's terrible.'
'Better or worse than your interview skills?'
'Much worse. But I can order Aperol Spritz in seventeen different ways.'
'Useful life skill.'
'More useful than relating to sharks.'
She shoves your shoulder lightly. 'One more shark joke and I'm leaving.'
'No, you're not.'
'No, I'm not.' She grins. 'Lead the way, worst Italian speaker.'
You find a tiny place tucked away from the main streets. The kind tourists don't know about, with mismatched chairs and a bartender who looks old enough to have served Caesar himself.
'Due aperol spritz, per favore.' You ask.
The bartender raises an eyebrow. 'Americano? Il tuo italiano è buono!' (your Italian was… apparently… good.)
'Peggio,' you say. 'Giornalista' 
(‘Worse. Journalist.’)
He laughs, already reaching for glasses. Karina slides onto a barstool, looking around with genuine curiosity.
‘He seems pretty impressed by your Italian.’
‘Oh trust me—he wasn’t. He just wanted to be nice. That’s all. The inflections are quite easy to catch.’
‘Alright, whatever you say. Giornalista—.'
You grin at her cute prod.
'How'd you find this place?' She asks; needless to say, she likes it here.
'Got lost my first night here––five years ago. It was either come in or keep pretending I knew where my hotel was.'
'And?'
'Woke up knowing exactly where my hotel was. And how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian.'
She laughs. 'That bad?'
'Let's just say there's a reason I stick to green tea now.'
The drinks arrive, vivid orange against the dark wood of the bar.
'To blue tongues,' you raise your glass.
'And bad Italian,' she clinks hers against it.
[1] The documentary in question was "Blue Planet II." Her sister still has the receipt for three boxes of tissues and a plush shark from the aquarium gift shop. The plush shark now sits in her studio, wearing a tiny version of her debut outfit. Her company has tried to mass-produce it twice. She's vetoed it both times.
[2] You were never this humble about your Italian until you talked to an Italian nonna. "Qui giace la dignità di un giornalista" (Here lies a journalist's dignity).
'Speaking of bad decisions—'
'We weren't.'
'We are now. Tell me about the green hair incident.'
'Absolutely not.' She takes another sip of her spritz. 'Some secrets I'm taking to my grave.'
'Come on. Half-green hair? There's got to be a story there.'
'There is. A great one. You're still not hearing it.'
'I'll trade you.'
'Oh?' She turns on her stool to face you fully. 'What could you possibly have that's worth my green hair story?'
'Remember when I said I learned to say sorry in Italian?'
'The plot thickens.'
'Let's just say it involved a fountain, three angry nuns, and a very patient carabinieri.'
She nearly chokes on her drink. 'You're making that up.'
'Want to bet your green hair story on it?'
'You know what?' She signals the bartender for another round. 'Fine. But if you're lying, you're buying drinks for the rest of the night.'
'Deal.'
'And no taking notes.'
'Now that's just cruel.'
'Professional hazard,' she mimics your earlier tone, then grins. 'Okay, storyteller. Dazzle me.'
The bartender sets down fresh drinks, and you lean in conspiratorially. 'So picture this: my first night in Rome, about five years ago...'
'Wait.' She holds up a hand. 'We need to establish stakes. If this story doesn't involve all three elements—fountain, nuns, and police—you're not only buying drinks, you're telling me where you actually learned to say sorry in Italian.'
'Counter-offer. If my story checks out, I get the green hair story plus whatever happened at that music show in Busan.'
Her eyes narrow. 'What music show in Busan?'
'The one you just reacted to.'
'That's... that's actually impressive.'
'Five years of professional nosiness at work. Deal?'
She clinks her glass against yours. 'Deal. Now stop stalling.'
'Right. So. Five years ago. I'd just finished an interview with this ancient countess at the bar. I mean, it’s the bar. Who else gets to interview a countess at a bar? That’s like crazy Bourdain-level shit right there.’
She nods along. 'Of course you did.'
'Anyway, she invited me to this wine cellar...'
'Oh no.'
'Oh yes. And mind you, I was already quite drunk. And she was very, very insistent about hospitality...'
Twenty minutes and much laughter later, you finish: '...and that's why you should never trust Google Translate to help you apologize to Italian law enforcement.'
She's wiping tears from her eyes. 'The part with the cat—'
'Hand to god. Still have the scars.'
'Okay.' She catches her breath. 'Okay, you win. That was worth it.'
'Time to pay up. Green hair. Spill.'
'Can I have one more drink first?'
'For courage?'
'So I can blame it on the drink.' She waves at the bartender. 'I still can't believe you showed those nuns your interview notes to prove you weren't a street performer.'
'Desperate times.'
'Speaking of desperate...' She takes a fortifying sip of her fresh spritz. 'Ever tried to fix green hair with grape juice?'
'No.'
'Don't.'
'There has to be more to this story than grape juice.'
'Oh, there's so much more.' She settles into her seat. 'Picture this: it's two hours before a live broadcast. I'm sitting in the makeup chair, feeling pretty good about life. You know, like that particular moment where your face just… shines. Then my stylist walks in, takes one look at my hair, and just... screams.'
'Screams?'
'Full horror movie scream. Turns out the hair dye we used was... let's say "not exactly approved by management."'
'Let me guess. DIY job?'
'Worse. My sister's friend's cousin who "totally went to beauty school."'
'Oh no.' You snort, taking a hefty drink of the remaining spritz.
'Oh yes. So there I am, one side of my head this bizarre shade of swamp-thing green, and everyone's running around like it's the end of the world.'
'Which is when someone suggested grape juice?'
'Actually, that was my idea.' She grimaces. 'I'd read somewhere that grape juice could neutralize green tones. What they failed to mention was that this works for swimming pools, not hair.' [1]
'So what happened?'
'Picture a very expensive wig, three cans of dry shampoo, and me trying to explain to the camera director why I couldn't turn my head to the left.'
'Did it work?'
'Define "work."' She takes another sip. 'If by "work" you mean "did I make it through the broadcast without anyone seeing the grape-juice-tinged disaster," then yes. If by "work" you mean "did I maintain any dignity," then absolutely not.'
'The fans never found out?'
'Oh, they did. Someone leaked a backstage photo three months later.' She grins. 'By then I'd managed to fix it. Mostly.'
'Mostly?'
'My sister still has a strand of green hair she saved. Threatens to post it whenever I don't answer her calls.'
'Effective.'
'Terrifying.' She raises her glass. 'Your turn again. What's the worst interview you've ever done?'
'Besides this one?'
She kicks your chair. 'I'm delightful and you know it.'
'You're something, all right.'
Three drinks in, and the bar's emptied enough that her laugh echoes a little too loudly. She covers her mouth, but it's too late – the old bartender shoots them an amused look.
'Sorry,' she stage-whispers.
'For what? The laugh or the fact that it just shattered three ancient Roman wine glasses?'
'Shut up.' She kicks your chair again. 'I don't always laugh like that.'
'Let me guess – there's a public laugh and a private laugh?'
'There's a whole taxonomy.' She sits up straighter, counting on her fingers. 'Interview laugh, variety show laugh, fan meeting laugh, oh-that's-not-actually-funny-but-you're-my-sunbae laugh—'
'Please tell me you're joking.'
'I wish.' She slumps forward, head on her arms. 'I once had to attend a laughing seminar.'
'A what now?'
'A laughing seminar. Professional instruction on the art of the public giggle.' Her voice is muffled against her sleeve. 'There was a PowerPoint and everything.'
'You're making this up.'
She lifts her head. 'I spent three hours learning about laugh-adjacent breathing techniques while a woman named Mrs. Kim hit a triangle every time someone laughed "inappropriately."'
You stare at her. She stares back.
'That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard,' you say finally.
'I know.' She dissolves into another too-loud laugh, this one definitely not seminar-approved. 'God, I can still hear that triangle.'
'Is that why you're here?'
'Getting drunk with a biographer in Rome? No, that's just poor life choices.'
'Speaking honest truths to a stranger?'
'Oh.' She straightens up, but there's still something loose in her smile. 'Maybe. Or maybe I just really needed to tell someone about Mrs. Kim and her triangle of terror.'
'Triangle of terror.' You shake your head. 'That's going in the book.'
'Along with the blue tongue and green hair? You're really painting a picture here.'
'It's called character development.'
'It's called character assassination.' She signals for water. 'What else are you putting in there?'
'Wouldn't you like to know.'
'Actually, yes. That's literally why I'm asking.'
'Fine.' You pretend to flip through your mental notes. 'Chapter One: Sharks and Empathy—'
'Oh my god.'
'Chapter Two: The Grape Juice Incident—'
'I'm starting to regret everything.'
'Chapter Three: Laugh Taxonomies by Aespa’s Karina—'
'I hate you.'
'Chapter Four: Why Romans Don't Trust Her With Fountains Anymore—'
'That was you! That was literally your story!'
'Was it? Everything's getting a bit fuzzy.' You tap your temple. 'Must be all that professional memory I was bragging about earlier.'
She throws an olive at you. The bartender clears his throat.
'Sorry,' you both say in unison, then look at each other and start laughing again.
'You know what's really funny?' she says, once you've both contained yourselves.
'Mrs. Kim's triangle?'
'Besides that.' She accepts the water from the bartender. 'This is probably the worst interview you've ever done.'
'Oh, definitely.'
'And yet...'
'And yet?'
'It's the most honest one I've given.' She pauses. 'God, that sounded way less cheesy in my head. Must be the spritz talking.'
'Blame it on the altitude.'
'We're at sea level.'
'Blame it on the sea level.'
'You're ridiculous.' She's grinning though. 'Is this how all your interviews go?'
'Usually there's less gelato. More gravitas.'
'Gravitas is overrated.'
'Says the woman who attended a laughing seminar.'
'Hey, I'll have you know my triangle-approved giggle is very dignified.'
'Prove it.'
She sits up straighter, arranges her features into something serene, and lets out the most artificial laugh you've ever heard. It's so pristine it's almost disturbing.
'That was horrifying.'
'That was three hours of professional training.'
'I'm concerned about your profession.'
'Join the club.' She relaxes back into her natural posture. 'We have meetings every Tuesday. Bring your own triangle.'
The bartender slides over the check with a knowing look. Last call came and went without either of you noticing.
'Well,' you say, reaching for your wallet. 'I suppose this is—'
'Wait.' She puts her hand on your arm. 'I have a confession.'
'Another one? The green hair wasn't enough?'
'I read your book.'
'Which one?'
'The one about the ballet dancer who quit to become a motorcycle mechanic.'
'Ah.' You sit back. 'And?'
'And I maybe, possibly, completely changed my mind about this whole interview when I read it.'
'Because?'
'Because...' She fidgets with her empty glass. 'You made her sound so... human.'
'As opposed to?'
'A story. A headline.' She traces a pattern on the bar top. 'Most people would've written about the scandal, the career she "threw away." But you wrote about how she names each motorcycle she fixes. How she still dances in her garage at midnight.'
'Ah. That.'
'That.' She looks up. 'Is that why you haven't asked me about any of it?'
'Any of what?'
'Don't play dumb. The headlines. The speculation. The—'
'The triangle-approved responses you've probably rehearsed?'
She laughs, caught. 'Something like that.'
'Here's the thing about headlines.' You start gathering your things. 'They're usually more interesting than the truth.'
'And what's the truth?'
'That sometimes people just want to eat blue gelato and tell embarrassing stories in a bar and talk a biographer’s ears off.'
She kicks your chair again, barely noticeable. 'Even if those stories end up in a book?'
'Especially then.' You stand, offering her jacket. 'Though I might need you to sign a waiver about the grape juice incident.'
'I knew it! You are using it!'
'Chapter title: "The Perils of Amateur Chemistry: A Cautionary Tale."'
She shrugs on her jacket, shaking her head. 'You're impossible. That AI flair was so intentional'
'Says the woman who legitimately attended a laughing seminar.'
'I'm never living that down, am I?'
'Not as long as I have a functioning memory and a publishing contract.'
The Roman night is warm as you both step out of the bar. She stumbles slightly on the cobblestones.
You offer a hand which she quickly grabs.
'Don't you dare put that in the book,' she warns.
'Put what? The graceful interpretation of contemporary dance you just performed?'
'These streets are rigged.' She steadies herself. 'Also, your hotel's this way.'
'How do you know where my hotel is?' You’re not exactly one to remember locations, probably the reason you were able to gain such a repository of ridiculous stories.
'Because it's my hotel.' She grins at your expression. 'What? You think you're the only one who does research?'
'I'm concerned about your stalking tendencies.'
'Says the person who somehow knew about the Busan incident.'
'Professional hazard.'
'You really need new catchphrases.'
The walk is quiet, comfortable. Rome at night feels like a different city—all golden lights and shadow play. A cat watches you pass from its perch on a window sill.
'Don't even think about it,' she says.
'About what?'
'Making some poetic comparison between me and that cat.'
'Please. I'm a much better writer than that.'
'Sure you are, shark whisperer.'
You reach the hotel entrance. She pauses.
'Well,' she says. 'This has been...'
'Professionally catastrophic?'
'I was going to say enlightening.'
'That too.'
The hotel lobby is all marble and soft lighting. Your footsteps echo slightly.
'I have a balcony,' she says suddenly. 'And a really pretentious coffee machine I can't figure out.'
'Is this a cry for help with appliances?' 
'This is...' She fidgets with her room key. 'This is me not wanting the interview to end yet.'
'The interview ended somewhere between blue gelato and the triangle story.'
'Then what's this?'
‘Believe or not, some people just like having fun on their Italian vacation.’
‘Haha. Very funny.’
'This is...' You pretend to consider. 'Two people who might be friends if one of them wasn't writing a book about the other.'
'Complicated.'
'Professional hazard.'
'There's that phrase again.' She presses the elevator button. 'Come on. I'll teach you how to laugh properly.'
'With or without the triangle?'
She steps into the elevator. 'Depends on how good you are at making coffee.'
'Now who's the impossible one?'
The doors start to close. She holds them.
'Coming?'
You join her in the elevator. 'For the record, I'm excellent at coffee.'
'For the record,' she mimics your tone, 'that's going in the book.'
Her room is on the top floor, with a view that makes you understand why people write poetry about Rome.
'So,' she says, fighting with the coffee machine. 'This button makes it angry, and this one makes it hiss.'
'Move over, amateur.' You reach around her to press a combination of buttons. The machine purrs to life.
'Show off.' But she's smiling as she heads for the balcony. 'Bring your coffee wizardry out here when it's ready.'
The balcony is small, just enough room for two chairs and all of Rome spread out below. She's curled up in one chair, shoes off, looking more real than she has all day.
'Your professional opinion,' she says as you hand her a cup. 'Is this going to be a good book?'
'Depends.'
'On?'
'On whether you let me keep the shark metaphors.'
She laughs into her coffee. 'You're never letting that go.'
'Never.' You take the other chair. 'Though I might be willing to negotiate.'
'Terms?'
'Tell me something nobody knows. Something that won't make the book.'
She's quiet for a moment, looking out at the city lights. 'I sing in the shower.'
'Everybody knows that.'
'No, I mean...' She turns to face you. 'I sing the old songs. The ones I used to practice when I was just some kid in Bundang with a dream too big for my voice.'
'And?'
'And sometimes I still feel like her. That kid. Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'
'Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'
'Wow.' You let out a low whistle. 'That was incredibly profound.'
She groans, covering her face. 'I know. I'm sorry. That was straight out of a drama script.'
'I was thinking more indie movie. You know, the kind where people have deep conversations on balconies in Rome at—' you check your watch, '—one in the morning.'
'Oh god, we're living a cliché.'
'Complete with coffee and two chairs overlooking Rome.'
'Quick,' she straightens up, 'say something unprofound. Save us from ourselves.'
'My tongue is still kind of blue.'
She peeks at you over her coffee cup. 'Mine too.'
'Better?'
'Much better.' She slouches back in her chair. 'Though now I'm thinking about how this would look in your book. "Two idiots with blue tongues have existential crisis on expensive balcony."'
'Don't forget the part where one of them somehow charmed a coffee machine.'
'And the other one used to sing in her shower.'
'Still,' you correct. 'Present tense.'
'Still,' she admits. 'But if you put that in your book, I'll have to tell everyone about your fountain incident.'
'Mutually assured destruction. I like it.'
She yawns, then looks embarrassed. 'Sorry. It's not the company, it's—'
'The five Aperol Spritzes?'
'That. And the emotional toll of remembering Mrs. Kim's triangle.'
'Tragic backstory,' you nod solemnly. 'Very character-building.'
'Speaking of character-building...' She sets down her empty cup, turns to face you fully. 'This is usually the part in your books where something significant happens.'
'Is it?'
'Mm. Chapter twelve. Always a turning point.'
'You really did read my books.'
'I told you that already.' She's closer now, somehow. 'What I didn't mention was that I figured out your pattern.'
'My pattern?'
'The way you write moments like this.' Her voice is soft. 'When everything gets quiet, and the city's just background noise, and someone's about to do something...'
'Inadvisable?'
'I was going to say brave.'
'Brave is just inadvisable with better PR.'
She laughs, barely a whisper. 'You're deflecting again.'
'Professional—'
'If you say "hazard" right now,' she cuts in, 'I'm going to throw you off this balcony.'
'That would be...'
'Inadvisable?'
'I was going to say "terrible for my book sales."'
She's definitely closer now. 'Your book sales are about to be the least of your problems.'
'Because you're going to kiss me or throw me off the balcony?'
'I haven't decided yet.'
'Well,' you murmur, 'for what it's worth, one of those options would make a much better chapter twelve.'
She closes the distance between you, smiling against your lips. 'Professional hazard.'
You and Karina shared an instant spark that neither of you had experienced. Ever. The moment that first tease left your mouth, it was over.
[1] The sentiment of grape juice being able to eliminate green tones turned out to be completely unfounded. Despite this, wine sommeliers around the world have complained about Koreans with their distinct accent asking about grape juice’s ability to change colors.
The kiss tastes like coffee and Aperol and something sweet—probably the remnants of that ridiculous blue gelato. It's soft and quiet and perfect, the kind of moment that would sound made up in a book.
She pulls back slightly. 'Your editor's going to hate this.'
'Definitely.' You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 'Completely unprofessional.'
'Thoroughly inadvisable.'
'Absolutely perfect for chapter twelve.'
She kisses you again, and Rome keeps existing below, indifferent to your small moment of magic. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimes twice.
'You know,' she whispers, 'this is usually where you'd write something profound about the city of love.'
'That's Paris.'
'Now who's deflecting?'
'Still you. But I'm starting not to mind.'
She laughs, soft and real—definitely not triangle-approved—and rests her forehead against yours, your breaths intermixing, plenty of intimate eye contact. 'Is this going in the book?'
'What do you think?'
'I think...' Her fingers find yours. 'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'
'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'
'Even after I charmed your coffee machine? That's cold.'
She makes a face. 'You're really bringing up coffee machine prowess right after—'
'Right after you thoroughly compromised my journalistic integrity? Yes.'
'Your journalistic integrity was compromised the moment you let me eat blue gelato.'
'My journalistic integrity was compromised the moment I saw you.' You run your thumb across her knuckles.
Her eye contact wavers and her voice falters, ‘Gosh, you’re such a player.’
‘Flirting has never come so easily before.’ You whisper against her mouth.
'Oh really?'
'Obviously.'
'Which was?'
'Stare at that blue tongue some more.’'
She shoves you lightly. 'You're terrible.'
'And yet.'
'And yet.' She settles on your lap, the forehead to forehead more natural now. 'So what happens now?'
'Well, traditionally, this is where I'd write something about dawn breaking over the eternal city—'
'Please don't.'
'—with golden light catching on ancient stones—'
'I'm begging you to stop.'
'—as two souls find each other under the Roman sky—'
She claps a hand over your mouth. 'I will literally pay you to not finish that sentence.'
You kiss her palm before she pulls it away. 'Isn't that technically bribery?'
'Add it to the list. Right after "compromised journalistic integrity" and "suspicious coffee machine expertise."'
'Speaking of compromising situations...' You glance at your watch. 'It's almost three AM.'
'Worried about your reputation?'
'Worried about your triangle-approved schedule.'
'Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.' She stands, stretching. 'Want to order terrible room service and you can tell me about all the other journalists you've scandalized?'
'That's a very short list. Very enticing regardless.’ 
'Good.' She holds out her hand.
The night air has turned cooler, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere below. Her fingers trace the collar of your shirt, hesitant but deliberate.
'What happened to room service?' you murmur.
'It can wait.' Her eyes meet yours, playful but wanting. 'I'm conducting my own interview first.'
This kiss is different from the first. Slower, more certain. The city hums below, a distant lullaby of late-night cars and echoing footsteps. When she sighs into the kiss, it's the softest sound you've ever heard. When she falters against your forceful touches, it’s the softest you’ve ever felt a woman.
She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against yours. Her heartbeat is quick under your palm.
'Better than chapter twelve?' she whispers.
You catch her lips again in answer, feeling her smile. The wind stirs her hair, sending strands brushing against your cheek. Everything smells like jasmine and coffee and her perfume—something subtle and expensive that you'll probably spend the rest of your life over-romanticizing.
Because that’s what Karina deserves.
Rome stretches out endless and ancient around you, but all you can focus on is how perfectly she fits against you, how real she feels away from cameras and crowds.
Your lips find hers in the dark, soft and certain now. Her fingers trail up your neck, threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There's an art to the way she kisses—deliberate yet desperate, like she's trying to memorize the moment. Your hands settle at her waist, and she makes a small sound that you know you'll remember forever.
Her lips part against yours, deepening the kiss until you're both breathless. The balcony railing presses into your back—when did that happen?—and her body is warm against yours, fitting perfectly in all the spaces between.
Her teeth graze your bottom lip, teasing. You respond by trailing kisses along her jaw, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. When you find that sensitive spot just below her ear, her sharp intake of breath makes you smile against her skin.
She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her lips are slightly swollen, her careful composure beautifully undone––hair spread everywhere, but just so that she looks ethereal rather than messy. You brush your thumb across her lower lip, and she catches it with her teeth, playful even now.
‘Still planning to put this in chapter twelve?’ she whispers, breathless.
Your answer gets lost somewhere between her lips and… her lips.
Her laugh vibrates against your lips when you finally break apart. ‘We should probably—’
‘Go inside?’ Your lips find the curve of her neck again.
‘I was going to say breathe.’ But her head tilts back, giving you better access. Her pulse flutters under your kiss like a trapped bird. ‘Though inside works too.’
You pull back just enough to look at her. Hair mussed, eyes bright, that perfect composure completely undone. She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the city lights catching in her eyes and her professional smile nowhere to be found.
‘What?’ she asks, suddenly self-conscious.
‘Just thinking.’
‘About?’
‘How this definitely isn't going in the book.’
Her smile turns mischievous. ‘No?’ Her fingers trace patterns on your chest. ‘Not even a little mention of how you completely forgot about journalistic integrity the moment I—’
‘Then chapter 12 would entirely consist of me betraying my profession in order to catch your lips with my teeth.’
‘Wow. You’re bad. Like, real bad.’
‘You have no idea.’
You cut her off with another kiss, swallowing her laugh. Her hands slide up your chest, around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. The world narrows to just this: her lips on yours, her body pressed against you, the soft sounds she makes when you run your fingers down her spine.
‘Inside,’ she murmurs against your mouth. ‘Before we really give Rome something to talk about.’
You let her lead you through the balcony doors, both of you stumbling slightly, unwilling to break contact. She tastes like promises now, like stories yet to be written. Her hands are everywhere—your hair, your chest, your face – like she's trying to read you by touch alone.
‘Wait,’ you manage, as her lips find that spot below your ear that makes thinking difficult. ‘What about—’
‘If you mention room service right now,’ she warns, ‘I'm going back to my original plan of throwing you off the balcony.’
‘I was going to say 'what about your triangle-approved image?'’
She pulls back, eyes dancing. ‘Oh, that?’ Her lips brush yours, teasing. ‘I think we thoroughly compromised that at the first meeting.’
"Professional hazard?"
"Shut up," she whispers, and kisses you again.
She sighs into your mouth, a soft, vulnerable sound that makes your heart stutter.
Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. You walk her backward until she's pressed against the wall, her body arching into yours.
You trail kisses down her neck, learning her— the spot beneath her jaw that makes her gasp, the curve where neck meets shoulder that makes her fingers tighten in your hair. Her pulse races under your lips, a rapid drumbeat that matches your own. When you find a particularly sensitive spot, her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound you've ever heard.
She tugs you back up to her mouth, kissing you like she's trying to tell you something words can't capture. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. One of her legs hooks around yours, pulling you even closer, and you groan into her mouth.
Her hands frame your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as she kisses you deeper, slower, like she's trying to memorize every second. You respond in kind, pouring everything you can't say into the kiss—how beautiful she is like this, how real, how perfectly she fits against you.
When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. You rest your forehead against hers, sharing the same air, neither of you willing to move away.
"Still thinking about the book?" she murmurs, voice husky.
You answer by catching her lower lip between your teeth, gentle but playful, and feel her smile against your mouth.
Her smile against your mouth turns into a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a no."
‘Take it as whatever you want.’ Your lips find her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. ‘I stopped thinking about the book long ago.’
She hums contentedly, her fingers tracing patterns on the nape of your neck. ‘Good.’ Her other hand is still tangled in your shirt, keeping you close. ‘Because I have a confession.’
‘Another one?’
Instead of answering, she kisses you again, slow and deep. Her tongue traces your lower lip, and you respond by pressing her further into the wall, swallowing the small sound she makes. One of her legs is still hooked around yours, and when she shifts slightly, the new angle makes you both gasp.
‘That wasn't a confession,’ you murmur against her lips.
‘No?’ Her teeth graze your earlobe. ‘I thought I was being pretty clear.’
