#there is nothing more that gets me going than this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

usedpidemo · 2 days ago

Text

Savior (aespa Karina)

“Someone help me. Please!”

“Scream as loud as you can, no one’s coming to save you, princess.”

“That’s right. So just be a good girl and give us your money.”

“Help!”

It’s at this point where, against your better judgment, you stop dead in your tracks. The damsel in distress’s right behind you, backed into a corner by two bullies. Her possessions are strewn all over the floor, purposefully kicked out of her reach. There hasn’t been much physical harm done to the girl, but she looks to be the delicate type—someone who’s bound to crumble and break after a few hits.

Looking over your shoulder, the two students spot you and turn their attention against you immediately, recognizing you as a threat. “Hey,” says the first student, stepping forward to intimidate you with his burly physique. “This has nothing to do with you. Run along if you don’t want to join this loser over here.”

“Yeah. Don’t go around acting tough just cause you got two other guys with you. Just keep it pushing,” says the second thug, lankier in figure, in agreement with his partner.

Standing your ground, you steel your resolve, having no intention to run. In fact, it’s the complete opposite: you’re down for a fight. Your two companions also follow suit.

“So you wanna be a hero? You’re gonna regret it,” the first bully says, cracking his fists, ready to swing. “Oh, you’re so gonna regret it!”

That is to say, he’s the one who’s about to regret his life choices.

Like a raging bull, the thug lunges toward you, only for you to swiftly kick his legs from underneath, sending him flying across the hallway before he violently lands head first on the ground, most certainly giving him a concussion. He’s done.

The second bully tries to throw a follow-up punch, but you stop its momentum with one hand. Twisting it sideways, the bones crack loud, immediately followed by a screech of pain from his lungs. He drops to the floor in agony, holding his bent knuckle with his healthy arm.

“Oh—oh God—oh fuck—fuck—” Tears flowing from his eyes, he grovels in extreme discomfort, unable to stand before you. “What are you��”

“Now run,” you order, and he promptly complies, hopping off the ground, then fleeing in the opposite direction.

All that’s left is the girl. She had been watching the entire time. She’s overjoyed.

“Y-you saved me,” she says, tone relieved and her spirits held high. “How can I thank you—”

“Don’t push it,” you tell her, already walking away with your companions, waving her off. You don’t help her as she gathers her belongings. “Don’t get yourself in danger next time.”

Part of you already has second thoughts saving this girl. Jimin, the name written on her ID, is undeniably pretty, but you have nothing to gain from this encounter—or from her. She’s only studying in this university on a scholarship, and it shows in her appearance: she’s not the cleanest, nor is as well dressed as everyone else on campus. At best, you’ll probably get called into the office regarding this incident, as well as getting another target placed on your back by those bullies.

None of which are worth a drop of your concern. You can study anywhere else; you have the resources and the connections courtesy of your rich family, and the two companions by your side are your trusted bodyguards that have been with you since childhood. You can honestly live out your whole life without even lifting a finger. Generational wealth is the ultimate lifehack.

And yet, you’re in college at the behest of your parents, who spend more time abroad than at home. This is you going through the motions, looking after yourself.

After the next class, right as everyone’s packing their things and exiting, you spot her again. Jimin’s natural beauty is a lovely sight for the eyes. It’s only now do you realize you’ve shared at least one class with her. Maybe more; you’re too oblivious to the world around you to really notice. You only care about the bell that rings at the top of the hour so you can finally go home.

“Hey,” Jimin suddenly calls out to you, having noticed you glancing at her every now and then. You attempt to feign ignorance, but she approaches you and seizes your hand, catching you red-handed. “Can I speak to you, please?”

She sounds too nice to turn away. You’d be in the wrong to ignore her.

Still, you won’t fully look at her, the glint in her eyes blinding. You can only pray this is a brief exchange. “Sure. But make it quick.”

“I just want to say thank you—for earlier,” she says, her voice warm and sincere. She’s shaking your hand in appreciation; you allow her. “I’m not as rich as everyone else here, as you can see.” She looks down at her modest wear, apologetic about her appearance for some reason, “So—I don’t really have much. I’m only here on a scholarship—”

“Right.” You interrupt her, trying your hardest not to sound annoyed or bothered, though some of that impatience permeates through your filter. “Anything else you wanna say?”

Jimin becomes flustered, seemingly aroused by your low voice. A brief glance reveals her cheeks flushed red, her body trembling anxiously. She can’t have her way with words, either. “S-sorry. I just wanna say if you need help with schoolwork or anything, my services are available! My grades are good, I promise! That’s all. Again, thanks and see you around!”

Before you can even say a word or call her name, she already has one foot out the door, along with her belongings.

—————

One look at the student database proves her point: Yu Jimin, nickname Karina, might be what she advertised: an academic genius.

Her grades are mostly in the mid nineties across the board, if not low nineties. She’s only a year away from graduating—alongside you. The offer lingers on your mind, positively tempting.

“Sir, this just seems like a waste of money,” your one bodyguard turned hacker tells you, swiveling his desk chair around to face you. “There are more reputable tutors with better qualifications we can fly in from across the country if you really need a personal tutor. Also, your grades are good as they are. You don’t seem to be struggling with any specific major or subject right now. There’s no reason for this.”

“Yeah, and whose money are we spending?” you reply, annoyed at his admittedly sensible comment.

“What will your family say about this?”

“Did I ask to be enrolled in this university? This course? Besides, they’ve never shown up for any of my graduations! I doubt this will be any different in a year or so. Go find her number so I can contact her.”

Sighing in defeat, he eventually acquiesces. They have to. “Of course, sir.”

—————

The next day on campus, Karina’s seated at the dining hall with her friends. Her eyes can only focus on one thing, or in this case, one man: the person that saved her yesterday.

“You’re serious? Him?” Ningning looks concerned about her friend. She’s glaring at him with plenty of skepticism. They all know who he is. Not Karina, though. “That guy’s no good at all.”

“What are you saying?” she looks at her, puzzled at her comment. “He really did save me from those bullies. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yeah, but like—he’s not a good person!” Giselle frowns at the man, hiding the bottom half of her face behind her hands. “He’s a chaebol kid. He’s seriously no good! I’ve heard he gets into fights often; that's why he has bodyguards to intimidate anyone who tries to oppose him.”

“Rumor says he’s in cahoots with some crime syndicate—or at least his dad is,” Minjeong interjects, more trepid than anything. “That’s how he got his money. Who knows what kind of evil they might be doing!”

“But he was nice to me yesterday! If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have tried to save me, you know?” Karina stubbornly pays no heed, insisting her case to them, despite their growing frustration and fright. “You guys are overthinking this way too much.”

“It’s just so he can gaslight you into believing he’s a good guy. Please, Karina, he’s not what you think he is.” Ningning implores for her to listen, but to no avail.

“We’re not saying he’s truly bad, but there are signs,” Minjeong adds, agreeing with Ningning. “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look—if he’s actually a bad guy, I’m running, all right? I’m ditching him right then and there, no questions asked.” Karina reassures them, hoping to calm them down right as the man approaches their table. “He’s coming right now.”

While the others silently avoid any form of contact or communication with you, hiding their not so subtle disdain, she happily waves. “Hi. Did you think about it?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, nodding. “I’m interested.”

“Really?” Karina’s eyes gleam at the opportunity. “What do you need help with?”

“Lots. I’ll tell you after class.” Knowing her friends are evidently uncomfortable with your presence, you simply walk past her and through the cafeteria door. “See you around.”

“Bye!” she waves at you again, delighted that you’ve taken up on her offer.

When it’s clear that you’re no longer in sight, Karina’s friends turn to her in utter disbelief.

“Please tell me you’re not going to—”

“I will.”

“Oh, God dammit.”

“Karina, please.”

—————

Later that day, Karina’s waiting by the campus parking lot, holding on to the promise of you showing up. It’s been almost an hour since classes ended and there’s no sign of you anywhere nearby. It looks like you’ll leave her out to dry, until—

“Miss Karina.” A man calls out to her from inside a luxurious car. As the windows roll down, she recognizes the driver as one of your companions. One of the rear doors automatically swings open. “Please step inside.”

Without a second thought, she enters the vehicle before it drives away.

During the ride, the bodyguard asks her a question. “Does Miss Yu have a drink preference?”

She’s slowly taking it all in, flustered at how you’re treating her so generously. It’s overwhelming at times. “N-no. I’m not really a drinker. W-where’s—”

“He has already gone ahead. He’s preparing the house ahead of your arrival. When we get there, you will change clothes before meeting him. At his request, I have been assigned as your personal assistant and driver.”

“Y-you? Assistant?” She can hardly believe it. “Wow…”

Karina is rendered speechless for the rest of the ride. She’s taken aback at her sudden change in predicament. It’s a Cinderella story through and through. The only missing element is some antagonistic force threatening to end this fantasy abruptly, but that’s the least of her worries. What’s more concerning is how she’ll compose herself before you.

Especially when she sees the scale of your house upon arriving. She’s never seen wealth this exceedingly open and grand.

There’s no time to admire the opulence, however. She’s brought inside hastily by your bodyguard. Inside, a team of stylists are waiting, rushing her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms for a complete overhaul. They’re careful to measure her hair, her size, her everything. Everything is done on the spot, with next to nothing in terms of personal input from Karina herself.

—————

You hear it. The gentle, careful steps of heels clicking. Karina’s ready. So are you.

Turning around to welcome her, you’ve got this whole speech practiced and memorized, with a card hidden in your pocket for good measure. Instead, you end up tongue tied; her presence proves overwhelming to the senses. You can only stare in awe. All black dress and matching heels aside, she looks like an angel descended from heaven. Without blemish, without any sort of imperfection. She’s unreal.

Any less of a person you are and you would have fallen to your knees on the spot, groveling on the ground when Karina walks forward, ignoring how nervous she is as you. She modestly smiles, carefully twiddling her fingers. She doesn’t recognize how pretty she is.

It becomes all the more embarrassing when Karina makes the first move. “I knew you were rich, but not this rich.” Her eyes are glancing around the expansive room, admiring all the little details, thankfully dismissing how speechless you are.

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to blurt out, unsure of what to say. In her sight, you’re her hero, her knight in shining armor that can seemingly do no wrong. Meanwhile, you’re overcompensating your lack of social skills by hiding behind a shallow enigma and as much vanity as possible. “Not exactly my money, to be fair. My parents raised me like this.”

You’re trying not to look anywhere in her direction—whether that be her pretty eyes, her warm smile, or her shapely figure in that body-hugging dress. It’s the only way you can function normally without completely falling apart.

“So—you’re gonna introduce me to them?” she asks, her tone saccharine and innocent.

“I wish,” you reply, sighing wistfully thinking about their absence throughout most of your formative years. She’s unaware; you’ll let the insensitive question slide. Only for her. So you immediately change the topic. “Let’s go outside. Our dinner is waiting for us.”

You reach out your hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. In your mind, you’re already jumping around, performing cartwheels in celebration, with fireworks blasting everywhere. For the most part, you’ve been punching up, failing to impress girls unimpressed with your wealth and are far beyond your reach. Everyone else in that campus would kill to be in Karina’s position right now, but something about her caught your eye that no one has.

The purity in this girl’s heart is something else.

Outside, a table full of hearty food is set before you two, a candle lit at its center. Sitting her down on one end before joining her at the other, it’s only background dressing for conversation. She refuses to eat, struggling to make sense of all this. The appeal behind all this luxury is wearing off at an alarming rate.

“What’s up? Not hungry?” you gently ask, already making predictions of her answer. Your designated assistant for her is on standby for anything she wants.

“Not really,” she says, her eyes staring back, wide, accompanied with her innocuous smile. A direct attack on your heart. “I’m—here for tutoring first. I don’t know what this is all for.”

“Yeah. You are here to help me,” you tell her, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts, already in a state of panic. “I’m just—” you swallow a sudden lump in your throat, “welcoming you since it’s your first time visiting.”

“Like, I think this is really cool! I appreciate what you’re doing, but I can’t afford any of this.” Karina’s trying not to put any more pressure on you, but it’s really doing the exact opposite: you’re already seeing signs of a terrible end. “I just thought you were nice because you saved me from those bullies, you know? That’s it.”

“Yeah. I know,” you reply, looking down as the awkward air between you grows larger and larger. See, she has a point: it was never about asking for help, nor was it ever about improving your grades. It was always about her. Something changed overnight. You simply don’t know how to directly convey those feelings.

“So—let’s just keep things between us simple,” Karina proposes. She rises from her seat, walking over with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m here to help you with whatever project, research, whatever—you only have to pay for my services. Is that good enough?”

“Wait. Karina let me ask one thing,” you say, finally mustering the courage to look her directly in the eye.

“What is it?”

“Your friends,” you rapidly blink, “What did they say about me?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that.” Her answer is delivered bluntly, straight to the point.

“They think I’m a bad guy, right?”

“N-no,” Karina stammers. That’s where you catch her. “They never said anything like that—”

Suddenly dragging her by the arm down to your level, you whisper in her ear, “Don’t have to lie, princess. I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s only between us. Promise.”

Karina’s unsure of what to do. She’s quietly keening, lightly sweating, looking around for an out. The points her friends made are starting to make sense, but there’s nothing substantial—not yet.

After taking a moment, she folds. “They think your dad’s working with a syndicate. That’s it! There’s nothing else—”

You lightly shove her away, immediately concealing your face in the opposite direction. You didn’t expect her to catch on quickly. Karina’s utterly shocked by what you just did to her, cupping her cheek.

Empathy overrides every other thought.

“Sorry. I just—” You immediately approach her with a handkerchief, immediately assessing the damages, what little they might be. Karina takes a step back, trembling with fear.

“So, it’s true after all.” Her eyes widen. Gone is that sweet innocence; taking its place is a heightened sense of panic. “You’re really a bad guy—”

“Wait, Karina.” You raise a delicate hand, your voice as calm and little as possible. “Please give me a moment to explain.”

“Go on,” she says, cautiously wary, readying herself to run at any given moment. “But say it quickly,”

Stretching your body out to pursue her, examining her every move, every muscle. It didn’t have to end up like this. Surely, there are safer, more inconsequential ways to explain yourself. What a first date you’ve gotten into.

“It’s—not exactly what you think,” you tell her. Out of all the things to begin your justification, you’ve picked the worst possible choice.

“Really?” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t buy it. “What’s with the reaction, then?”

Hesitating, you’re scrambling to find a believable reason, only to find just one option: the truth. “I—well—your friends are right, but—my dad doesn’t have anything to do with criminals!”

“So it’s you who’s dealing with them?” she replies, her brows furrowing, glaring at you.

“It’s nothing really serious, though. And I’m not involved with anything either! Believe me, I’m not going to get you hurt!”

Throughout this tense exchange, you’ve both made your way back to the house, one big step at a time.

“Trust me when I say: the only reason why I helped you was because I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you continue, your voice cracking. “Goddamn it—this is why I shouldn’t have stepped in, fuck—”

“You did that because—” she pauses, “you cared about me? For real?”

“I guess so,” you say, nodding vehemently, both your hands still raised high starting to ache. “I don’t do that for anyone! My bodyguards tell me to ignore what’s happening, but I just can’t stand someone as pretty as you getting hurt like that.”

“Y-you think I’m pretty?” Karina blinks, coming out twinkling and doe-eyed at the sudden revelation.

Secret’s out. There’s nothing to hide anymore.

Pausing, you admit, nodding much less energetically, silently cursing yourself spilling your innermost thoughts so casually, “Well, yes. I think you’re beautiful. All the more now.”

Karina stops moving. Her wariness is turning back to more open and willing caution. “So—this was really all for me.”

You continue to nod, this time in agreement. She still has so many questions. About you, your family, your income, your secret dealings. Clearly, her friends are onto something, whether by luck or by some past experience; not a hundred percent, but at least five to ten. It would be rash and irrational to completely trust every word you’ve said. No amount of kindness can possibly make up for the worry you’ve given her—

“Come here,” she says, lunging forward to wrap you in a sudden, tight embrace. Before you can comprehend anything else, her lips are pressed deeply against yours, sealing your fate with a passionate kiss.

That’s where it should have stopped. A better person would have pushed her away, taken things slowly, spoken her through the terms of engagement. Even Karina said it herself; this is a transactional relationship. But seeing as you’re taking lease of her back, as well as her waist, tasting her saccharine lips—it appears as if she’s reneged on her word.

You feel her tongue slip between your mouth, humming these incomprehensible delightful sounds your ears want to hear. It isn’t accidental; the taste takes you by surprise. Can’t show a little weakness, even if you’re close to buckling under the rapid growing pressure. The way she pours herself into the kiss, how she pushes you closer inch by inch—you can tell she’s wanted this. To be treated like a princess, to be treated right. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from the wrong influence, the only thing she sees is your willingness to take her with open arms.