Your hands slide to her waist, steadying her. She's intoxicating like this, all careful control abandoned, her public persona nowhere to be found.
‘Jimin,’ you breathe, and feel her shiver at the sound of her real name.
Her response is to pull you closer, kissing you like she's trying to say everything without words. Her lips are soft but certain against yours, and you lose yourself in the feeling—the warmth of her body, the subtle scent of her perfume.
The city continues its nighttime symphony outside, but in here, the only sound is your shared breathing and the soft, desperate noises she makes when you find that sensitive spot on her neck again.
She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. In the dim light, her gaze is soft, unguarded. Her thumb traces your lower lip.
‘What?’ you ask, voice rough.
‘I'm trying to decide something.’
"Whether to throw me off the balcony? Because I thought we moved past—"
She cuts you off with another kiss. Her hands cup your face, holding you there as she explores your mouth with a thoroughness that makes you dizzy. You respond by feeling her firm and perky ass.
‘No—,’ she moans when you break apart for air. ‘I'm trying to decide if this is real.’
Instead of answering, you trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. Her head falls back against the wall, giving you better access. When you reach her collarbone, she makes a sound that's half-sigh, half-moan.
‘Feels real enough,’ you murmur against her skin.
Her laugh is breathy, unsteady. ‘I meant—’ She gasps as you find a particularly sensitive spot. ‘I meant this. Us. This whole night.’
You lift your head to look at her. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her carefully styled hair a mess from your fingers. She's never looked more beautiful.
‘If you think I did all of this for the fun of it, you’re clearly missing something.’
‘A gear in the head?’
‘Definitely—’
‘Gosh, how do I allow this sort of petulance?’
‘Because it’s me.’
‘You’re a player.’
‘Only for you.’ You catch her lips, even more wanting—and she forfeits it all. 
You pick her up, mussing up her perfect outfit, mussing up her perfect lips. And you finally throw her against the bed.
‘You’re really roughing up Prada’s global ambassador.’
‘And ambassador to a dozen other brands worth billions—couldn’t care less.’’ 
She smirks, and her arms open, waiting, pliant, obedient.
You rip off your buttoned shirt, tear off your pants; now, there’s truly no way of going back.
‘Wow. That scar is a lot larger than I imagined.’ She’s referring back to the scar that you received during that drunk haze of a night.
‘It was dark. Might’ve even been a lion.’ 
‘Mm. Heroic. Come here.’
Now, who could ever resist that?
You rip off her clothes, each layer even more decadent than the other. And then, she was there. bra barely containing her breasts, and a layer of dampness along her sexy panties.
‘That was expensive, by the way.’
‘I’ve got a payment plan on course.’
‘Mm. Enlighten me.’
You pull her panties to the side.
She’s dripping wet, nectar spooling right on her pink core. A glorious sheen that makes you stare far longer than you should’ve. She’s red-faced at this point, and her forearms cover most of her sight, and yet, she doesn’t move, doesn’t retreat. 
The first lick you place, just a brush against her engorged clit, crumbles every self-regulated triangle-approved behavior she has. Two pants turn fifty, one lick crumbles everything. Her hips coax you in ways gymnasts can’t even replicate, and of course, you oblige.
Soft licks, teases around her outer lips, swollen from all the anticipation and arousal; tonguing at her inner lips, just at the crux of her clit, gets her screaming in ways her deep voice would never register; and above all, she’s orgasming, squirting, losing every pretense in favor of her built up lust. 
‘Oh~fuck—’
Her fingers find purchase in your hair, and she softly pulls you in—rides your face like it was all that she ever desired: her eternal wish.
‘Ohmygod! Imcumming!’ Her voice turns mousy, and her pupils go back in pure pleasure, coupled with hip movements thought impossible: this was the greatest pleasure of her life.
You grab her chin, squeeze softly, her cheeks molding to your grasp, and you press a soft kiss right on her kiss-bruised lips. You let her taste herself on your tongue.
‘Good. Right?’
And she nods. A complete personality switch from the playfulness she displayed earlier. Delicate.
Her hands land on your boxers as she melted into your kiss. Once you felt her palm your cock, you groaned right in her ear. She starts softly, stroking. But her strokes grow more all-encompassing as you press harder into the kiss.
‘Fuck. You’re so good for me.’
She mewls back, on the gradient slide of unadulterated pleasure.
Softly, you release your shaft from the boxer. And you press your cock right on her core. Feeling the wet heat, the sticky nectar that pooled to a mindbreaking degree. 
‘It goes without saying.’
‘That I’m head over heels for you?’
You grin, ‘Well, that too, but you’re hopeless.’
‘Maybe if we weren’t so compatible.’
You grab a breast, palming it, ‘Well that, that too, goes without saying.’
She smiles, so warmly, every trace of everything else melted off her face––the sort of smile you’d never forget, and the sort of smile you’d want to wake up to… forever.
Finally, you press into her, and her wet heat envelops you, enough to make you groan, enough to make her moan like there’s no greater pleasure––because really, there’s nothing else.
Her pussy clings onto you, a wet suction that is immeasurably soft and yet, a vacuum-seal-like tightness that gets you groaning after every thrust.
Her arms cling to you, and her eyebrows knit, her small face full of emotion—all of it processing how good you fuck her.
‘Oh god. Would it be bad that I want you to declare to the world that you own me?”
‘Chapter 12—’
She cuts you off, ‘Something along the lines of: “Chapter 12: Karina is my fuckslut”’ 
‘I don’t tolerate Karina disrespect.’ You say, truthfully.
‘Even if it’s by myself?’
‘Especially for that case, sweetheart.’
‘Oh… you’re too good.’
‘You’re blind.’
Most popular idol in the world, and… she’s hopelessly down bad for you.
‘If I’m blind. Then you don’t have eyes—complete darkness.’
‘We’re two of the same.’
‘I’m your biggest fan.’
‘We’re two of the same.’
‘I love you.’
‘You have a way with words, Karina.’ You reply, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, thrusting into her harder, sharing breaths.
‘You’ve inspired me.’
And you lock lips with her, the thrusts were becoming a blur, and her moans music to your ears—it was all just… heaven.
There was no technique. Nothing too purposeful. It was all just pure affection, pure love guiding all your actions. And the fact that she’s cumming again was no coincidence.
‘Oh. My. Fucking. God!’ Her head goes back deep into the pillow and you follow suit. Pressing soft kisses that covered every square centimeter of her beauty, kisses that made her giggle even in her most orgasmic moment of her life. 
‘If I knew anything that felt like this… I’d be doing it constantly.’
‘Well—’
‘That’s right,’ Karina gives a soft peck, ‘I have you now.’ 
You could feel her heartbeat, her skin precipitate, and her cunt pulse—it’s just heaven at this point. 
‘Are you trying to convince me to follow you?’
‘2 years, finest in New York.’
‘Deal. Though you overbid a little.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Means anything you want, dear.’
The soft slick of her cunt made it nearly frictionless, just pure pleasure for both parties. Her hips gave way every time, an identity of its own, retreating when you thrust too hard, giving in when softer.’
‘Is this like a sugar mommy situation?’
‘Two words I never expected you to say.’ You both share a laugh.
‘I mean that’s what it is right?’
‘A power imbalance? Please. I can get you to buy a New York penthouse for me at this point.’
‘Well. You’re right. But—’
You bring your cock to the hilt inside of her, whilst stealing her lips for a deep kiss. She moans and mewls and gasps—music to your ears. You change positions. You bring her legs to your shoulders, and you begin kissing along her ankle while thrusting inside of her.
This time, you can see the full view. How her breasts bounce against the thrusts, how her slick has completely covered your entire length at this point, and how beautifully her face is framed between it all. 
Her mouth’s agape, moaning, giggling intermittently with the jokes shared through eye contact. You bite softly at her ankle then down her legs, to her calves, then releasing her legs altogether to kiss her again.
She fits perfectly against you, small and delicate but the perfect puzzle piece under you. She’s absorbent, aware of your needs, placing soft kisses along the ridges of your eyebrows, rubbing away the day’s fatigue along your jaw and temple. 
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
‘I didn’t hear.’
You press against her, feeling her breasts spool against your chest, bring your thrust to the hilt, the wetness of her loins pressed against yours, all of them vividly apparent. ‘I love your beauty. I love your humor. I love how clever you are. I love how authentic you are. And I could continue on and on but I’m about to cum.’
Karina sniffled, ‘God, I was about to cry and then you say that.’ She softly smacks your shoulder, ‘just cum inside me and let’s cuddle.’
You oblige, the thrusts turn into a haze of pure pleasure, a desperate moment chasing the local maxima, and finally, you burst inside of her. Cum spooled, all inside her, and she moans so gracefully, staring at you with all the affection in the world.
‘We can worry about this tomorrow.’ She palmed your jaw.
‘Of course.’ You fall onto her, cuddling her.
Both of you are a mess, gross, bodily fluids spread everywhere, and yet, the both of you fell into a deep slumber.
A/N: I'd like to apologize for switching up styles so much (But if you enjoyed this dialogue-heavy work, then lmk!)
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aliyahwritings · 3 months ago
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THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (01)
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MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader
Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.
Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.
Word Count: 4.2k
Aliyah's Notes: this is my first series on here so go easy on me (#adele) pls + some things are not going to be obx canon ... at least some of yall are warned. anyw im so excited for this cause lord knows the amount of time ive wanted to make a fake dating fic!!!!!!! anyw i hope you all will enjoy this i had so much writing the first chapter
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The clatter of high heels against the marble floor echoed in perfect sync with the ticking of your watch. Every step was deliberate, poised—just like your life had to be. Perfection, it seemed, was not a choice but a requirement for survival.
You adjusted your sunglasses, your gaze skimming over the glamorous expanse of the fashion agency's lobby. People buzzed around you like bees in a hive, their worlds spinning, fueled by the weight of names, status, and flawless images. You smiled politely at the receptionist, offering a nod, though your mind was miles away.
To the outside world, your life was golden. The covers of magazines, the invitations to high-society events, the million-dollar deals with luxury brands—it was a fantasy that others could only dream of. It was your dream some time ago, too. 
But today, your reality felt like walking on the edge of a tightrope, the safety net fraying below you.
Your phone vibrated in your purse, interrupting your thoughts. You fished it out, your pulse quickening when you saw the text from your lawyer. Three words that sent a chill through your carefully constructed façade.
"We need to talk."
Your heart sank. The issue of your visa had been hanging over your head like a storm cloud for months now, growing darker by the day. You’d known this was coming, but knowing and confronting it were two different beasts.
Fame didn’t shield you from the cold bureaucracy of citizenship laws, and your time was running out. One misstep, one delay, and your golden empire could crumble. In a matter of months, you could be deported, left behind by the very country that had built you up.
With a deep breath, you silenced your phone and slid it back into your purse. This wasn’t something you could dwell on right now, not in public. Your expression remained serene, even though your mind was anything but. You had a shoot in an hour, a charity gala that evening, and at some point, you had to meet with the lawyer to discuss "options"—a word that had started to feel more like a trap than a solution.
As you exited the building, the cool breeze caught your hair, the city unfolding before you like a glittering stage. New York City. You looked out at the streets, the people, the life you fought so hard to build. The car pulled up to the curb, and you climbed inside. On your way to your lawyer.
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You stepped into the law office, the familiar scent of polished wood and stale coffee wrapping around you like a tight band.
"Ms. Y/L/N, good afternoon," Nicolas Ramirez, your lawyer, greeted you, standing behind his desk. His expression was composed, but you knew him well enough by now to spot the unease in his eyes.
"Hi," you softly smiled at him. Your heels clicked softly on the floor as you sat down, crossing your legs tightly, as if holding yourself together. "Let’s just get straight to it, okay? How bad is it?"
Nico sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Your visa expires in less than three months."
You felt your stomach twist, your worst fear inching closer to reality. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "And what about the appeals? The extensions?"
"We’ve exhausted every possible option—work visas, artist visas, even humanitarian grounds. Immigration laws are tightening, and without a permanent solution like citizenship or residency, you’ll be forced to leave the country."
"Leave?" Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the full weight of the nightmare you’d been living with. 
Leave? Go back there?
The country you had fought so hard to escape. The country where your childhood had been marked by suffocating poverty, where your parents had already planned your marriage before you even turned 15. Where your dreams had been a distant, impossible hope until that one person changed your life forever.
You felt your throat tighten. You couldn’t go back.
Nico’s gaze softened slightly, his voice gentle but firm. "I know what this means for you. I know how difficult—"
"You don’t know," you cut him off, your voice sharper than you intended. "You… You don’t know—I can’t go back there, Nico. I just… I can’t."
He nodded, giving you a moment of silence to compose yourself, but the pressure in your chest only grew. You took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic at bay.
"So what now?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady. "Is this it? Am I out of options?"
"Well… There’s one option we haven’t explored yet." his tone was cautious, like he knew what he was about to say would open a new can of worms.
You furrowed your brow. "What?"
"Marriage."
The word hung in the air, thick and heavy. You blinked, unable to comprehend at first. "Marriage?" you repeated, as if saying it aloud would make the absurdity of it clear.
"It’s one of the few legal paths left," he explained, leaning forward slightly. "Marriage to a U.S. citizen could secure your green card and, eventually, permanent residency. It’s a legitimate route—many people in similar situations have done it."
You sat back in your chair, the tension in your body coiling tighter. The thought of marriage, of attaching yourself to someone you barely knew for the sake of staying in the country, made your skin crawl. You had already sacrificed so much for your freedom, for your career. And now this?
"You’re telling me the only way to stay here is to marry someone I don’t even love? Just to avoid being sent back to a country I don’t belong in anymore?"
"Not necessarily," Nicolas said, his tone measured. "It wouldn’t have to be a traditional marriage. Think of it as a business arrangement. It’s a legal partnership—nothing more. And it could save your career, your life here."
You crossed your arms tightly, your mind racing. Marriage. It was a word that had haunted you ever since your parents had tried to force you into it as a teenager. Back then, it was their way of controlling you, of keeping you bound to a life you didn’t want. Now, it felt like the universe was throwing the same chains back at you, just in a different form.
"I’ve compiled a list of potential candidates," Arjun continued, sliding a piece of paper across the desk toward you. "People who might be open to an arrangement like this. Athletes, businesspeople—individuals who might benefit from a similar deal."
You glanced at the paper but didn’t pick it up. The names blurred in front of your eyes. This wasn’t how your life was supposed to go. You’d already lost your family, fought tooth and nail to get out of your country and build something for yourself in the U.S. And now you were at risk of losing everything—again.
"I don’t know if I can do this, Nico," you said quietly, shaking your head. "I’ve already sacrificed so much. My family… I gave up everything to be here. And now you’re telling me I have to give up even more?"
"I’m not telling you that you have to do anything," he replied, his voice calm but firm. "I’m saying this is an option. One that could keep you here, legally. But the decision is yours. I’m just laying out the possibilities."
You swallowed the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. 
"I can’t go back there," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "I’ve worked too hard to get here. I can’t lose everything."
He nodded slowly. "Then maybe it’s time to consider unconventional options."
You finally picked up the paper, scanning the names but not really seeing them. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. Marriage. It felt like a trap, just like it had back then. But maybe—just maybe—it was the only way to keep your future intact.
"I’ll think about it," you said, standing up and smoothing the front of your dress. "But I’m not making any promises."
"Of course," he said, standing as well. "Just let me know. We’re running out of time, but I’ll support whatever decision you make."
You nodded curtly, turning toward the door. As you stepped out into the cool city air, your chest tightened with the weight of everything you stood to lose. The lights of New York City flickered ahead of you, just out of reach, as though the life you’d built here could vanish at any moment.
And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly afraid.
Your phone buzzed, dragging you out of your spiraling thoughts. You fished it out of your purse, heart skipping a beat when you saw the name: Nina. Your agent.
With a shaky exhale, you answered. “Nina, hi.”
“Hey, babe!” Nina’s voice was all cheer, a stark contrast to the storm inside you. “So, I have amazing news! Guess who just got major campaign offers coming in? You! Chanel, Loewe, and oh my God, don’t even get me started on Louis Vuitton. The year starts beautifully for you!”
You should’ve felt ecstatic, but instead, the words passed over you like an echo. All you could think of was the countdown Nico had set in motion: three months. Three months before everything you’d built here would be taken away from you. 
“That’s… amazing, Nina,” you managed, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Really amazing. Thank you so much.”
“Are you okay? You don’t sound like your sunshine-self.” Nina’s voice softened, concern creeping in. “What’s going on?”
There was a pause. Nina had been there through all your ups and downs, from your rookie days as a model to your rise in the industry. But the immigration issues, the fear of being sent back to a life you couldn’t return to—that was something neither of you could control. 
“Three months?” she repeated, her voice going higher. “Oh my God—what the fuck? I thought… I thought you had more time.”
“So did I.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Nina, I don’t know what to do. I’ve called Nico and he tried everything—extensions, appeals—but the laws are tightening, and he said there’s only one real option left.”
There was a brief silence before she asked, “What option?”
You bit your lip. “Marriage. Nico says I could marry someone for a green card.”
“Marriage?” Nina’s voice came out in a shocked squeak. “Like a fake marriage? Babe, are you serious?”
“I don’t know!” you burst out, frustration and fear colliding. “I don’t know what to do! I can’t go back there. I can’t. My parents… My parents already wrote me off as dead, and if I go back, I’m stuck in a place I spent my entire life trying to escape.”
Her voice softened. “I know, honey, I know… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound—God, I can’t imagine how scary this is for you.”
You took a shaky breath, grateful for her understanding. Nina wasn’t just your manager—she was one of the few people who you actually close to. She was a 34 years old American-Filipina woman. You trusted her with your life. 
“Okay,” Nina said, her voice more focused now. “Okay, now listen. We’ll figure this out. I know Nicolas wouldn’t suggest something like this unless it was a real option. Do you trust him?”
You sighed. “Yeah. I do. But the idea of marrying someone just to stay… it feels like another version of what my parents wanted for me. Like I’m back in that same time of my life.”
“I get it. But this isn’t like that. You’re in control this time,” Nina said. “If this is what you need to stay here, it’s not about love or being owned by someone.”
You nodded to yourself, trying to absorb her words. “Well, um, Nico gave me a list of potential candidates—people who might be willing to make an arrangement. You’ll never guess who’s on it, though.”
“Who? Shawn Mendes? Harry Styles? Tom Holland—”
“Rafe Cameron,” you said, cutting her off. “The basketball play—”
“Yeah, I know who that man is, Y/N. His reputation is a total mess right now. It’s not surprising for him to be on that list.”
“Exactly,” you muttered. “It’s a perfect business arrangement for him, too. He needs a way to look respectable again, and I need to stay in the country.”
“So, you’re actually considering this?”
You leaned against a streetlamp, staring at the city around you. “I don’t know. Maybe? It just feels wrong. Like I’m giving up a part of myself.”
“As nicely as this can be said, you are being dramatic here, babe.” Nina sighed softly. “Look, I’m not going to push you either way, okay? But I do think you need to look at it from a different angle. You’re not giving up on yourself. You’re doing what you need to do to stay here, to keep fighting for your career and your future. And Rafe—or whoever you’ll end up marrying—is not your parents. He’s not going to control you or he’ll get slapped.”
You closed your eyes, trying to let her words sink in. She was right—you were in control now. This wasn’t the same as being forced into a marriage you didn’t want. This was about survival. About keeping your life in the U.S. intact.
"Yeah… I guess you’re right," you said softly, feeling some of the tension release from your shoulders. "I just need time to think."
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TWO WEEKS LATER.
The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting warm light across your living room. After two relentless weeks of back-to-back fashion shoots, campaign meetings, and gala appearances, you had finally found a moment of peace. You curled up on the plush sofa, sinking into its embrace as the hum of the city outside became a distant murmur. The oversized, loose pajamas you wore were a far cry from the designer gowns and couture you’d been draped in recently, but they were yours—soft, comforting, and familiar. Your hair was twisted into a lazy bun under a satin bonnet.
You exhaled a sigh of relief, finally feeling the weight of exhaustion slip from your shoulders as you closed your eyes.
Buzz. Buzz.
The sound of your phone vibrating on the coffee table pulled you from the calm. You groaned softly, reaching for it with one hand, expecting to see another notification about a meeting or event. Instead, it was a message from Nicolas.
“Any thoughts on who you're going to marry? We need to move quickly if we want to ensure everything goes through in time.”
The familiar weight of the situation you’d been trying to avoid crept back into your chest. Two weeks had passed since your lawyer had first laid out the reality of your visa situation. In those weeks, you'd thrown yourself into work, hoping the constant flurry of activity would drown out the anxiety. But now, in the quiet of your home, the decision loomed large again.
You typed back, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.
"I haven’t decided yet."
A few seconds later, the reply came through.
"We need to discuss this in person. Can you come to my office today?"
You frowned, your eyes darting around the cozy room, not quite ready to leave your home.
"How about you come here instead?" you typed. "It’s been a long week, and I’d rather talk in private."
There was a pause before the three dots appeared, and then the message followed.
"Sure. I’ll be there in about an hour."
You put your phone down and leaned back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. This wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have, but it was necessary. Time was running out, and you knew you had to face it—whether you wanted to or not.
An hour passed in a blur, and soon enough, you heard the knock at your door. You padded across the room in your socks, your oversized pajama pants swishing softly as you walked. Opening the door, you found Nicolas standing there, looking as composed as ever in his tailored suit.
“Come in,” you said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in.
Nicolas entered, his eyes scanning the room before they landed on you. "You look... relaxed."
You gave a soft chuckle, gesturing to your pajamas. “Don’t mock the pj’s until you’ve tried them.”
He smiled slightly, but there was a hint of emergency in his expression as he took a seat in the armchair across from you. “I know you’ve had a lot on your plate lately, but we really need to make a decision.”
You nodded, sitting back down on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. “I know… I’ve just been avoiding it.”
“And I noticed,” he said, pulling out a folder from his briefcase. “But with the visa expiration approaching, we don’t have much time. We need to find someone—someone who understands the situation and won’t make things harder.”
You bit your lip, holding a smile, glancing at the folder in his hands. “You bought the list?”
He nodded, and handed it over, and you flipped through the names, recognizing some immediately. Athletes, businessmen, even a couple of actors/singers. And then there was Rafe Cameron, his name standing out like a bold headline.
“I’ve looked at these,” you said quietly. “I just… I don’t know who to choose. None of ‘em feel right.”
Nico leaned forward. “It's not about right or wrong. It’s about who can offer the least amount of personal complications and help you secure your residency. Rafe Cameron, for instance—he’s someone who could benefit from this arrangement as much as you. His reputation needs mending, and this could be a mutually beneficial situation.”
You stared at Rafe’s name, the memories of seeing his name in the news about how much of a womanizer he was… Could you really tie yourself to someone like him in a fake marriage?
“Alright, but I need you to help me decide,” you admitted, looking up at him.
He nodded, his expression understanding. “Of course, that’s why I’m here. Let’s break it down together and figure out who makes the most sense, not just legally but for your peace of mind.”
Nicolas opened his briefcase again, pulling out more detailed files on the potential candidates. He laid them out neatly on the coffee table, each name with a stack of information—financial records, personal histories, public perceptions. It was all very businesslike.
You leaned forward, looking at the pages in front of you. Each one represented a major decision, a shift in your life you weren’t entirely ready to accept, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice.
“Let’s start with the most practical options,” he said, sliding the file on Rafe Cameron toward you. “I know his name has come up before. He’s wealthy, influential, and… well, let’s be honest, he could use a boost to his public image right now. It’s a good match on paper.”
You stared at Rafe’s name again, tapping the edge of the file with your finger. “Yeah, but he’s also a bit of a mess, isn’t he? I mean, the media paints him as this… whore, and his personal life is always talked about. What if that blows back on me?”
Nicolas raised a brow. “That’s something to consider, but you also have to think of the benefits. His public image might not be very clean, but he’s powerful. Marrying him would put you in a stable position, and if it’s a business arrangement, his private affairs don’t have to concern you.”
You exhaled slowly, still feeling uneasy. Rafe Cameron was trouble, and you knew it. But at the same time, trouble might be exactly what could make this work—for both of you.
“What about the others?” you asked, flipping through the files. “There has to be someone who’s… less complicated.”
“Well,” he said, tapping another file. “there’s Owen Turner. He’s a succesful tech entrepeneur, keeps a low profile. No scandals, no messy reputation. He’s reliable, but you’ll have to approach this differently. He’s more private, less likely to want his personal life on display.”
“And boring—plus, he seems like the type of white guy to want a traditional wife. Like he would expect me to cook for him every night… and he has an ugly name.”
“Owen won’t be expecting home-cooked meals, Y/N. He’s a tech guy; he probably lives on energy drinks and instant ramen,” Nico pointed out, trying to steer you back to the serious topic. “But if we position it as a legal arrangement, he could see the value in it.”
You sighed, leaning back on the chair. “Okay, maybe Owen is the safer options. But can you imagine our wedding announcement? ‘Succesful Tech Entrepeneur Married Famous Model: They Share a Love for Cats and Instant Noodle.’”
Nico shook his head, trying not to smile. “Focus, please. This is a serious matter.”
“Right, right, sorry…” you said, wavering your hand dismissively. “But, what do you think about Rafe?”
“Rafe Cameron is the most straightforward option,” he said, his tone now more measured. “He’s already in the public eye, which means there won’t be as much of a shock if you’re suddenly married. Plus, his need for good press aligns with your need for stability.”
“And personally?”
He smiled softly, a rare gesture from him. “Personally, I think you should go with the person you think you can manage.”
You nodded, appreciating his honesty. Staring at the stack of papers in front of you, Rafe Cameron’s name glaring up at you from the top of the list. Every name on the list had its pros and cons, but something about Rafe’s file felt different. Maybe it was the intensity of his media coverage, the scandals, or the way he dominated the headlines for all the wrong reasons. But as much as you hesitated, his name kept pulling you back.