The only thing pulling you away from her is the ceaseless ringing from a phone.

Karina pulls a phone from her skirt pocket, her eyes tilting down, fingers moving with urgency, furiously typing on the screen. Her cheeks burn a rosy red, ashamed of having to put herself first in this situation. She’s smiling innocently at you, a sight you’ve grown to love even more. You understand if she tells you she’s leaving; you’ve already got her ride home on standby.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing buttons, hearing the ringer beep as the message is sent. “I’m still living with my parents, so—” Looking around, she’s shaking her arms loose. “I don’t think I can spend the night here, or come home looking like this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you cut her off, confident, if not a little smug. “Neither of those things are gonna happen. I’ll get your ride ready and your clothes taken care of. But it’s still a little bit early,” you say, glancing at your watch, grinning at the time. It’s barely past seven in the evening.

“I told them I’d be home by around ten tonight,” she remarks, putting her phone away, her gaze returning to you.

“That’s all the time we need.”

—————

Like the gentleman she thinks you are, you escort Karina up the stairs, hand in tow, leading her to your bedroom. Once the door is slammed shut and tightly locked, you immediately drop the act, and you’re back to kissing her passionately again.

You can’t be any less patient. Only a few minutes have passed, and you’re already dreading the end. The feeling of letting her go, of having to go back to your normal life the moment she walks through that door. You can’t imagine interacting like normal students again. Most importantly, you can’t imagine being the bad guy in everyone else’s eyes.

Karina brings out both the best and worst impulses from you. Abruptly breaking the kiss, you shove her onto the mattress, issuing a simple command. “Take that dress off.”

It’s been the only thing racing through your mind ever since. This divine, angelic figure straight out of heaven—effortlessly shining, effortlessly wearing the simple piece like she’s meant to be a canvas to be painted and used.

Gracefully rising from the bed, Karina looks you dead in the eye. Taking one strap in her hand, she pulls it down her shoulder, then the other. Reaching around her back, gravity does the rest. The garment smoothly rides down her body, revealing inch after inch of her skin, until she’s reduced to only her panties.

Kicking the expensive fabric aside, along with her heels, Karina’s near naked presence demands worship.

“Fuck,” is the only thing you’re able to say, and it’s apt—fuck is the only thing you want to do to her. Hard. Fast. Without care for comfort or concern.

Your eyes have no fixed area to rest on. When it comes to Karina, every little part of her is a treat for the senses, whether it be her slim waist, her tummy, her slender legs. But nothing captures and retains the attention quicker than her well-endowed breasts. So huge, so pliable, you can only wonder in amazement at how she’s been able to keep them secret for the longest time.

“Something wrong?” Karina asks, snapping you from your mindless daze, her tiny voice a contrast to the sheer sexiness she’s radiating just by standing there in the nude. God, she’s so blissfully unaware that you’re oh so obviously focused on her tits only; it’s endearing and sweet.

“Nothing. You’re perfect, actually.” Try as you might, you can only linger on her chest, watching them stare back, inviting you to come closer. Her nipples are taut and rigid, ripe for the taking.

The comment makes her face blush brighter. “Thank you.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, your pants already halfway down, shedding them along with your boxers. You’re imagining how they would feel sandwiched between your cock; you can’t help it. You’re stroking yourself to hardness, made substantially easier thanks to the image before you. “Has anyone told you you have perfect tits, Karina?”

“I’ve heard it here and there,” she says, delivered so casually, like it’s something she hears everyday—as she rightfully should. “I guess people sometimes notice through my baggy clothing.”

Pumping your shaft till you’re fully erect, you rid yourself of the rest of your clothes. Button up shirt and coat thrown away carelessly and readily forgotten. Karina takes the hint and slips off her panties, putting you both on equal footing. Creeping toward her, you press your finger on her chin, nuzzling your forehead against hers, setting the mood with a quick peck of her lips. There’s so much you want to do, visualizing all the possibilities with a body like hers.

“I want to touch you,” you tell her, tone low, sultry. Your hand traces down her collarbones, pointing out where they want to be: on her chest.

“Go. Anything you want, but promise me one thing,” she replies, mimicking your inflection. Any request sounds so much hotter in her voice.

There’s zero hesitation. “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll pour all that cum deep inside me. I’ve been in relationships before. Just—give me a good fucking.”

“I will,” you say, kissing her passionately on the lips, your hands firmly pressed on her tits, watching Karina’s eyes close and open in slow motion. Going down, you leave kisses on her neck, collarbones, before reaching your intended destination: her chest. Burying yourself between her breasts, clamping down on her rigid nipple, forcing a sharp cry out of Karina’s saccharine lips. “I love these fucking tits, Karina. I love them so—so—much.”

“Please.” She coos up to the ceiling, grabbing you by the hair, pressing you further into them, intending to suffocate you—which is a demise you’ll happily go out on. Gasping, panting, struggling to keep herself steady, you both collapse onto the bed, allowing you to fully drink in her breasts. Darting your tongue, sucking on her stiff tits, sloppily leaving wet marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. “So—fucking—needy—”

Karina’s right. You’ve got her pinned down on the sheets like she’s prey, devouring her like a hungry animal. Giving her tits equal attention, going back and forth til you’re satisfied—which will never happen. Not with breasts as delicious as hers. Muffled by her bosom, you can only grunt and groan in appreciation, forgoing your ability to speak to keep satiating your unquenchable need. You love how her skin folds, how they crush in your hands. Squeezing them like your personalized stress balls, making her squeamish and erratic underneath you.

Meanwhile, she can only stick her head out, keening and mewling helplessly as you drown yourself in the heat of her breasts, without care for her personal comfort or yours.

It’s always been part of you—greed. It’s what you were raised on. How you selfishly desire something and will stop at nothing until it’s in your grasp, no matter how little it has in value or how many resources are wasted. Not Karina. She’s one in a million—a diamond in the rough. A treasure worth cherishing over everything else, and you’d give up everything for her without a second thought.

Kissing down her rather tiny figure, her tummy, until you reach the depths of her aching core, already in heat. Looking up at her, so wrecked, so utterly incapacitated, you sink further—and she cries out in pain and in pleasure.

Propping her thighs up in the air, spreading her legs that extra inch wider, Karina cries, cries, and cries. Your tongue sucks away at her sticky nectar, her quivering core, putting immense pressure on her most sensitive spots. Soaking up just how wet she becomes with each passing second, you’ll happily drown in her skin. You love how she clenches, how she throbs and moans a pitch higher with every pass, every lap of your tip against her pussy brings her ever closer to her end.

Had it been anyone else, you would have finished right there. Make them unwind and cum all over your face as you indulge yourself with their juices, then leave them out to dry right after. Instead, you muster up the willpower to restrain yourself, reemerging from the depths of her cunt, before kissing up the path you’ve marked along. You can never grow tired of admiring and worshipping Karina’s breasts.

Brushing loose strands of hair aside to get a look at her pretty face, glowing brilliantly even under duress. Whispering against her ear, you tell her, “Gonna fuck you right now.”

“Do it,” she says, breathless, gasping—and heaving—for air. “Please give it all to me.”

“Always.”

Slowly dragging your cock between her folds, your usually stiff expression gradually disintegrates upon vicious entry, unable to endure how tight she feels. The pulse and flex of her walls pulls you apart in every direction, her cunt threatening to snap you with one wrong move. Every little bit of resolve counts. Your fingers intertwine with hers, holding her down in place, even though she’s nowhere close to fighting back. In fact, it’s the exact opposite; she wants to be taken and used.

The cry of your name escapes from Karina’s lips, delivered like a call for help. A plea. It bounces around the room, echoing repeatedly in your head, the imagery instantly seared into your brain.

“You fill me so fucking well,” she says, breath hot and heavy, her jaw agape as you hover atop her head. Her eyes snap wide open, on the verge of tears, “Does my pussy feel good? Does it feel so tight around you?”

You’re struggling to keep yourself together, showing signs of falling apart. You’re breathing heavily, only nodding back in agreement. The inability to move your body, desiring to stay inside her warmth out of fear it’ll prematurely ruin the moment speaks volumes. It’s a clearer response than any word can ever answer.

Karina lightly rolls her hips forward, the friction far too great to remain still. You can only draw back in painstakingly slow motion, as if pulling a piece out of a collapsible tower. Even so, the feeling leaves you dizzy and lightheaded, the suffocating sensation quickly overwhelming the rest of your functional senses.

This little push is more than enough to set you snowballing further down. Thrusting back inside her heat, her fresh wetness allows you an easier passage in and out of her quivering pussy. Between calculated, deep breaths, you watch Karina take every inch of your cock without any resistance, letting these profanities and praises slip from her lips instinctively, punctuated by the growing echo of your skin slapping skin.

It becomes effortless rather quickly. The slide in and out of her heat. The pace more than enough to let all the ecstasy sink in. How she immediately relinquishes any semblance of control to you. Karina’s glued to the bed by your hands, her body rocking with every stroke, her tits jiggling in a hypnotic rhythm that captures your eyes. So perfect. So right.

Unknowingly, she’s driving you mad. A little bounce isn’t gonna satiate you at this point. One poorly timed blink and you’ll be punishing yourself for it. There’s no going back. You needed more of her.

As the bed violently creaks below, so does Karina’s tiny figure. As quickly as you’ve found the perfect rhythm to pound her, you just as quickly abandon it. Something about her brings out the best and worst in you, and you clearly see why. It’s the bounce—that damned ripple of her breasts, swinging up and down forcing your hips harder against her, threatening to break her. Her words turn to loud cries—of pleasure, of pain, and everything else in between.

“More—oh, baby, please—” she keens, her eyes still completely shut, her lips twisting and contorting, struggling to find her words. Freely offering herself to you no strings attached, she takes it—and takes it all. “Harder—I’m so fucking close—please—”

It’s a request you’re more than eager to oblige.

Taking purchase of her back with one hand, lifting her slightly, and grabbing her breast with the other, you’re hammering away at her hot cunt, gasping. Squeezing her flesh, hearing her whine, turning her usually pale flesh red while her arms find solace on your shoulder—anything to keep your rapidly dwindling resolve from dissolving entirely. The end is imminent; you can only delay it by mere moments, minutes at best.

Karina is so dangerously close, as she said—and as much as you hate to admit, so are you.

It’s a race that you don’t want to win. As much as you want to keep it together for longer, your body says otherwise. You can’t stop fucking her, no matter how hard you wish to try—and even if you did, why would you even contemplate the idea; your thoughts mostly comprise of how incredibly good she feels around your cock, how they pulsate and grip you with every thrust. Moving inside her is second nature at this point. You eventually lay her back down, only so she takes every inch of you when it eventually happens.

“Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—” she pleads, as if your own mind wasn’t enough to invalidate the idea. Her nails cling to your scalp and neck, barely hanging on for dear life. She’s trembling, uncontrollably jerking beneath. Even she herself doesn’t want it to end. “So good—oh God—”

A handful of thrusts later, Karina cums, with your cock buried in the crevice of her cunt.

Once again, her voice shoots up to the sky upon impact, screaming your name, her head tilted far back as the sheets allow her to. Jaw widely slack, her neck and collarbone exposed, she can’t stop trembling through her climax. Writhing in your grasp, she lets out a prolonged moan till her vocal cords flame out, her chest heaving for much needed oxygen.

It doesn’t stop you from pounding into her pussy, even as it overflows with her slickness. If anything, it only accelerates your own demise. The wetness overload coating your cock proves to be overbearing for what little spunk you have left.

“Me too, Karina—” you blurt out, hammering into her, gasping, bracing for impact as well. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

Your own peak overtakes you, rendering you speechless. Everything comes to a standstill. All you can do is bury yourself inside the absolute depths of her pussy, make her take every load, every drop.

Filling the air with a harmonious moan as it hits you, your cock throbbing achingly, full of all that repressed need, and then—release.

Spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum you pour into her womb, not wasting a single drop. Karina cries and moans with every shot, while you can only groan a deep groan from your lungs. She takes it up, milking you of all your worth till you can’t anymore. Even as she drains you empty, you can’t stop pounding into her cunt, slowing your movements back to a grinded out pace till your orgasm dies, and so does your strength.

“That’s it—that’s all I needed—so, so good—”

Karina sighs, her fingers digging deep into your neck, dragging them across your shoulders, then sliding down your arms right after. She can barely open her eyes, only to find you slowly crashing into her, leaning your head to the side so you can rest beside her. Even your hips stop moving. You only have enough energy to wrap an arm around her tiny frame before you finally collapse under your own weight.

“You still have to take me home,” she whispers, mindful of your ear directly next to her, delivered in that oh so saccharine tone.

“I know,” you mutter through the sheets, eliciting a gentle chuckle from her. Karina’s the one coming out of this in a better state.

“Can you do something for me? Please?”

She didn’t need to say the word, but it certainly helps her case tenfold.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I need you to drive me home.” Karina dips her head at an angle to face you. “Not your bodyguards. You.”

Tilting upward to get a good look at her, you lift a curious eyebrow. “I don’t mind—but why?”

“I just—” she faces away, pausing, breathing heavily. She’s about to say something she’ll regret. “Think it would be safer, yeah? Besides, I wouldn’t wanna be caught by my parents just being dropped off by people in suits.”

“Oh right.”

“I mean this is nice and all but—” Karina stops again, lightly brushing your arm away. A reminder that wealth does not equate to relationship. “I think we’d be better off if we kept things strictly professional. You didn’t have to do all this. You were kind to me and that’s more than enough.”

You roll onto your back, staring up directly at the ceiling. You can only hope Karina is doing the same. She shouldn’t see how deflated you look—after you fucked her, no less.

“Karina, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You don’t know exactly what to say. You’re only thinking about the what ifs and the what could, expecting the worst. So you look away, unable to face her a second longer.

Moments later, you feel the sudden tug of her embrace, a leg wrapped around yours. The softest kisses on your shoulder. You can feel her soft smile pressed against your neck. She’s cuddled up on you, intent on never letting go.

“Just keep being kind.”

—————

In the days ahead, it was about saving face.

Karina’s wish has seemingly been lost in translation and disregarded, as you’ve been putting distance from her. Any little sign that she’s around is your signal to leave. It helps when you have two extra pairs of eyes keeping watch and alerting you at once.

All this to reinforce the same statement you’ve heard from her friends: that you’re no good whatsoever.

Cautiously eavesdropping on their conversation through your unassuming bodyguards, you hear Karina’s distress over your earpiece, lamenting to her sisters about your absence in her life.

“I seriously don’t understand you. Are you deaf? Are you stupid?” says Ningning, vindicated about her stance. “He ghosted you. They always do that! Not just him! Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”

“Please trust us. Rina, we’re worried about you,” adds Giselle, her tone showing more empathy and concern. “There’s no use in worrying about a man after you did—that.”

“No no. I want to believe,” Karina replies, insistent on you, ignoring all the red flags being waved around. “He really appreciates the affection I gave him. I have to. He seems like a good person in heart—”

“Ugh—here we go again with that good guy shit,” interjects Ningning, frustrated at her friend’s stubbornness. You hear a powerful thud, presumably from a table getting slammed in anger. “He isn’t a good guy! God, Karina, this is why you get bullied—”

“Hey, Ning. Let’s not go that far,” Giselle interrupts, her tone low. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

Dead silence follows, seemingly lasting an eternity. And then—

“Good job, Ning. She left and you made us look bad in front of everyone else,” Giselle adds, breaking the vast stillness, huffing before the audio goes quiet again.

“All the girls have left the cafeteria,” says your first bodyguard, the one you’ve assigned to Karina the first time.

“That’ll be all. Great work,” you tell them over the earpiece before disconnecting.

You’re not hiding anywhere inside campus. In fact, you’ve been resting in the comfort of your own home the entire time. On your phone’s screen is Karina’s number, having been registered in your contacts since last week. Not once have you bothered messaging her, let alone call—yet you constantly return to it. With each passing day, the temptation to press that button grows stronger and stronger.

You place your phone down on the desk, as if that’s gonna change anything. Seconds later, it’s in your hand, still on those 10 digits. Calling to you, as if her very voice is somehow playing through those tiny speakers. It’s all in your head, yet it feels vivid through your senses.

It all but confirms your own feelings: you can’t move on, and neither can she.

You’re looking around, even though not a soul’s in sight, convincing yourself to turn back before you fall further down. Seeing as there’s not a form of opposition, whatsoever, you pull the trigger, consequences be damned.

In the few seconds between calling the number and her imminent responding, you’re hoping she doesn’t answer. That she sees her friends’ points, to prove that you’re in the right by leaving her to dry.

All it takes is a few key words.

“Hey. I missed you.”

—————

There’s a lot to take in, but first—you swallow your own pride. This is your own doing, after all.