“I know his reputation isn't spotless,” Nico said, sensing your hesitation, “but in this situation, a clean reputation isn’t the priority. You need someone powerful, someone with enough influence to make this arrangement stick without getting tangled up in emotional complications.”
You nodded, again.”But I don’t know if I can handle all the baggage that comes with Rafe Cameron. His public image is a trainwreck. Wouldn’t that only complicate things more?”
Nico leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Possibly. But think of it this way: his personal life is already so chaotic that a stable, respectable marriage might be exactly what he needs to repair his image. And that’s where you come in. You’d be helping each other.”
Your eyes dropped back down to his file. "Do you think he'd even agree to something like this?"
Nico chuckled softly. “If there’s one thing I know about men like Rafe Cameron, it’s that they understand deals. His reputation is hanging by a thread, and a marriage to someone like you—someone with a pristine public image—could be the ticket to restoring his credibility. It’s a win-win, really.”
You considered Nico’s words. He was right. Rafe had everything to gain from a marriage of convenience, just like you. And while his scandals were messy, they didn’t define him entirely. He was still an elite athlete, one of the best in the game, and with the right PR strategy, you could both come out looking better.
But the thought of marrying someone like him—a notorious playboy with a history of messy breakups—made your stomach churn. 
“You know,” Nico continued, “if this were just about your visa, we’d be having a different conversation. But this is about your entire future. Your career, your freedom to stay here, everything you’ve built. I’m not saying it’s an easy choice, but it’s one worth considering.”
You sighed, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. "What happens if it falls apart? What if things with Rafe go wrong?"
"That’s why we’ll draft a contract," Nico reassured you. "This won’t be a traditional marriage, Y/N. You’ll both have clear boundaries, and legally, we’ll protect your interests. If things go south, you’ll be covered."
You stared at the file a little longer, then closed your eyes.Rafe Cameron. He was cocky, possessive, and reckless—everything you usually avoided. But maybe that was the key. You wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to control you or make this anything more than a business transaction.
It would be messy. It would be complicated. But it would also keep you here, in the country you’d fought so hard to call home. And maybe, just maybe, it would be the solution you both needed.
“Okay,” you said softly, your decision finally settling. “I’ll do it.”
Nico’s eyebrows shot up, a little surprised at how quickly you’d made up your mind. “You’re sure?”
“No,” you admitted with a weak smile. “But I think this is the best option. I’ll marry Rafe Cameron.”
Nico nodded, closing the folder with a satisfied smile. “Good. I’ll set up a meeting with him. We’ll get the ball rolling.”
Oh God, you were going to marry Rafe Cameron…
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chapter two
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aamircoeur · 6 months ago
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kissing, i hope they caught us ー Ken Sato.
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wherein ken sato finds himself waiting for the calls of his fuck buddy.
SMUT, read at your own risk. one-shot. female reader, UNEDITED.
"same time, uh, tomorrow?" ken said from behind you. you slipped into your blouse and turned to him, who was currently topless and fastening his belt, his hair pointed in all directions.
"tomorrow? we just fucked, ken." you laughed light-heartedly. "i'm a busy woman."
kenji looked at you while he sat at the edge of his bed, rubbing his shoulder. "n-next week?" he offered.
you sighed and smiled at him. finishing the top button of your blouse, you walked towards him and grabbed your purse from his nightstand. "i'll call you." you said, kissing his cheek as goodbye.
liar, kenji said to himself. it has been well over two weeks since your last interaction, and he has been anxious to meet you again, to feel you. to touch you, to have you on your kneesー god damn it.
sighing deeply, he ran his hands through his jet-black hair and slouched on his couch. he had his phone on his couch with his tabs revealing your, [name] [surname], japan's hottest supermodel, social media accounts. he had his television opened and has been playing various movies over the past hours, but he seemed to pay no mind to them with how often he was refreshing your accounts for the hope of any updates of your whereabouts.
shit, he even stooped to a new low, stalking multiple fan accounts of yours on twitter to see if they had any clue. the opened laptop in front of him was stuck to his direct messages with you, revealing how he replied a thumbs up to your message saying, "thank u for tn ;)".
he felt stupid. should he have been more open? maybe he should've responded differently. who even responds to a girl with a thumbs up? real mature, kenji.
he was anxious, bouncing his leg as he kept sighing over and over. why weren't you messaging him? he was the ken sato. did he kiss you too hard? did he fuck you too roughly?
leaning back into the couch, he ran his hand once more for the nth time this evening. he was overthinking. he couldn't have all these thoughts with the upcoming tournament that he's been looking forward to for the past two months. but lately, all he seemed to think about was how good it felt to be inside you.
sighing again, ken had his phone in his hands and went back to refreshing your account. to his absolute surprise, you had a new post on instagram, uploaded sixteen seconds ago. it was an image of you with a bra that fit you so perfectly, baggy jeans that rested on your hips, and underwear that seemed to grip on your waist with the brand's name on the garter.
the baseball player stared at his phone with a blank face before knitting his eyebrows together and groaning, adjusting his pants with the sudden uncomfortable feeling. this is bad.
"my scan tells me that your blood circulation has been increased at a certain area—"
"i did not need a scan, mina!" ken gritted, frustrated. "i'll be back late!" he shouted as a way to drown out whatever mina said next as he shut the front door on his way out. ken walked towards his motorcycle, fitting into his black helmet before quickly driving to a nearby bar.
upon arriving, kenji took off his helmet and gave it to the valet parker, with along with his keys and some cash. "take care of her, alright?" ken said, referring to the bike. the valet nodded. kenji held the sunglasses that he hung on the front of his shirt and put it on before walking towards the entrance.
seeing the long line behind the stanchion, kenji smirked and walked towards the bouncer who blocked him from coming inside with his arm. "name?"
ken raised an eyebrow and lowered his sunglasses. "sato." he said. the bouncer gaped and got his arm out of the way and opening the doors for him instead, apologizing for not recognizing him earlier.
ken was met with beaming lights within the darkness of the place, the air smelling of alcohol and the loud sound of the song that the dj played bouncing off the walls. ken took a deep breath in and sighed, and after a few steps in he was immediately accommodated by a blonde hostess, handing him a glass of champagne before latching on to his arm as she giggled and guided him to an empty table.
it was already past midnight and ken surprised himself by not drinking to his limits this time. there were women holding on to both of his arms, some handing him fruits while one held the bottle for his drink. he was also accompanied by strangers that seemed to need a breather. "hey, pretty, care to get me another glass?" kenji said to the brunette on his left with a sly smile.
the brunette giggled and pulled down her skirt before standing up "sure thing, ken." she smiled.
"there's no need for that, sweetie." he heard someone say from behind them. almost immediately, ken sato turned his head and his eyes widened at the sight of you. fuck. it was you. "hey, kenji. what brings you here?" you smiled and walked around the couch and made your way towards him. everyone at the table stood up and walked towards another unoccupied table, knowing the protocol.
"[n-name]?" ken stuttered, his hand running through the side of his hair as he fixed his posture. you giggled at him and took the brunette's former seat, taking the almost-empty tall glass of champagne that he held and sipped on it. "what, what're you doin' here?" he slurred, tipsy.
"oh, nothing. just here with some friends." you smiled and placed the glass to his lips, making sure that it was the same spot that you drank from. taking a deep breath, ken leaned into the glass and sipped, some slipping from the corners of his mouth. you placed the glass down to the table and wiped the trail of champagne on his chin. kenji only stared at you. flustered, you looked down at his hands and held it. "i missed you, kenji." you said.
kenji stared at you. he forgot how beautiful you were. how could he ever forget that?
kenji held your hand and interlocked your fingers. "yeah, well, you didn't seem to wanna let me know that little fact of yours over the last two weeks." he said, his cheeks reddening as he avoided eye contact.
you laughed at his shyness and held on to his hand tighter. "'m sorry, baby." you smiled and leaned in to his ear. "but, i can let you know just how much i missed you, baby." you whispered. "my place?"
it has been yet another two weeks since your last night together. kenji was one week into the tournament that he has been preparing for and he has been busy as ever. coach shimura has confiscated their cellphones to give the yomiuri giants their well-needed concentration on their trainings and game days.
after a weekend long of back-to-back games, coach shimura has finally given back the players their phones to reward them of their zero losses so far. upon unlocking it, kenji was met with multiple messages from you, telling him how much you miss him, telling him how good he looked in the field, letting him know of what you did while thinking of him . . .
he was flushed after reading everything, and in between messages he also received missed calls from you, and one voicemail.
"baby, can you call me back? it's so lonely in my mansion."
taglist: @boomboom-tanjiro2019 @ttulipwritezz
2K notes · View notes
danielhowell · 8 months ago
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Dan Goes to Church
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Sup
In case you missed it, I will be hosting a one-night-only little live show at a Church in London tomorrow (9th May)
See Dan at the Union Chapel →
Tickets are only £19 and every single person will get a free SIGNED copy of my brand new Paperback book!
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There’s only a few seats left, so hurry over if you want to see me in real life, have some laughs, watch me drink a wine and say something I’ll probably regret BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY there are going to be some exclusive merch designs available only at the event! 
And after a lot of inquisitive requests I am happy to preview them here:
Union Chapel Poster
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Inspired by the iconic stained glass window that we will be sat under, this undeservedly beautiful poster image fuses the beautiful illustrations from the book with the venue architecture to commemorate the evening that hopefully Dan didn’t ironically burst into flame performing in a church.
Be Your Own Light Shirt
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Taking inspiration from the hopeful gold glow of the new cover, this design features a sun ray quote, "You Can Be your Own Light", on the front and stained glass design on the back in a warm off-white.
I hope to meet some of you there and together we can repent for our sins, or probably commit a few new ones and run before they send people after us. It’s a date!!
— Dan
ps. stay tuned for an update on book orders. If you haven't grabbed a copy yet, we only have a limited number of signed copies still left!
1K notes · View notes
freshl6ve · 22 days ago
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𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒. 𝐒 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓
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⭑.ᐟ : 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐝, lazily scrolling through my phone. Suddenly, a notification popped up on the top of my screen. It was a message from Chris.
Chris: I'm outside.
I made my way down the stairs of my loft home, a mixture of confusion and anticipation welling up inside me. As I approached the door, I pulled it open to reveal Chris leaning against his car, his hands buried in the pockets of his black hoodie and his signature chrome hearts beanie adorning his head.
I stepped outside, closing the door behind me before crossing my arms as a shiver went through my body due to the cold. I looked at him, surprise written all over my face.
“What are you doing here so late?” I inquired, my voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.
Chris flashed me a mischievous smirk, pulling out his brand new ID. Holding it out to show me, he proudly announced, “Wanted to surprise you.”
My eyes widened as I took in the sight of his newly acquired license, my mind struggling to process his words. “No. Fucking. Way,” I managed to sputter out in utter disbelief.
I couldn’t help but snatch his license card from his hands, my eyes fixated on the picture that stared back at me. The image of him was nothing short of captivating.
“You look so good, not even joking,” I managed to say, my words filled with a mix of admiration and a hint of flirtation.
Chris chuckled, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he observed my reaction to his newfound driving privileges. “You like what you see?” he teased, leaning back against the car lazily.
I rolled my eyes, trying to maintain my composure, even though the effect he had on me was undeniable. I raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance.
“As if you don’t know already,” I retorted, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth.
I handed his license back to him, our fingers brushing ever so slightly, causing a small flutter in my chest. He tucked it into his pocket before cocking his head towards the car, his eyes meeting mine in a silent command.
“Get in,” he said, his voice low and filled with a hint of mischief.
“And risk my life? No thanks, I need you to have at least a month of experience behind the wheel,” I quipped back, a playful glint in my eyes.
Chris chuckled at my playful remark, a mischievous gleam twinkling in his eyes. He pushed away from the car, stepping closer to me.
“Risk your life, huh?” he countered, his voice dripping with feigned offense. “I’ll have you know I’m a natural behind the wheel. It's like breathing for me.”
As I remained unconvinced, keeping my arms crossed across my chest, he took another step closer, his gaze locking with mine.
Chris leaned in, his eyes playful and persuasive. “C’mon, I know you're probably hungry. Let me take you out.” His voice had a hint of confidence, as if he knew his charms could sway my decision.
I gave in, the temptation of spending more time with him outweighing my initial attempt at resisting his charms. “Stay here, I’ll be back,” I told him, turning around and heading back into the house.
Quickly, I grabbed my phone and put on some decent shoes. I scurried through the house, turning off all the lights and locking the door behind me. As I turned around, I saw Chris standing near the car with the passenger door open, waiting for me with a smug smile on his face.
“How thoughtful of you,” I said, rolling my eyes lightly before making my way over. I couldn’t help but notice the way he smirked, clearly aware of the effect he had on me. I slid into the passenger seat, fastening my seatbelt as Chris closed the door.
He rounded the car and got into the driver’s seat, his every move exuding an effortless coolness. As he started the engine and drove away, I could feel the tension between us building.
The drive through the city was filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the engine and the occasional streetlamp passing by. I glanced over at Chris, admiring the way his hand gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles taut and firm.
My eyes darted from his hands to his profile, the soft glow of the dashboard illuminating his features. His gaze remained fixed on the road, but there was an intensity in his expression that made my heart beat just a bit faster.
Chris broke the silence, his voice cutting through the quiet ambiance inside the car. “What are you thinking to eat?” he asked, his eyes flickering towards me for a brief moment before returning to the road.
I shrugged, leaning back in my seat and trying to appear nonchalant despite the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “I’m not picky. Whatever you want is fine with me.”
As the car came to a stop at the red light, Chris took the opportunity to turn his attention to me. The soft glow of the traffic signal illuminated his face, casting a soft red hue across his features.
As our gazes met, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of heat flood my cheeks. There was something about the way the light accentuated the sharp angles of his face, making him look both dangerous and disarmingly handsome.
His eyes held mine captive, the depth of his stare causing my heart to skip a beat. Time seemed to slow down as we sat there, bathed in the soft red light, the outside world becoming nothing but a blur.
A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, like he knew the effect he was having on me. The air inside the car suddenly felt charged, filled with anticipation and the undeniable chemistry between us.
The smirk on Chris’ face grew wider, his voice laced with a hint of mischief as he spoke. “I think I might have an idea what you want,” he said, the words hanging in the air between us.
My heart raced at his suggestive tone, my mind unable to form a coherent response. I swallowed, trying to maintain my composure, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed my attempt.
The light turned green, breaking the spell of our intense eye contact. Chris refocused his attention on the road, quickly but smoothly maneuvered through the intersection.
As he drove, following the directions in his mind, there was a sense of determination in his movements. I watched him from the passenger seat, marveling at the way he took control behind the wheel. The way he confidently navigated the streets made me both nervous and excited.
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We finished our meal at the fast food restaurant, the laughter and conversation making the time fly by. As we stepped outside, the cool night air greeted us. Chris wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him.
His warmth radiated through me, a steady presence that made my heart flutter in my chest. We began walking towards the car, our bodies pressed together in comfortable proximity.
Chris led me to the passenger side of the car, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. He stepped in front of me, opening the door with a smooth movement.
His presence was intoxicating, the way he effortlessly took charge both thrilling and nerve-wracking. As he held the door open for me, his eyes met mine with an intensity that made my cheeks flush.
“After you,” he said, his voice low and filled with a hint of huskiness that sent chills down my spine.
I smiled, thanking him quietly as I ducked into the car. The seat was cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that had been spreading through my body.
Chris closed the door behind me, the sound of the latch clicking into place final and somehow suggestive. I watched as he walked around the front of the car, his strides confident and purposeful. He climbed into the driver's seat moments later, his eyes flicking to mine before he started the engine once more.
Chris shifted the gears, his hand moving with practiced ease from reverse to drive. As he navigated the car out of the parking spot, his right arm slid over the headrest of my seat, the gesture casual yet possessive. I felt the heat of his body close to mine, the proximity both comforting and exhilarating.
Once we were out and on the road, he reached down, his hand finding mine. With a firm grip, he put my hand on the gear stick, his own hand covering mine on top.
The feeling of his skin against mine sent a jolt of electricity through me. The simple act of his hand covering mine was enough to make my heart race, the intimacy of the gesture palpable in the small confines of the car.
I dared a glance at his hand, the way his fingers enveloped mine, his thumb resting possessively on the top of my hand. I could feel the firmness of his grip, the subtle way his hand moved with the shifting of the gears, and the undeniable chemistry between us.
Chris stole a quick glance my way, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before focusing back on the road. A small, charming smile tugged at the corners of his lips, the expression both tender and mischievous.
He navigated the car through the dark streets, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional soft strains of the radio. I couldn't help but watch him as he drove, the concentrated expression on his face both endearing and undeniably attractive.
The car came to a stop in front of my house, the headlights casting a soft glow on the familiar facade. Chris parked neatly along the curbside, his eyes flickering towards me before he turned off the engine.
The silence in the car was heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that hung between us like a thick fog.
Chris leaned his head back against the headrest, letting out a low sigh. His gaze shifted towards me, his eyes heavy-lidded and filled with a hint of vulnerability.
“Thanks for joining me and being my first passenger,” he said, his voice a touch softer than usual. There was a mixture of gratitude and something else, perhaps a hint of something more, in his expression as he looked at me.
I could feel the weight of his words, the significance of me being his first passenger not lost on me. Despite the lightheartedness of his statement, there was an underlying sincerity in his tone that made my heart skip a beat.
“I had a good time,” I replied, my voice almost a whisper. “Your driving wasn’t as horrifying as I had initially expected.”
Chris chuckled, the sound low and resonant in the quiet car. He turned his gaze to the street outside the front window, the dim light of the night casting shadows across his face.
As he looked out, I took the opportunity to unabashedly admire his features. His strong jawline, the slight jut of his adam's apple as he swallowed, the way his hair fell over his forehead in a charmingly messy way—all of it drew me in like a magnet.
Chris turned his head to face me, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “Told you I’m not as bad,” he said, his tone dripping with self-assurance.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes, though the effect was diminished by the smile I was trying to suppress. “Okay, Mr. Expert Driver,” I teased, raising an eyebrow.
I shot him a playful glare, unable to resist adding, “You’ve been driving for a day, don't get cocky now.”
Chris chuckled again, the sound sending a fluttering sensation through my chest. “Maybe so, but I’ve got a natural talent,” he quipped back, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Is that so?” I retorted, feigning skepticism. “So you’re saying you're the next professional racecar driver?”
Chris leaned towards me, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe I should be,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “given how fast I can get your heart racing.”
My breath hitched at his words, the double entendre not lost on me. He was flirting, and he knew he was good at it. I tried to keep my cool, but it was getting increasingly harder to do so.
“Cocky and smooth,” I shot back, my voice betraying a hint of the effect he was having on me. “That’s a dangerous combination.”
Chris leaned back in his seat, a nonchalant air about him, as if completely unaffected by our banter. “I prefer to think of it as confidence,” he retorted, a smirk still lingering on his lips.
He shifted in his seat slightly, turning to face me more directly. “Besides, a bit of danger isn’t so bad. Keeps things interesting, no?”
I mirrored his movement, facing him fully. His cocky attitude shouldn't have been as attractive as it was, yet there I was, melting under his gaze. “I suppose it does,” I agreed, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “But I hope you know, cocky only gets you so far.”
Chris hummed, a low, noncommittal sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Mmm,” he acknowledged, his tone nonchalant, his eyes never leaving mine. The single sound was both dismissive and tantalizing, as if he knew the effect he was having and was enjoying it.
I couldn't resist studying his face for a few more seconds, the strong jaw, the slight stubble, the way his lips curled up lazily into a smirk.
Before I could second-guess myself, my body moved on its own accord. I leaned in, closing the gap between us, and pressed my lips against his in a firm, passionate kiss.
The kiss was soft, our mouths fitting together perfectly in a gentle, slow dance. My hand reached up, finding its way to the back of his neck, my fingers caressing the tender skin there as we pressed our bodies closer together.
Time seemed to stand still, the intense chemistry of the moment electrifying every nerve in my body. It was a kiss filled with both tenderness and hunger, a kiss that left me breathless and wanting more.
I pulled away just far enough that our lips were still close, our breaths mingling together in the small space between us. In a quiet, intimate whisper, I thanked him, “Thanks for not killing me today.”
Chris chuckled softly, the sound both amused and affectionate. He leaned a fraction closer, his gaze locked on mine as he responded in an equally hushed tone, “You’re welcome.” His eyes held a depth and intensity that made my heart skip a beat.
I reached over, quickly grabbing the keys from the ignition. Slipping them into my hoodie pocket, I couldn't suppress the sly grin on my face.
As I exited the car, Chris watched me, an amused and slightly intrigued expression on his face. I beckoned him with a subtle gesture, “C’mon.”
He chuckled softly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he followed my lead out of the car and towards the house.
Chris followed me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, a casual and relaxed aura about him. We walked up the pathway to my house, the sound of our footsteps on the paving stones punctuating the night’s silence.
As I fished inside my pocket for the key, I stole a quick glance over my shoulder. Chris was a few steps behind me, his eyes fixed on my every move, a soft smirk playing on his lips.
I unlocked the door, the familiar click of the lock releasing echoing through the entrance hall. Stepping inside, I moved to the side, letting Chris follow suit. He wasted no time in quickly closing the door behind us, locking it with a quick twist of the knob.
In a swift move, he spun me around, pressing me against the door. The action was unexpected, his body molding against mine in a way that was both possessive and thrilling.
My hands, acting on their own accord, slowly raised from my sides and found their way to his chest. I flattened my palms against the hard planes of his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. I continued upwards, tracing a path over his shoulders and finally wrapping around his neck.
My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer, drawing his body tighter against mine.
His tongue, demanding and urgent, invaded my mouth, mapping every contour and tasting every corner. I responded eagerly, my own tongue meeting his in a frenzied dance of desire. The kiss was intoxicating, a heady mix of heat and passion that left me dizzy and breathless.
He pushed his body flush against mine, his every movement driven by a primal need for more contact, more of me. My hands tugged on his hair, my body arching against his, seeking more of the sensations that were overwhelming my senses.
He broke away from the kiss, his lips moving to my neck, trailing a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses along my skin. The action sent shivers down my spine, a low moan escaping my lips as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin.
His hands began to roam, moving from my hips to slide over my sides and up towards my chest. His touch was possessive, his fingers tracing every curve and contour of my body.
Every touch, every kiss, sent a wave of pleasure coursing through my veins. My nails dug into his scalp, my fingers tightening in his hair as his lips traveled back up my neck to reclaim my mouth in another fervent kiss.
I could feel the evidence of his desire, the way his body pressed against mine, the firm muscles of his chest beneath my hands, the heat of his breath against my skin. It was both thrilling and overwhelming, a potent mixture that was driving me closer and closer to the edge.
Chris broke the kiss, his mouth hovering millimeters away from mine. His voice was a low, possessive growl, filled with a mix of command and desire.
“Jump.”
The single word sent a shiver down my spine, the order clear and definite. I didn't hesitate, my body obeying even before my mind had fully registered the command. I jumped, wrapping my legs around his waist as my arms tightened around his neck.
As my legs encircled his waist, his hands slid down to support me beneath my thighs. He wasted no time in picking me up, the action effortless and seamless, as if my weight meant nothing to him.
With sure, steady strides, he carried me up the stairs and setting me down gently on the edge of the bed. I sat there, our breaths mingling together in the intimate space, feeling completely and utterly at his mercy.
Chris loomed over me, his body covering mine like a dark, possessive shadow. His lips ghosted over mine, a hint of a kiss without actually touching. I could feel his breath against my mouth, warm and ragged, a sign of his barely contained desire.
My hands found the hem of his hoodie, my fingers tugging at the fabric. I wanted it off, needed to feel his skin against mine, the barrier of clothing suddenly irritating.
My silent request was all he needed. He pulled back, breaking the torturous tease of almost-contact, and tugged the hoodie over his head in a quick, fluid motion. The garment hit the floor with a soft thump.
He was on me again instantly, his warm body pressing me down into the bed, his lips claiming mine in a deep, greedy kiss. There was a new urgency to his touch, a need that was nearly feral in its intensity.
Chris's hands moved quickly, finding the hem of my hoodie, fingers brushing against the bare skin of my stomach as he tugged it upwards. I lifted my arms, assisting him as he pulled the fabric over my head, discarding it carelessly.
He paused for a moment, his gaze roaming over my bare skin, taking in the sight of me in just my bra. His eyes darkened, a low rumble escaping his throat as he took in the view.
His lips found my neck again, trailing a path of kisses down my collarbone and across my chest. His hands explored my exposed skin, fingers tracing the curves and contours of my body with an almost reverent touch.
His mouth found the valley between my breasts, his tongue tasting the skin there, the heat of his breath against my sensitive flesh sending ripples of pleasure coursing through me. I arched under him, my body responding to his touch, my mind a tangle of desire and need.
Slowly, with a careful, deliberate motion, his fingers found the fastening of my bra, his knuckles brushing against the skin of my back as they worked to undo the clasp. I could feel the slight tension in the elastic give, the fabric loosening around my chest.
He pulled back for a brief moment, the bra falling away, baring my upper body fully to his gaze. His eyes scanned me, filled with a mixture of desire and admiration, before returning to my mouth, his lips claiming mine in a searing kiss.
His lips moved from mine, trailing kisses down my neck before finally settling on the soft mound of my breast. He sucked the nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it as his hand reached up to gently squeeze the other breast.
A soft moan escaped my lips as his skilled mouth worked its magic, sending waves of pleasure through my body. His stubble brushed against my tender skin, adding a tantalizing roughness to the experience.
I arched my back, pressing myself further into his touch as a whimper escaped my lips. “Chris,” I breathed out, his name a soft plea on my lips. His hand slid down my stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my sweats.
He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire and filled with a silent question. His fingers paused, waiting for my permission. I nodded, my breath hitching as I gave him the okay to continue.
With a low growl, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my sweats and slowly pulled them down, revealing my black lace underwear to his hungry gaze. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs, his hot breath warming my skin as he spoke against me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against my thigh, his voice thick with desire. His hands gripped my hips as he nuzzled closer, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the edge of my underwear.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, slowly dragging them down my legs. He tossed them onto the floor, leaving me bared to him completely. He looked up at me, his eyes drinking in the sight of my naked form.
“God, you’re breathtaking,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. Without breaking eye contact, his hands trailed up my legs, gently parting them. I could feel the heat building between my thighs as his fingers danced closer. My breathing became shallow anticipation, anticipation of his touch...
With deliberate slowness, he leaned in, his breath ghosting across my most sensitive spot. He kept his eyes locked with mine as one finger gently traced my core, gathering my wetness. I whimpered at the contact, my hips instinctively moving to meet his touch.
Lowering his head, he pressed a soft, warm kiss right where I needed it most. I gasped at the sensation, my fingers threading through his hair as I held him closer. His tongue joined the dance, exploring every inch of me with skilled precision.
As he licked and sucked at my pussy, my hand slowly reached out, my fingers threading through his hair. He obliged, wrapping his arms around my legs and lifting them over his shoulders, opening me up even further to his hungry mouth.
His skilled tongue worked magic, swirling around my clit and then dipping lower to explore my folds. I moaned loudly, completely lost in the pleasure he was giving me. My hips grinding against his mouth as he brought me closer and closer to the edge
His fingers joined his mouth, sliding in and out of me as his tongue continued its torture on my swollen bud. He curled his fingers upwards, hitting that spot inside me that drove me wild. I was writhing on the bed, my legs trembling on his shoulders. “Chris!”
He added another finger, scissoring them inside me as his thumb found my g-spot. He pumped his fingers in and out, his hand making squelching noises against my arousal.
“You like that? My hand inside you?” He asked, his voice muffled against my core. He curled his fingers again, hitting that spot inside me that made me see stars.
“Tell me what you need, baby. Should I keep going?” His tongue flicked out against my clit while his fingers continued their relentless pace. He wanted my words, my surrender. “Tell me...” whispers against my sensitive flesh “Should I make you cum, ma?”
“Yes!” I cried out, my back arching off the bed. “Please, Chris! Make me cum! I need it so bad!” My voice was high and desperate, my body writhing with pleasure. He groaned against me, the vibrations sending me over the edge.
His fingers stilled inside me, his tongue pausing its torture on my swollen bud. “Not like this,” he growled, his voice hoarse. “I want it on my face, but I need it on my cock more.” He lifted my legs off his shoulders and positioned himself between them.
He hovered above me, both hands next to each side of my head, supporting his weight. Leaning down, he captured my lips with his own, letting me taste myself on him. My hands slowly slid up his neck, then down his sides, and pushing up his black shirt.
He assisted me, grabbing the shirt from behind and pulling it off over his head. His messy hair fell back into place, sticking up in every direction. He tossed the shirt aside and kissed me again, his arms wrapping around me to hold me in place. His chest pressed against mine, warm and hard.
His kiss grew more insistent, his hands roaming over my back possessively as I sneakily moved my hands between his waistband and boxers. My fingers brushed against his lower abdomen before wrapping around his hard length through the thin fabric of his boxers.
A low moan escaped his lips as my hands touched his most intimate area. His stomach jerked back at the light contact, his boxers tenting out noticeably. His voice was muffled against my mouth, “Fuck, ma.” He groaned.
His hips bucked slightly, seeking more friction from my touch. His hands tightened on my waist, gripping me possessively. He pulled back from the kiss, panting heavily. “You keep touching me like that and I won't last long,” he warned, his eyes dark with desire.
Quickly standing up, he looked down at me with hunger in his eyes. I sat up, my hands trembling slightly as I reached for the button of his pants. He watched every movement with intense focus, his breath catching as I slowly undid the button and pulled down the zipper.
The sound of the zipper filled the room as it slid down, revealing his boxers straining against the newfound space. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to touch me or guide my hands. “Y/N...” he growled, voice strained.
I looked up at him through my lashes, biting my lower lip as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers. Slowly, torturously slow, I pulled them down, freeing his large, hardened cock.
“Fuck...” he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenched tight. His hands finally moved, one tangling in my hair while the other gripped my shoulder. “You’re killing me...” His voice was rough, barely more than a growl. His cock twitched as if begging for my touch.
I gently wrapped my hand around his shaft, stroking slowly as he watched with heavy-lidded eyes. His hips twitched at the contact, seeking more. “Y/N...” he whispered, his voice laced with need. “I want...”
“I know what you want,” I whispered back, maintaining my slow pace on his length. “But tell me anyway.” I leaned forward, grazing my lips against the base of his cock, just teasing. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
“I want to feel those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, hear you moan around me... Fuck, just the thought has me leaking.” His fingers tightened in my hair, guiding me closer.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice firm. “Stick out your tongue.” I did as he asked, looking up at him with innocent eyes. His hips bucked forward, slapping his length against my cheek. “Tease...”
“That's my good girl,” he praised huskily, sliding the head of his cock across my lips. “Now, take me in. Just the tip first.” His free hand moved to cup my chin, tilting my head up as he slowly pushed his hips forward. “Eyes on me,”
I stared up at him, my eyes locked on his as he gently pushed the tip of his cock past my lips. He let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into my chin as he held me in place. “Fuck, you look so pretty with my dick in your mouth...”
“Can you take a little more?” He asked, his voice strained. “Open your mouth wider, ma. Chin down.” He guided my head down, pushing his hips forward to slip in another inch. His thumbs stroked my cheeks as he looked down at me with loving eyes.
I nodded, opening my mouth as wide as I could and tucking my chin down to allow him more room. He groaned at the improved fit, his cock sliding deeper into my mouth. I felt him hit the back of my throat, his hips pressing gently against my face as he settled into the new position.
He let out a soft groan, his eyes rolling back slightly. “That's it, baby. So fucking good.” He pulled his hips back, only to push forward again, slowly fucking my mouth.
His head fell back, exposing his neck as he let out a deep moan. His hand in my hair became more insistent, guiding my movements as I blew him. The sound of wet sucking filled the room, mixed with his strained gasps. “Yes... just like that... fuck...”
His whole body shuddered as I wrapped my hands around his base, stroking and twisting as I bobbed my head. My spit dripped down his shaft as I slurped noisily. He cried out, his hips jerking forward as he tried to thrust into my hand and mouth.
“Shit... Y/N...” His voice was trembling. “You're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that...” His fingers tightened in my hair, but didn't force me to stop. Instead, he started thrusting into my mouth with urgency, chasing his release.
Tears streamed down my face as he fucked my mouth hard, the thick head of his cock hitting the back of my throat repeatedly. I gagged and choked, my hands pressing weakly against his hip bones, trying to slow him down. I gagged and choked, my vision starting to blur as he used me like a dirty toy. “Fuck... look at you...”
“God, your eyes... so pretty and watery. Taking my cock like such a good girl.” He slowed down slightly, caressing my cheek with his thumb while keeping my head steady. “Can you handle more?” His voice was ragged, clearly fighting his need to dominate my mouth completely.
I managed to nod, despite my tears and the feeling of my throat being stuffed full. I looked up at him, my eyes pleading and glazed over with tears and saliva. He smiled, his thumb wiping away a tear before he started fucking my mouth again, this time even harder and faster than before.
“Shit...” he gasped, one hand tangling in my hair while the other moved to support his weight against the wall. “Your fucking mouth... it's perfect...” His pace became more erratic, his moans growing louder as he neared his release.
He roared out his pleasure, his hot seed erupting into my mouth, dripping down my chin and onto my chest. As he pulled out, a gurgling sound escaped my lips along with a soft “guh” noise as I tried to breathe around his massive load.
Chris quickly grabbed a shirt and started wiping my face clean, trying to remove the excess cum. “Here, ma. Spit it out into the shirt.” He held the shirt out to me, but instead of following his instructions, I swallowed the remaining load, my throat working to gulp it down.
Chris let out a soft chuckle as he tossed the shirt aside, his eyes shining with pride and affection. He grabbed my chin, turning my face up to look at him. “You're amazing” He leaned down and kissed me deeply before pushing me back down on the bed, hovering over me with a satisfied grin.
He pulled back slightly, his lips barely grazing mine as he stared into my eyes with intense concern. “Are you sure about this? We can stop here if you want. I don't want to push you too far...”
“I want this,” I begged, my voice shaking with desperation. “I want you. I want to feel all of you.” I couldn't handle it anymore. Ever since he got behind the wheel, I'd been wet thinking about how he drove, and how fucking hot he looked doing it.
“Okay. If it gets to be too much, just say ‘stop’ and I'll pull back right away.” He leaned in to kiss me gently, his hands roaming over my body possessively.
His lips trailed down my neck, leaving hot, wet kisses that made me moan softly. In my mind, I knew there was no way I'd need him to stop—I wanted every inch of him, every touch, every kiss. There's no going back now.
Chris sat up, reaching for his pants that were on the floor to dig out his wallet. He started rummaging through it, looking for the condom he knew he had in there. But before he could find it, I reached out and gently grasped his forearm, stopping him.
“You don't need that,” I said softly, looking up at him through my lashes. “I'm on the pill.” I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, letting him know it was okay to be inside me bare. The thought of feeling him skin-to-skin sent shivers down my spine.
He smirked mischievously, throwing his wallet and pants onto the floor. “You truly are an angel,” he murmured against my lips before kissing me harshly, his hands roaming over my body possessively as he positioned himself between my thighs.
He slowly lowered himself down, positioning himself at my entrance. He looked into my eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he slowly pushed forward, stretching me open as he entered inch by inch, filling me completely.
I could feel my nails digging into his back as he slowly thrust into me. His bodyweight was just enough to leave me boneless and vulnerable as he moved against me. “You feel...” he gasped, his forehead resting against mine. “Fuck, you feel perfect.”
He remained still for a moment, allowing me to adjust to his size. His arms shook with the effort of holding himself up, but he didn't move a muscle, letting me set the pace. “Take your time, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “I'm not going anywhere.”
A deep moan escaped my lips as my body slowly adjusted to his size, stretching around him perfectly. The slight discomfort was quickly overshadowed by pure pleasure. I could feel every inch of him, filling me completely.
“Move,” I begged, my hands grasping at his back desperately. I needed him to move, to start thrusting inside me and making me forget about everything except the feeling of him buried deep within me. Chris obliged, pulling back slowly before slamming back into me, setting a punishing pace that had me seeing stars.
The sound of our bodies meeting filled the room as he thrust into me again and again, hitting that perfect spot deep inside. My fingers raked down his back, leaving red marks as I urged him on. “Faster,” I gasped, my legs wrapping tighter around his waist.
He complied with my plea, his arms flexing as he held himself up, giving him leverage to thrust faster and deeper. The new angle had him driving into me even deeper, the head of his cock kissing my cervix with each powerful thrust. The bed creaked beneath us from the force of his movements. “Don't stop,”
His hands planted firmly on the bed beside my head, he looked down at me as I removed my hands from his back and slid them up his chest, over his shoulders, and one around his neck, pulling him down into a deep, bruising kiss. He broke away briefly to pant,
“Hold on, baby,” he growled before wrapping an arm around my waist and flipping us over so that I was on top. His hands gripped my hips tightly as he guided my movements, helping me bounce on his cock.
I braced myself against his chest, using his defined pecs for leverage as I began to move on top of him. His hands guided my hips in a smooth rhythm as we settled into a steady pace. His eyes watched me intently, dark with desire as I rode him, taking control.
“Fuck...” he moaned deeply, pressing his head back into the pillow. The sensation of me moving on top of him, taking charge and driving him wild, was almost too much. His hands gripped my hips harder, urging me to move faster, deeper, showing no signs of letting up.
Chris’ chest heaved as he panted heavily, his mouth hanging open. His eyes fluttered shut and then opened again, heavy-lidded and unfocused. He was losing himself in the feeling of me, his body tensing and relaxing with each thrust.
“Atta girl,” he praised between ragged breaths, watching me intently. “Just like that, baby. Fuck, you’re so perfect.” His words spurred me on, making me move faster and harder. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the room, punctuated by his encouraging words.
I could feel his grip on my hips tightening with each thrust. I pressed hot kisses along his jawline, moving down to his neck, marking him as my own. With each bite and suck, his moans grew louder, more desperate.
He sat up, pulling me closer to him, his arms wrapping around my waist, one hand splayed on my back possessively. His face nuzzled into my neck, his hands holding me in place as he continued to talk me through it, his voice low and ragged.
As I arched my back as he nuzzled into my neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along my skin. His arms tightened around me possessively, his hands splayed wide on my back. He hummed contentedly, his words a low mumble against my neck.
I tugged his hair possessively, he looked at me with a yearning expression, his gaze filled with love and desire. He allowed me to pull him into a passionate kiss, his tongue meeting mine aggressively.
My moans grew louder as Chris’ hands gripped my hips, speeding up his thrusts to a frantic pace. The friction was intense, his cock hitting all the right spots inside me. I broke the kiss, throwing my head back in ecstasy as he pounded into me, his hands guiding my movements.
“Chris... fuck, right there... harder...” My nails dug into his shoulders as he moved faster, hitting deep within me. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body, and I couldn't help but let out a steady stream of moans. “Fuck, yes!”
Chris quickly stood up, lifting me off his lap and setting me down on the bed. He didn't even pause, immediately pushing back inside me and resuming his frantic pace. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading them wide as he pounded into me with reckless abandon, the bed creaking beneath us.
“AAAGH! CHRIS! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” My screams of pleasure filled the room, echoing off the walls. I was lost in the intense sensation, my body trembling and convulsing with each brutal thrust. The bed shook violently, the headboard slamming against the wall with every bounce.
“Take it, baby. Take every fucking inch of my cock,” Chris growled, his voice hoarse and breathless. “I'm gonna fill you up so fucking full. You're gonna be feeling me for days.”
“Fuck, your pussy is so tight. So fucking perfect. I'm gonna fucking explode inside you. You’re gonna be my little cum dump, and no one else is ever gonna touch you again.” He gripped my throat, squeezing lightly as he spoke, his voice dripping with possessiveness.
As he spoke, his grip on my throat tightened slightly, causing my eyes to roll back in my head. The combination of his words, the pressure on my neck, and the relentless pounding of his cock inside me sent me spiraling into oblivion.
In that moment, my mind was racing with thoughts of how unexpected this was—my best friend, who i’ve known for years was now fucking me raw and primal. The way he handled me, possessed me, was beyond anything I could have imagined.
My boldness had led me right here, spread out beneath him as he took me with a ferocity I never knew he had. And God, did it feel good. Better than good. It felt right. My best friend, the one person I trusted more than anyone else, was fucking me raw and primal, and I was loving every second of it. Like this was where I was always meant to be.
“Look at you taking my cock like such a good girl. You never would've guessed I could fuck you this good, huh?” he whispered darkly against my ear, as if reading my mind. His pace quickened, hitting that perfect spot inside me that made my eyes roll back again.
“Fuck, who knew you'd feel this perfect around my cock? All these years, being patient, waiting for you to see me... and here we are. Screwing like beasts. Look at you, taking me bare, moaning my name like it's your new favorite prayer.” he continued to whisper against my ear.
My legs began to shake uncontrollably as Chris's pace became more intense, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside me. The familiar warmth started low in my stomach, spreading quickly through my entire body. “Oh... Chris... I'm going to...”
Just as I was about to scream my climax, Chris leaned his head against mine, his breath hot against my ear. “Cum with me, baby,” he whispered, his hand pressing down on my stomach, feeling himself hitting my cervix with every thrust.
“CHRIS!” I screamed, nails digging into his back as my orgasm tore through me. The sensation of his bare cock pulsing inside me pushed me over the edge, and I shattered completely, wrapping my legs tight around him.
Chris threw his head back with a loud groan, his mouth open in a silent scream as he came inside me. The moonlight from the small window reflected off his sweaty body as he poured himself into me, his hips jerking with each wave of pleasure. “Mmm fuck,”
Chris collapsed gently onto my chest, trying to catch his breath. His hair, damp with sweat, fell over his forehead as he looked down at me, his eyes still intense from our passionate moment. The moonlight streaming in from the window seemed to kiss his skin, illuminating his sweaty chest and highlighting his defined muscles.
“Been holding back that for years,” he panted softly, pressing a gentle kiss to my collarbone. “Couldn't help myself tonight.” he chuckled.
Chris hovered over me, his arms trembling slightly from exertion as he looked down at my face. I reached up, my hand wrapping around the back of his neck, and pulled him down into a deep, passionate kiss. When we finally broke apart, I smiled up at him, my heart racing. “Well, it was worth the wait,”
“Worth the wait?” Chris traced my jawline with his thumb, a playful smirk forming on his lips. “You mean getting my drivers licenses was the key to finally getting in your pants?” He leaned down to brush his lips against mine again.
“Because we both know,” he added in a husky whisper against my lips, “you were absolutely soaked the entire drive, just watching me handle that steering wheel...” His smirk grew wider as he noticed the flush creeping across my cheeks. “And now I get to handle you just the same way..”
Chris pulled me into a slow, deep kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine as he held me close. The kiss was gentle but passionate, filled with a newfound intimacy that left me breathless and craving more.
As we pulled away from the kiss, I smiled up at him teasingly. “There could've been other ways to get into my pants,” I said, my voice playful. Chris's eyes lit up with curiosity. “Like what?” He asked, leaning back on his elbows, clearly eager to hear my suggestions.
“Well,” I began, tracing my fingers down his chest, “you could have just been yourself—the charming, funny, incredibly sexy man I've been crushing on for years.” I leaned in closer, “Or you could have just…” I whispered in his ear,
“Just what?” he teased, his breath tickling my ear as he leaned closer. I smiled against his neck, my heart skipping a beat at his closeness. “Or just show up to my door some random night, and I would have let you in.”
Chris chuckled, a warm, satisfied sound that sent shivers down my spine. “So you're saying my charm alone would have been enough?” he asked, his hand slowly sliding down my side.
“I don't have very high standards when it comes to you,” I admitted, turning my head to press a soft kiss to his neck. “You could have just woken me up in the middle of the night, and I would have let you in, let you do whatever you wanted to me...”
His breath hitched at my words, and he nuzzled closer, his lips finding my earlobe. “Maybe I should have tried that,” he murmured, his voice low and hungry. “But then again, watching you squirm in the passenger seat was quite enjoyable too.”
Chris settled back against the pillow, pulling me tight against his chest. I rested my head over his heart, listening to its steady rhythm while absently tracing patterns on his chest. “Comfortable?” he asked softly, one hand moving to stroke my hair.
“Mhm,” I hummed contentedly, snuggling closer and throwing a leg over his hips. “I could stay like this forever.” I yawned, my eyelids growing heavy as the day's events caught up with me. Chris's chest vibrated with a soft chuckle.
In the quiet of the room, our breaths slowly synchronized as we drifted off to sleep, limbs entwined and hearts beating in harmony. The night was cool, but Chris's warmth kept me perfectly cozy. As consciousness slipped away, I knew this was only the beginning of something wonderful.
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A/N: never getting over the fact that chris has his drivers licenses now, more stories of him driving in the future for sure!!
!! THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS !! ❤︎︎
TAGS : @st6rify ✮⋆˙ @jetaimevous ✮⋆˙ @certifiedstarrr ✮⋆˙ @slvtf0rchr1s ✮⋆˙ @l3sbiancvnt ✮⋆˙ @wh0remikasas ✮⋆˙ @r0s3luvr ✮⋆˙ @emely9274 ✮⋆˙ @mimiluvzpicklez ✮⋆˙ @courta13
── .✦ MASTER—LIST ⭑𓂃
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kreemkreem · 2 months ago
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Your future spouse message for you 💜
Pick an image
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Hello
I think you know me or do you? Ha ha I am just saying. Now if I start being practical how are you? Hmmm . Are you taking care of yourself or not? Hmmm. I think you are not . whyyy hmm. (In soft voice ahhh) . Did I make your heart beat faster or made you blush . I think not (maybe yes) . Do you want a ring babe? Oh your blood is rushed to your face. I think I do some magic on you . Why so shy babe hmmm . Cutie. Oh ,you are not but what should I do you are for me(hahaha).
Your future spouse is literally a tease. I full so happy writing this message. He flirts a lot . And you are a little reserved person. You might pretend that u don't like his teasing but you are internally getting butterflies.(Do give a feedback)
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Hyy sunshine
I wanna talk to you 😭🥺. Just a casual talk will do. I am missing you. If you are manifesting me I am also manifesting you. I know it will take sometime hah how I know it will take time. Bcz I am fixing the things you might not like in me. My hairstyle,my confidence,my wardrobe I am refining it . Making me a brand new person. Dk you wanna go on a beach? Wearing the pearls. I will take time but I will come. Don't be in love with someone else I am not just saying the lyrics I actually mean it.
😘
(your future spouse may be from different culture from you. They were talking to me a language I can't understand (lol 😭) . Your future spouse is committed person they may pray that all other people stay away from my future spouse. Here a strong message they may person you in just 1-2 dates. For some of you they may even propose you in just one meeting. Maybe you will meet him in blind date or in arrange marriage set up.)(do give me a feedback)
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When the wind blows I love you when will stops I love you in rain I love you in when a sunset I love you when the sunrise I love you on the half moon I love you on the full moon I love you on the seashore I love you when the leaves are falling I love you when the trees are growing I love you on the snowy mountain I love you. Just wanna say I love you 💗💗💗.
((sigh) your future spouse just wanna tell you. How much they love you. I think you are more focusing on yourself right now. And you may feel now you are alone but your future spouse is telling you they are always with you. You are not alone as they love you. Even in my own message they are coming to say I love you. I think some of you wanted a confirmation or asked the universe if your spouse love you. Look how much they love you)(do give me a feedback)
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hellobykittys · 2 months ago
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 (𝐈𝐌)𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 ✦ 𝐂𝐋¹⁶
SUMMARY: Charles Leclerc, a Formula 1 star, faces the decline of his reputation after breaking up with art curator Alexandra Saint Mleux. Under pressure from his team, he is forced into a fake relationship with one of the most popular influencers of the moment. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. WC: 2.6k WARNING: enemies to lovers, teasing, fake relationship
MASTERLIST | NEXT PART
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The meeting room was lit by cold lights reflecting off an impeccably clean glass table. Charles Leclerc sat at the head, his chin resting on his hand, visibly bored. The tension in the air was thick, and he already knew this meeting wasn’t going to end well. Around the table, members of Ferrari’s PR team sat, along with Lorenzo Leclerc, Charles’ older brother and personal manager.
“Let’s get straight to the point,” Lorenzo began, crossing his arms. His voice carried the firmness of someone tired of useless discussions. “Charles, we need to talk about your reputation.”
Charles rolled his eyes, setting his phone down on the table.
“My reputation? You mean the circus the media makes out of everything I do?”
“It’s not a circus if you keep giving them material,” Sofia, Ferrari’s PR head, cut in. A woman with short hair and piercing eyes, Sofia was known for her blunt and impatient approach.
“Seriously?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “Now you want to control my personal life too?”
Lorenzo sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Charles, we’re not here to debate who’s right or wrong. We’re here because your image is directly affecting your career.”
“My career’s fine,” Charles shot back, crossing his arms.
Sofia slammed a folder full of tabloid clippings on the table, making a sharp noise.
“Is it? Because from what we see here, it doesn’t look like it. ‘Charles Leclerc spotted at a party until 5 AM with a mysterious model.’ ‘Ferrari driver involved in a new controversy after a fight at a club.’ This affects the sponsors, Charles. It affects the Ferrari brand.”
Charles leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face.
“Look, I get it. But what do you want me to do? Lock myself in my house?”
“Not exactly,” Sofia replied with a cold smile that made Charles immediately suspicious.
Lorenzo cleared his throat, trying to soften what was coming.
“Charles, we’ve come up with a solution that could help clean up your image quickly while you focus on what really matters: your performance on the track.”
“Great. So, what’s the plan?” he asked, clearly impatient.
Sofia leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table.
“We’re going to put you in a fake relationship.”
The silence that followed was so deep that you could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Charles blinked a few times, sure he’d misunderstood.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“We’re not,” Sofia replied, serious. “The idea is simple. We want to associate your image with a public figure who’s seen as positive, inspiring, and… balanced.”
“You want me to fake being in love with someone to save my reputation? This is ridiculous!”
“It’s not that simple, Charles,” Lorenzo tried to intervene. “We’re not asking you to fall in love. It’s a contract. An agreement. None of this has to be real.”
Charles laughed humorlessly, shaking his head.
“And who’s this poor soul you’ve hired for this?”
Sofia smiled, clearly expecting this question.
“Y/N.”
The name hit the silence like a shot. Charles frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard it. It didn’t take long before the girl’s face popped into his mind. She was impossible to ignore on social media, with her impeccable style, viral videos, and appearances at fashion and entertainment events.
“You’re talking about that… influencer?” he asked, incredulous.
“Not just any influencer. She’s the influencer right now,” Sofia corrected. “Everyone loves her. She’s elegant, charismatic, and has a solid fanbase. Associating with her will change the public’s perception of you.”
“You want me to fake dating a girl I barely know and who probably thinks race cars are just fancy toys?” Charles shot back, irritated.
Lorenzo took a deep breath, visibly trying to stay calm.
“Charles, no one’s saying it’ll be easy. But think of it as a strategy. Y/N isn’t just an influencer. She’s professional, ambitious, and has as much to gain from this as you do.”