Looking out the window from your couch, it’s already night. Last time you checked, the sun had only begun setting; that was four hours ago, apparently. Meanwhile, Karina lies flat on the bed, every part of her mindlessly used, mindlessly fucked. Her skin gleaming, blemished in a sea of fiery red and sticky white. Her clothes scattered all over the house, their purpose rendered obsolete the moment she walked back in. You were standing there—waiting, expecting. Along with her body, came a simple request, in her words:

“Take me like you fucking missed me.”

Delivered straight to the point, Karina is something else. She’s twisted and cruel in her own way. To make such a demand in the sweetest voice possible—you can only chalk it up to witchcraft. And to think she was the one who wanted to keep things professional.

Any intentions to study and help with projects and research was a complete lie—it was more of a roundabout way for you to get inside her, over and over again. If anything, her body was the primary object of interest.

All the ways you can fuck her, how she wants it—anything to get you to cum in her pussy. And that’s exactly what you did.

Spearing your hips against her frame, you find that Karina is so flexible, malleable to your every whim. How she complies without complaint or moment of hesitation, propping herself in whatever position your mind thought of in the moment, and there’s a few you were dying to try. On her fours, with her legs spread wide, on her knees, making an example out of her. So utterly shameless.

And God, she takes it all quite effortlessly, like it’s second nature to her. Milking you dry with her cunt, with her mouth, making you cum with some friction from her tits—everything is a little too easy. Taking just one look at her perfectly sculpted figure, it makes a lot of sense. Yet, Karina has to explain to everyone else why she can’t walk properly in the morning.

A week’s worth of repressed desires and wanton needs, completely gone in a few short hours. It may as well have been a year, maybe two, since you last met.

You can only watch from a distance, from your couch, as everything falls apart. Even a single second that you’re at arm’s length and she’d be burying your grave deeper. As if it’s gonna change tonight’s outcome.

Like a reanimated corpse coming back to life, Karina rises from the bed, assessing the damage. It’s quite a lot. She’s an absolute wreck.

“I think I may have gone too far in some places,” you remark, observing her take your cum into her mouth with her finger.

“I don’t believe that,” she says, taking another scoop and savoring the taste, flashing her pasty white tongue. You instinctively avert your gaze, much to her amusement.

“Christ—Karina, what happened to setting boundaries?” you ask, genuinely concerned. Even if it’s for one night, that’s all it takes for everything to snowball out of control. “I don’t think we can do this on the regular, even if I wanted to.”

“True,” she tells you, matter-of-factly, before stepping on the ground and pacing towards you, limping, barely recovering, “But I got nothing else except you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You’ve genuinely changed my life,” she says, propping her hands to her knees to lean forward. “No one bullies me anymore. Because they think I’m your girl. I’m your possession.”

The way Karina calls herself yours gives you goosebumps. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” she continues, tracing a finger down her drenched core, splayed and ruined—your handiwork—before rubbing her slick against your arm, eventually pushing it between your lips. You allow her. Her voice turns a pitch lower with each sentence. “I can’t express how much I need you right now.”

Sinking further back into your seat, you slowly tilt your face towards her, greatly alarmed. “You’re scaring me a little, Rina. We really should—”

She places that same finger between your lips, now to shut you up. Pressing herself forward, straddling on your lap, she makes sure her cum-soaked tits are directly in view of your face, threatening to smother you between them. Her smile is the cherry on top, inviting you to relax the senses and let yourself go in that familiar lust once again. “We can talk about this—on the other side.”

And before you know it, Karina’s riding you hard, with your face buried deep between her chest, worshiping her. You had no chance.

The next time you gain awareness, you’re back in bed, cuddled beside her. With her back against yours, she’s soundly asleep, despite the repeated calls from her phone and your supposed agreement to have her home by ten.

It’s already half past midnight.

“Goddammit, Rina,” you mutter, eliciting a light shudder as your hot breath tickles her skin. “I can’t.”

“Just for tonight,” Karina tells you, as if you aren’t gonna be doing this again tomorrow—and the next night, and the one after. “My parents aren’t home,” she adds, clearly lying through her teeth.

“We seriously need to talk about this,” you tell her, rolling out of bed, scrambling for a fresh pair of clothes from the nearby closet. Meanwhile, Karina remains lying on your bed. She has no intention to leave. You have to reiterate again, “What happened to setting boundaries?”

Even the simple act of propping herself up draws your attention, more so in the nude, especially when she’s glistening in your sheen. The question amuses her; look at her teasing expression, ready to fire back. “You’re the one who called me here. So—”

“Jesus, Karina,” you sigh, working around the clock to get everything in order. Car’s ready, her clothes are in the wash. God willing, she’s actually telling the truth. “Why are you like this—”

She laughs—heartily.

—————

The next day on campus, you make it official. Sort of.

Karina’s friends are seated across the hall, their wary, foreboding gazes singling you out of the whole room. Intentions aside, you have no fight with any of them; it’s nothing personal. After all, it’s her choice. You’ll let them judge. You’re on your own for this one; you’ve told your bodyguards to leave you alone so as to make yourself look approachable in their eyes—even if there’s a negative chance they’ll ever buy it.

Then she enters the room, giving each one a kiss and a hug, as if they’re about to part ways for a long, long time. They’re overreacting; it’s not as though you’ll whisk her away and isolate her in some lonesome high castle.

You get a good look at her when she finally walks over. She’s wearing the new clothes you gave her last night. She makes your heart race with delight.

When she takes her seat directly opposite yours, you can’t help but silently remark, “They really don’t like me.”

She lightly chuckles. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking them to like me,” you tell her, smiling from ear to ear, reaching out your hand, which she accepts. “I’m just—hoping they’ll see me one day as you do.”

“Sure they will. I believe deep down, you’re really a sweet guy.”

You lower your head, unable to face her, but your face tells it all.

“Just to be clear, you’re not gonna make me actually sign a contract?” Karina asks, puzzled about the need to meet up on campus specifically to set your boundaries. The truth is, anywhere else that wasn’t school would be a distraction.

“Of course not,” you say, baffled at the idea yourself. “Dad usually did the paperwork, and that seems really weird.”

“So is having sex shortly after saving the damsel in distress,” she says, smirking through each word, mentally patting herself on the back for that remark.

Shaking your head in disgust, she laughs at your annoyed expression. That never gets old.

“Right—so what are we then?” Karina leans forward, grabbing your stretched out hand, her eyes widening. She’s looking to kiss you—at least that’s what her face is doing.

Ruminating through your next words carefully, occasionally giving the corner behind her a glance, her friends running through your mind, you reply, “Let’s just say I’m your benefactor for now. I don’t really want anyone to get surprised, and let’s just say, I’m not ready to handle everything just yet. But I want to stay close with you.”

“So we’re friends?”

“Yeah, if that’s how you want to see it.”

“Then there’s no need for this. Aren’t we already close?”

“Well I’m giving you money and clothes, in addition to letting you come over to my place once a week, so—”

Karina tugs your hand forward, interrupting you. “I don’t really need any of this. I just want you to treat me like anyone else. Like a friend. Just do that.”

You end up choking on your own words. Even when she’s admonishing you, Karina remains gentle in tone. And she knows how to bring the conversation around gracefully.

“So, what do you say we go out and have a snack later? After class?”

With a lovely face and smile like hers, you’d be foolish to refuse her offer.

As the bell rings, you’re nodding in agreement when everyone stands up in unison, heading off to their next class. Karina leaves to regroup with her friends, but not without giving you a kiss goodbye as she walks through the door. You can only stare back—smiling.

Then you get a notification on your phone. A text from an anonymous number, seemingly demanding something urgently in all caps. Something about delayed shipments, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

Paying no heed to the message, you’re cancelling your plans for today to make room for your first date with Karina.

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! Was supposed to drop around Christmas, but then the holidays got busy, and then literally the day after Christmas, my dumbass just had to get food poisoned and hospitalized. Oof. Just poor timing all around, damn.

Fun little prompt, I was feeling a little edgy writing this, not gonna lie. Definitely left some clues for when I wanna revisit it. Karina is unfathomably hot, and I'm starting to like aespa a lot lately. They've probably had the best year of any girl group, and it's well deserved. Thank you for reading!)

#kpop smut #aespa smut #karina smut #aespa #karina

845 notes · View notes

irlsiths · 3 days ago

Text

NIGHTS LIKE THIS ⟡ ݁₊ .

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“i think about you, and nothing else..”

bsf!chris x reader

contains: fluff ! (slight) making out, a tiny bit of angst

you sighed quietly as you watched the sun set in chris’s car. gosh, it was so peaceful. it was quiet, but not an awkward quiet.

you glanced at chris, who was staring straight forward. the sun hitting his face in just the right way. he was beautiful. was it bad to feel this way about your best friend?

you just looked back at the sun, listening to the cars go by.

“y’know..” chris started, breaking the silence, “i—i know i don’t say this often but.. i love these moments with you.” he muttered softly, glancing in your direction for just a second.

you slowly turned your head to face him, a subtle smile resting on your lips as you spoke, “i do too.”

he just quietly stared at you, his eyes wandering down, not so subtly. before they suddenly looked back up into your eyes.

“you’re like my little getaway.” you joked, chuckling. and you earned a small chuckle from chris aswell.

but then, you shrugged. “no, seriously man. i can always be myself around you.” you smiled shyly, looking at him.

he smirked, turning his body to face you more. he liked that, liked that you were your true self around him, and only him.

“i love you man, you’re my bestfriend.”

his smile almost immediately faded, and he scoffed under his breath, facing forward. “yea, ‘f course.”

your smile was quick to falter as well, and you furrowed your eyebrows at him. what is he talking about?

“what? what is it? what did i say?” you said softly, not wanting to make him even more upset than what he obviously is right now. but, damn, were you curious.

he huffed, shaking his head. “nah, it’s nothing.”

but you sighed, you didn’t like when he got like this. all—quiet and upset. you weren’t gonna let him sit there and sulk.

“chris, seriously. what’s the matter with you? talk to me.” you said softly, gently trying to grab his hand to get his attention.

“no, i hate when you do that shit.” he said almost immediately, tugging his arm away, he was on fire now.

“that whole ‘best-friend’ thing. it’s all bullshit, and you know it!” he ranted, not even taking a glance at you.

“fuck, baby. i’m—so sick of waiting for you! waiting for you to finally be mine. you’re so blind—god, you’re so stupid.”

your lips parted in shock, and you just stared at him. trying to wrap your head around the fact that he liked you, back. you couldn’t even believe it,

so this wasn’t all one-sided feelings this entire time?

“chris look at me.” you whispered, and it didn’t even leave your lips all the way before chris turned to you. his eyes tired and upset.

“i don’t see you as just my friend.” you shook your head, not breaking eye-contact with him. “you’re so much more to me.”

he paused, staring at you for a second before whispering back.

“c’mere.” he mumbled, gently reaching over and pulling you onto his lap, hesitantly placing a slow kiss on your lips.

you smiled placing your hands on both sides of his face, tilting your head to kiss him back. just as eagerly, and slow.

it didn’t take long before chris started getting needy, licking your lips as he silently begged for your permission to taste you.

once you parted your lips, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, arching his back to be closer to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as your tongues fought for dominance.

if anything; chris was making the most noise. letting out needy whines and moans, mumbling your name against your lips.

you gently ran your fingers through his soft hair, earning another groan from chris. gosh, he was so gone for you.

he huffed, getting impatient now. he gently started grinding against you, trying to show you how much he needed you.

“backseat, now.”

💌 hi, this one was so long i’m sorry 😭 but i’m back, (hopefully for good) should i make an nsfw part 2?

#irlsith #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo

564 notes · View notes

kooyabooya · 3 days ago

Text

FREUDIAN

m reader x rosé // 24k words

They always say: never make a deal with the devil. Even when all fronts of temptation have you where you’re most vulnerable - you can’t afford to give in, especially if it’s the howling calls of the past whispering out.

So you take a bite of the forbidden fallen apple anyway. Give into the fabled rumor of Judas’s betrayal. Because that’s all you’ve ever known yourself to be: gullible, foolish, naive.

None of that has changed. Even as you’re staring at her, taking the fall.

A look over her shoulder, furry scarf encapsulating her neck. The flash with her eyes sends you reeling, pulling your heartstring to the thinnest strand, nearly tearing it. She’s playing her role so innocently: the heartbreaker, your antagonist, a divine sin. It’s a losing game; one where you know very well, the kind of game where it was deemed unwinnable from the start.

But when you’re holding her close, feel her face buried into the space of your neck, all of the memories come flashing back - each one feeling more right than wrong.

“Maybe in another life,” Rosé tells you, and you’re shushing her, because the break in her voice is already destroying you on the inside, whatever she says next doesn’t even register in your ears; since she’s said the same tale before, and you’re agreeing with her regardless.

To you, Rosé is a lot of things. A scrapbook filled with endless memories. The person to sit at your doorstep late into the night just to have a meaningful conversation. A half that’s been ripped apart. You can go down the mental checklist time and time again, and end up in the same spot as before.

In another life, or some universe for that matter: you and her get that fairytale ending together.

–

The incident, quite literally, comes fast in the dead of the night.

It doesn’t hit you on the nose all at once. What does hit you is your tossed phone right onto your face, squinting at nothing when you sit up before looking down to the bright flash of your phone screen along with the number resting at the top.

“I thought I told you to put your phone on vibrate, you idiot,” your girlfriend huffs sleepily, clearly annoyed at the random call during these late hours when slumber is the only option. Your vision is still coming about, looking over to the window where it’s still dark outside, then over to the alarm clock on your nightstand, struggling to even get a glimpse of the time - no point in looking at your phone too since you would be seeing white well into the morning.

Like anyone else in this particular situation (not really), you pick up: “It’s three in the morning, why would-”

“Did you plan an anniversary trip for us?” The girl’s tone on the other end is a bit on edge, looking for answers. “When the fuck were you going to tell me and why the hell did it have to be now?”

You’re still half asleep, half awake; but the timbre in the voice sounds all too familiar - she’s got the same drawl stemmed off from you, not to mention the flurry of questions in the opening five seconds. There’s also that sense of bubbliness you’re imagining, the way that you can easily picture her sitting with both knees up, her head tilted in a way where it shows that she’s very uninterested. Or, the other form where she’s leaning forward, leaning into her phone, constantly looking down at the ground and nowhere else.

She hates the fact that she had to make this call, and you can easily tell. You, on the other end, are trying to put the bits and pieces of the story together to the best of your memory, scratching the back of your head, trying to rattle your slow-working brain. Hanging up would’ve been the best option to follow, save this conversation for later when you can think straight. Typically, you should’ve just ignored the call entirely.

Tragically, that’s not your style, so you answer, “Hey Rosie, been a while since I’ve heard your voice.”

A sigh sounds off from the speaker, “Don’t ‘Rosie’ me. I just need you to confirm my suspicions.”

“On?”

“Pfft, stop being stupid. I’m not gonna repeat myself here.”

You breathe out a soft laugh, and hang your head into your chest for a second, collecting your thoughts. “Yes, I did plan that out as a trip for us. Right before we, uh-”

Silence fills the call immediately after. Despite being on separate paths, the tension still stings like a tightening noose around your neck. Not even a simple grind of your teeth and a clenched fist can serve as the probable testament to the amount of pain you and her suffered together on the tail-end of your relationship, the hope of salvaging lost long before calling it quits.

“Still there?” Rosé asks, snapping your attention back to her voice.

“Yeah,” you reply, hiding a sniffle through a quick cough, “I just- yeah. Details can come later.”

“Okay,” she says, carrying on. “I got that reminder email from the travel organizer.” And at this point you’re cursing yourself and mentally facepalming as many times as you possibly could (seriously, why would you think it was a good idea to set up a reminder through that stupid auto-email service to notify her too as well?), thinking of every contingency to weasel your way out of this conversation. Rosé, however, had no idea of your present thought process, “Went through reading the fine prints of the agreement and…well.”

“And?” You practically prayed to God that she’d not been this quick to read into the lines and decode the information.

“Says here that the trip is non-refundable.” That is what Rosé ends with.

“That so?”

“We can’t cancel it.”

“Too late for us to do that, no?”

The comforter ruffles behind you, a small hand tapping the lower back of your shirt. “Babe? Who’s that on the phone?”

You press the switch near your nightstand to put the room into an ambient lighting setting, turning over to see the lovely ruffle of bed hair and one eye open. She then snuggles herself back into the bed, covering herself with the sheets as you’re palming the side of her face to put her back to sleep. “Sorry Jennie, it’s a-” and here is where you’re throwing caution to the wind, ensuring that you don’t trip up on your words at this moment, “late night work call.” So far it’s good, and Jennie nods with a soft hum, lazy smile at the touch of your palm. She’s a bit dazed, but one good measure for insurance, you tell her, “I’ll explain in the morning.”