“Great. So, she’s doing it for personal gain too,” Charles said sarcastically.
Sofia rolled her eyes.
“This isn’t about what she wants, it’s about what you need.”
Charles sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the table. The idea seemed absurd. He didn’t want to give up his freedom for some farce that, deep down, made no sense to him.
“You guys must be crazy if you think I’ll agree to this,” Charles declared, suddenly standing up. His voice echoed through the room, but no one seemed surprised by his reaction.
Lorenzo sighed, already expecting this kind of response. He knew his brother too well to think he’d accept something so outside his comfort zone without resistance.
“Charles, sit down,” Lorenzo said, his voice firm and authoritative. “You have every right to be angry, but if you keep acting like a spoiled child, you won’t get anywhere.”
“A spoiled child?” Charles laughed darkly, pointing at his brother. “This coming from you, trying to convince me to join this ridiculous show. It’s my life, Lorenzo! I’m not a puppet for you guys to manipulate.”
Sofia intervened, trying to stay professional, but her patience was clearly wearing thin.
“Charles, understand this: we’re talking about your career. It’s not just about you. It’s about the team, the sponsors, the thousands of jobs that depend on Ferrari’s success. Formula 1 is a business, and in this business, your image is as important as your driving skills.”
“My driving skills should be the only thing that matters!” he shot back, pointing to himself. “I’m a driver. That’s what I do. I’m not a celebrity who needs a fake romance to get attention.”
“Don’t be naive, Charles,” Sofia replied coldly. “In today’s world, public perception is everything. You could be the best driver on the grid, but if your image keeps getting tied to scandals, no one will want to invest in you.”
Lorenzo crossed his arms, looking at his brother seriously.
“You know she’s right. You don’t have to like the idea, but you have to accept that it’s necessary.”
Charles took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the knot in his throat only tightened. He hated the idea of being seen as someone who couldn’t control his own life, but Lorenzo and Sofia had a point: the external pressure was becoming unbearable.
“Why her?” he asked, his voice a little quieter.
Sofia gave a slight smile, as though she’d been waiting for this question.
“Because Y/N is exactly what you need. She has an impeccable reputation, knows how to handle the media, and most importantly, knows how to play the game.”
“And how are you so sure she’ll agree to this?” Charles asked, crossing his arms.
“We’ve already talked to her,” Lorenzo revealed. “She agreed. Obviously, she has her conditions, but she’s willing to collaborate.”
Charles laughed, incredulous.
“Of course she agreed. She’s probably loving the idea of being associated with me. She’ll gain even more followers and the ‘Wag’ title. That must be her dream.”
“Don’t underestimate Y/N,” Sofia warned. “She’s far from being a superficial girl. If she agreed, it’s because she saw value in the proposal, just like we did.”
Charles fell silent for a moment, processing everything that had been said. He felt a mix of anger, frustration, and, in a way, helplessness. He hated being put against the wall, but he knew refusing wouldn’t solve his problems.
“And how long is this going to last?” he asked, his disgust evident.
“The contract is for a year,” Lorenzo answered. “Long enough to solidify the lie, but short enough not to be unsustainable.”
“And what if it doesn’t work?”
“It will work,” Sofia assured him confidently.
Charles let out a heavy sigh, running his hands through his hair.
“I hate you guys.”
“Feel free to hate us all you want,” Lorenzo replied, standing up. “But do what needs to be done.”
Sofia grabbed the folder and gave one last look at Charles.
“Y/N will be here tomorrow to talk officially. Hope you’re ready.”
With that, everyone began to leave the room, leaving Charles alone. He slumped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to accept that, like it or not, his life was about to change.
The meeting room was spacious and well-lit, with glass walls offering a panoramic view of the city. Charles Leclerc was already there, on time this time, sitting next to the conference table in a relaxed yet attentive posture. He was casually flipping through a document, but his mind was elsewhere. The decision to accept the deal still felt surreal.
When the door opened, he lifted his eyes and saw Y/N entering with confident steps. She looked calm, self-assured. She wore a fitted blazer and pants that accentuated her confident posture. Her perfume reached him before her voice, subtle yet striking.
“Hope I’m not late,” she said, placing her bag on a chair and giving Charles a brief glance before looking away.
“You’re not,” he replied, giving a slight nod, observing her carefully.
Lorenzo and Sofia entered right after, carrying folders and an air of seriousness.
“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get straight to the point,” Lorenzo began, taking his seat at the head of the table. “You both know how important this partnership is, both for the team and for your respective careers.”
“It’s not like we have much of a choice, right?” Y/N commented, not aggressively, but with a touch of realism.
“Not exactly,” Sofia answered, unfazed. “But we expect you to see the mutual benefit in this.”
Charles leaned his elbows on the table and glanced at Y/N for a moment before speaking.
“And you? What do you think of all this?”
Y/N blinked, surprised by the direct question, but maintained her composure.
“I think it’s… unexpected. But I won’t deny it’s an opportunity. And you?”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering.
“I think it could work, as long as we follow a few rules.”
“Rules?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” he answered, with a slight smile. “Like, don’t try to kill me in front of the cameras.”
Y/N let out a short laugh, almost genuine.
“I think I can follow that.”
Lorenzo interrupted, trying to keep the focus.
“Great. Let’s start by clarifying expectations. You’ll need to attend events together, create interactions for social media, and above all, look natural.”
“Does that mean we need to get to know each other better?” Y/N asked, looking directly at Charles, this time with less provocation and more curiosity.
“Probably,” he replied, her eyes holding his for a moment longer than necessary.
Sofia cleared her throat.
“For that, we recommend starting with something simple. A dinner, maybe. Nothing formal, just so you get used to being together outside a professional setting.”
Y/N looked away, pretending to think, but there was something uncomfortably intimate about the idea.
“Seems fair,” she finally said, grabbing a pen to sign the contract placed in front of her.
Charles didn’t say anything but let the corner of his mouth curve into a slight smile. He grabbed his own copy of the contract and signed it right after her.
When they finished, Lorenzo looked at both of them.
“Perfect. From now on, you’re officially a couple.”
Lorenzo’s statement hung in the air like an uncomfortable reminder of what had just been signed. Y/N grabbed her bag, ready to leave, but hesitated at the door.
“Charles?” she called, without turning around.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t plan on complicating this, but I hope you do your part.”
Charles adjusted his watch nonchalantly, as if this kind of deal was something he had mastered.
“I always do.” A discreet smile formed on his lips. “But maybe we should establish a few rules to make sure it works.”
“It’s so nice to see you both so… invested!” Sofia interrupted, letting out a light laugh. “But I’ll leave the details to you two. Just don’t kill each other, please.”
Lorenzo stood up shortly after, giving his brother a nearly conspiratorial look before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. When he said goodbye to Y/N, he smiled warmly, as if to say, “Good luck.”
Once the room was silent, Charles broke it with a casual tone.
“So, about those rules…”
Y/N crossed her arms, clearly determined to make everything crystal clear from the start.
“The first limit is simple: don’t touch or kiss me without prior notice.”
Charles raised an eyebrow, surprised, but entertained by her firmness.
“You do realize that’s basically what couples do, right? Touch, kiss, look close… How are we supposed to convince anyone we’re real if we’re so mechanical?”
“I never said it was forbidden,” she corrected, remaining calm. “I’m just saying, don’t do it without a reason or without letting me know first.”
He chuckled softly, tilting his head slightly.
“Do you really think I’m interested in anything beyond what this contract requires?” He stepped forward, not breaking eye contact. “What happened at the club was just an impulse, not a sign that I’m in love with you.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes, as if analyzing every word he said.
“Great. Then it shouldn’t be hard to keep your hands and lips off me.”
Charles opened his mouth to retort but stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. It was a clear challenge, with something more hidden behind that confidence.
“Of course,” he replied, finally curving his lips into a nearly provocative smile. “But I’ve got my conditions too.”
Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, unfazed.
“Alright, go ahead.”
“You have to attend my races whenever you can. And when you can’t, show support on social media. It’s the least I expect.”
She let out an incredulous laugh.
“I’m gonna be your fake girlfriend, not your number one fan.”
“As my girlfriend, you should show support. Isn’t that what girlfriends do? Plus, my fans will love it. It’ll be good for our image.”
Y/N rolled her eyes but knew he had a point.
“Fine, but I’ve got commitments too. Don’t expect me to be at every race.”
Charles shrugged, still with that annoyingly confident smile.
“It’s a start.”
Silence fell between them again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was as if both were evaluating the other, trying to figure out what was coming next.
Y/N adjusted her bag again and took two steps toward the door before stopping.
“One more thing, Charles.”
“What?” He raised an eyebrow, curious.
“If you want this to work, stop trying to always have the last word.”
He smiled, a mix of challenge and amusement.
“That’s asking too much.”
Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head before finally walking out of the room.
Charles stood there for a moment, staring at the door she had just walked through. There was something about her that made him feel intrigued, and he knew this story was far from simple.
Outside the building, Y/N got into the waiting car and took a deep breath. “This is going to be more complicated than I thought,” she mused as the driver started the engine.
Back inside, Charles picked up his phone and quickly sent a message to Lorenzo.
Charles: “If she thinks she can challenge me, this is going to be fun.”
On the other side, Lorenzo just laughed as he read the message.
450 notes · View notes
m-ilkiee · 3 months ago
Text
E-boys Ruined my Life: Toxic! Megumi Fushiguro x Fem Reader
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Chapter 1: Love at First Sight
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[series summary]: you had a crush on Megumi for so long, you hoped you would meet him again. But now, as you stand before him, you realize that Fushiguro Megumi is not the same kid as he was at fifteen- he was taller, broader and far more handsome than ever. And a whole lot meaner to you.
[synopsis]: Being friends with the IT GIRLS as a first year has a lot of perks; new friends, a popularity boost and crossing paths constantly with your high school crush after many years apart, Megumi Fushiguro. this is a heavily edited and revised chapter.
[cw]: DARK CONTENT, NSFW, aged up characters, classism - elitism, sexism/misogyny, unhealthy body image, violence, mentions of bullying and suicidal ideation, slut shaming, objectification, parasocial relationships, gaslighting, manipulation, sex between characters, brief mention of teenagers fooling around.
[r-18+] (not suitable for 17 and under)
[wc] 13.5k
[masterlist] [chapter 2] [taglist] [playlist] [main]
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  THERE’S just something so thrilling about having positive attention.
Each step you take down the campus quad has heads turning your way in awe. Decked in original pink juicy couture tracks, white Nike sneakers with pink highlights and your white hermes bag hanging off your arm, you strutted onwards with your head held up high. Everything about you screamed perfection, from your proper posture to your brand new hair-do, to your freshly microbladed brows, to your light ‘clean girl’ makeup that accented your best features, down to new manipedi you got.
Things you took care of no matter how much pain or discomfort you were in. And it was worth every hot wax pulled off your skin.
All eyes were on you, stopping in their tracks just to admire your beauty. You could hear whistles and compliments being thrown at you from all sides, but you pay no mind to them, instead scanning the surroundings until you spot a familiar blue haired girl sitting at the edge of the quad with the other girls. She notices you as well, breaking into a smile as she waves you over and you make your way to their spot excitedly, plopping yourself on the bench besides your friends.
The IT girls of Wilhelm Baldwin University; that’s what the school dubbed your group, made up of the most popular girls in the school.
“Honestly, you’re one of the only people who I’ve seen wear a tracksuit and still look hot with it.” the blue haired girl, Miwa, spoke, her eyes admiring your outfit. She was the sweetest girl you’ve ever met, coming from humble beginnings and doing everything she could to support her family as the sole breadwinner.
She started creating lifestyle and baking content on her tik tok as a way to pass time when she was bored, only for her to grow big overnight, appearing on shows, tours and other events. Now she settled to go to school, wanting an education and she makes lifestyle content about her chaotic days in university.
Everyone knew her as the nice girl of the group, always willing to let people down gently and helping people who asked. To outsiders Miwa was a saint. To the inner workings of your group, she could be a little misguided and thick headed at times. Despite all that, she’s your closest friend and the first ever person you met on college campus, long before you became popular.
“It’s juicy couture Miwa. Of course it’s gonna look good. Well on someone as hot as (name).” A blonde haired girl who was sitting across added. 
Momo Nishimiya, a trust-fund baby whose parents practically own the legal world in the palm of their hands. With her father as a rather influential senator and her mother as the chief justice of the nation, Momo is set for life. You never let her five foot appearance fool you; just like her parents she was vicious, smart and could pull just the right strings to get people to do what she wanted.
Not even her dad was safe. The cherry red sports’ car sitting in the school’s parking lot is a testament of how convincing she could be.
You’re glad she was an ally and not an enemy.
“I’m just shocked that new money is finally wearing something original.” the girl with the short green hair sitting next to Momo says with a sly grin, her mocking tone grinding your gears.
Mai Zenin, the leader of the group and the bane of your fucking existence. Coming from a long line of generational wealth of the Zenin���s, Mai is the President of the biggest sorority in the nation, the Zeta house, a business major at the top of her class and an olympic gold medalist in the shooting range category.
It didn’t help that she was also gorgeous and her pores were effortlessly clear, because by god was she infuriating and you wished there was just something you could say to knock her down a peg.
Cocking her head sideways, Mai’s pink lips curled up into a smirk as she placed her chin on her propped up hand. “It is real Juicy Couture, right?”
“It is real.” You quip back in a sickly sweet voice, returning a strained smile and resisting the urge to just jump her. “I thought old money could recognize real from fake, guess you’re not that good at spotting the difference.”
And then there is the newest addition to the group, you, (name) (last name). From the generous nickname Mai gave you, you’re new money after your mother married your step-father, a highly controversial marriage to the media. Being the youngest and only freshman to ever join the group without being in Mai’s sorority, you’ve garnered attention within just months of entering the university.
You would think you would have done something noteworthy for the entire school to notice you; but no that’s not what happened.
You’re popular because you’re the hottest girl on campus.
No seriously.
There was a stupid ranking of the hottest freshman girl and you won. Not a sorority sister or some girl rushing for a sorority, nor a much more wealthy socialite who had years of money to keep looking hot. You assumed that with the world’s weird beauty standards you would barely be noticed, which was fine, but somehow the university decided they liked you and they liked the way you looked.
You went from being a homebody glued to your screen to being invited out by other girls to gatherings, getting free things on campus and being asked out every 3-7 business days.
And who was Mai to ignore the opportunity of a rising star?
Mai laughed at your clap back, her eyes sparkling with interest as she leaned back on the picnic chair. “Don’t be mad at me, I saved you from a scandal by giving you valid criticism. Imagine if the tabloids caught you wearing fake Vancleef, ‘(Last name) - Nanami caught wearing a dupe, is the mother-daughter duo still stuck with their penny pinching ways?’ Is that the kind of news you’d want following you around, new money?”
You gritted your teeth in frustration, recalling exactly how you got into that mess which heavily involved Mai Zenin. “You were the one who sent me to that store in the first place.”
“I was trying to teach you how to tell what’s a dupe and what’s not. And it’s paying off. You look so much better in original clothes.”
“Why you-”
“Ladies enough! Hearing about dupes makes my head hurt.” Momo cuts in, ending the argument before it could escalate any further. Both you and Mai instantly back down from the heated argument, still glaring down at each other. “And where is that pledge with our drinks? I’m really not in the mood to get through the day without my fix of espresso.”
“You’re just antsy cause you pulled an all-nighter with some project.” Mai teased her blonde friend, suddenly in a good mood again. “I told you to give that shit to some poor nerd who needs the money to do it for you.”
“I’d rather not. Most of them are so mediocre in their academic papers, it makes my skin crawl -”
You tune out the rest of their conversation, not wanting to hear the two girls talk about how poor people are dumb losers and how much better they are compared to people of lower class, picking up your phone and going straight to instagram. Mindlessly, you scrolled through your feed, only liking pictures of hot guys, your friends and food content, really nothing out of the ordinary with your feed.
Sometimes you wonder if this was going to be your college experience.
You had barely just entered school and already you were at the top of the food chain, which was good for you. Being the newest socialite, you knew it would be hard for anyone to respect you. 
It was different for someone like Miwa, who made the money by herself. She had more respect from wealthy people, than you who by proxy inherited it by your mother marrying into money.
Your dumb luck has saved you from being known as the gold digger’s daughter and you’re grateful for it.
Anyone would kill to be in your position right now and yet, you feel like you’re wasting away. There are so many restrictions attached to the lifestyle you’re living, so many clubs you can’t join because you let Mai dictate what you can or can’t do.
“The Wilhelm Baldwin University Theatre is inviting you to our play production, Legally Blonde on 26th Nov 2024.”
You hover on the instagram post on your school’s official account, staring at it sadly as you think about your situation. Something twists in your heart at the e-poster, a solemn smile making its way to your face. A distant past where you would have jumped at the opportunity to be involved in the arts flashes back into your mind.
‘Perhaps there is truly a price for fame and popularity…’
“Hey, isn’t that the play by the University’s theatre club?”
You’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts by Miwa, but soon your shock turns to annoyance when you realise she was looking into your phone while you were distracted. Before you could reprimand her, Mai and Momo quickly shifted their attention to what she had said, clearly interested in the newest information, their faces twisted into ugly smirks.
“Those Juillard wannabees are hosting a play? That’s rich. What are they gonna do? Another shitty rendition of Romeo and Juliet?”
You internally cringe at Mai’s scornful tone but you couldn’t deny her words. Your school’s theatre program is rather underfunded, putting more money in your cheer team, football squad and fraternities. Only people either on scholarships or who are currently knee-deep in college debt make up the majority of the program's occupants.
Another difference between class divisions in this school.
Before you could say anything to change the topic, Momo snatches your phone from your hand and takes a good look at the poster. “They’re doing Legally Blonde?? These bottom feeders are literally cosplaying a socialite. Be for real”
The two girls burst into laughter, nearly knocking over your expensive iphone as if it’s the funniest thing on earth. Miwa bites her lip, a look of guilt crossing over her face the moment she sees your fists clenched underneath the table in annoyance. You’re quick to take slow deep breaths, counting from one - ten as the two older girls continued to berate the play between scornful laughter.
“Wait wait, let's check the casting…” Mai says between gasps, scrolling to see the people playing the characters. A feeling of dread washes down your body when you see her sneer at the first picture. “Hana Kurusu is the person they picked to be THE Elle Woods? THEY picked a girl who wears shoes from goodwill to play Elle woods? Who casted this?”
‘I’m pretty sure they don’t base their criteria for casting based on where you get shoes from’
“She’s not even close to being hot.” Momo adds, her tone tinged with pure disgust. “I can’t believe they picked her.”
“Maybe she’s a good actress.” Miwa says in a dead tone, trying to salvage the situation. The older girls look at Miwa as if she’s grown two heads, before sighing and shaking their heads like she’s an impetuous child. “Look, Miwa-chan, I know you’re a sweetheart but you know none of those theatre kids have any talent. They take in anyone, ANYONE. New money can agree with me on this one.”
All eyes turned to you, expectant of your answer. Anxiousness creeps onto your skin as the spotlight is put on you, all your anger dissipating as Mai’s gaze burns deep into your soul, waiting for you to agree with her. As much as you’re usually going toe to toe with Mai, you know your spot with the IT girls was still tentative. This is one of the arguments that could make or break you; while she loves being challenged, Mai will never forgive you if you show sympathy for any person she considers beneath her status.
On one hand, you could risk Mai genuinely hating you and making her your enemy by telling her the truth, that Hana truly has more talent than Mai ever will.
On the other hand…
You plucked your phone from Momo’s hand, taking a good look at the picture before throwing your phone aside dramatically, gagging in disgust. “Ewwww, that’s the girl that wears that ugly sweater from Costco three times a week. I hope her acting isn't as ugly as her fashion sense.”
Your comment breaks the tension, making the three girls - yes even Miwa - bark with laughter, nearly losing their minds at your reaction, sealing the deal. You settle into a small smile as the pledge brings your drinks to the table, placing your frappuccino in front of you. You carefully sip your drink, washing down the bitter taste of guilt with its sweetness.
‘Keep your friends close and wealthy friends with connections closer.’
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   ZENIN Megumi hated Trending Tuesdays on the T with a burning passion.
He hated a lot of things, to be fair, but this was at the top of the list of things he hated. It was like a dick measuring contest that some of his classmates did in high school, only on a much larger scale involving a bunch of grown adults who should be doing something better than watching the latest trend on a thinly veiled gossip blog masquerading as the school’s website.
The fraternity usually got louder during Trending Tuesdays, hollering about the newest girl they considered hot and who was not or what guy did the craziest thing. Usually on these kinds of days, Megumi would go up to his private room and smoke whilst blasting music or playing League of Legends, but now as the president of his fraternity, he has responsibilities. He has to be present, even if it killed him on the inside, at least to encourage this stupid bonding activity or whatever his vice-president, Yuuji Itadori told him.
“Aren’t you going to show the slightest interest in Trending Tuesdays?”
Speak of the devil.
Megumi turns his attention from the book he’s reading, “The Godfather” to Yuuji Itadori. The pink haired man had always been there for him since Megumi moved schools; even as he fell into deeper darkness as he spent more time with the Zenins, he and that crazy bitch Nobara stood beside him. Yuuji was the more fun one, much more cut out to be the president of the Fraternity in Megumi’s opinion, even though he’d say otherwise. He has been so invested in Trending Tuesdays as a tradition and perhaps that’s why he wants Megumi to be more involved this year.
“You want me to huddle over a phone with other guys to see what girl half of the fraternity will jerk off to tonight?” Megumi crosses his arms. He knows he’ll cave eventually because it’s Yuuji, but he’s not going to make it easy for him either. “Isn’t my presence while this madness is going on in the common room enough?”
“Come onnnn! Toge’s gonna put it on the TV anyways so you won’t have to rub shoulders with people” Yuuji groans childishly, making the dark haired man roll his eyes in response. Sometimes his friend can be so irritating whenever he wants him to do something, especially if it involves socialising with people. “We just have one more year before we graduate, aren’t you in the slightest curious about it?”
“No.”
“But it’s like a team bonding exercise! Besides, you might see a girl you’ll actually like in this school.”
Megumi almost wants to laugh at Yuuji’s statement. It’s just as ridiculous as the elders in the Zenin family who keep insisting for him to at least have a main girl so that the future of their bloodline is secure. Only that Yuuji thinks that Megumi is only sleeping with different girls cause he hasn’t found the right one yet.
At least the Zenin’s are not naïve to his real intentions.
“As long as it's not school sanctioned, I don’t care.”
His blunt tone deflates Yuuji’s cheerful mood once more and for a brief moment Megumi thinks he’s worn Yuuji down, returning to read his book in peace.
“PleasePleasePleasePleasePlease-”
Sick of Yuuji’s incessant nagging, the dark haired man barked out “I’m coming, I’m coming!” throwing the novel aside and storming off, Yuuji following behind with a shit eating grin.
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  THE second he enters the common room, the once chattering room goes silent.
Megumi isn’t new to his frat brothers fearing him. He is not a particularly friendly face with his usual grumpy expression and towering height, and he has the personality to match, quiet with a stern personality. It could be his policies that make them instantly shape up whenever he is around, scared that he’d lash out at them at any moment or expel them for the slightest mistake.
It’s not like their fears are unfounded though. But he only punishes annoyances and as long as they stay out of his way and his room, they’re safe.
They clear the way for him and Yuuji, letting them walk to the largest chair in the common room, greetings of “Good day President” “Good day vice-president” echoing throughout the room. Yuuji is the only one that responds, telling them to loosen up. “We’re just here for trending Tuesdays. No one’s gonna get in trouble today for being rowdy, right, Zenin?”
“We’ll see.”
A white haired male was already perched on their usual seat, brows pinched in concentration as he connected his phone's bluetooth to the television. The man raised his head, his sour expression quickly turning to shock when he saw Megumi standing in front of him. He looked from Megumi  to Yuuji, discarding his phone to put a hand in front of his face, bending his fingers in and out, his lips mimicking Megumi’s usual grouchy frown.
“How the hell did you get Mr. Grumpy out of his room for Trending Tuesday? You didn’t offer him a free fuck like one of his whores, right?”
Megumi felt his eye twitch as Yuuji snorted at the comment. before rapidly signing back. “Fuck you, Toge.”
Toge rolled his eyes at Megumi in response, before moving aside so that he and Yuuji could sit and the common room goes back to their chattering as before when they realise Megumi wasn’t doing any official duties today.
Toge Inumaki was a senior majoring in robotics engineering, their fraternities treasurer, as well as a grade one menace to society.
People make the mistake of assuming he’s a quiet guy because he doesn’t say anything and think he’s this sort of mysterious and cool person who keeps to himself, not knowing that he’s mute, deaf in his right ear and partially deaf in his left, always donning his hearing aids. Toge doesn’t bother clearing up the rumours, rather taking glee in watching people try to get close to him to get him to ‘open up’, only to be horrified when they realise his disability and feel immense guilt right after.
Yuuji had tried talking him out of it, but he defended his actions with, “That’s what they get for treating me like a social experiment. They wanna be friends with the quiet rich kid to get favours.”
Megumi doesn’t blame him. Ever since meeting Toge, when he moved high schools, he knew that people either treat him as the introverted project they want to take on or the poor disabled kid who no one understands, but never a human being.
Sometimes, people would straight up not believe him that he can’t hear them without his aid because he’s “too cute to be disabled”.
Even his parents are weird around him, never once attempting to learn sign language themselves since it would be too ‘tasking’.
It hasn’t damped Toge’s sense of humour regardless. Anyone who knows Toge and knows sign language knows that the white haired man is a talkative with a filthy mouth. He’s a prankster and pledges are advised to avoid him, seeing as they’re the most susceptible to his rather cruel jokes.
Girls seem to like him though, if the irritating screams of pleasure that keeps everyone else up at night every time he has a study partner were anything to go by.
Toge goes straight to the school’s website, the T and the website comes up, a large TRENDING TUESDAY typed in cursive letters was at the top of the blog post. Realising that he was out of his element, Megumi turns to Yuuji to ask “So how does this work again?”
“Well, trending Tuesdays are all about who is or are the most influential students in school today. Whether it’s pranks, or the cutest couple or even someone that did something impressive today, it all depends on who had the most impact. They write a short blurb and say something about the person.” Yuuji doesn’t turn his attention away from the screen as he continues. “You’ve always been in the top three since you entered this school.”
“Is that so?”
Megumi shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile on his lips. Sure, he hates the T and thinks it’s a pointless program but being at the top without even trying feeds his large ego a little bit.
Toge scrolls up the page, ignoring the people at the hundredth place because they’re obviously irrelevant and gets to the top twenty. A picture of a girl with white hair in short bob wearing a white sweater and black pants in one picture, and a blonde wig in another wearing a hot pink suit in another comes up.
‘Hana Kurusu, the head of the theatre club is the first to spearhead a high end production of legally blonde. While we’re really happy for her, let’s not get our hopes up, this play is going to be garbage fire-’
Megumi quickly tunes out the rest of the post and the rest of the frat talking about how the musical will be dog shit, not really interested in anything about Hana. Sure, she’s a decent fuck and she does whatever he wants, including keeping her mouth shut about their arrangement but that didn’t mean he cared about her.
“Damn, they really ripped the theatre kids a new one. I don’t think they deserve that” Yuuji murmurs.
“The T didn’t lie, I tried giving theatre a chance for a hot girl who was super into it. I ended up taking off my hearing aids mid-performance because I didn’t pay to hear such shit acting”
“Toge!”
“It was a shame, she had really nice tits but she can’t sing or act for shit. Instant turn off. Why do something you’re shit at?”
Megumi nods in agreement, replying to Toge’s argument. “Only broke kids join theatre to be part of something. The fee is low and they think they’ll make it in Hollywood since they schooled here.”
The rest of the top 15 were uneventful, apart from Yuuji at number 6 who practically broke a school record in track and field, set up by the fastest runner in ‘08, Zenin Naoya - Megumi’s shitty cousin amongst the sea of shit family members he has.
As usual, Yuuji shrugs it off despite everyone screaming in shock and congratulating him, saying it's not a big deal. Maybe it’s because he’s a beast at almost every sport he touches that he’s so humble with his achievement. All his years of knowing Yuuji from high school, he has always remained humble and friendly, never letting his success get to his head.
He’s sure if Naoya ever finds out, he’d be pissed.
Good.
Finally they make it to the top five, the most anticipated people that everyone is always curious about. Usually, the top five is not just about achievements, it’s about looks, it’s about charisma, it about how much people thirst over them.
They encapsulate the true shallowness of the student body.
‘At number five, it’s Momo Nishimiya. Winning the debate nationals and making it as the head of the national model UN, there are big things awaiting the beauty with brains from the IT girls group. I’m sure I see another cherry red sports car in ms. Nishimiya’s future or another trip to the Bahamas as a celebration! Make sure to post those Bikini pics babe’
“Preferably the latter.” Some of the frat boys murmured, their voices dripping with lust that it’s nearly pathetic. “I’ve got to see her in a bikini again or I’ll kill myself.”
‘I hope you do, you’re actually annoying.’
Megumi doesn’t stop them from being nasty little perverts though. In his opinion, it's just the way boys talk, especially when they’re with their fellow guys.
It’s not like they mean any harm by being horny.
‘At number four, making it to the cover of Independent and a guest appearance on the Tonight Show, Mai Zenin. Well, are we really surprised to see ms. hot stuff, perfect ass at the top?
Running the school with an Iron fist, Mai, the leader of the IT girls has always maintained her relevance from the second she won an olympic gold medal in shooting range. A mixture of grace and smarts, there is always a spot for her in the top five.’
Megumi sighs the second he sees Mai’s magazine cover; wearing a rather sexualized version of a chesogam, she leans on a chair with her legs crossed, the long slit giving view of her long legs. Her smile is sultry, never reaching her eyes.
He has never seen her ever smile genuinely before in all the time he spent in the Zenin household. Not that he blames her, the way they treated women in that place was nothing to smile about.
The frat boys all but bark at her pictures, each hungry for something, shouting profainities about how much they want to fuck her. Itadori opens his mouth to say something, but Megumi clamps a hand over his shoulders and tells him to settle down. “Don’t worry, let them have their fun. It’s nothing serious.”
Normally Megumi would stop them, but he thinks they’re cute. They’re so cute thinking they even have a chance with Mai of all people. If there was something Megumi liked about Mai, it was that she had standards.
If she was going to be treated like shit, might as well be treated like shit wearing Louis Vuitton and Hermes.
He turns his attention to the next one on the list and his smile instantly drops the second he sees Maki at number 3. The T has a weird habit of pitting Maki and Mai against each other, and while Maki wouldn’t care about this shit, Mai does.
The Zenin’s had imprinted it that women must be in constant competition for affection because how much they are loved is how much they are valued. Maki thinks everything the Zenin says is bullshit, including that whole line about affection. Mai, however, is a different story. She has internalised that information so much that she spends so much time caring about her reputation to her detriment.
‘At the proud number three is our nationi8nal MMA champion, Maki Zenin! This week she defeated the previously undefeated title holder, Sena. I’m not usually into muscular women but goddamn does she look hot while beating in someone’s face with her fists. Step on me mommy-’
Uncomfortable with reading the rest of that sentence, Megumi quickly signs desperately with Yuuji laughing at him in the background. “Scroll up, scroll up.”
Luckily for him, Toge also seemed uncomfortable because the last thing he wants to see is someone thirsting over his best friend and scrolling away, landing on the number two name on the list.
‘And coming up to the number two is Zenin Megumi, the school’s resident mysterious hottie who happens to be recruiting new pledges for the Alpha Beta frat house.
How he divides his time between posing for the house of Gojo’s fashion line, shirtless and at the same time stays on top of his business class is some what a mystery, not that I’m complaining though cause FUCK HE’S HOT…’
Megumi groans in his hands as a picture of him posing shirtless with flared jeans, whilst manspreading comes on screen for the entire frat house to see.
The entire house grows quiet, before whispers of “is it okay to have a crush on our president- in a manly kind of way?” And “he looks so majestic, that’s our president! I need his gym routine-” start floating in the air, only making Megumi grow more annoyed, almost as if he’s not in the room with them.
Yuuji places a hand on his shoulder with a teasing smile, clearly enjoying watching Megumi suffer. “Don’t be shy. You should be proud of your-”
“Shut the fuck up and tell Toge to get that shit off the screen before I hear another person ask if it’s okay they get off to pictures of me.”
Amused, Yuuji turns to Toge, signing Megumi’s message to which he lets out a weird snort like laughter, before scrolling up to the moment everyone has been waiting for: The number one spot. He can hear some people drawing in a deep breath, waiting for the next person until the blurb flashes on the screen.
“At the number one spot; the stunning beauty of University that has gripped our hearts and our nether regions. Voted the sexiest girl on campus the second we saw her in the freshman group taking a tour, (Name) (Last name)-Nanami!
Dressed in a cute Juicy Couture that makes her ass look juusst right, (name) has taken the entire school and the socialite scene by storm.
By the way, happy belated eighteenth birthday princess. Now that you are legal, I can proudly say I and the majority of the guys in this school have jerked off to your birthday bikini pics with zero guilt. And also, thanks to you the juicy couture section in the mall not too far away and the goodwill a few blocks over is sold out. You’re an icon babe, keep being you.’
“FUCK YES IT’S HER AGAIN!”
“Please, please, please marry me (name), I’ll dump my girlfriend for you! Fuck I’ll set a car on fire for you-”
“I hope her nudes leak or something, that’s the only way I’ll see her naked because she’s way too good for me.”
Megumi doesn’t think too much of it, ignoring all the crazy things his fraternity brothers are saying. But someone else has an opposite opinion.
“Oh God, not her again.”
Megumi raises a brow, curious at Yuuji’s reaction. It was strange for the friendly man to sound so annoyed over someone, especially somebody so new to this school and seemingly beloved by the student body. Usually, he’s the one to have qualms about the person and Yuuji would have to talk him into being less suspicious about the person.
His friend had no malicious bone in his body. Or maybe there’s a side to Yuuji even he doesn’t know about.
“You don’t sound too happy.”
“No… that’s not what… you don’t know who she is, do you?” His pink haired friend only groans in response, increasingly getting more agitated for some reason. Megumi shakes his head negatively in response and Yuuji sighs. “Remember when my dad got married like last year? That’s my step-mom’s daughter … my step-sister.”
“Oh”
Back in December it was trending news that the owner of the best winery in the world, Nanami Kento was getting married to a deaf, single mother. The Zenin’s were pissed because Nanami chose ‘damaged goods’ over the barely legal teen they arranged so that they could partner with him. But since Megumi wasn’t interested in such a topic and he was just happy the elders were miserable that winter, he didn’t bother to look into it.
No wonder Yuuji looked more irritated with every passing moment. The pink haired boy always seemed to be concerned about his family members whenever the tabloids said something nasty about them and was fiercely protective of them. It could be why Yuuji doesn’t bring her around the fraternity house or barely mentions her, so that people won’t try to use him to get to her.
“She’s just eighteen Megs.” Yuuji’s grave tone rouses Megumi from his thoughts. Poor guy, it’s really bothering him, what’s going on with his sister. “It’s not been up to three months since she got here and the comments the T has made about her body are disgusting. She pretends like it doesn’t bother her but I’m sure that she hates it deep down.”
He can relate to Yuuji right now; back in high school he would overhear guys talking about how much they want to screw his sister.
Unlike Yuuji though, he wasn’t as patient.
“Don’t think too much about the T’s comments” Megumi reaches a comforting hand to Yuuji. Even though he’s sure the girl doesn’t give a damn about his friend, he has to ease the pink haired man’s nerves somehow. “Maybe she truly doesn’t think it’s too much of a big deal. She could be like that, you never know. Plus you know how the T is. They’re obsessed with the next hot thing and then they fall out of love with it.”
Besides, Megumi figures you’re just a shiny new thing that’s trending now. And the thing about trends is that when there’s nothing interesting or fantastic about them, they die out. ‘Yuuji has nothing to worry about’ he muses to himself. ‘You’re probably not that pretty to last long-’
The second Toge puts your picture on the screen, Megumi finds himself eating his words.
The admiration of your image by the other frat members becomes nothing but background noise as he stares at the t.v utterly transfixed. Your features were distinct in a way that could only be described as ethereal, breathtaking, exotic. You’re wearing cute juicy couture sweats, something he thinks looked utterly tacky and overdone by all the blond girls in this school and yet you make it look expensive, like you’re the only one he wants to see it on. Your lips are pulled into a pretty smile that lights up your eyes, only highlighting your best features like your cheeks and your nose.
He’s not one for looks, but by god you were one of the most gorgeous girls he’s ever set his eyes on.
“No wonder you keep hiding her from us.” Toge signs, also nearly astonished by how beautiful you look. “Your sister is fucking hot man.”
“Not you too, Toge, she’s barely eighteen, leave her alone-”
Megumi ignores the argument going on behind him, opting to keep looking at your picture. As much as he’s captivated by your beauty, there’s this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that there’s something familiar about you. He can’t shake off the coincidence that you have the same first and last name as someone he used to know and you look like the prettier version of that person.
‘It can’t be her.’ He denies it in his head. The girl that he knew all those years ago would never have been able to afford this university’s tuition without incurring a huge debt. She’d care too much about hurting her single mom’s finances. He keeps staring at the picture and notices you’re holding up your boba drink in one hand, revealing the bracelets on your wrist, which he didn’t pay attention to at first, until something purple and pink catches his eye.
‘That looks really cheap for her to be wearing- wait.’
He squints his eyes a little bit and sees the four letters written on the bracelet “GUMI” boldy.
His mouth groes dry instantly.
‘No fucking way.’
There was a distant past where he was much more free to do whatever he wanted and he didn’t have to worry about the responsibility of taking over the Zenin’s chain of businesses. There were many faceless people in that high school. There were people he brutally beat senseless and there were people who either feared or admired him from afar.
But you were the most memorable because you were a clingy little bitch.
While others avoided him like a plague, you were always beside him, offering to be his “friend” and following him around like fucking insect. You were a pimple-faced, annoying little tramp that he could barely stand.
He could have avoided your affection if he didn’t beat up your bullies that day. He should have never pitied you when he saw you crying in the boys bathroom. It would have saved him the headache of being stuck with you for almost two years in high school.
The only reason he tolerated you for as long as he did was because of Tsumiki. In hindsight, he blames his deceased sister for encouraging your borderline obsession with him because she thought it was cute. He wonders if romantically and mentally you’ve changed. If you’ve grown out of your childish crush on him and forgotten all about your “Gumi” and “Fushiguro-kun”, the things you used to call him with your shrill voice.
When he left that dreaded Academy, he made sure that no one called him “Gumi” ever. He resented that nickname, because it reminded him of you.
You looked happy, fitting right into a society that once rejected you with your pretty hair and manicured nails. Long gone was the wimp that hid behind him, that had to rely on food stamps on your worst days; now you’re a spoiled little brat, having the time of your life without inheriting the responsibility of being a wealthy socialite like he did.
It just made Megumi hate you even more. While he’s stuck with the Zenin clan and paying the price of wealth, you don’t have to do anything. You’re happy. How the hell is any of that fair to him?
Why do you get to be happy?
“You’re staring a bit too hard at the picture, Zenin. Don’t tell me you wanna fuck her too?”
He considers telling the pink haired man that he knew you and all about your pathetic crush on him for a brief moment, but quickly discarded that plan. Like Tsumiki, Yuuji would get the wrong idea and try to get them together.
Instead he rolled his eyes and said in the most bland voice he could muster.
“Not my type.”
Yuuji looks at the tips of Megumi’s ears, noticing them turn red  before looking at the boy again with narrowed eyes.
“Sure.”
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  YOU hated dinners with your ‘family’.
Your step-dad, Nanami Kento was not much of a conversationalist and he ate in silence, except to ask to pass the water jug. Your mother was a try-hard, always asking how school is like for both you and Yuuji, like you’re teenagers attending high school and not university students. Yuuji was also a try hard, answering your mother’s questions like his life depended on it.
And you? You don’t want to be here.
You love your mother and would do anything for her. She sacrificed so much for you so that you’d have an education, working so many jobs and encouraging you. Sure, she was a bit harsh on you when it came to your academics and you used to hate it, but you understood back then that she was giving you a chance she never had. With your father a deadbeat and your family members a bunch of self-righteous losers, it was you and her against the world.
But trying to play house with a step-father you barely knew and a brother who would never speak to you on school grounds was tethering on the edge of your patience that you feel lucky that you only have to do this once a week.
Couple that with the stressful day you had in university from dealing with Mai, to the disgusting and perverted comment section on your trending tuesdays posts -that Mai told you to “get used to it” when you said you hated them and wanted it to stop, to nearly being late in submitting an assignment only to be told “looks can only get you so far” as if you’re not trying your hardest in school, you’re just about done with everything.
All you want to do is eat and sleep in your own bed.
The only good thing about your dinner is the unripe plantain, your favourite meal and you’re shocked the chefs made it after debating with your mother about making ethnic foods for her. Maybe your step-father had some choice words with them.
“So how’s school been for you baby girl?”
You internally groan at your mother’s question as your step-father and Yuuji turn their attention towards you. “It’s okay.” you sign back, before continuing with your food, hoping that your mother would get the message that you don’t want to talk about it.
As your luck could have it, your mother did not like the reply. “What do you mean, Okay?” she signs, her brows pinched together in irritation. “That’s not an answer (name).”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh come on baby (name), you’re in college, you should be having fun. I heard from some sources you’re very popular in your school which means you’ve got to have friends right? Why don’t you invite them over? Hell, you should have also met someone cute too that piques your interest or are you still pining over Gumi-”
There’s a tense atmosphere that cuts across the once awkward sphere of the table. Your step father stopped eating the second he saw the enraged look on your face, and his hands facing your mother trying to tell her to “stop-” only for her to aggressively shake her head in dismal, her next words pushing you over the edge. “No, Kento! She’s our child and I have to ask her what she’s been up to-”
“You really want to know what I’ve been up to, mom?” You start to sign, your hands trembling in anger. “You want to know how I’m doing in my business course where no one takes me seriously because I’m too pretty to be smart? Or you want to know how many ‘cute guys’ have threatened to assault me sexually or said something perverted about my body on a school post and how the school refused to take it down when I reported it? Or how I feel so out of place when you seem so well-adjusted with your husband and son, and your only solution is to throw a new black card at me and hope I’m obedient? You really want to know?”
The entire dining table grows silent at your outburst by the time you’re done, heavily breathing as tears threaten to prickle your eyes. Your mother’s features soften, clearly affected by your words and for a second you feel guilty for getting angry at her. Instead, you said out loud whilst tossing your cutlery aside “I’m going to my room. Don’t bother me.” and disappeared up the stairs despite your step father calling out your name until you made it to your room.
Flopping onto your canopy bed the second you enter your room, you’re quick to bury your head in your pillow and let out a guttural scream that you’ve been holding all day. At this point, you don’t care that you’re being rude, your life took a drastic turn the second you turned seventeen and you’ve just been pretending to be okay with it. After years of it just being you and her, these two men barged into your life. You had to up and move from the friends you had finally managed to make, from all your plans to attend a community college for music to an expensive overpriced university in a business course that you hate and from your home that had all your memories into a large mansion that makes you feel insignificant.
You were quickly shuffled into a lifestyle that made you stand out because you weren’t born into money. You had to mingle with people who reminded you of your bullies in high school and laugh with them like you’re not a step from having a mental breakdown, because you need to be significant, you need to network and fit in. You had to pretend you were fine because if you act out the media will drag your mother’s name in the mud.
And you’re all alone dealing with your feelings. Who were you going to tell how inauthentic you felt? How so out of place you felt despite your popularity and you just want to escape it all?
Mai would just tease you for being overdramatic. Momo would tell you that it is what it is as a female socialite and you should swallow it. Maybe Miwa might be sympathetic to your cause but then you remembered she’s supposed to be editing her posts for tiktok tomorrow, so there is no time for you.
There was only one person who would have truly understood and you haven’t seen him in five years.
Feeling nostalgic, you lean over your bed and retrieve a box from underneath. Carefully punching in the code, it opens with a quiet click revealing an old cream sweater kept in good condition, your high school’s logo stitched at the top, three pictures you got at a fair and your old iphone 4 that seems to still work, that all seem so reminiscent of a time so far away yet so close.
Long before you were the IT girl, before you were new money, the girl everyone wants and wants to be.
It was a time when things were so dark that you couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel because you were relentlessly bullied for not being fortunate enough to have money in a school where the rich eat the vulnerable. You had considered ending it all, to stop your mom from constantly coming to school to complain only to return feeling more powerless than ever.
And then he came into your life.
You take the sweater in your arms, gently pressing your nose against the fabric to inhale his scent, preserving it all these years just for comfort. It takes you back to when you were 13, huddled up in a bathroom stall while cradling your broken fingers. You hated life so much back then and you really wanted to die to the point you were googling how many acetamin pills it would take to kill you with your uninjured hand, the bottle containing them just a few feet away from your shaking body. You couldn’t play the harp that you loved because of them, you couldn’t take the emotional abuse and you couldn’t return home to break your mother’s heart by being a pathetic child.
You were planning to die in a boys bathroom stall, ready to swallow the pill when the door flew open. You instantly cowered in fear, spilling the entire bottle on the floor, your heart dropping to your stomach the second you set eyes on the school’s resident bully.
Fushiguro Megumi.
Back then you assumed he was going to laugh at you and then tell everyone what you tried to do. As much as you admired him from afar, you didn’t trust him. You couldn’t trust him. Maybe he was going to kick you aside and take a piss like one other guy had done when you were still barely conscious from earlier.
You didn’t expect him to notice your broken fingers. Or even ask you who did the bullying. And when he did, you had begged him not to get the teacher involved, to which he said. “Who said I’m telling anyone?” before disappearing. You were scared, wondering if he’d call them back to finish the job.
Instead, he dragged the bullies -male and female back to the bathroom for you to watch him beat them up and broke the arm of the guy who crushed your fingers. After he was done, he had taken your unbroken hand in his larger ones to help you up, warmth spreading into your shaking fingers as he steadied you, telling you to step on them.
“W-why?”
“Revenge. Catharsis. Fun.” he had said, his tone rueful. You looked at him with pure fear as he guided you to one the bullies, the girl who started it all. “B-but what if I get in trouble? Or they come for me and hurt me again-”
“Don’t be a square. I’m giving you a chance for payback, so be a good girl and take it.”
“B-but-”
“Do it. I’ll take the blame.”
And true to his word, he did take the blame for both your actions and was suspended for a day. When he came back, you clung onto him like glue, fearful you’d get hurt by those same bullies, but eventually giving way into your heart as you fell head over heels for him. The way he smiled when you said the dumbest stuff. The way his voice sounded, especially when he called your name. The way his hand swallows yours because of how big they were, his comforting scent, everything about Megumi was calming, comforting.
Even your first kiss with him was gentle, sparks flying as he cupped your face in his larger hands.
He could be a bit harsh on you and sometimes, he could say some mean things, he always made it up with some sweet gesture like buying your favourite strawberry drink or spending time with you while you practised the harp.
You loved him so much. You still love him so much. You can’t look at any man the way you looked at him, and you’ve tried. Mai has tried shoving you into a relationship with many guys to try and spice up your reputation but you couldn’t let them even hold your hand, let alone kiss them.
They’re not him. They’ll never be him.
Megumi was not the light at the end of your tunnel, but he took your broken hands in his and let you dance through the thick of the dark times of your life when no one else thought you deserved happiness.
You shed off your juicy couture jacket and shrug on his large sweater, collapsing into your bed with your arms wrapped around yourself. Any time you were upset with anything, you would call him and he’d either listen to you through your sobs or come over to your little house and sneak in with your favourite snacks to watch a movie with you and hold you tight whenever you said you wanted a hug. You wish he hadn’t disappeared when he moved away, that he had at least left you with a number for you to call or text or anything instead of upping and leaving cold turkey.
Tears rolled down your face as you tried to picture him comforting you, over everything that had happened. “Want me to fuck them up?” He’d ask in between murmurs and when you’d shake your head no, he’d click his tongue. He always loved solving problems with violence. “I should, for the way they’re talking to you. You shouldn’t let people take advantage of you.”
‘I miss you Megumi. I miss you so much-’
A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts and you’re quick to wipe away your tears with the back of your hand. Not wanting any pity from whoever was at the door -most likely your mother- you put on your best resting bitch face before storming towards it before yanking it open.
Your frown only deepens when you see your step-father at the door. “Did she put you up to this?” Your voice was cold and from how his brows creased in response, you could see he was hurt.
He shakes his head negatively in response, about to say something when you cut him off again. “The dad thing is not going to work, just leave me be.”
You close the door in his face, albeit rudely and flopped on your bed, curling yourself up into a tight ball and sobbing quietly until you fall asleep.
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YOUR step-father’s solution to you being upset is to throw money at your face and tell you to ‘do something nice for yourself’.
Mid-class you had received a cash-app alert attached with a message for you to ‘cheer up with this and tell Yuuji to take you shopping.’ and while it annoyed you to no end that he assumed money made you happy, he wasn’t exactly wrong.
You also suspect that he wants you to open up to Yuuji about your problems, as you both are closer in age; which is a dumb plan in hindsight because you know you’re not going to say shit to someone you barely interact with. Step-brother or not.
The second class dismissed you were out of the door, your Hermes bag slung over your arm. Perhaps your step-dad was right about retail therapy, you needed something to blow off steam with after the depressing night you had; being forced to relive your entire day and then cry yourself to sleep thinking about how much you miss Megumi so much.
What you need is to turn off your brain and buy new things that would make you happy, like new trinkets to add to your room.
Feeling giddy, you pick up your phone and go to the IT girls group chat, ready to invite them to your shopping spree since you didn’t want to go on your shopping spree all alone.
“I should text the girls to see if they’ll hang out with me-”
You paused, stopping yourself in your tracks. You’re trying to have fun, not be silently judged and have pictures taken of your spree and uploaded on the internet for weirdos to oogle.
“I need time alone, but not alone alone” you say to yourself. “Yuuji’s the better option, at least he’ll keep to himself if he sees I’m not in the mood to talk.”
With that decision finalised, you found Yuuji’s contact - Yuuji 🏀- and quickly shot him a text that you needed a ride to the mall right now, if he’s free.
“With that done, I’ll get myself strawberry yoghurt to go-”
Your phone dings just as you’re about to tuck it in your bag and you see it’s Yuuji who had replied faster than you anticipated.
Yuuji 🏀 - I’ll be free in an hr, my class will soon be over
Yuuji 🏀- wait in my room at the frat house, I’ll pick you up there.
You frowned. Why the hell will you wait at a fraternity house? For all you know, they’re nothing but nasty, filthy little perverts. Frat bros have a bad reputation, being gross pieces of shit who have no personal boundaries and get away with anything. Mai always told you that they’re a slippery slope and the chances of you meeting a decent one is as good as pigs flying.
You🧋- Heck no. What if something happens to me there?
Yuuji 🏀 - Look, I need to pick you up and drop you off by 3pm before my next class starts and I don’t wanna waste any time
Yuuji 🏀 - besides my friends are there and they know you’re coming. No one will hurt you.