Jennie blinks once or twice, dropping her eyelids while you rub your thumb across her cheek, the soothing touch sending her away to dreamland. There’s a warmth here; one where you feel safe, at home. You’ve struck out in getting with a girl like her, and the timing of it couldn’t have been more impeccable: you and Jennie were both at low points in life when you found each other, building up until the feelings couldn’t be suppressed any longer.

(That story’s for another time. Though, a very heartwarming memory to look back on.)

Your name, rolling of Rosé’s tongue, drags you back down. “Hello? Oh- yeah, yeah. I’m still here. What were you asking?”

“So we’re going? Is that what I’m getting at here?”

The inquiry lances your heart and mind, filling it with an endless plethora of uncertainties. “Wait- what?”

“Well for one: it’s my ticket. And two: I want to go. If you were going to morph this trip with someone else, I’d understand.” Rosé’s reason is plausible, and you’re seeing a way out of this less and less. “But considering that we had the plans under our names, we’d-”

“Rosé-”

“It’s my ticket.” Rosé doubles down and you wince at the fact. “I can imagine you scrunching your face right now, stop that.”

“Okay, you win.”

“Good.”

“I’ll get everything arranged prior in the next few days and pick you up for the airport. Talk to you later.”

–

At the airport, not to anyone’s surprise, there is an essential bomb rush of families on top of families arriving and checking in and boarding to their set destination. Pro tip: plan the flights ahead of time (especially if it’s during the holiday season), just to avoid any sort of commotion or potential setback on your end. If the flight gets delayed, rescheduled, or relocated to another gate, that’s not your fault.

God forbid that any of those happen since it would only prolong the amount of time you’d have to spend with Rosé.

Very small words were exchanged when you picked her up from her apartment, on the way to the airport, and even when you did most of the work getting all of the travel plans for this ‘anniversary gift’ finalized and confirmed. As expected, honestly. Sharing a car ride with your ex was not on your list of places to get stuck in no matter what the predetermined events or circumstances are, but all the more reason to keep your eyes on the road at the time, go figure.

Rosé’s sitting on the opposite end of you at one of the benches near the boarding gate once everything’s been checked in and settled; along with the security wing gauntlet handled by the TSA, but you’re finally here - waiting for all of this to finally be done and over with. She’s bearing no ounce of attention towards you, mindlessly scrolling on her phone with earbuds in, hoping that you wouldn’t take notice, but you do. And when she does flash a quick look of her eyes in your direction, a millisecond is all you get to dart your eyes elsewhere that isn’t on her.

Still, you can’t help yourself when you’re mentally rolling back the years.

Her styling is strikingly the same as it was before. A leather jacket finely pointed at the edges and crooks where it looks like the wrinkles aren’t even supposed to be there in the first place, those flowy pants that make it look like it was ripped off of a parachute and sewed up by a designer as this one-of-one piece. Then, there are the rings, and her pair of shades resting above her forehead; she’s bundled up into the seat like a little kid, an arm holding her phone as it rests along her thigh, both of her shoes are off and she’s got these cute, pink fluffy socks leaving you genuinely confused since the choice practically contradicts the other choices of clothing entirely. Really? Out of all those socks, you chose to go with that pair?

That doesn’t stand out as much compared to the other thing: her hair.

Maybe God’s rolling the dice on you for this one. Hell, you’re even wondering if God ever rolls dice in his free time upstairs. Purposeful or not, it isn’t doing you any good the more you look at those golden, heavenly locks; braided up and tied back into her head where it doesn’t give any issue for her neck whatsoever. Not to mention her side profile, the shape of her nose, and that jaw.

The pout she purses with her lips. It’s anything less than innocent.

On schedule, there’s about roughly an hour or so before your flight to Paris takes off, and you’re not willing to drive yourself insane with very few word phrases spoken. So you make conversation:

“You dyed your hair again,” you say, clutching your hoodie when Rosé’s attention falls back to you, “Gotta say, I like the color.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Rosé says, pulling an earbud out and sliding both feet off the seat. The phrasing alone is still good enough to pass as awkward, sighing as she turns her head to look out the window - nothing but cloudy skies for miles while a plane touches down on the tarmac. “Blonde’s been such a comforting color for me, so I thought why not roll with it again for fun?”

“Does bring back memories.” You slide your palms under your thighs, and cross both feet on the floor. “You had this platinum shade back when we first met.”

“Did I? You still remember that?” Rosé grins at the sudden recollection, folding her glasses and sliding them into her handbag.

“What do you want to get out of this?” You suddenly ask again, quickly running a hand across your chest to rid of the sweat riddled along your palms.

“By this, you mean-”

“Our trip,” you amend. Here you’re pulling yourself back a bit - the duo of your luggage and hers acting as this barrier, hoping that the bags can serve as this proximity limiter for the time being. “It’s supposed to be for a week, with an option to extend for another day or so.”

Rosé tugs the tied bun, scratching her neck to where you notice she got her nails trimmed and done. “A week in Paris doesn’t seem that bad, but planning it during the week of-”

“Christmas was a bit of a stretch,” you wince with a hand to the back of your head, “It’s still a nice setting to think about, though. Cold weather, snowing, the cups of cocoa we’d drink together at a cafe? What else did I not think about while planning this?”

Rosé just blinks at you, flabbergasted. She takes a second or longer to get a better look at your face, studying the shapes and curves of your frame as if it were some long-lost art piece that she had a vague familiarity with. Her breathing also slows for a bit when she drops her shoulders a bit, the discarded earbud now hanging as her eyes finally make contact with the floor, diminishing the gaze entirely.

“Sorry. I had everything thought out for our stay,” you say casually, defeated. “I honestly wish that-”

“Does Jennie know?” Rosé asks, leaning back into her chair. A premonition bubbling when she shares the same raised eyebrow directly back at you.

You nod, which you’re half-right about.

(“A work order in Paris?” Jennie asks you the morning after the first contact via phone call. She’s well aware of your passion for artistry and architecture, so playing the white lie of being ‘assigned’ to study in an attempt to further the progress of the team’s project was an idea worth rolling with. “How long are you going to be there for?”

“No more than a week,” you answer, confident for no good reason. “Maybe a day or two more.”

And that’s that.)

But you zone out for a second too long. “You’re not very convincing,” says Rosé.

“She does,” you spit out again, nodding at a faster pace. “Jennie knows the surface level of this whole thing, at least.”

“Hah,” Rosé breathes, stretching her neck with another glance. God, even the slightest sound of her laugh sounds the same as it was before - licking the rim of her lips where it meets her teeth, treating herself to the pulled cup of yogurt she bought as a snack to kill the waiting time faster. “Should’ve been honest with her,” she tells you, “I think there wouldn’t be anything wrong if you said my name in the first place instead. Lessens the risk of the possible conjecture.”

The audacity, it makes you scoff as Rosé carries on with her meal, fixing her lips along the plastic spoon, carelessly nodding and humming while you’re twisting your attention to the passing planes in the air and the trucks rolling along the taxiway. You’re trying extremely hard to not fall into the conscious habit of looking - when the eyes are zig-zagging their way from the ceiling and to the distance of the nearby gate. Somehow, it always falls on her. Always. She’s got her jacket off to compensate for the stuffiness, honey skin radiating, the sleeves of her shirt pooling over her arms, foot underneath her other knee, delicate and unbothered. She’s a time capsule - the kind where you bury deep into the ground and never even think of uncovering years later.

You thought you could move on, but here she is: within arms reach.

–

If you thought sitting across from her waiting to board was torture, being next to her was extremely worse.

Luckily, the aisle seat opened up next to yours and hers, only for it to be taken at the last possible minute, destroying any chance of creating that space between you and Rosé. This part here gets juicy: Rosé opted for the window seat and considering that the aisle was already taken, this puts you right smack in the middle of the row. She also raised the armrest set between you and her, making your final line in terms of creating a temporary vicinity practically nonexistent. Nothing will happen in a fourteen-hour flight, right? Rosé gives you the quick rundown of what she wants for her in-flight meals when she can put her legs onto your seat while you go to the restroom (and wished to stay there for the rest of the flight, but you know damn well enough that you can’t), even when she’s saying to not freak out if her head falls on your shoulder while sleeping - also, don’t mind if I grab onto your arm if I’m watching some scary movie. Every excuse seems like a death sentence added on to prolong your suffering.

The man sitting next to you weaves the discussion about the cold air from outside being brought into the cabin, some aerospace thing about the insulation and great air conditioning, but all you can give is a forced hearty smile and these nods of agreement as his wife says something embarrassing to butt herself into the talking bubble, rolling your eyes at the pair out of spite.

You’re giving your two cents about how you liked cold weather (out of all things to discuss for God knows why), and the couple takes your opinion well with open arms and minds. The wife leans over to see Rosé, glancing over before turning her head back to the window, putting two and two together:

“Are you two also going to Paris for your honeymoon?” She asks, the man also taking the hint with an ‘o’ shaped mouth.

“Uhh, that’s a bit of a tough question to answer,” you chuckle nervously as the wife makes the quick inference, carrying on with the long conversation (which was very one-sided from this point on) about how she and the man sitting next to you are so in love, their plans for their honeymoon and anniversary. You can’t help but be intrigued and infatuated with how you’re able to see love bloom right in front of your eyes. They ask you if there are any recommendations and you being the goody-two-shoes that you are, it only gets them to keep talking still. In the midst of all of this Rosé peeks over your shoulder, hand to your elbow as a sign to shut you up, but you send the same elbow back to make her stop.

Eventually, when the plane does move onto the runway and up in the air, the couple continue their monologue of how they met, their dreams, their occupations, what they like to do in their free time, the names of their cats, where they see themselves in the next five to ten years. Rosé then looks over again, lending her ears to listen to the lovely story candidly as you see her eyes filled with so much awe and wonder; she finds it funny too, and you’re seeing what she’s seeing: because that would’ve been the case if you and her had not split.

All the infinite possibilities you’re thinking off, it’s spilled right in front of you, and it gets you thinking.

–

(Midway through the long flight, you’re not even getting a wink of sleep when Rosé’s tossing and turning in the seat next to you. Some are watching assorted movies, you could hear a kid cry a few rows back, the usual experience.

Her knee hits your thigh as you’re scooting your butt away from her, unwilling to make a shape with her body, pulling the complimentary blanket up to her neck.

“Did you ever think of getting first class for the trip?” She asks, irritated. “My seat’s getting kicked from behind, and I can’t put my feet on the ground.”

“I’d be paying an additional two hundred or more to get it reserved,” you tell her, making yourself as comfortable as you can, leaning the seat back. “The next best thing was econ, so deal with it.”

She rests her head on the upper part of your arm, eye mask on and everything, falling asleep soon after.)

–

Upon the arrival gate, you do manage to get a few hours of shut-eye, backpack in hand and a trailing Rosé behind when crossing over the inside of the airport, voice conveniently drowning out the same kid who was crying not long ago during the flight.

“I can’t believe you let me sleep for six hours. Six hours.” you’re complaining, and rightfully so. “Look at you, who managed to sleep for pretty much the whole time. I had to take it on the chin, listening to their entire life story when I could’ve watched whatever you were watching while you were snoring away.”

Rosé has her shades on, hiding a bit of her puffy face and eye bags. “So? What’s it to ya? I’m not the one who decided to lean over and eavesdrop on their lovely conversation.”

“I was checking if our row was in the correct spot.”

She chuckles. “Yeah yeah, keep coming up with the lame excuses buddy.”

“You-”

“Try every alibi you’ve got in the book, but I know you well,” says Rosé victoriously, sideswiping her way in front of you on the auto walk, rolling her small hand carry around to sit on, taking a breath. She rolls her neck around, stretching - an arm at a weird angle facing down, extending her leg between your feet. Personal space was going to be an issue, you’ve already drawn up that conclusion; considering that you sat with her for roughly about fourteen to sixteen hours with the occasional retreat to the bathroom and the awkward indulgence with one of the flight attendants, you dread how the living situation will be once you and her get to the hotel room. This might be hell for you, but only time will tell which circle you’re finding yourself in.

“That should not have taken you that long to get our thing set up together,” Rosé lightly berates, handing over her luggage to you once you’ve hailed the provided ride accommodation from the travel company. “If I were the one handling this trip, I would’ve hit points x, y, and z in less time than you. Do you not know the basic cues to kill a conversation?”

You don’t answer. Because arguing isn’t gonna get you anywhere with her.

(Telling yourself lies was a strength, but also your curse as well. Somehow you keep getting away with it.)

You roll your eyes at the rhetorical question, placing all the bags into the trunk of the cab. “C’mon, don’t play the bad cop here. You know damn well that I’ve always been terrible at getting myself out of situations like those. It also didn’t help that she and the couple on the plane sounded so upbeat and enthusiastic.”

“It’s okay,” Rosé says, patting your shoulder as a form of truce. “Besides, that’s how you met me technically.” She gets into the cab soon after, settling into the backseat.

And you take a second to internalize the said phrase, scanning the horizon of the cityscape in the backdrop.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you’re muttering to yourself, getting into the cab with Rosé, with most of the ride pretty much quiet as you’re both looking out the opposite windows.

–

For some added context, Rosé waltzed into your life on a random Tuesday morning in the first week of fifth grade.

It’s something straight out of a coming-of-age movie or slow-burning romance novel: up until that point, you’ve had boys as your deskmates through the grades with one of them being your close friend going forward.

She would change all of that - a bit pathetic now that you’re looking back at it: her being the first girl that you would ever talk to let alone sit next to you for the entire school year - but you didn’t mind though, since she was easy to get along with.

As the days turned into months and into years, you and Rosé shared everything and in between with each other. From exchanging your favorite cartoon shows on a Saturday afternoon when there was no homework, which subject was the favorable one to learn, favorite colors, why she didn't like playing sports compared to you, the blown-out-of-proportion drama over who was the popular girl in school at the time, the score you got on the last math test, what were you going to do over the summer break. There was never a moment where you or she filled in on anything worth sharing.

Rosé knows everything about you inside and out. The same could be said for your end of the table.

You’ve created the progressive drawn-up schematic well into high school. Her occasional gossip debriefs, the endless rants about that one teacher who would always give her a hard time, whether or not she should go to the dances (dragging you as her plus one, where she came extremely close to back in junior year), worrying about her near-perfect grades to the point she would overcomplicate every single minute detail that pops up with every last check before turning in an assignment. Then, there’s the crushes. Her occasional flings - to which, she had multiples of them, telling all of the unnecessary details of what she did with the guys on every date, sharing with you all the pros and cons of what her ideal type is.

But here’s the thing.

She was giving you all the signals for you to not notice. All the boxes in her list where you checked off nearly every single one of them. The realization itself came to you on a late night when she was passed out on the coffee table, papers on top of papers of notes before college admissions being submitted, turning a blind eye away from the few bottles of soju she consumed to power through even when you said that it was a terrible idea.

The small intake of alcohol helped you connect the dots right then and there: you were in love with her.

Playing it safe was the name of the game. And on your part, it was justified to keep yourself at a distance from Rosé, not putting any sort of risk in ruining the long friendship you’ve built with her. Why lay everything on the line with someone who occupied half of your brain already?

“You won’t know unless the leap of faith has been made,” Lisa says to you at the time, and that's probably the only source of assurance you ever needed to hear.

So, you make that leap.

A simple line or two is all you said where Rosé’s eyes go wide when you see her off at the front of her house, nothing else to be said when her weight collapses on top of you for an overdue hug. Talk about romantic confessions, am I right?

Once word went around various friend groups the both of you were in, it didn’t come off as much of a surprise. Most people had already made that conclusive pairing long before you started to read into the social cues and fast glances without you knowing. What mattered in the end was that you were finally with her after all this time.

It could’ve been written in ink right there and then: she was your first crush, first girlfriend, first kiss, first relationship, first love.

That should have been the end of the story. The greatest score you could ever pull off in your life. Job done.

–

(Until it wasn’t. She would eventually be the first terrible heartbreak you would ever have to endure.

First time for everything, remember?”)

–

“You’re kidding.” Rosé deadpans, walking into the open space of the hotel room, scanning. Her first reaction then shifts once she drops her bags right where they are, walking around the singular king-size bed, showered in rose petals formed into a heart with two towels folded up into quaint but cute swans resting with both of their beaks touching at the top. “You can’t be serious.”

Your hands go straight into your pockets, the corners of your lips pulled flat, indifferent. “Isn’t it the thought that counts?”

Rosé bears no mind to your bland answer. Granted, she’s partial to the fact of going through this whole trip with you, patting the head of the towel swan before turning her attention to the table at the corner of the room, a bottle of champagne kept cool in an ice bath. “I’ll give you points for the effort,” she sighs, “Care to tell me how much you paid for everything in this room?”

The cork goes flying once you lay your bearings, approaching her as she pours the golden liquid into the arranged champagne flutes, handing it over before she spills some of it over the counter on her own.

“I put in a request, that’s all.” She nods in acknowledgment while you take a nice, quick swig of the beverage, hoping to let it sting in your throat as you try to ignore the insane price tag, gazing past the window and to the nearby buildings. “Some of the stuff was extra, well, perks and all.”

“That so?” Rosé breathes, chuckling. You watch her down an impressive amount, humming at the taste. There’s an old film happening here, impossible to ignore. Her hair’s a little messed up, eyelids dropping low. You have to stand down here, don’t get any funny ideas, tilting your head slightly when the glow of the streetlights below hit her face, radiating, see her lip pulled back between her teeth-

Snapping your attention back to the city skyline was a good mental call. Clearing your throat was even better; anything worth grabbing to consolidate.

You look over again to see a smile from the side, “It’s so beautiful at night.”

A pretty sweet view to turn back on, and you agree with her.

“I’ll go shower first,” Rosé says after clearing her throat, “We’ve had a long day anyway.”

“Yeah, go on ahead.”

She then puts her flute back on the table before walking back to her suitcase. You keep your body forward and your feet where they’re at, looking out into the city some more until you eventually hear the shower running. The thought crosses your head again, thinking about all of the things you did to get into this position - moments where you failed to think logically, it’s a mess in your head at this point.

(Of all people, why did it have to be her? Being practically stranded in the city of love is one thing, but, maybe this is God or the universe trying to make good for your sake - who knows, only time will tell.)

–

This journey may be an ascent to a refined sense of closure or a descent back down into hell; how you look at it is entirely up to you.

“Do you think I’m contagious or something?” Rosé huffs out in annoyance, tossing a nearby pillow in your direction, forcing you to look up at her sitting upright on the bed - you on the couch at the other end, hoping to create some distance in whatever way you can possible. “The bed’s big enough for the two of us.”

“I find it better to not entertain that risk.”

“You slept on the floor in my room multiple times.”

“Okay I- you- well,” you stutter, words bouncing all over the place as your fingers grip tight into the book in your hands, “that’s different.”

Rosé then folds her legs up, knees resting underneath her chin. You’re lucky that the reading light hanging over your spot is enough to hide the growing heat of red rising to your cheeks. Ever since she was the one to end things four years ago, contact with Rosé had been pretty much nonexistent, and for good reason. It was already hard to lose your best friend and past lover in one go, but here she is again acting like nothing had happened between you two. Maybe she’s doing what you did: engaging in conversation - though every dreadful second has been painstakingly difficult, looking back to see her head go sideways, an inquisitive gaze written all over her face, the small quirk at the corner of her lip every time she smiles - in your eyes, she’s still the same as before, there’s no difference.

“It’s not a risk,” Rosé says, placing her head back up against the headboard, “I’m just saying that the couch over there looks uncomfortable.”

“I’ll manage. Thanks.”

Rosé then grabs another pillow within her reach, and places it beneath her forearms, straightening out her legs on the bed. “Idiot,” she hisses, the tone almost as a projection.

That catches your attention: her attitude. She looks away when you twist your head towards her again. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” she pouts, “I was just trying to get some talking going.”

Look, playing defensive isn’t wrong by any means. Tactically, that’s the best way to approach things that you’re unfamiliar with. Rosé’s mannerisms, her habits, the quirks she does, you have every trick from her in your personal playbook. You can try to run and hide all you want, but sometimes taking things head-on is the only way to go.

Rosé here is just- existing. You can tell that she’s far removed from creating any sort of effort into talking; aware of the lingering tension and awkwardness she left all those years ago. Above all that, she carries on with her one-sided conversation - which is sort of relieving to listen to, just hearing her voice, rambling about anything and literally everything that she could bring up. There’s that quick recollection of all the instances, all the times where she would tell you about the countless things where shutting up wasn’t an option. Her outlook on life hasn’t changed, and you admire that she’s bright and passionate about how things work in the world.

“It’s a bit relieving,” you tell her innocently, “you here reminding me of those days.”

Nostalgia was something worth decoding between the lines, and Rosé knows this. There’s nothing wrong with filling in what you’ve done in the past year or two, moving on after what you originally thought was the toughest period of your life. Protecting your peace, prioritizing your health - that kind of thing.

“I know that I left you in a really bad place for so long,” she implies, coming to terms for her actions. Hoping to not open up the old wound, sugarcoating it.

“We were at different points in our lives,” you console. You’re not so entirely sure of yourself if it’s the alcohol talking or the foundations of your inner walls crumbling. “I just thought that-”

“Don’t.” Rosé commands, crossing her arms over the pillow. “Don’t.”

“Okay, but still - I just wished that it didn’t have to end that way.”

It goes and it goes. Rosé keeps her gaze fixed on you as you’re nodding, mindful of what the words are but not saying it. Instead, you keep it lighthearted and put it in a positive perspective and it may be worthy of a few snaps of her fingers.

The late-night convos are a little relaxing, so you’ll take that as a plus.

–

The first ‘actual’ day of the trip is pretty uneventful.

Nothing too substantial to report other than the fact it was a mix of cloudy skies and rain from time to time.

Rosé insisted on following the itinerary, walking around the streets, and trying out various cafes handpicked by her. Then there’s the usual landmarks within walking distance too: the Arc de Triomphe, the Grand Palais, and no point in going to the Eiffel Tower since there was zero visibility at the top, so you divert to the Notre Dame Cathedral and try again a different day when the weather clears up.

(Without a care in the world, she runs up the sidewalk and turns around, arms wide open: “We’re not in Kansas anymore are we?

You give her a face of genuine confusion, “What?” Her face falls flat and you’re left there saying: “What.”)

Aside from the good food and everything around you picturesque and as ‘fresh inspiration’, Rosé takes this opportunity to capture whatever stood out to her: candid pictures of you on film, other city goers doing their everyday routine, in addition to the photos she took at the different landmarks. She has you taking pictures of her, not as a possible memento. No. But you can’t turn her down whatsoever - you just can’t.

–

(All of that is about to change, and the rain starts to pick up well into the evening. In the figurative scheme of things, you could put this as the heart of the storm; the moment where lighting can strike twice in the same spot. It could happen.)

Somehow the sim card in your phone keeps bugging out every few hours or so. The reception around the city hasn’t been that bad per se, but trying to get some calls back home has been a bit of a pain - so you had to work with what you got. Texting was the second best option for reaching Jennie, hoping that you can keep the act up by keeping her in the loop of this whole getaway. So far the messages have been casual, typical fill-ins of her day since you left, missing you.

To compensate for the international phone rates, you managed to find a payphone. An odd surprise at best and you suppose that it shouldn’t take forever in the booth, but the pitter-patter of the droplets hitting along the glass gave a small indication that this might take longer than expected.

The line continues to ring for a second or two longer, and then-

Click.

The silence becomes a slight worry, fingers gripping the phone, hoping that you could hear a hum - or that lovely violet voice that sends your heart thrumming right from the first letter.

Instead, you hear her laugh, and a sigh soon after. It might’ve been a moan as well, you know that much.

Another voice picks up at the end of the call, one that you’re very not familiar with: “Hel- Hello? Who’s this? Jennie, I think it’s your-”

There’s no fucking way.

Everything around the booth starts to fade in and out of focus. Rational thought was still in play, but barely - trying to put all of the little pieces together in a short amount of time. It’s not enough. Your jaw tightens, fighting the blood simmering through your veins. There’s too many questions to be asked, but only a few answers to take. You’re not entirely sure what these wave of emotions actually are - and it could be a lot of things: anger, fear, rage, sadness?

“Shit. Give me the- hello?” Jennie’s voice tries to calm you, but it’s already too late for that. “Wait, it’s not what you think it is, I swear-”

“I think I’ve heard enough from you.”

“Babe, if you just let me explain-”

You don’t think twice about hanging up. Your mind doesn’t even register the pain being imbued into your hands when you’re punching the glass furiously in quick succession. Hell, when you leave the booth, the realization has slowly started to set in, but the tears simply won’t come out.

I thought you were different.

The rain falls a lot harder now that you’ve finally stepped outside and look up to the dark sky, as if the universe is sharing its sorrowfulness as well.

You were supposed to be different.

–

If you had the chance to put all of your thoughts and feelings from your past relationships into a bottle or glass, you’d drink it down until there’s absolutely nothing at the bottom; the pain might’ve been tolerable then. No matter how many shots it’s been, it’s still not enough.

You don’t even remember when you first walked into the bar, but you order another shot anyway. The coat next to you still needs a few more minutes to dry up as it is.

The alcohol stings when it travels down your throat, mind working way past overtime - thinking back of all the times when you’ve been duped, deceived, exploited - but to no avail. It's a bit pathetic that the worst kinds of people show up when you least expect it, even if it's those who you hold close dearly to your heart. Relationships and commitment to you have always been complicated; an unwritten cosmic law etched into the stars.

In hindsight, it just really fucking sucks.

It’s gotten so bad to the point where you’re being woken up after passing out for maybe five or ten or so minutes. You don’t remember. Your memory is in these black patches - rough blots of ink with no detail underneath as your vision slowly forms. A girl is next to you; a calm, soothing voice bringing you closer to the light. Everything’s still blurry, but you can barely make out the silhouette: dark hair, fine skin, smooth palm holding your face. It’s comforting, you start to question if this was the present reality, but you take a shot in the dark:

“Jennie?” you say, mind buzzed and speech slurred.

“No. Dingus.”

Ah, it was worth a shot. You can see things a lot more clearer now. Instead of the shaded dark hair, it’s the opposite: hot blonde. The texture of the jacket too is also familiar, her hand is surprisingly wet from the rain, and she sounds out of breath - like she ran here.

Rosé.

“What the hell happened to you?” She asks, distressed, holding your face before lightly shoving it away realizing what she was doing.

You try your best to explain the situation; but considering the plethora of drinks you had on the tab along with the alcohol in your system, you don’t actually explain anything at all.

She could only hear the sniffles coming out of your nose.

Rosé then takes a second look, and puts another piece of the damage together. It’s all over your face: the puffy eyes, bloodied knuckles, your irises once filled with light now an empty, deep void - like something sucked the life right out of you.

“Something happened with Jennie, no?” The name pierces your heart at the guiltless inquiry.

“Kinda,” you answer with a hiccup at the end. “It’s all the same between me and love, honestly.”

Rosé then draws back, your face still in her hands, internalizing the present state. You think she might’ve realized a thought right then and there, an instance where she's been before not long ago. It doesn’t take that much more for her to learn what you had done to get here; let alone who managed to hurt you in the first place. Because she’s been here before, and she now knows what her mistake was two years ago.

So instead of running away, she pulls you in for a hug. You break down a little harder for a moment. No point in hiding.

She doesn’t say anything after leaning back. The best form of comfort she could give were both palms to your cheeks, wiping the dried-up tears off as best as she could. Somehow you barely even manage to make eye contact with her again, afraid to even look away in the first place.

You’re not sure if you leaned in or if she pulled you back to her, but your mind clears up instantly the second she kisses you.

Her lips are the same way as you remember them: nice and soft and undeniably comforting. Both of her hands keep you in place, the wistful inhale of her nose matches yours, wanting more of this rising heat spreading across your faces. She kisses like she missed you and- in a partly true way, for all the wrong reasons. Gripping and clutching wherever she can, afraid to let go of you again like the last time. You or her could practically melt in this little pocket created and recall sometime later and try to decipher every little individual action leading up to this, whether or not to write this off as an act of grace or an admission of cruelty - one or the other will have you sinking at the end.

Rosé stops herself, eyes half-lidded, pulling her swollen bottom lip like some sort of warning.

“I uh-” Crap. You should’ve known better, but you can’t help or blame the drinks for making you like this. “I-I’m sorry. You didn’t have to-”

“It’s okay.”

“But-”

“C’mon,” she persists, holding your hand and nodding her head sideways, “let’s get out of here.”

–

You’re more aware of your actions now, in the late hours of the city - where anyone could get away with anything. With that taken into account, this is the perfect time to hide away; out of anybody’s sight and the risk of getting caught is the least of your worries.

Rosé’s nose bumps yours when you’ve pressed her against the brick wall in some alley - calming every form of impulse as you could, but it’s futile. Her arms wrap around your neck and you’re cupping her face, tilting her head up to elicit a gasp between her lips.

“Fuck,” she rasps, and it’s pretty when she curses. Her hands go everywhere, haywire. A last act of desperation she does is dig her fingers into the back of your head, only making your arms pull her in closer, hindering the purpose of what she’s trying to achieve. You’d let her, and that’s exactly what she’s going for here.

“I’m a bit drunk still,” you admit, feeling the tips of her fingers graze along the nape of your neck. “So don’t beat me up if I can’t remember everything after tonight.”

Rosé’s hand shifts to your jaw, kissing you again so easily; giving you little to no time to react. Like she’s coaxing you into thinking differently that’s better than your common sense. A few more smacks here and there happen, the cool air surrounding both of you trying to flush the heat out.

The press of her face is anything out of the ordinary, humming into your mouth that deepens the sinking pit happening in your stomach. It isn’t anything new.

Because that’s the impending phase of her slowly coming back to light. She was always vocal and forward with how she took on the world; leaving a mark of what she had done not far either. Her hands cup your face so tenderly, and each longing touch of her lips against yours sends a tidal wave of memories flooding back - this entity that’s all-consuming where you could only handle so much, a hand to the side of her throat where the kiss deepens, surrendering your mind to hers

Maybe it was the timing of everything, a thought to theorize with once it’s all said and done.

“You’re broken again,” she whispers between your lips.

“Among other things,” you darted back, sighing slowly and head lowered. But it’s the truth. “Yeah, won’t say any more.” Your eyes meet hers as you slowly retreat.

“It’s okay.” Rosé concludes, eyes filled with so much care and empathy into them, thumb grazing along your cheek, cleaning another dry trail from the tears. “You have me.”

My god, this woman-

“I honestly convinced myself that you’d already moved on,” her gaze goes crestfallen, pulling her lips inward. “To think that I left you there by yourself, after everything we’ve been through. It ruined me too since - it wasn’t even your fault to begin with.”

You swallow your pride and turn yourself over on the wall.

Most of your mind is drawing blanks - bits and pieces of the picture caricatured through a warm mouth and fingertips. The draft in itself is a bit fucked up, sketched at the last possible minute; hands ghosting your jacket, tracing a line or two into the fabric of your shirt, trailing lower along the waistband of your pants. “You’re kidding, right?”

Rosé snorts at the whisper, lowering her eyelids when she’s peppering your neck again with kisses. “We’re not having a problem here are we?” She says that as she’s descending to her knees, looking up so innocently like some angel incarnate - contradicting the current action she’s presenting right now.

“Look. Rosé, we really shouldn't-”

She pays no attention to the pleading when she’s palming your length through your underwear, thumb sliding up against the underside while your other hand settles with hers set at the side of your thigh. “Okay, I mean - like this is just wrong - you don’t- god, why are you even-”

Rosé here, doesn’t give you any chance to breathe or recuperate the fast flow of thoughts. Her eyes remain unimpressed with a tilt of her head, closing in with the newly uncovered area at your waist, and the twist of her lips brings forth a sense that’s been lost to hidden waves of time.

She inhales, coaxing you much to the point where you’re looking up to the sky above for some safe passage.

“Mmmmm.”

You might as well be fucked from this point on. At least you’ll play into the game Rosé’s putting up with her mouth all over you.

“Oh, oh fuck-”

It’s all in the simple movements and adjustments - the hair being pulled back to the cuff of her ear, the way she bottoms your cock down to the base and rests for a second, the graze of her teeth across the topside, sending your hips chasing for more of that addicting bite. She hollows out her cheeks to the right pressure of suction, bracing her hands on your thighs as she begins to pick up a steady rhythm. Down, side to side, then up. Down, side to side, then up. You could picture her lashes fluttering with every slide down your shaft, humming right along the skin as if she’s proffering a way of reflecting, praising with little to no words but with plump lips and a warm tongue.

“Gotta say,” Rosé starts, after reeling back for a second, “I remembered why I loved this cock so much.”

You’ve got her hair in the grips of your fingers, thrusting your cock back past those pretty lips, hoping to shove her words right back down her throat - which works so much better than you initially expected. The brain is working triple the amount of overtime to register and compensate for the endless rush of stimulation your body is getting; the buzz of the alcohol fading with every new layer of spit lathered across the length, watching Rosé’s head continue to bob at a faster pace between your legs. She doesn’t let you off that easily when her hand coils itself at the base, the other cradling your balls with the right amount of pressure - prompting you to use both of your hands to grip her head, making the motion as seamless as possible. You could feel her throat go slack, opening up the edges to where your cock can fill in the space - the gags alone break above the audible ambiance of rain hitting the ground beneath the both of you.