You 🧋- Fine. I’ll be there waiting. Not a minute late or I’ll rip your jlaw posters apart
Abandoning your plan of getting strawberry yoghurt with a secret promise you’d get it later at the mall, you decided to make your way to the Alpha Beta Frat house, much to your chagrin.
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  AFTER hitching a ride with the school’s shuttle system within five minutes, you find yourself standing in front of the famed Alpha-Beta house.
The four story building was imposing to say the least, but there wasn’t a challenge you’ve ever backed down from. You casually strolled through the path leading to the front door, grabbing the brass handle and slamming it as hard as possible on the door twice.
‘They ought to hear me that way.’
Sure enough, someone shuffled with the door a few seconds later and opened it, complaints on their lips as the gap widened.
“Who the fuck is knocking on the door like tha- oh-oh h-hey-”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his sudden change of behaviour. You could recognize him from one of your electives, psychology 101 with professor Getou. He usually makes a fool of himself there as he is doing right now, practically drooling all over himself on the front porch like a mangy mutt.
As much as you’d like to watch him pant like a dog and laugh at him later, you couldn’t stand staying outside any longer.
“Where’s Yuuji Itadori’s room?” You ask curtly.
“Uh… the l-last floor, the door on the far end of the left… o-or was it r-right...”
‘Fucking moron’ you curse internally, before putting on a fake, thankful smile on your face and pushed past the awestruck man to get into the house. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out, myself.”
The house was neat, surprisingly, compared to the horrific stories you used to hear from Mai about how filthy fraternity houses are, especially the Alpha beta house under Todo’s rule. As you gingerly walk up the stairs, you notice how not a speck of dust nor a single graffitti lies on the wall, like everything had been polished and cleaned constantly.
Yuuji had made an off comment about the new president being a clean freak and would beat anyone up for leaving as much as wrapping paper on the floor without picking it up. “It runs in the Zenin’s I guess.” He had signed on a particular dinner night. “The last Zenin leader had done the exact same thing.”
As much as you hate the Zenin men and have never heard anything good about them, you have to be grateful that this one was dedicated to keeping the damn house clean. Even the frat bros look well dressed in their polo and shorts, and didn’t reek like beer or weed - although you caught some of them looking at you like a piece of meat.
‘At least they don’t try to talk to me. Must be out of respect for Yuuji.’
Eventually you make it to the top floor with two hallways stretching out on either side. You contemplated going to the left for a few seconds, but ultimately headed towards the right, figuring that Yuuji’s room could be there and if it wasn’t, you would just go the other way. You stop at the door at the end of the room, assuming that it’s the right one and open it without knocking.
The first thing that hit you was the fresh scent of jasmines and apricot, two flavours that you would never expect to be mixed together, but worked so well. You took in the surroundings of the large room next, admiring the rather dark academic route it took in terms of design with the large brown curtains hanging over the windows, the low level lighting hanging above your head. The closet was large and the doors were made out tempered, coloured glass, a rather brave choice but it seemed to contribute to the overall look of the room.
Seeing a couch with a coffee table at a corner, you decided to set your bag aside there while you admired the rest of the properties. You never took him for someone who’d have such a good taste for details, especially in terms of decor but he seemed to have exceeded your expectations of him. Even the floor is made up of mahogany wood board as opposed to the rest of the marble floors in the house.
You walk up to the medium sized reading table, admiring the hanging shelves over it stacked with books. The table was as clean as the rest of the room, each knick-knack and stationery arranged accordingly. Your eyes caught sight of the trophy case standing next to the closet in its own case and you walked up to it, admiring the sheer size. It was to be expected, since he had been on the varsity of his school team and was really good at sports. You take up one hand and trace a line over the case, carefully looking at the achievements.
“1st place at the Wimbledon championship, Male singles”
‘Interesting, I didn’t know Yuuji played tennis. I thought he mostly focused on basketball and track and field in school- oh, oh no-’
The second you read the next line your heart dropped to your stomach.
“Zenin Megumi”
Fuck, you were the wrong room. You should have known, the level organisation of this room and the lack of Jennifer Lawrence posters on the wall was too suspicious.
“I need to get out of this room as fast as possible-”
“What the hell are you doing in my room?”
As if things couldn’t get any worse.
Your body grew rigid at the sound of a male voice right behind you, too scared to turn around, sweating bullets despite the air conditioning of the room at being caught red handed like a fucking creep in some random guys room.
‘Oh god, how am I going to explain myself that it was an accident and I was going to Yuuji’s room?’
“I’m very sure I asked you a question. What the fuck are you doing in my room?”
Wait. That voice.
They say when you spend time away from someone, you usually forget a lot of things, like their scent, the sound of their voice, and even the way they look. But not you. You remember that voice as clear as a day. You know that Megumi Fushiguro’s voice deepened rather early, you know that bored, dead tone from anywhere, even in your grave.
The dots began to connect in your head as you matched the name to his voice.
‘It can’t be…’ 
You turn around, heart thumping loudly in your chest as you turn to look at the man standing behind you, glossy eyes taking in the features. The dark spiky hair that always seemed difficult to maintain, the blue eyes staring down at you, the slope of his nose, his lips, even his imposing height - being far taller than all those years ago.
“Megumi?”
Tears of joy blind you to the way his jaw tenses and without thinking, you engulf him in a warm hug, pressing your teary face into his broad chest.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you. I’ve looked for you everywhere.” You blab, not realising how rigid he stood, not returning your hug. You assumed it’s because he’s not an affectionate person, and you’ve never minded it. “I missed you so much. I asked everyone that knew you and you were just gone-”
“Hey, Megs, have you seen my sister? I told her to wait for me in my room but I think she came into yours- oh, am I interrupting something?”
All it took was Yuuji coming into the room for you to be dragged back into reality, because Megumi is quick to place two hands on your shoulders, his grip nearly vice-like and pried you off himself before roughly shoving you towards your step brother. You let out a pained gasp as Yuuji catches you in time.
“Megumi what the fuck is your issue?”
You cannot see his facial expression, but you can feel his steely, unwelcoming gaze burning holes at the back of your head, making your heart drop further. “You’d do the same thing too if a random stranger hugged you out of nowhere.”
“She is not a stranger, she’s my sister and you don’t get to manhandle her the way you do to your other girls. Even if she’s in the wrong.”
“Well tell your step-sister to get her bag off my couch and take her out of here before I come back.” he snapped back.
You can’t believe your ears. Sure, you look different from how you did five years prior but was it so bad he couldn’t recognize you? 
You’re brought out of your thoughts when the dark haired man walks past you both and without thinking you push Yuuji away, attempting to follow him. Your step-brother comes between you and the door, holding you by your forearms to prevent you from following Megumi.
“No, (name), stop. Just tell me what’s going on-” 
You stay mute, evading Yuuji’s grasp and dash out of the door, following after Megumi. His legs were longer than yours and you had to speed up, nearly tripping on the stairs as you followed him into the common room, Yuuji not too far off. You reached him, grasping his wrist in a desperate attempt to get his attention. He freezes for a second but soon his shock turns to anger as he swivels his head to look at you.
“What the hell do you want?” He barked.
You flinch, remembering how frightening he could be when he lost his temper but push down your fear to look up at him, your gaze soft as you try to remind him that it's you. “G-gumi it's me!” You stutter out, trembling as you jumble through your words. “(Name) (last name)... w-we went to school together, you can recognize m-me right?”
It only seems like you’re making things worse, because he’s looking at you like he wants to wrap his hands around your throat and kill you for touching him. He yanks his hand away from you, his lips curled up in a sneer. “Keep following me around and you won’t be recognizable for long.”
No, no, this isn’t right. Sure Megumi was so hostile but not like this to you. He would never, ever threaten to put his hands on you, not even as a joke. This isn’t the Megumi you know, this cannot be the person you idolised, that you loved all those years.
This stranger is wearing Megumi’s face, saying things that your Gumi would never EVER say.
He walked away and you followed him down the stairs into the living room, ignoring the surprised stares of other frat members, watching you call after him desperately, “ ‘Gumi, Gumi! Wait, it’s me! I-i still have the bracelet we made together-” not caring how crazy you looked now. You need to understand why the hell Megumi was treating you like he’s never met you before, there has to be an explanation.
He doesn’t turn around or pay attention to your incessant cries, maintaining his ignorance. “Get lost. I don’t know you.” he says casually, almost as if he seems amused you’re embarrassing yourself. “Yuuji, get your crazy sister away from me.”
You feel lost, heart dropping to your feet at his words. Being reduced to nothing but a mere stranger after years of pining for him. Shame crawls up to your skin as you feel the entire house look at you like you’ve truly lost your mind for chasing after Megumi, humbling you completely. Yuuji catches up to you, a hand wrapped around your arm, trying to tug you away gently, but you’re rooted to the spot, unable to move.
‘T-there’s no way.’ Your head spins, trying to figure out what you did to offend him. Where did it all go wrong? Wasn’t this supposed to be the both of you reuniting? Rekindling your relationship? Even if he just acknowledged knowing you, you would have been satisfied. So why was he acting this way? ‘Does he truly not remember me? Or… is he… trying to pretend I don’t exist?’
There’s only one way to figure it out. There is one name that Megumi would answer to, no matter what.
“You say you don’t remember me, but we both know that’s not true.” You push Yuuji off again and tell him to stay out of it, taking a step forward with your back straight. It takes everything in you to keep your composure, not wanting to cry in front of these men. “Even after all these years, I can still tell it’s you. Have I changed so much you can’t recognize me?”
“Can you stop this madness-”
“Look me in eye and tell me that you don’t remember me Fushiguro-kun!”
The entire house goes silent. You’re breathing hard as Megumi abruptly stops in his tracks, slowly turning around to look at you. Your mouth goes dry when you see a flicker of fury in those blue eyes, before he masks it with a cold gaze.
“You really can’t take a hint, can you (name)? Years of maturing and you’re still so stupid.”
The way his tone is so even, without any hint of emotion feels like an ice bucket of water has been thrown on you. 
“Is that all you have to say?” Your voice is trembling as you look at him incredulously. “After disappearing for five fucking years on me without a trace? All this time, I cried and waited for you! I thought something bad had happened to you-”
“How is that my problem?”  He scoffed, now folding his arms across his chest, staring down at you like you’re the dirt beneath his feet and you instantly shrink underneath his gaze. “Don’t tell me you’re still obsessed with me? For five years? That’s really pathetic.”
Pathetic? How is it pathetic to be in love with someone who was supposed to love you back? Were you really pathetic to keep him in your heart all these years? “I-i don’t understand, y-you asked me to be your girlfriend right before you left! Y-you said you liked me-”
“We were in high school. I was a horny teenager and you were there. I said something nice so that I could mess around with you.” He groaned, uncaring that his words were hurting you. That he was admitting to just seeing you as a means to an end. “Don’t tell me all these years you believed the shit I said about liking you?”
‘This can’t be right.’ Your eyes are wide with shock, unable to comprehend the madness coming out from his mouth. Each word that he uttered takes apart your fragile heart piece by piece until there is almost nothing left, your frustration and anger rising with the entire situation. ‘No, no- this isn’t Gumi. He-he’d never do this to m-me-’
“I-i kept the bracelet we both made, to carry u-us with each other-”
“You mean the one with your nickname you gave to me? I threw it away the second I left for a new school.” He looks down at your wrist, a wry smile forming on his lips as he chuckles darkly. “Seems like you still wear yours.”
Your face felt hot as all eyes fell on you, embarrassment flooding your features. Megumi had practically made it known that you were nothing to him and he didn’t even consider you once when he left, in front of all of his frat members, while you pined after him like a desperate girl.
Thinking back to high school, it made sense now that he never loved you. He was always cold to you until you begged him. He refused to be seen with you in public but would make out with you in hidden corners of the school, then go back to pretending he doesn’t know you in front of his friends.
For years you had this idealised version of your Gumi in your head but now you realised you chose to believe in your own delusions.
You kept his sweater, his pictures, his gifts in a special box and his memories in your heart. You cried over him until you got ill when he disappeared and you even tried to run away from home to find him. You refused to date guys Mai would push your way because you were waiting for him.
You gave away five years of your happiness crying over someone that hates you.
You watch through teary eyes as Megumi leans close enough to you until his breath tickles your ears, whispering in a harsh voice, just for you to hear.
“Did you really think I’d like you now because you’re dressed like a skank? Wear all the fancy clothes you want, you’ll always be an insecure whiny brat who looks for affection everywhere but won’t find it.”
“You’re lying.” You spit back. You want to hurt him back, to make him feel the same way he’s made you feel; angry, humiliated. “There are tons of guys who will be lining up to fuck me the second I give the green light.”
“Exactly. They’ll want to fuck you, but they’ll never ever date you.”
Any form of self-worth or self-confidence you might have built up, came crashing down the second he said those words. You’re left standing there as he stood upright again, frozen at the way his words managed to unearth the insecurities you’ve tried your best to hide. You look at Megumi with tears in your eyes, defiant before taking a deep breath and composing yourself, blinking away tears.
Five years ago, if he had said these things to you, you would have cried. But you’re not a kid and you’d be damned if you shed tears for him in front of all the Alpha Beta boys and looked more pathetic than you already were.
“Yuuji, pass me my bag.”
Your step-brother holds it out for you, and without looking, you snatched it out of his hand. At least, he’s not trying to act like a good brother and getting in between your fight with Megumi. Maybe he knows it would make the situation worse.
You look at Megumi again, your once adoring gaze turned to that of anger and sadness. By God, he had become more handsome than ever, but it seems the Zenin’s have rottened him to the core. You look at his eyes again and see that his eyes are dull, like there is no life in them; like he’s dealing with perpetual sadness. He was always depressed in high school and you considered using the fact he used to cut the pain away too often to hurt him, but ultimately decided against it.
You were not going down that road. You still loved him more than you wanted to hurt him, even if it felt pathetic to do so like he said.
“You’re right.” You begin, a sad smile forming on your lips. “I’m pathetic. But at least I’m not as miserable as you are. Have a nice life, Zenin.”
With that, you walk past him with your head held up high and leave the frat house with a forced smile, ignoring the way your legs felt like jelly. It’s not until you enter a shuttle towards the Kappa sorority house that the crushing weight of humiliation and betrayal wears you down that you burst into tears.
Bonus:
‘Fuck, (name), keep squeezing me like that, Shiittt’
Megumi knows he’s a piece of shit. Ever since he entered the Zenin household and shed his Fushiguro last name, he’s been hitting one low to another, seemingly unaware of where the rock bottom is. He knows he’s done abhorrent, corrupt things that normal people would scrunch their nose in disgust. The Zenin’s are never afraid to get their hands dirty and he had to learn that at an early age if he had any chance of surviving that household.
But this was a new low, even for him.
Sweat dripped down his forehead, hair sticking to his forehead, glistening down his muscular body. His hips give timed thrusts, angled just right to send pleasurable waves through his body, hitting the right spot for the girl under him. Each movement elicits a soft moan from Hana, muffled by the position she was in; face down on his king sized bed with his hand pressing her face against the pillow, her torso held up by his arm around it whilst his cock pistoned in and out of her poor abused pussy.
On a normal day, it fed his large ego if she was crying out his name for everyone to hear it. He secretly prided himself in ruining a girl, making her cry for him and then tossing her aside. And they always crawl back, eager to do whatever he wants and give in to his selfish needs, no matter how shitty he treats them.
But today, he didn’t want to hear Hana say his name. He wished it was you.
And by god he hated it. He hated you so much.
If there was anything about you that never changed, it’s how you saw through him. Right in high school, you always knew when he was upset, even when he didn't say anything or act out; those times you would sit in silence and push your favourite strawberry yoghurt in his hands to make him feel better. Even in the midst of him tearing you apart, you had the audacity to call him miserable.
And he knows you’re right, but hearing it come out from your mouth hurts him, opening up a part of him that he buried in his heart.
How dare you make him feel vulnerable?
He wishes it was you he had in this position, but instead of pushing your head down, he’d grab you by your neck and make the entire house hear you cry. He’d fuck you like a slut, make you cum all over his cock so hard multiple times, until you couldn’t think about it. He wishes it’s your cunt he was fucking like a mad man, that was squeezing him like this so deliciously as he angled it to your g-spot, hearing your sharp in take of breath, trying to stave your orgasm off.
There’s a burning sensation at the back of his mind that aches for your body. He wants to be the one you’re the most vulnerable with, so that he can throw it back in your face. He wants to take his misery out on you.
 “ ‘s too much, t’much- Gumi gonna cum-”
“Shut up” he snarled at her angrily. She called him that stupid name you always call him. No matter what he does, you keep haunting him everywhere he goes. “You’ll put me off if you talk. Just cum.”
And goodness, Hana has no self-worth as she cums hard, crying out his name over and over again. Megumi pretends it's your voice, that it’s you whining for him and it pushes him over the edge. He cums hard into the condom with a quiet groan, his body violently trembling as he rides his high, your face at the back of his mind until he’s spent.
He slowly removes his hand off her head and drags his cock out, letting her body fall limp onto his bed. He rolled over to face the ceiling in an attempt to catch his breath from having the best orgasm of his life.
Because he was thinking about you.
He knows it’s definitely not love. He doesn’t love anyone and he doesn’t care about anyone else beyond what he can gain. And he definitely enjoyed hurting you, making you cry. He enjoyed dragging you down to his level and he’s sure that’s not what someone who is in love does to the person they care about.
He is brought out of his thoughts when Hana rolls on her back, white hair splayed on his pillows, frowning like she’s dissatisfied with something he did.
Which is weird, he’s sure he made her cum.
Normally, he didn’t care and he would never ask, but today, he’s feeling a bit generous. "What’s up with you?” He asked. “You didn’t like it?”
There is a nervous pause, with her biting her lip anxiously, like she’s afraid of saying something that would offend him. It’s clear that whatever has been on her mind must be serious. Eventually, she takes a deep breath and starts talking.
“N-no, I liked today’s session, it’s just…” she mumbled, biting her lip nervously. Megumi raised a brow at her statement. “It’s just what? Spit it out.”
“You kept on calling me (name).”
‘Fuck.’
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e-boys taglist: @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @reiners-milkbiddies @gh0stgirl333 @megumisdivinedogs @fushiqruo @kawaiikoalagarden @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @matchamilktea-05 @tenjikusstuff4 @Lovelyartistz @lik0 @iluv-ace @lovely-maryj @slvdsjjk @espresso1patronum @aegsland @madison777x
also available on wattpad under the name "Stupid Love"
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madelinerobistat · 5 months ago
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Hear your heart so sweetly, just wanna sing its song
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Greetings, I'm Mav. It should be known I am one of the eldest in a system and I take great care to ensure its well being. I try to foster a calm and safe environment and will do my best to maintain it.
Despite this being my blog I share it with another alter. You may see him on occasion and his posts will be tagged accordingly. Justice does not tolerate wrongdoings and uses the block button like a beloved rapier.
Justice is my sworn knight with the soul of a romantic schoolgirl. He's fond of armor, flowers, spirits, jewelry, and felines. He would enjoy being sent posts containing these themes.
As for myself, I am a dark elf and cleric of Selûne. The moon is dear to me, so please send me images of her visage and tales of her loving light and shadow. I do not mind elf related things either. I invite them, really.
The both of us enjoy all things soft and cuddly. We love fairytales and fae. We are curators of perfume oils. And in the morn we enjoy a spot of tea. It would delight us if you gave recommendations for fragrance and tea blends.
Our tags are a puzzle for you to solve.
* Dividers are made by strangergraphics here on tumblr
This shall suffice for now.
Safe travels,
Mav and Justice
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unriding · 2 months ago
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KINKTOBER DAY 29 — DUBCON. dabi x f!hero!reader ノ tw dark content: dubcon- very heavy dubcon to be safe, mentions of murder, brief mention of being his pet, fear play, reader has a support quirk that is not fit for fighting alone, forced orgasm, temperature play- kind of, hints of manipulation + corruption
what happens when your curiosity takes you to the league of villains’ hideout? luckily enough, there’s only one of them there to greet you— and the world seems kind enough to let you off with a sweet deal. fuck him just once to guarantee his silence, or so you thought.
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The day you held your hero ID in your hands for the very first time also happened to be your first instance of being told to stay far away from the League of Villains.
You only vaguely remember the reasoning being that they were too dangerous for a support like yourself (especially one with zero experience under their belt) along with another thing that went in one ear and straight out the other.
A part of you has always wondered why the heroes you worked under had gone through so much trouble to ensure you stay back. Keep you hidden from the spotlight, perhaps- because how could you improve if you were always being protected? It was frustrating to see everyone besides yourself on the news.
Ironically, it’s the same reason why you’ve never been faced with the realization of how weak you really are until your head is being pressed into a table, arms easily held tight behind your back- and an infamous villain right behind you. A real one.
Not a simulation today- not one monitor in sight.
“Shigaraki would have loved to meet you,” his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel danger- a concept someone like you is entirely unfamiliar with. “He’s always had a thing for types like you.”
He pushes back inside- this time slowly, as if trying to brand the moment deep into your mind, and you only manage to weakly whimper when his hands tighten around your wrists, the heat emitting from his body acting as a cruel reminder that he has the power to kill- and you don’t.
“N-no,” the desperation in your voice is painfully obvious, “not him, okay? That wasn’t part of the deal..!” You can feel your heart pounding against your chest at the thought of meeting this man’s leader, breathing short and labored as different images flash across your mind as to what being ‘his type’ would imply.
You feel him throb inside you, and a whimper slips out.
“Ah, of course,” his hands land on your hips before he holds you still, letting himself push deeper inside you until you’re stuffed to brim- full of him. “I just wonder about what would happen to that fragile body of yours.”
“Just think about it…”
You think your body definitely shouldn’t be reacting like this. Underneath the trembling and shivering- your cunt flutters around him. Eagerly and hungrily, as if it’s been waiting for someone like him for years.
“Or… actually, how about this, hero?” He grunts- rougher now, pace picking up enough to make you gasp and lock up underneath him. “Forget the deal. Pay me a visit every week, and the League will never hear about you. How about it?”
“B-but—” You halt as soon as you feel his palms heat up against your skin.
“We both know that muscle-head would have a field day with you.” You feel a cold bead of sweat roll down your temples, clammy hands struggling to keep your grip on the table. Your whole body feels numb- disobedient, but he feels good.
Too good for you to register exactly why your core suddenly feels so tight at the suggestion. “And if I remember, Compress likes types like you too. That guy’s got a mean streak,” Dabi leans to press his chest against yours- cold staples making you gasp, and he whispers against your neck, “he’d break you, you know.”
Your eyes widen- knees locking up, and your heartbeat rises to pound in your ears. “P-please— please slow down—”
He ignores you, only giving you a laugh in response. “What a pitiful state you’d be in. Think about it. I’ve been pretty nice, haven’t I?”
“W-wait!” You’re desperate now, reaching back to push at his hips and rising onto your toes to escape him. “I feel— feel weird—”
Something inside him seems to snap at this. You’re yelping as soon as your head is back on the table the next second- big hand roughly pushing you down and you sob. “What a hero you are,” he’s laughing loudly now, “cumming and crying on some League dick. Where are those pathetic bodyguards of yours now?”
You open your mouth to protest, but he moves to clamp his palm over it- roughly pulling you back in one swift motion until you’re flush against his chest. “Those ones drooling over you? How about I just kill them so you don’t have anywhere left to go? I’ll take you in as my pet,” you feel him smile against your neck- sick and twisted, and your cunt only clenches in response. “Be a good little hero and cum if you agree.”
Your eyes shoot open the same time he slams against a deep part inside you, body betraying every single shred of morality you have left when you cum, hard. It takes you by force, leaving no chance for it to go unnoticed by him when you’re clenching, shaking, and dripping underneath him like this. He has the heart to let go of you, let your weak body collapse onto the table beneath you as your chest heaves up and down for air, tears brimming your eyes and he only throbs inside you once more, hungry for more.
“Then it’s a deal.” His hands run up your sides, content with the way you shiver and lean into his touch. “A good choice, hero.”
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dovveri · 3 months ago
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high fashion fashion
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synopsis: you’re meeting with the top fashion designer in the country to get your measurements taken for haute couture: an exclusive, annual fashion magazine you had the luck to be chosen for
warnings: reader receiving, cunnilingus, fingering, strap-ons, swearing
w/c: 4.4k
a/n: momo part 2 here!
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
"miss minatozaki! the model is here to see you as requested!"
you shuffle around a little awkwardly as you stand behind the agent that had led you to the infamous fashion designer's lair. you were still a new name in the modelling industry so it came as a surprise when you booked one of the biggest fashion magazines in the country. naturally, that meant working with the best of the best, and minatozaki sana was the best of the best.
"come in!" a voice drifts out, it's high-pitched and honeyed, the kind of voice that lures people in and gets them to do whatever the speaker asks of them. you were cautious though, sana's reputation preceded her. tales of her perfectionism were not sparse, she was a difficult woman to please, and had been known to ruin careers with the shake of a head or the slight frown in her eyebrows.
the agent rushes you in, whispering about making sure you did whatever sana wanted you to do, and then taking their leave just as quick, terrified to be in the same room as the fashion designer of the century.
you wring your hands nervously, stepping forward and taking in your surroundings. it wasn't unlike any other studio you've been in. messy fabrics and half-completed outfits strewn over pages of designs and measurements, mannequins standing half-dressed and lifeless, and in the centre of it all, the mastermind of the methodical chaos you stood in, was minatozaki sana herself.
she tuts, making a note on the design she was currently working on, not having acknowledged your presence yet, so you stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to instruct you.
your eyes can't help but trace over her features while she works. it was only natural, you were a model, you learnt to have a sharp eye for the physical body, to be critical of yourself and others whether you were on the clock or not.
her face was perfect. she was wearing specs that perched neatly on a nose other models would pay for. her lips, although currently downturned in a frown as she perused her work, were set in a natural pout that accentuated her features, her eyes sharp and calculating behind the soft, round frame of her glasses. you could mistake her for the model for a big-brand eyewear company. your eyes glide down to her shoulder where her top slid down revealing pearly soft skin, and a sharp 90 degree angle, her collarbones protruding and proud. you're almost in disbelief at her beauty, how someone like her could've slipped under your radar, under everyone's radar. people knew her for the beauty she created, not the beauty she possessed.
you're so caught up in her you don't notice she's finally taken notice of you; quick, assertive eyes running over your own body, calculations and images of clothing pieces already forming in her head.