“Fuck me.” And at this point, your level of thinking is so thrown under limbo. The sounds alone are music to your ears. A lost tune waiting to be heard again. Wanting. “Rosé, you-”

“Ummphgh,” is all you manage to get out of her, the spit and slippery slick of her mouth the only point of contact. You look down and see it in her eyes: glassy and welled up; like was meant to be used like this, a vessel to provide and clean up the mess of every lap her tongue makes to your underside and the seam of your balls. An angel like her, her wings clipped after committing a damming act, hoping to earn them back in any way she can. When you slide your cock out of her slack mouth - slap the member across her swollen lips, eyes closed and jaw lowered as you’re leaving behind the sloppy and unmarked territory that you’ll come back to not long after.

She nods and gags. You want to make her fucking choke.

All of this should be drawn up as a one-off, never to be spoken of again. She didn’t have to go this far, being on her knees for you like this. Neither of you owe anything to each other. Some of this might have some meaning carried with the way that Rosé speaks with her eyes, mixed with a concoction of want and sorrowfulness, opening her mouth so wide for you to take with no remorse.

And when you cum deep into her throat, it’s all in her eyebrows - the way she accepts, poisoning your morality just like that.

The pulses do die down eventually, and Rosé tilts her head to the side to give you a better look at her swallowing your release; wiping her lip in a slight relishment, damp hair falling in front and her fingers dancing along the line of her jaw - internalizing the rewarding ache. Her eyes shimmer in the low lighting, her skin covered in this spreading glow of pale and glistening. Most of her lip gloss is gone, now mixed with the layer of smeared spit all over your cock. You’re cradling her head delicately, thumb grazing the temple and some of the ends of her hair, giving you a list of things to fix.

Rosé smacks her lips, and runs her tongue against the upper profile of her teeth. “Well then,” she starts, “hope that was enough to calm your nerves for the time being.”

You’re trying extremely hard to slow your breathing, watching while she brings a wrist to her face, wiping up the damage.

“We’re so fucked up,” you barely say, clearing your throat.

“Between us?” Rosé implies, finally rising from her knees and patting your shoulders down as an out-of-touch way to comfort, “That’s old news, buddy.”

You pull her in a bit again, placing the distance of her face to yours a little over the double digits. There’s no point in ignoring her gravity, the way that you find yourself a tad magnetized, bringing out a side where it was for her and only her. She could be an entity of a higher being, probably God’s given gift from himself which you once had lost. A blessing and curse that’s managed to find their way back into your arms again.

“Now that I think about it,” you’re saying, combing some of her blonde locks before ghosting your hand just above her head, “You’ve always been the same as before.”

Rosé’s eyelids dip, peculiar, curious. That sly grin at the corner of her lip laced with the dimple trailing not far after, it’ll do you numbers. It’s happened before.

But she puts a hand to the side of your face, a soft smile to seal the whole act up as she starts to peel away. “Think you can walk to the hotel in a straight line without my help?”

“You’re gonna leave me outside if you get there first.” You answer jokingly.

She might as well if she wanted to, and you won’t be that far behind.

—

Hangovers. They’re the worst.

Normally in times like these: you’d lie in bed facing up to the ceiling, playing back all the events and instances in your mind to the best of your ability, and then get washed by the feeling of regret or questions of why you did actions a, b, and c. Fuck around and find out they say, that’s how the learning experience goes.

Although this would be the exception-

“That’s all it took for you? Just the voice by itself?” Rosé asks you the morning after, tending to the wounds on your hands, easily stacked at the wrists, and caring for them with a mother’s touch. “If it were me, I would’ve hung up by the first five seconds of silence.”

“Here’s the thing: I’m not you.”

Rosé rolls her eyes and puts the attention back to your knuckles. She grazes them with her fingertips once the dried-up blood has been washed away and sealed with a bandage. Her hands alone may look small, but the size has been apparent compared to yours. “You broke the glass from that payphone booth, didn’t you?”

“If I kept retelling you what I did, would you believe me by then?” You ask flatly.

“I’m just-” she stutters for a second when she zips up the first aid kit, “-surprised, honestly - and don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen you angry before. I didn’t expect it to be that serious.”

“Wow. Way to beat around the bush I guess.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I know you are. Slightly.”

Rosé leans back to get more of you in view, examining the new patches to cover the temporary pain left because of your actions. The repercussions don’t have to be said when it’s already shown. Good thing you brought gloves for a reason - a proper excuse to keep your hands warm when the weather gets colder.

“Are you okay?” She asks after a brief period of silence.

Your head twists back towards her. “Hm?”

“I’m being genuine. Are you okay?” she says to you again, this time leaning to place her elbows on the table. “When I picked you up from the bar, you looked wrecked.”

“Which I was. So, you’re not entirely wrong here.”

Rosé then curls her fingers, resting her chin on top of them. Her eyes were full of concern. She doesn’t have to do all this - the nice, good girl willing to reconnect and rekindle even though you and her both know that things ended in a rough patch prior. She didn’t have to agree to go on the trip with you, but the intentions here are good - for the most part.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The inquiries from her keep on coming.

“I think we should come back to this topic when I’m in a better headspace,” you tell her, and she doesn’t bother asking anymore. “What about-”

“Huh?”

“I was gonna say something about, well-” you clear your throat before wiping the lower half of her face before finding the right words to deliver the next topic, “last night when we-”

“Don’t expect you to remember much. Being drunk is a valid excuse,” she tells you, crossing her arms together with a little furrow in her brows. “One-time thing. No strings attached. Got it?”

“Are you sure?”

She nods convincingly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you murmur, massaging your temple.

“Okay,” Rosé echoes, knocking on wood twice for good luck. “I say we go out then.”

“What? Where to?” You dart back while she stands up from the seat, shuffling away to her luggage. “Uh, hey-”

Rosé snorts a bit, lets out a hearty laugh, one full of pure mischief. “I’m hungry. And we can put off room service for another time.”

–

“How many cafes have we been to in the past hour?” you’re asking Rosé, jaw dropped at the abundance of people waiting for their coffee orders ahead of you two. “Jesus, with this amount of caffeine, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Rosé’s head turns, sipping the last bits of her beverage from the previous place you two were at, shaking the cup now full of ice. “Don’t give me that.” She laughs. “Jisoo was the one who recommended the places to me.” Her head leans back to get a few ice cubes in her mouth since the crunches are satisfying to her. “If anything, it’s your fault that you can’t keep up with-”

“I’d rather prioritize my health than drain it all away with a lot of drinks and a heart condition.” you sigh, taking the hint of her waving the cup in front of you to throw out, looking back out to listen for the number of your order. (They’ve been alternating from counting into the high forties and low twenties. It’s all confusing how any of this is efficient.) “Though the pastries and drinks have been amazing to try, so I thank you.”

She looks up at you again, flipping some of her back over her shoulder, flaunting a little shimmy of her shoulders. Like she’s aware of the praise, the compliments, the credit, and everything else lying underneath the verbal nuances. “Perks of having me as your foodie guide for the tour.”

“You’re so stupid,” you say, gaze dropping down to your feet in disappointment.

A nudge to your shoulder is all she gives before turning her body away. “Such a bitch.”

“Preaching the truth,” you reply - a hum in the timbre, playing into the banter. “That’s why they paired both of us together: toothbrush and toothpaste. peas in a pod-”

You flinch a bit when she raises a hand, but you can’t help yourself to laugh as she surrenders the idea of making a scene in public. It’s all good fun in the end, a breath of fresh air.

Then the matcha order gets called up, perfect timing.

–

You and Rosé do celebratory cheers with the clear plastic cups, swirl the tea inside before drinking a good third of it down, nod, and acknowledge the amount in addition to the taste. She then asks you to give it a rating - where you place it pretty high on the given scale.

“That’s really good,” you say, wetting your lips for another sip.

“What’d I tell you?” Rosé asks after, all comfy with her drink in both hands, watching you take in another swig because why not? “This place might be the best one on the list.”

“You mean Jisoo’s list,” you tease. “But sure, you can claim this list as yours since she’s not here to protest against it.”

“Right. I’ll do exactly that.”

You take notice of the same gaze that she’s been holding for the past few minutes now. It’s probably too late to realize that it's a honey trap: the more that your curiosity gets the best of you, the more likely that you’ll forget about everything else. A good look at her rosy cheeks, the stray strands of blonde hair sticking out because of the fuzziness that her scarf is emitting, much to the point that you can’t even see her neck beneath all of that.

“Sorry,” you’re saying, leaning your head sideways more to get a closer look. Nobody’s falling for it, especially not her. “There’s a stain right about-”

Rosé keeps her hands right where they are in holding the drink, eyes glued to your hand ghosting her face, the slightest touch where you’re cupping her jaw to keep it in place. You do manage to get the small mess off but make no other move.

She turns her head slightly towards your hand, parting her lips; and a part of your head starts to flip internally.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Rosé proposes, you think it’s intentional like she wanted you to do that. You can see it in her alluring shade of whiskey, clouded with mystery, shrouding a burning sensation behind those irises, blinking prettily.

“If I told you, it won’t happen later.”

“Oh yeah?” Rosé tuts, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth, and dips her head a few inches. “I’m intrigued,” her voice is a witch’s spell. She scoots herself towards you, closing the bubble away from the world, the moment alone stretched longer than usual.

“I shouldn’t kiss you,” you tell her, practicing caution. A last reminder thrown up in an imaginary white flag.

“But you could, right?” Rosé says in the sheerest hint of innocence, but the message says all sorts of corruption, "Where's the harm in that?”

Setting yourself up for the mind-meld was always a tall task, especially with a girl like Rosé. You could rationalize how the universe has managed to put you on this tightrope, with no hope of making it to the ends; the only choice would be to embrace this fall from grace, and feel every emotion.

She inches closer, the intent clear as day. “Y’know,” the tension is already hanging low amongst the both of you, “I’d be okay with it.”

–

(Look. Saving yourself the embarrassment was always going to be a lost cause. Consider it as a premonition, the tug of anticipation of playing things out the way they are, rewind the clip or recording to catch something new every take; a wish to alter the cause and effect. No matter how you look at it, what’s done is done.)

–

The intimacy itself gets thrown out the window, and finding a proper hold would be a lesser worry to think about. Rosés frantically slithering out of her overcoat, biting your lip in what you assume is an accident, and pressing her into the wall catches her off guard and she bumps into your face. Your thumbs are at her cheeks, holding her face in place, and the hooded eyes get pulled away; you’re thinking, she’s thinking - and all she can say is, “don’t start having second thoughts now.” It’s another green light from her to pick up where you left off, feel her arms have no sense of direction until they finally rest around the crooks of your neck and shoulders, quick draws of air passing through each other’s lips until you and her eventually fill in that space once more.

Even if there’s no label between you two now, the knowledge is already present there in the low lights.

“Let me remind you,” you’re telling her, smiling as her tongue clashes with yours, scrunching up your neck as her hands are working fast to slip you out of your top. “You started this.”

Her chin tilts up, grazing the peak of your jaw, lips trained on yours and kissing like it’s second nature; since she exactly remembers how to wind you up, unraveling. The scrunch of your neck goes away once the top falls along the floor, making out with you for what feels like it’s been forever.

“Maybe I did,” says Rosé, landing another kiss on the line of your chin, hand caressing the back of your head, unwilling to let go of you. “And can I be honest? I don’t hear you complaining about it.”

“Now why would I?”

She leans back against the drywall, arm up as if you were holding her by the wrist, but you aren’t - at least, not yet. Puffs her chest up with the help of the arch behind. “That’s the question,” she answers, hand palming the seat of your pants, fingers curling slightly, “That’s always the question.”

A window of opportunity is here. You can see it. She could lay out all the hints in front of you and you wouldn’t need all of them to figure her out, because you know: she loves being so forward, only for her to be held down, give her little to no wiggle room where her hands can leave major damage, the teasing; you’ll shut her mouth up with a pillow to her face or your hand and watch her eyes crunch together until she breaks. There’ll be times when she wants to rush, and you’d go slow, then vice versa. The grip you have on her hip isn’t nice, and you’ll keep kissing her, be very meticulous in the approach, and make her go insane.

Her muscles, let alone her body tense at the touch, shying a smile away as if she’s afraid to admit it herself. “But I gotta say,” Rosé whispers, her breath canvassing over your lips. “Doesn’t this feel nostalgic? Like old times?”

And here is where you’re practicing plausible deniability: since she’s right. A brief flash of all the times; all the instances that occurred in the past. She’s got her shirt off, and it helps jog the memory a lot more too - how you’d hold her down and just revel in the whimpering noises that escape her mouth, embracing every acre of her body; it’d be so easy to mold into her, you know from experience.

“Okay seriously,” Rosé’s saying, the rush of bliss spilling all over her face when your hands trail up and down the sides of her waist. The smile she’s bearing is a whole lot more apparent now the more your mouth is left slack open, eyes ogling without doing a single blink. “I forgot how you like to take your sweet ass time in adoring me - fuck, it’s even worse when you’re not even saying anything, like, at all, I swear to God, please, just-”

You’re paying no attention as you’re scouting out the different pieces that need peeling away off her figure. The shirt’s already off from the start. You manage to stop your hands from dancing along the waistline of her pants, hold her leg up as you’re pulling from the cuff at the bottom, keep her second-guessing with a few kisses to her stomach, brush your nose along the lace of her panties and scrape a bit of your forehead into the line of her bra. There might be something wrong with you; but hey, she’s on the same boat as well.

Once all of that’s off and disregarded, you’re claiming long lost territory - marking up everywhere to be examined at the scene of the crime when it’s all done and dusted: her chest, her neck, the collarbones, her nipples already primed to the point, the subtle hint of muscle in the abs, you’re finding a way back.

Rosé’s breathing is heavy with heat over your ear now, palming her pussy folds now exposed to the open air. “Yes - okay. Okay. I get it- jesus,” she’s stuttering as the reaction starts to traverse throughout her body. Your fingers are dancing along the dangerous area, playing with fire. You can remember the nerves being so responsive, and electric, it’s beautiful to watch in real time. “Look- you win, I’ll help. Whatever you need. I’ll do it.”

“That so?” you ask. She’s holding herself in place as best she can along with your hand, an acknowledgment, take account of the slick soaking the grooves of your fingers. You kiss her and smile against her lips - teetering on the edge of cruelty and excitement. “Jokes on you sweetheart, I knew you’d always be good for me.”

The devil is already in the details: pinning her to the wall and burying your fingers into her cunt. She keens when you slip in one finger, then two. Her sighs, singing this harmony that urges this need for it to be silenced; so you get your lips to the line of her collarbone - or, her lips resting right above the cuff of your ear, leg curling to the backside of your thigh, rising to the end of your ass. You let it slide when she pulls you in deeper into her body with her arms, the weight of your front crushing her chest a bit, which she’s okay with.

“There.” Rosé does a mix of a bob and a shake of her head, “yes, oh-”

You’re building an idea. One that hasn’t seen the light in your mind ever since the preceding one was ripped apart from you so suddenly. She keeps on gasping as you find the spots - the familiar ones where you’ve killed her before, pressing deeper and deeper into the stretch of that satisfying warmth spreading into your hand. The trembling in her body is already a stark implication of your craft becoming true. A little of a wiggle here, the push of the stretch, opening her wide. Her eyes fixate on yours, and her mouth loosens with each parting breath.

“Y-you-”

“There she is,” you murmur, the lower half of your face twisting into a sinister smile.

All she could do was nod, like she was admitting; almost as if she wanted this.

“Hold still for me,” you’re instructing, and the tone in the phrase is so gentle that she agrees to the request easily. She’s surrendering herself to you. An unspoken truth in itself. You can see the twinkle behind the rings of her irises, her shoulders drop as a result of all the muscles and bones finally relaxing after being so pent up. Something shifts in you, maybe an act of desperation; a moment where your ego is fractured. It happens when you’re pressing your cheek against hers, whispering into her ear as you put your fingers back into her cunt: “You’ve missed this, so much, haven’t you?”

Rosé winces. You can feel the clamp in her pussy and jaw.

Her nose scrunches as well, doing everything she can to not unfold the stricken nerve, so she mouths instead. “Yes. God, yes.” She can’t focus at all when her head hits the back of the wall and you’re leaving your lips into her neck. “I regretted it - so much, so fucking much. Wanted you to forgive me, to come back and-”

Shit. She got you there. The honesty alone might come as a shock to you.