"y/n right?"
your eyes flick up to hers, blushing slightly at having been caught. you clear your throat, nodding, not trusting your voice to speak.
she puts down her pencil and steps out from the desk she was working behind, taking slow steps towards you. you were used to this, people staring at you, studying you. but under sana's gaze you felt like a baby deer again, like the first time you were scouted for your modelling agency. she circles you, humming here and there as she takes you in.
"i can see why mina chose you."
you cough awkwardly, "excuse me?"
"the editor. she handpicks the models for the annual haute couture magazine every year."
your eyes widen, she meant myoui mina. chief editor of the haute couture magazine. a limited fashion piece that only came out once a year and was revered by critics all across the country. the one you had the opportune luck to be selected for.
"r-right."
sana scoffs, "pretty face but can't speak. lucky you didn't go into acting."
you're a little taken aback at that, but you remind yourself this was characteristic of sana. this was in line with what you had heard. you would just have to grit your teeth and bear it, you could not afford to lose this opportunity.
"hmm. yes you'll do." she walks back to her work counter, heels clicking as she waves a hand dismissively.
"strip. everything. i'll take your measurements now and we can both get back to work."
you stutter, following after her, "d-don't you already have my measurements?"
she turns suddenly, raising an eyebrow as you almost crash into her. you realise she's a little shorter than you, though her presence made it seem she towered over you. "is there a problem?"
you blush, trying to create some distance between the two of you, "n-no ma'am! i just thought-"
"i like to take my own measurements. i don't trust the ones they sent me. after all..." she raises a hand, a manicured nail coming to trace your throat, from the middle of your neck to the tip of your chin. you hold your breath. "the notes didn't mention how devastatingly exquisite you are. i'll need to see if the rest of the... hardware matches that pretty face of yours." there's a dangerous glint in her eye, her lips curling up into a smirk as she watches your breath catch, then she's turning away and striding towards another work desk, leaving you tripping after yourself to follow her.
she quickly makes space on the counter, pushing aside sheets of drawings and pulling out a fresh new page devoid of any markings.
"well? are you shy or something? no one is allowed in here without my permission. we're alone darling don't worry." you can hear the teasing lilt in her voice, she doesn't need to turn away from her work for you to picture the smirk on her face.
you quickly rid yourself of your clothing, shivering a little in the air-conditioned workshop, reminding yourself that this was nothing out of the ordinary, you had been laid bare in front of beautiful women and men before, sana shouldn't be any different.
you hesitate when you reach your bra, but sana could smell your uncertainty.
"i said everything."
you gulped, undoing the clasp and sliding the straps off your shoulders, nipples hardening under the cool air of the room. you bend down to slide off your panties, stepping out of them carefully before coming back up, suddenly face to face with sana who's eyeing you with a hunger akin to the one of lioness. you turn to place your underwear with all your other clothes, but knowing sana was watching your every step lit a little fire in your lower stomach.
your toes clench on the cool tile of the workshop, you force yourself to take a breath before turning back to sana, and then letting her circle you again like her prey.
you almost jump when you feel her fingertip on your naked back, holding back sounds your mouth certainly shouldn't be making at work.
her finger slowly, slowly traces downwards, sana admires the smooth planes of your back, the sharp bones that jut out at your wingspan, the curve of your spine before pushing back out to your ass.
you don't even realise you're holding your breath until she pushes down slightly at the small of your back and you gasp.
then sana giggles. "cute."
her hand never leaves your body, she walks back around to face you, fingers tracing your arms, then your sides, squeezing teasingly at your hips.
"hmm... yes i can definitely work with this." her voice is lower, and you can't help but think she may be a little affected by you too.
she steps away again, grabbing a measuring tape, "you wouldn't mind doing a couple poses for me would you darling? i need to see which fabric would work best when you move around and sit or get into whatever other absurd positions momo might get you in when you take the photos."
you shake your head, irritated at the blush that was now definitely apparent on your cheeks. you were better than this, you took lessons on how to school your expression and bodily reactions for when you were forced into uncomfortable clothes and outfits.
sana nods towards a stool nearby, "just take a seat there, sit however's comfortable for now."
you follow her instructions almost robotically, wincing a little at the chill of the metal stool against the skin of your ass. you cross your legs, willing the arousal that was leisurely dripping out of you to stop before sana found out and fired you for being unprofessional.
she watches you wriggle around on the stool, trying to get comfortable with a smirk, treading forward when you're finally still. you try to look straight ahead, avoiding her gaze, but she cups your cheek lightly, forcing you to look up at her. she tilts your head from side to side, hums, then grabs the measuring tape and steps behind you, measuring your shoulder span.
"relax sweetheart, i can feel the tension in your muscles."
you let out a shaky breath, still refusing to speak.
"nervous?"
you shrug.
"you've done this before haven't you?"
you nod.
"are you not speaking because of the comment i made earlier? i didn't mean it y'know. it's not the first time i've rendered someone speechless before."
you gulp, unsure of the implications of her words, "r-right."
she giggles again, "almost thought i'd have to make you scream for me."
"w-what?!"
she hums, moving backwards again and ignoring your question, "lie down over there would you? on your front. if i know momo i know she loves her horizontal shots."
you shakily get up, moving to the mattress on the floor and laying down cautiously, feeling sana right on your heels.
it would be harder to hide your slick in this position, but you clenched your thighs together and did your best. the cool material of the sheets on the mattress brush across your already sensitive nipples in this state, and you fight the urge to let go and just go wild under sana's watchful gaze.
she hovers above you, noting down every twitch of your body, every arch, curve, bend. there's some rustling behind you but you keep focused on resisting your dirtier thoughts. that is until sana sits on top of your thighs.
you gasp at the feeling of her weight on top of you, right below your ass, "u-um-"
"i said to relax darling. i need to see how you'll feel when you're in this position." her excuses were getting sloppier.
"y-you do?"
"are you questioning me?"
"n-no! i'm sorry- please- um- please continue."
"good girl."
you feel your ears burning now as well, the blush having travelled across your cheeks and up. even you knew there was something other than fashion fitting going on here with that comment. but you still let her hands run over your back, even as they tease dangerously lower, down to your hips.
sana coughs, shuffling around, but her shuffling around was really her pushing her body up against your ass, essentially riding the back of your thighs. you can't help but release a choked-out moan, fingers digging into the skin of your forearms where you're resting your head, breaths coming in and out heavier.
she stops, smirking, then does it again, rocking forwards, eyes twinkling when you give her the exact same reaction, unable to control yourself.
"miss m-minatozaki-"
"just sana for you darling."
"... s-sana-"
"hmm?" she leans down, rocking forwards again, delighting in the moan you release, humming right next to your ear, her body laid almost completely on top of you.
"is this- is this still- are you still taking my measurements?"
she chuckles lowly, "what do you think?"
you whine, completely unsure what this devil of a woman wanted from you, "y-yes?"
"then why are you asking?" she giggles, finally letting you go, standing back up. "now, the couch please."
you inhale greedily, pushing yourself back up and wobbling over to the couch. your legs almost give out when you sit down, sinking into the material, and looking at anywhere but sana.
you're about to cross your legs again when she tuts, "ah ah. spread them."
your eyes widen, "b-but-!"
"but what? you already showed me a pose with your legs crossed, now i'll need to see one spread. surely you've seen it's a very classic pose? one of the outfits i'll have to design include pants and momo will definitely make you do this pose in them."
with nothing else to retort, you shyly spread your legs, the urge to cover yourself is overbearing. you wait for sana to say something, anything, prepared for your career to end here and now. you were so close to the big leagues too.
"run a hand through that pretty hair will you darling? elbow up."
you blink, doing as she says, dumbfounded as she steps closer, completely disregarding the obvious signs of lust at your core.
those hands come out again, one at your thigh, the other tracing down the tricep of the arm you have lifted above your head. with nowhere else to go, your arousal leaks outward, pussy drenched and needy as you hold your breath.
the hand that's at your thigh inches upwards, the one at your tricep downwards to cup your face again, thumb brushing over your lips that open just barely enough for her to fit her fingernail inside.
she can feel your shaky breaths on her thumb, can hear the whimper you let out when the hand at your thigh continues to trace up and down, closer and closer to your heat.
"s-sana..."
"yes darling?" her voice is husky, eyes lidded, lips open, whispering like she was sharing a secret even though no one else was around.
"i-i- i'm- i need-"
"what do you need?"
you gulp, fighting back against your better conscience, but the lust that's curling up inside your stomach wins out, "you. i need you."
she grins, "do you now?"
"yes please- sana please-"
"you're so cute when you beg darling. alright then. i'll entertain you." the hand that's at your thigh finally pushes forward, fingertips meeting drenched folds as you gasp in relief and desperation, hips pushing forward, trying to feel more of her.
"god you're so wet sweetheart. is this all for me?"
you're whimpering as she traces those practiced fingers of hers up and down your slit, just barely giving any pressure to your clit before dipping back down. "y-yes! all you all you-"
"well i have to be a good host and receive what you've given me don't i?"
she sinks down onto her knees, pulling your thighs towards her, taking off her specs and licking her lips devilishly as her eyes lock on her target.
your hands are about to move into her hair when she barks up at you, "no touching. you can touch yourself but you can't touch me."
you whine but obey, sliding your hands back up your stomach to grope at your chest needily, your nipples having been attention-starved since you took your bra off.
she grins, enjoying the view for a little before finally bringing her face closer. she blows on your puffy clit playfully, loving the way you squirm and whimper under her, before attaching her mouth to your pussy, sucking greedily.
"o-oh-!"
your hands grip your chest harder, wishing you could hold onto her head instead, but you have to settle for grinding down into her face, pushing against her grip at your hips while she eats you out, slurping loudly. the sounds are absurd, but your mind is too hazy to worry about being embarrassed anymore, not when your fingers are pinching and twisting your own nipples while you watch sana suck your clit into her mouth, her eyes locked on yours while she eats.
"g-god sana so good- so fucking good mmf- you- you- you're driving me insane god-"
sana flicks her tongue happily in response, one hand releasing your hip and coming down to play with your entrance. you clench around nothing, eager to take her in, and she obliges, pushing a finger in with your clit still in her mouth, curling it to hit the spot that only served to bring you closer to the edge.
"r-right there fuck- right there- i'm gonna- you're doing so good fuck-"
she starts pumping her finger in and out of you, the squelching sounds of your sex only become louder, an accompaniment to her suckling. you're flicking your fingers over your nipples, again and again, matching her pace, each stroke getting you closer and closer. then she adds in another finger, curling upwards, hooking into you, and you cry out, back arching, hips pushing into her face, shaking and trembling as you feel yourself fall over the edge.
sana continues to lick and nose at you while you come down, hands rubbing soothing motions into your hips and thighs. eventually, she slides back up, hand replacing yours over your chest and copping a feel for herself.
she's kissing your neck, chest, ears, all while you try and gain sense of yourself again. you turn your head with a pout, urging her to look at you. she smiles, knowing what you wanted without even asking, leaning in to kiss your pout away, your lips moving against one another as you hum at the taste of yourself on her lips,
she continues fondling your chest, rolling her fingers over nipples as you start to wriggle under her again, easily aroused.
she breaks away from your mouth with a smirk, "you're pretty when you cum."
you whine, burying your head in her neck.
"maybe i should tell mina and momo that. i think they'd get the best shots if you were mid orgasm."
"w-what?" your voice is shaky, still squiriming under her touch.
"hmm... you want another don't you? i've been working on something... special. how would you like to try it out for me?"
she doesn't wait for an answer, detaching herself from you and walking to one of her work desks. you can only watch after her, still spread open and tingly all over as she rummages through a drawer. your eyes widen when she pulls out a dildo, mind and vision suddenly clearer as she smirks, tugging out a corresponding harness and slipping the dildo into it.
then she starts to strip.
she leaves her top on, only removing her bottoms before stepping into the harness, the patchwork dildo hanging from her hips, looking strangely like it belonged on her.
she giggles when she notices you staring, doing a little spin, the fake dick swinging around ridiculously. "you like? i was going for... cutesy and demure." she plops down next to you, tapping her thighs.
you swallow nervously, pushing yourself up and straddling her.
"you can touch now."
your hands that were awkwardly swinging by your side finally come up to rest on her shoulders.
"answer the question."
"y-yeah- i- um- it's cute."
she giggles again, "that's good. need to make sure something as cute as you gets filled up with something just as cute hmm? then you can make all those cute sounds for me too."
her hands are relentless, tugging you down into her lap, brushing your hair over your shoulder, running fingers down over sides. she's always got to have her hands on you.
you huff when she teases the strap along your slit, feeling yourself dripping already. you try and catch her eye, pouting again.
she rolls her eyes, "just ask me if you want to kiss."
"can you kiss me?"
"see that was so cute! that's a good girl." then she's pulling you into her, latching onto your lips.
the makeout session that proceeds has you grinding down into her without even realising, and you take a hint of pleasure at her returning the movement, her own hips starting to rut up into yours. she sucks your bottom lip into her mouth, swiping her tongue across it before letting it go, invading your mouth still with the faint taste of yourself. when you break away to gasp for air, she moves straight to your cheek, then down to your jaw, neck, collarbones, sucking marks along her way, hands coming up to play with your chest again.
she pushes your breasts upwards so her mouth can reach skin easier, sucking and kissing, careful not to leave marks on you, knowing your body was your instrument in this line of work.
you moan when you feel her lips wrap around a nipple, the warm cavern of her mouth sucking the little nub, her tongue lapping over it with glee.
you're unabashedly rocking against her now, loving the tingle that went up your spine with every pass of the strap on your clit, her mouth still attached to your chest while you held the back of her head, keeping her against you while you moaned and whined into her.
she switches nipples, cool air hitting the wet, exposed nub. you shiver under her despite her actions only heating your body up past a temperature you didn't know was possible.
"s-sana-"
she hums around your nipple, always so focused on her work, the vibrations go straight to your core.
"need you- n-now- please-"
your nipple pops free from her mouth, "i'm not stopping you." then she's back at your chest, sucking and kissing, addicted.
you groan, looking down between you and shakily aligning your entrance with her strap. it takes a few tries and you're almost crying in frustration and sana's not helping at all, completely preoccupied with your chest, before you finally sink down, moaning low and heavy as you feel her fill you up.
"fuuck-"
sana sucks at the patch of skin on your left breast just a little harder in response.
you push yourself back up using her shoulders, then drop back down, cursing as your core tingles at the sensation.
you repeat the process, eyes locked on the way she enters and exits you, her strap coated in your essence, the squelching sounds mix with your whines and groans.
"fuck- fuck- fuck-" you start riding her, swearing each time she fills you up, setting up a rhythm that has you dizzy with need. sana finally decides to break away to watch her masterpiece bounce in front of her. fading bite marks and patches of red skin sway as she moves her hands down to your hips, pushing you down harder with each entrance, bucking her own hips up to get the strap that much deeper.
"fuck!" your hands on her shoulders tighten, feeling her everywhere inside you, around you.
"review it for me sweetheart." she husks out, "if you saw it in a magazine would you buy it?"
"y-yes- fuck- w-wait no i don't- i don't know-"
"no?"
"you don't come with it- fuck-"
she chuckles, hands moving again to grip your ass, squeezing the flesh between her fingers, "let's say i do. then what?"
"y-yes- yes yes fuck- yes i would-"
"mhmm? i want a more detailed review than that darling. i need to know how to make improvements."
"f-fuck sana- it's so- you're fucking me so- so good- it's good it's good-"
"other than good?"
"g-god you're so- it's um- fuck- it's cute and- i like the colours- a-and shit jesus christ- it fills me up just right- and i'm gonna- fuck- i can't- it's gonna make me cum-!"
"why don't i give it a helping hand then hm?"
"yes! yes- please- please- god- fuck yes-"
she pushes herself up, pulling you back down, surprising you with the amount of strength she had hidden, then she's thrusting up into you roughly.
"uh- uh- fuck- uh-" you're moans are cut up with every thrust, she's experienced, like she is in everything she does, panting with effort while her hips work, her arms pulling you down with every thrust up, you can't even keep track of where she's entering you, moving so fast it was a blur. or maybe those were the tears building up as it gets almost too much, your desperation to cum for her, to cum all over her.
"f-fuck!" you scream out, clenching down around her, hips moving of their own accord, shaking and moaning, almost blacking out from pleasure.
your breaths are heavy as you come back down, still with sana's strap lodged inside you, sweaty hands unwrapping themselves from around her neck, slumping down and resting your entire weight on the fashion designer.
sana hums, brushing through your hair and your back, letting you catch your breath.
when you finally gain enough of your bearings, you grunt as you sit up, sliding the dildo out of yourself, cringing at the mess you've made between the two of you.
sana only giggles, bringing a finger down to trace the length of the dildo and then bringing it to her own mouth, sucking it and humming around the taste.
your stomach twinges again in arousal, but you whine, too sensitive to go again, knocking your forehead against sana's shoulder as you avoid looking at her.
she lets you rest there for a while, but eventually stands up, carrying the dildo off with her to clean off. when she comes back, she has your clothes and a damp towel for you to clean yourself up with.
"i have another appointment now. feel free to stay as long as you'd like, just don't touch any of the designs. i'll send the completed outfits for you to try once they're done." she's all business again, but before you let her turn on her heel and leave, you croak out.
"w-what about you?"
"what about me?" she raises an eyebrow.
you blush, covering yourself now that you have enough shame to be embarrassed. she pays you no mind, following your eyeline and looking down at herself. then she realises what you're asking.
she laughs brightly, "no sweetheart you don't need to take care of me. but if i ever need another... trial customer... i'll be sure to ask for you." she winks, and then she's off, heels clicking in the workshop and door closing behind her.
you sink down into the couch, still processing exactly what happened. all you knew was that everyone was right to be terrified of minatozaki sana. though your fear came with a side of thrill you're sure no one else could've warned you about.
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northopalshore · 4 months ago
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Pick A Card: ☆
Your next relationship
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˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Choose an image & group respectively.
Pile one:
Decks used: Dreaming way tarot, sacred earth oracle, oracle of mystical moments & astrological oracle
‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚
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So immediately jumping in, your next relationship will be with someone who is very goal driven. They are very passionate, intelligent & skillful. This person may have come from a lower financial status growing up. Only being able to get by on a daily basis. This person has probably been surrounded by amazing and talented people who are very dedicated to their craft, and hence grown to develop a similar habit.
Their main goal in life is to get rich lol. They want to be at a point where they can look back and not recognise themselves in the position they once were in financially. This is somebody who works wholeheartedly on their craft. They may be involved in independent business or they are working on their own brand.
They may have a very young heart as well, always looking at things from a hopeful perspective. However, they are also very logical! They are able to plan their ventures and predict things that may or may not happen with every step that they take towards their goal! That desire to change their lives will always remain as a priority & main motivation for them to continue on their path.
This person will likely have an extroverted approach to life. Wanting to explore and see everything the world has to offer.
Their career may be very competitive, and their ideas or brand may come under scrutiny very often. If they work ina directive company for example, people was have dissatisfactions with how they present themselves or thing they may be to rash when coming up with new suggestions. However, they are resilient lol! I feel like they have a lot of potential for greatness, but by the time you meet them they are somewhere in the middle of their journey.
Your relationship will be intertwined with your career. This person will be the one to get your engines running, and to reignite that passion you might have held out in the rain before. They will act as a guide to you and help you realise things you may have overlooked before.
They will prove themselves to be a very stable companion. They will teach you to be fearless & confident when it comes to your passions and beliefs.
I feel like you'll bond over common interests and backgrounds . They may be from a different race than you as well! If you work with your hands i.e build, writing, drawing, animating and so on, this person will be on your side during sudden late night inspirational drives lol. This means they will be awake with you, talking and supporting what you do even when you're both supposed to be asleep.
You will be able to draw out the both the passionate and gentle side of eachother. Respecting boundaries and personal wishes going forward.
I feel like you'll meet them through chance, or coincidentally you work in the same department for example but you will be able to click immediately.
They could have Libra, Cancer, Gemini & Pisces placements in their charts.
MBTI wise, I feel like they could be an ENFJ, ENFP, ESTJ, ESTP, ENTP, & INTJ.
Pile two:
Decks used: Modern witch tarot, bluebird lenormard & astrological oracle
‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚
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Oooh pile two, this person is honestly incredible.
So first of all, they are someone very optimistic & rational. They perhaps have been born into wealth or have been blessed with a higher position in life than most. They are very mature and very calm & collected. When they speak, people may find it impossible to dispute them or overtake them. This person perhaps is great at debates or could work as a lawyer (or come from a family of lawyers). They are the type to value intelligence & fair judgement over any irrationality. They could be an only child or grew up being cared for fully by their parents. They may have shown great leadership qualities even from a young age. They are very humble & down to earth despite being at a position of power. They could own a business or inherit a business from their family. You will think that they are a dream come true or even too good to be real. Perhaps they were very studious in their younger years, performing much better than other students or seen as more mature relative to people their age. I feel like this might as well be the person you end up marrying because four of wands has shown up lol. Their parents could be divorced or living in different countries/states. They may have developed objective opinions on marriage as well. For example, if they are a woman they do not think that a man can provide her with anything she doesn't already have. They could want to marry for love rather than business or for practicality. They want to form genuine relationships with people they know are worthwhile (in their perspective). Perhaps people have used them as a means to lift themselves up and this has hurt your person. Your relationships could be very flirtatious. You both may be quite weary of eachother at first but you will soon find comfort in eachother's presence. Perhaps you will discover a soft side neither of you could have expected you'd get to. It reminds me of Anastasia and Dimitri's relationship lol. Rocky at the start but they soon develop deep feelings for eachother. They could have Sagittarius, Leo, Pisces, Aquarius & Virgo prominent in their charts. MBTI wise, they could be an ENTJ, INTJ, ENFJ, ENFP, INFJ, ISTJ, ISTP & INTP.
Pile three:
Decks used: VOX ( voice of tarot) arcana, The literary witches oracle & astrological oracle
‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ .₊๋ ‧
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Welcome pile 3! So your next relationship will be with someone who I can only describe as stubborn & possessive but very unique and full of ambition. I feel like this person has had a fair share for admirers or past relationships that may not have ended very well, and has since then been quite abstinent of love or the dating scene.
They have since learned to control their energy, and find satisfaction in being alone with themselves i.e putting themselves before relationships.
They may be quite materialistic or pay a lot of attention to their finances. They are very tactical and resourceful. There may have been disagreements or issues regarding their finances. Perhaps they have had legal issues with the company they work with or there may be issues with inheritance.
This person is extremely charming and charismatic. They may have the ability to sweep you off your feet & without even realising it you'll fall for their many charms lol. They could be quite hot hearted ( & hot headed) as well, and very direct with their feelings. Your relationship will be hot and passionate, you will feel like you have manifested eachother into your lives.
They may break the expectation you might have regarding the type of people you would usually go after romantically i.e their personality will be more in your face instead of quiet and reserved.
You may be thrill seekers when you are together, and you may find that the energy can be very heavy or s*xual. You will have a lot of fun in that department lol.
They can act sort of tsundere too as in they may act mischievously or playfully, they could also like to see you getting riled up 👀 lmao. They could have Taurus, Capricorn, Scorpio, Pisces, Leo & Aries prominent in their chart. MBTI wise, they could be ENTP, ENTJ, ESTP, ENFP, ESTJ, ISTP, ISFP & ISTJ
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***entertainment purposes only: reader discretion is advised***
None of the images are mine, all rights reserved to their original creators on Pinterest
Thanks for reading!
@northopalshore
@northopalshore 2024 pick a card.
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blogport · 6 months ago
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EPOXYSHİNE - DRAGON+ (5)
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When it comes to enhancing the aesthetic and functional qualities of your floors, solid color epoxy flooring stands out as a top choice. Renowned for its durability and ease of maintenance, this sleek flooring option offers a seamless look that transforms any space into a modern haven. Beyond the allure of solid colors, the world of epoxy flooring also features exciting variations like the vibrant epoxy flake floors. These innovative surfaces blend color flakes into a clear resin, providing a unique texture and visual appeal that can suit any design vision. 
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Epoxy Flake Floor
If you're looking for a versatile and aesthetically pleasing flooring option, epoxy flake floor is an excellent choice. This type of flooring combines the durability of epoxy with the decorative flair of colored flakes, creating a unique surface that's both functional and attractive.
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Flake Flooring
Flake flooring is an innovative and versatile flooring solution that combines aesthetics with durability. One of the defining features of flake flooring is its unique blend of colorful chips or flakes that are embedded into a clear epoxy base. This method not only enhances the visual appeal of the floor but also provides a strong, long-lasting surface that can withstand heavy foot traffic and wear.
Another significant advantage of flake flooring is its customizable nature. Homeowners and business owners can choose from an array of colors, shapes, and sizes of flakes, allowing them to create a floor that perfectly matches their style or corporate branding. This customization makes flake flooring an excellent choice for various applications, from residential garages to commercial spaces.
Moreover, flake flooring is easy to maintain. The smooth surface of the epoxy prevents dirt and grime from becoming lodged in the seams, making clean-up a breeze. With proper maintenance, flake flooring can maintain its vibrant appearance for years, making it a practical and stylish flooring choice.
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