“I tried so hard to move on. To forget,” she barely breathes, her voice clearer than ever, like she’s ignoring the fact that you have two curling digits inside that unbelievable cunt of hers, gripping, thighs pressing together into your hand and keeping it there; a makeshift shackle. It didn't take much to push her buttons and rile her up, get her cursing and spilling out incoherent nonsense since she can’t think straight due to the rubbing from the bottom of your palm. “The apology was there, but you were already gone-”

The more she speaks, the more she sends your common sense down into a spiraling cyclone. Your hand keeps working her leaking slit while the other hikes up her leg - let her carry the weight in holding your body as she’s mindlessly humming against your mouth; even though she’s still trying to speak, that’s fine as it is. Maybe you’re doing yourself a favor jumping face first into this hell, or Rosé herself is just helping you get there faster-

She knows what she wants. It’s a bit pathetic, a contrast to her condescending attitude that’s been peeling away little by little. Her slick is so smooth around your fingers, twirling and sliding with no care for her responses at all. You could kind of hear her say ‘I'm sorry’. Almost, you’re not entirely sure, but the endless nods and welled-up tears prove that there’s a psychotic factor occurring in your mind.

“Gonna cum for me?” you ask, and she puts on this faint smile before her head lolls up and back towards the wall. “Your hips are shuddering by the second.”

Rosé doesn’t say anything except for the staggered breaths from your hand working her and giving no care to fucking with your fingers. She tries to grip onto something; a hand, shoulder, the back of your head - whatever she could try to get her mind to not focus on you. It’s pointless. The precipice and final peak of her high is there in her eyes; locked to your face, focusing and unfocusing.

She cums. And she looks strikingly astonishing when she finally melts down.

“Cat got your tongue?” You ask again, expression slightly satisfied as the arms around you hold her down, pinning her. “That’s too bad, ‘cause I was gonna say that you look good like this-”

Her hips buck forward, pussy gushing a bit more on your fingers, wetting them. “God, y-you- fuck-”

A pinch of her clit is all you give her and she’s practically not there anymore.

The cries coming out of her reverberate around the room. Her mouth is still hung open when you relieve some of the pressure of your face on hers, eyes slowly trying to blink through the orgasm as much as possible. The front of her body falls forward, her cunt piping hot - or well, that’s just the final part of the warmth washing over with the need for another outlet to take it all in.

“Maybe I should just let you have it, huh?” you tell her as you get your hands to her waist and thigh again. “Do you think you deserve my forgiveness after what you did?”

“Yes, yes.” Rosé answers. You’re finding it hard to be convincing - as if she couldn’t say it any other way when you’re hovering her over to the bed and the nodding starts to become more frantic, desperate.

When she finally lands back first on the bed, you don’t give her any room to breathe as her body naturally arches when you’re pressing your weight on top of her again. And that’s the venom working its magic through your mind and body; she’s managed to get you craving for more without doing much.

This is her checkmate to you. She wants you so fucking bad that if you don’t get your dick inside her in the next few minutes, the damage to follow after would honestly be catastrophic.

In all fairness, you want her. It’s that simple. You’re willing to hold her down and fuck her senselessly, give her no care until she’s a pure puddle of mush. The hand holding you is calculated, precise; palm to the side of her face as she sighs at the touch. Gentle, yes. Her head tracks yours as you admire the winding mess that’ll get worse eventually.

“I want you to say it,” you tell her, accidentally leaning down to bump your nose with hers. “To be sure. Rosé, I-”

“Need you-” Her body tenses while her mouth drops to a new low, the sudden shift in her body too much to bear. You manage to wrap yourself around her, sliding slowly; spreading her legs wider until that ache rests on your muscles and hers. The drag of her fingernails on your back keeps your attention on her, zeroing in on the tightness of her waist when you’re adjusting to the right angle and depth, suspending you not to think about anything else besides her. “Like this- oh, yes- right there, fuck it’s so big, holy shit-”

“Christ,” you hiss; Rosé’s front rises to where your stomach is, squirming until you get a proper hold of her hips at the crease where the top of her legs are, putting her in place. You’re shaking your head here, trying to stay conscious; Rosé’s eyes fall to the back of her head, blinking lethargically. Her cunt’s smoothing out all the ridges and veins, clinging with a melting grip that you’d want to bury yourself in for as long as you’re with her.

She bites down a cry, and the whines can only be covered so much when she’s eating away at your face, hips snapping up slowly.

You use the adjustments wisely, watch as her expression carefully unravels right in front of your eyes, until you have a proper hold of her legs where it’ll hurt, pulling her into your cock. The first smack of skin and drive up her spine snaps - like a cable cut, a live wire - the thread of curses and the cauldron of praises fall out so nicely past her lips. She locks her arms around your back, get her pussy in a position where you can take it deep and wreck her like clockwork-

“Okay, okay. I get it now- jesus girl,” you moan out, the sound partly broken, “You win. I, fuck-”

So you manage to bury your dick inside her, saying her name and it freaking destroys her. Some of the slaps of skin match your heartbeat from time to time, the pace nice and consistent, kissing to comfort as she swallows down the first wave of sobs.

“Yeah, yeah. You know - you’ve always known,” Rosé groans. “Ugh-”

“Talking too much,” you mutter right back at her, breath hot and all over the skin of her cheek, pressing, a slight grin forming between your lips. “You don’t sound sorry enough.”

Her face then matches the same lazy smile, tugged at the corners. You’ve barely made a dent into her and it isn’t enough. The focus is clear; right in her eyes, lidded and glossy. But she flutters her lashes shut, nodding profusely again, when you’ve nudged your cockhead into the spot where you’ve killed her before, another move made. “Yes I- I am. I am, I am, I am.”

There’s not much to follow up on. The pace is already set. The one-two; slide out and drop the pin right back where it belongs. Rosé pulls you in with her lips, ankles linking to the backside of your thighs, holding her by the middle of her waist. It’s a natural transaction of sorts, the opening of old terms - matching what one wants along the other.

Maybe you’re returning the favor in a way with her - which you are. Your vision is already becoming hazy, the clamp of her cunt all over your cock the only point of focus and consciousness keeping you sane. Nothing else outside you two mattered at this moment, hidden away within these very walls of the room as Rosé’s hips started to stutter again when you bottomed her out.

And when she whines, a high pitch rather than a lone note, the part has never been made clearer.

You remember how you’ve fucked her in this fashion: burying your face into her chest, nails digging into the scalp of your head, holding you so close and tenderly - like she was afraid of losing you again, powering through the second time she cums all over your cock, the mixing of her sobbing and sniffles when you’ve pushed her over that edge once more, urging you to keep sinking into her willingly - even when the precision starts to lose its fine touch.

Even when her body starts to go limp, you play the nice gesture of raising her legs a little higher, getting her ankles planted right to the small of your back, opening up the deep, melting hollow of heat underneath you.

“Rosie. Oh, Rosie- my Rosie-” you mumble softly beneath the repeating hymn of your name on her tongue. “My god, you’re fucking crazy.”

“I want it- want you,” she sighs, palm to your cheek as her eyes lock with yours again. Christ, she knows what the fuck she’s doing, you need to fuck her properly, get your cock embedded right in her cunt where the warmth is at the hottest, filling her up and sliding smoothly along her slick walls to the point where she’ll have to repeat in the request - will you? Please, you fuck me so well - I swear, right there, this pussy’s always been yours, nobody else’s-

“How I’ve missed this,” you confess. The drag of her fuckhole is that lethal, and reverts you to old ways. The regret will cross your mind again soon, you’re sure of it.

“Cum baby.” She tells you, basically letting you do so. The velvety walls are just too much for you to handle. You could feel the coil tighten in your abdomen, the grip of her legs in your hands now leaving their red marks across her pale skin, cock hitting the same spot of her cunt over and over, relentlessly pounding and grinding her lower half into a mere puddle. “I want you to cum.”

The air within you gets sucked right out of your lungs, boiled over to a stream of strained groans and heavy exhales - two more strokes inside her creaming cunt before you grasp on the last bit of energy to tug yourself out, painting all over the fine plane of Rosé’s waist, pumping your load out. A hand gets planted to the side, holding you upright, her voice also in its high octave, begging and speaking in tongues as the ribbons of white find their place across the blush ambered skin.

“Fuck- holy fuck,” she sighs again, eyelids lifting up as you hobble over from the sudden blood loss from your head, bumping into hers as you tap the numb of her clit with your tip once, twice, the loose sobs sounding heavenly, pulling you back to your senses. “Oh god - it feels so good all over me. Yes.Yes. It’s so good, keep teasing my pussy like that, I know you love it, shit-”

Even after getting her brains properly fucked out, the slurs of her words spilling out are still coherent. You take a moment to breathe, calm down the irregular heart rate as best you can, and watch as Rosé takes a fingertip to her stomach and collects some of the mess left by you. She’s so shameless, tattered, reaping the reward in all of its glory.

“Satisfied?” You ask, rubbing her lip. Her blush is amazing to look at, a slut like her owning the part as if she’s meant for it. It’s true. The afterglow makes her ten thousand times more alluring than how she was back at the cafe when she planted the idea of those dirty thoughts slowly formulating in the back of your mind. All you have to do is just look at her-

It’s easy to read and take a step back; because giving her more would be a guarantee on the cards. Her palm lands on the left side of your chest, feeling your heartbeat. You indulge in pulling a wisp of her hair off from her forehead, those doe eyes looking up at you while she treats herself by licking up your load off her fingers.

She hums. It’s only the two of you. Everything you or her ever needed is trapped in this space.

Rosé teases with the tip of her tongue, showing the evidence being down into the space of her mouth - in her throat, seeing her neck bob up while her head tilts to this sultry gaze, a damming smile forming again, hinted with a small peek of her teeth. She then manages to get a hand around your length - fingers still soaked with your cum, languidly pumping without care - since the reaction could be substituted as a reflex. “I think you have more to offer for me.”

“God, Rosé-” you say, and she just laughs; the sound alone is impossible to ignore, but her snark, the words and things she tells you from time to time - it alters your brain chemistry. She’s always been like this.

“What? Am I wrong?” She asks, ghosting your upper profile to give you the hint that she needs some breathing room, rolling herself over where her back is now in view, and not to mention her fucking ass-

“No, you’re not,” you answer, hovering over the nape of her neck, pressing a few kisses down the curve. “If anything, you’re doing a terrific job of keeping my mind off of certain things.”

Her knees dig into the mattress, lifting her backside to the front of your hips, her slick still there, smothering the top of your length. You hold her down from the shoulders and slide your knees up to the proper placement. She’s giving an offer, alright - one that you simply cannot refuse.

“Good.” Rosé chuckles, breathing low as you’re grazing the head of your cock over the pucker of her ass, teasing it around her folds. “I hope I can keep up the work for you. Make you not worry about any other thing besides me. God that would be amazing. Can you? For me?”

“Make me fuck your brains out as my only worry,” you concur. “Doesn’t sound that bad to do again.” Her head dips down into the sheets when you’ve got your cock slowly working its way back into her creaming pussy, hips becoming flush with yours, relishing in the perfect fit - the gorgeous press of those walls, it does something to a man.

You’re imagining the widest smile on her face, knowing that she’s won you back. It doesn’t make sense yet, the bits and pieces of your mind not lining up with the actions. Rosé’s yelp gets muffled, in response to the press of her lower half into the mattress, hands pressing both asscheeks together, tightening the noose around your length, letting the drag make your cock throb even harder.

“I’ve fucking missed this,” she rasps, the last exhale shoved out of her once you’ve managed to nudge your cock back inside her. The latter of everything is this: the steady breaths, the audible slide of slick, and the slap of skin.

A hand reaches out to her hair, holding her head down to the mattress along with the rest of her body, arm slithered to the underside where the waist is, a placeholder as your hips snap forward. The whimper she lets out is a clear implication that your bag of tricks is doing a number on her.

“Taking me so well. God, Rosie. This pussy is amazing. Look at you,” you praise, growling as she continues to babble beneath your touch.

And the innocent giggles can hide so much of the absolute pleasure she’s enjoying. She’s a real-life venus fly trap: pulling you in with her smile, her eyes, and her charisma; only for you to be wrapped around her little finger and quite literally, her leg. “How cute. You were full of shit not that long ago. For a second I figured you’d be having second thoughts.”

You smack her ass and grab both sides of cheeks on her face. A statement. A warning.

“Watch your mouth,” you grit, and you swear that you’ll stay true to your word.

“Alright, just- ah, fuck me, like that. Your cock hit that same- hngh! Please, just fuck me like you mean it. Rail my ass until I’m on my knees apologizing. I promise, just dick me down-’

The pace picks up and you’ve lost all remorse. You’ll bounce her cunt on your cock regardless if she’s asking for it or not. In the present case that she is, giving it to her was an easy decision. Her pussy is the missing piece of a puzzle that you always wanted to complete anew, and it’s right in your hands and on your hips.

Rosé’s face twists over her shoulder, eyes fluttering in unadulterated pleasure, tensing and unraveling each passing stroke you have on her. The secret’s already out: you missed her, and she missed you. You’ll have the desire to take this moment away and put it in a chest, only for it to be tossed to the bottom of the sea, where no one else will know of its existence.

“Have me over and over,” she says, “if that’s all you ever wanted, I’d let you.”

You weren’t sure what you were getting yourself into, and when you’ve made her cum the second time, and third soon after - she’s a sobbing mess, voice wrecked, you’re also there with her, she’s got you by that much.

–

The first snowfall meets the cloudy skies when the light peeks through the drapery. Or at least when your vision is coming around while Rosé’s posture straightens when she sits up - clutching the comforter from the bed close to her body as she looks over her shoulder to you. Her friz of bed hair is apparent at the ends, not to mention her bare back, the first hint of red marks at the bottom of her neck - you’re drawing the assessment up as you go.

“Cold?” you ask, leaning your head back into the pillow behind. “That’s a shame.”

“Says the one who doesn’t have anything on along with me,” Rosé chuckles, swirling around facing you. You’ll be left there to just observe and stare more times than you can probably count on your own ten fingers.

Then she lets the blanket fall; her version of a curtain raiser.

It isn’t anything new really, but you catch yourself blinking a lot faster than usual; the blotches of red spread across her chest, mixed with the paleness of her skin. Her waist emulates this hourglass shape that almost looks unreal for one to have; there’s also neck and collarbones, and you’re looking everywhere from her face to her hips - lustful would be an understatement of her efforts.

“You could give me one of your hoodies again,” she’s saying, sliding her hands into the crease beneath her shoulders, looking down to the crimson marks.

“Tempting.”

She tilts her head the other way, a soft hum reflected off her smile. The rosy blush is a highlight; the reruns of all the moments with her keep coming back, and you’re certainly here for all of them. “You can’t turn me down.”

“And if I did, it would be a tragedy,” you say, pulling her into your embrace as she spins around again, her hand scratching the side of your head, nose buried into the curve of her neck, “thankfully, that won’t happen with you.”

“Let’s go exploring the city today,” Rosé proposes, back arching to the adjustment of your hold. “I can put in a reservation for that one restaurant with the fancy snails and seafood.”

“Isn’t that like-” you snort, “eighty percent of the restaurants around here anyway?”

“Only if you’re not looking deep enough.”

“Your call,” you agree, turning your head to put a proper kiss, tasting the sweetness of cherry or strawberries. Her fingers trail across your forearms while yours are grazing her waist, her breasts - you’re one for physical touch, a little too much for your liking but in this case is it justified? Absolutely. Who wouldn’t? “I can carry you to the shower if you’d like.”

Rosé’s eyes close, fluttering. Lips pulled inward to a smirk. She’s enthralled with the notion - the affinity of how you treated her before. “Mmmmm. I think: yes please.”

–

(So you do carry her. Frankly, your fingers digging into the plush skin of her ass, sinking her back onto your cock; palms holding the tile, then slipping - her back to the wall as her feet dangle past your backside. Rosé’s moaning into the shell of your ear one second, kissing you the next - like the world would end at any given moment, hands pressing your face deeper into hers in the wash of rain above, encouraging you to give in.

She was doing whatever it took to creep herself back into the nook of your mind, and so far it��s working; rewriting your nerves and synapses, corralling with her tongue and lips in all the ways that swept off your feet before, her grin against your chin all the easier to bite down and swallow. “You swear not to tell anyone about this, promise me.” The only telltale point of accountability laid out on the table, in the space opened between your lips and hers - a brief pause, stalled negotiations, ending with an everlasting proposition that you’ll submit to when she finally says:

“Not a soul. Promise.”)

–

You’re shrugging your shoulders up to your ears, hoping to keep in some of the heat trapped in your body. An instinct; and with the right amount of layers of fabrics, it makes the job a whole lot easier to do. Simple as that.

Rosé eventually did manage to steal one of your hoodies from your luggage. Not that you were complaining about it. As much as you hate to admit it, the girl did have a knack for styling different articles effortlessly to the point where you can’t even tell if she’s wearing your clothes or her own. She’s got a red scarf for today’s outing, properly complimenting the other shades below while she’s fixing her appearance in the mirror of the restaurant, patting down her hair with you coming right behind to transfer some of the warmth onto her.

You’re getting a few whiffs of her perfume. Cinnamon and something rustic, cozy, and she just gives you a beaming smile off the reflection in front of you. Her hand goes into the pocket of her overcoat: a small digicam, turns it on and points it to the mirror - telling you to act candid or cute, whichever one happens to come first. The pull of your arms brings her closer to you, a familiar movement and rhythm when you leaned over earlier while getting ready, talking all sly and prettily as she creams all over your cock. She’s thinking about it also, even while the camera clicks.

“Would you look at that,” she exclaims, capturing the photo as a personal keepsake, and showing you the photo on the screen soon after. “We look good in this for once.”

Rosé notices your whole body freeze, rolling your eyes, “Uh, was that supposed to be an insult?”

Her face shifts to a quick scowl, taken aback by the question suddenly. “Why? Would you rather have me tell you that you’re fucking ugly instead?”

“Not true. But, hah. That does sound a lot more like you.”

Your gaze goes back to the glass, and Rosé takes another funny photo for the memories, looking over to the corner of your eyes as the snaps from the camera continue for a few seconds. “How’s my jacket?”

She pulls the hood to her nostrils, eyelids snapped shut, and inhales. The grin she has all over her face proves to be a clear indicator that the signs are all pointing towards positive. Her figure is still in reach of you, her front opposite to yours. “Comfy, for one,” she then looks up to your chin, syrup eyes looking up with a gentle gaze. “It’s a distinct smell. A one-of-one.”

“Corny.”

“And?”

“Pretty,” is what you end off with, petting her hair which earns you a nose scrunch. “Want me to add on?”

“You could tell me that I’m special, your angel, or something. Maybe say that I look good, y’know - to boost my ego. You being my one and only, the dream guy I’ve wanted for as long as I liv-”

“Don’t push your luck,” you’re grinning, because she’s planting the idea so well, the keywords and points of inference to decode and analyze. She’ll inflate your ego so much that you’d have to hold her down in your hands and fuck some proper sense into her - ‘cause it’ll happen again - probably because she deserves it, which is true.

–

Later, and by her arm linked to yours, Rosé pulls you into this music club. A jazz bar, or- just a place where they were having an open mic night, the songs having the earworm effect to the point where your feet are following hers.

The place opens up inside where the seating arrangements are segregated in pairs in the middle from the stage and outwards with the usual booths set at the sides. Some people are sitting, others are dancing, and then there are a few who are just casually conversing and really having a great time. But the wave of nostalgia is hitting a little harder than usual as they’re all riding along with the music.

“This place is nice,” she tells you, gently bobbing her head along to the cozy ambiance of the band playing on the stage, tugging the cuff of your sleeve towards some open seats to rest your legs and take a breather.

When you do finally settle your bearings, the seat under you becomes a lot more comfier, taking in the sights and sounds of the live music being performed right in front of you. It wasn’t that long also for the drinks to come flowing in; only this time, you’re more in line with your inhibitions and common sense all because there isn’t any impending stress plaguing your mind.

Once the setlist’s been played through, the main lead of the band calls out to the audience for anyone who would be interested in singing on the open floor. Pretty straightforward: just name the song for the band members to play and give them a few minutes to get adjusted to the demands of the piece; gotta say, they’re pretty good at what they do.

“I’m gonna go up there.” Rosé snatches your attention with her spontaneous plan. “It’s been a while since I sang in front of anyone”

You chuckle, because you remember how she was back in the high school choir years ago. “You’re serious?” The question comes off as rhetorical alone, but you sense that burning passion inside her that fuels everything in her enthusiasm. “By all means, go for it.”

“Got a song in mind?” She asks, hand resting on your forearm.

“Don’t have anything in particular,” you answer with a shake of your head. “Surprise me.”

With that, Rosé shoots her hand up high into the air. The band leader spots her out instantly and calls her up to the stage. Everyone’s eyes are drawn towards her - a mix of applause and whistles to solidify the encouragement, and here you are stuck in your seat hoping that nothing goes wrong while she’s up on stage. You have faith, and it’s just enough to stick by.

Her introduction is cute to watch; the way that she sounds sends your heart flipping for a millisecond: “Hi my name is Rosé. I’m not from here, but I’m super excited to perform for you guys tonight and I hope that you guys enjoy it. Thank you.”

You’d have to admit, she does look good when the lights are all on her.

She picks two oldies that you remember vividly because of your parent's music taste, and the final song catches you off guard, because of the way that she presented it-

“I’d just like to dedicate this last song to the number one that I hold most dear to in my heart. So if you’re listening to this, wherever you are, I hope you know that I will always root for you - even from afar.”

-being a classic Bruno Mars song since that’s been one of the few artists she’s been playing on repeat for the entirety of the trip. Her head moves and tilts in alternating directions, really just feeling out the music.

Once the final chords of the song get played out, the club erupts with a mix of cheers and claps, congratulating her for providing a wonderful show. The gratitude comes out naturally and she gives her thanks, occasionally landing her gaze over to you before looking elsewhere. She realizes the yearning, like how she sensed it while examining the art pieces up close as you were a few steps away.

It really gets you thinking, just how much you’ve fallen deeper back into the abyss with her.

–

At some point, you realize that you aren’t getting enough sleep as you’d like.

And no, it’s not because of the exhaustion of burying your cock deep into Rosé’s cunt, the slide of her folds becoming a relapse of an addiction long locked away. The lines become blurred between right and wrong, considering the incessant begging she keeps putting towards you where you give her exactly what she wants.

She’s laid on top of you, skin touching skin. You make do by clinging onto her small body since she likes that.

Rosé looks up, palm to your cheek, thumb canvasing the surface. She leans down for a peck - you lean up to meet her in the middle. Everything about this feels safe; your heart’s beating with a rise in tempo, every move of her hand and head an electric current across your body, the quick blitzes of craving for one another, pulling her close, wrapping her in your clothes, blowing air in the sensitive spots that get her going, whimpering.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: the ex.” She says to you, both hands now to the sides of your face, holding you like an award - a trophy.

“First of all, ouch.”

“Don’t take it to heart since you dicked me down not too long ago.” Her face turns over, listening to your heartbeat, legs tangling underneath the sheets. “It sounded a whole lot better in my head, so I thought why not say it out loud,” her tone filled with relief. “I’ve always spoken from my mind anyway, so how is this any different?”

“That’s-”

“I’m kidding,” Rosé laughs, “well- partly. I didn’t mean to hurt you again if that’s what you wanted to hear,” in a way she’s right; what also doesn’t help is her hand slithering down your front, to your hips, fingers coiling your length in record time.

You gasp, tensing up all the muscles in your body. “Fuc- Rosie-”

“These thoughts that I have, they’re the worst,” she’s telling this like some gospel - a fabled story or prophecy from an oracle, twisting and jerking your hardening shaft while sharing the madness of her hippocampus. “Well? What are you gonna do about it?”

When she slides you right back into her volcanic heat, your mouth drops. “I think we can figure that out together.”

She sighs, pressing her lips against your cheek, grinning. Her lower half has a mind of its own: grinding down and settling, where she stays.

–

You make love with her again. And she screams; it could be heard far and wide past the walls. A guarantee, you said. A promise. It's only you and her, after all.

–

There are multiple ways for one to sign off on their death sentence: a contract, a hearing, a proclamation; where one’s resolve is pushed to the brink where everything that transpires after has to be seen to the end until the lingering thoughts and repercussions are nothing more than just a distant memory. You knew what you signed up for when this trip had its inception, what’s to come when you’re put face first with someone who was supposed to be part of the last chapter in your story. Things like these can be rewritten on a new page for starters, but still keep all the details intact.

Rosé could be your judge, jury, and executioner for all you know - and still be the one to lure you into the dangerous pits of temptation.

“Holy shit,” you grit, voice tattered; Rosé’s head dips down as she plants both of her hands on your waist, and adjusts her legs until her heels are rooted into the mattress, testing the angle with an unprompted thrust by you.

“Don’t move too much,” she commands, the slide of your cock in her pussy slow enough to make you want to rush into it. “I’ll ride you like this. You don’t even have to do a thing.”

“God-” and the giggle she lets out in tandem with her devilish grin serves to be too much for you to bear. A lift up in her squatting position, and her petite ass slams on top of your balls - the deadly pin drop. “Fuck- you’re so good at that.”

A rise and fall. A one-two in stopping and gyrating. She’s riding you so delicately - in contrast to your style of holding her close to your chest and impaling her upwards. You feel the edge of her palm at your chin - to your bottom lip - and you bite down gently into her hand.

“I wanna feel it - all inside me,” she’s telling you, a phrase projected into existence, a claim. “Want your cum,” her confidence brightens so much when she’s the one in control, “so fucking bad.” She slides her feet out from under her, grinding harder against your hips, laying her body flat against yours, raising her ass again and back down; the angle is much more deeper than you anticipated. “Using this pretty cunt all for you. I know you like it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” you growl, and it’s a swear in itself, “can’t get enough of you - this pussy is a dream.”

“Uh huh,” her face crinkles when she ups the pace. “Tell me all about it. I’ll be your good little girl for you, babe.” This role isn’t her forte, but if the opportunity presents itself, she’ll own the part with flying colors. You could hear and feel the slick spread up to your waist; every gush, smack, and dragged-out moan was all part of a symphony created by you two. She effortlessly bottoms your cock out, and she whines.

Your arms slither around her back, keeping her in place. She whispers a ‘yes’ in your ears, and licks your temple.

“Grab me, fuck me. Make me yours,” she murmurs, happily kissing along your cheek as you spread yourself wider, getting the proper measurements right to ruin her.

The rest of the world fades out as Rosé’s breathing fills up your brain. “Rosé- I’m gonna- fuck-”

“Oh god- Yes! Baby, I’m close- keep going-”

When you inevitably cum inside her - filling her up, you’re coaxing through her sobs. Driving your shaft deep where each exhale is a staccato. Your lips find her neck, marking up skin, drinking in the sweat, fucking through her orgasm to the point where she’s pliant and quivering - tiredly nodding in approval and satisfied.

–

You’re no diplomat, but the advisable action of keeping your phone on do not disturb, limiting contact with anyone other than Rosé was entirely justified.

(By common sense, how could anyone keep in touch with their significant other after the heinous acts that they’ve committed? Our lives are not defined by any one action, but rather the sum of our choices. Everyone has their reasons - more or less - and sometimes, some don’t even need a reason at all.)

The messages do pile on throughout the week. Various texts at different times, all on different days. Each one is more desensitizing than the last.

jen: can you please call me?

jen: i’ll explain everything

jen: i’m worried sick

jen: pls just come home

You’ll deal with clearing out the notification bubbles sometime later when the time is right.

Rosé’s in the bathroom, door open to slip some of the excess steam out, towel to her bust. Most of the water is soaked into the cloth; her hair is half dry - half damp, combing a little at the ends with a brush, leaning on the door frame. “You think you can help me with something real quick?”

“Hm? And what would that be?” you ask, slipping on a shirt.

She’s in the middle of the walkway now.

“Just need some attention in a few spots,” Rosé says, very nonchalantly. Pulls apart the towel from the two folds, lets it pool at her feet. Her being naked isn’t enough to sway you into pushing her back into the shower and well- yeah. She knows it’s gonna take a lot more than just that. “Preferably the ones where you didn’t touch earlier, to be more specific.”

“Could’ve said you wanted more,” you laugh. “Didn’t have to sugarcoat it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rosé asks, deadpanning. She sways her body where her bare ass is now in view, hips moving side to side on the balls of her feet, looking over her shoulder to solidify the image. “We got a little more time on our hands and besides, it’s Christmas Eve.”

You’re back following her in a heartbeat.

–

You may be sloppy and shameless, but you are also very intricate in how you approach things. It’s in how your mouth moves: precise, calculated - licking down her slutty little waist, to her clit, getting everything you’ve ever needed between those glorious thighs of hers.

On your knees like you’re in reverence, you’re worshiping Rosé’s pussy; hoping that she could give you the blessing of eating her out like it’s your one-way ticket to heaven. The insides of her thighs press inward, her fingers in your hair pulling you exactly where she wants.

Rosé almost slides off the bathroom counter when she finally cums. She’s yelling her heart out, hissing through her teeth. Neither of you are thinking about the possible noise complaint that you’ll get for the sixth time this week.

“Fuck, yes,” she huffs, pressing your head harder with her legs. “Yes- yes, just that.”

You raise yourself and give your fingers the fill, nipple between your teeth while the knuckle curls inside-

She grasps at your neck - like you’re going off to war and she’s bagging on the chance she’ll never see you again, “Baby, I can’t say this enough,” she rasps, whining a high pitch when you hit her favorite spot, “I literally need you to ruin me,” and you nod, because you will.

Doesn’t take that long for her to cum again soon after, figuratively off the cliff face first. Her body goes limp, eyes glossy, panting as if she’s dehydrated. She keeps her legs closed, your hand caught in the crossfire, hoping that you’ll stay once the sun shines after the storm.

Once the clouds of lust finally pass the both of you:

“Good use of our time actually, what do you think?”

Rosé looks up to you, hand on her cheek, wiping the dry stream of tears.

“We can still go,” she sighs. “I just need a few more minutes because, fuck, can’t think straight when you’re staring at me while I’m like this.”

“Saying that I went too far?”

“No- but,” her groan makes you chuckle, “that’s not it. It never is, I-”

“I?” you carry on with the overhanging thought.

“I know that you have different sides, but this- this one is just- I don’t know, to me, it just feels right.”

She manages to get herself up from the edge of the bed, legs a bit wobbly but manageable. You’re patting down her overcoat and adjusting the scarf around her neck, cupping her face. Her hands find yours stacked on top.

“Not letting me go, hm?” Rosé asks, humming. “That’s not very kind.”

“Want me to carry you? ‘Cause I can most definitely do that, if it makes it easier,” and it comes off so casually. You’ll stay true to your good intentions, worrying about the punishment for the crime later.

Rosé nods, and looks down, kissing the crown of her head. She’s entrapped with this spell of desire, unsure of who got it first. It’s boundless, even when you’re hugging her. Boundless, and you’ve concluded that it’ll stay.

–

(The muddled wet-suck of her cunt. The grip. Her listless sighs and whimpers of praise plague your brain. You're having your fill; filling her up with your cock like old times. Like it's meant to be.

You fuck her again, and all it takes is one look, and she knows. It's plastered in those rosy pink cheeks at that lip bite that makes you crave her more - it's maddening.

An untethered devotion: you could give her everything she ever wanted.

If it takes the space left open in her heart, you'd pledge yourself to get her back without a second thought.)

–

The time’s ticking; the sands in the hourglass are almost at the bottom. Part of you is torn between finally getting this trip over with and stirred that you and Rosé will probably never see each other again in the coming days. Aside from the rough, raw sex, you also realize that it’s been pretty refreshing to reconnect with the girl that you shared a good third of your life with and fall into old habits as if nothing had ever happened between you two.

You’re starting to reminisce on how it had all gone wrong.

Rosé, without a care in the world, stares up into the deep blue sky. The Eiffel Tower still has some guests visiting, sightseeing, and enjoying the present company that they have. You have your phone in your hands, taking pictures of everything within distance. Each click that’s pressed is a reminder of what little you will have to cling to once this fever dream is all done and dusted.

She’s a bit out of arm's reach from you, enjoying the brisk weather and the overall ambiance that’s happening with the people around her. Her digicam in one hand, phone in the other. At some point she’s recording a guy that’s playing with his accordion, going down his list of Christmas carols, happily nodding along to the joyous tunes. She keeps on snapping photos wherever she happens to see or notice first. Canvassing the area, like a lighthouse with her phone in hand-

Until her camera finally lands on you. She’s snapping a photo of you. You’re snapping a photo of her.

(It’s a gunshot without the smoke. Yours and her version of Halley's comet flying over you. The realization settles in: you both fucked up.)

You stand there motionless - phone lowered and you just look at Rosé. She does the same. Time halts to a standstill as the both of you just admire one another. Your expression is stoic while her’s is filled with an expression that’s told by her glossy eyes and uneven breathing.

She moves without fail, running towards you; before you know it, she’s jumping in your arms, clinging onto you so hard that it’s nearly suffocating. Her sniffles are a lot louder now, and you start rubbing the back of her head in the same motion that you know brings her comfort.

“Hey-” Rosé stutters, burying her face into your collarbone. “I- I just, God, I’m such an idiot-”

“There’s no need for that,” you whisper, “I know. I know.”

Like always, Rosé’s face is in your hands yet again; wiping away the tears and cradling her as if nothing else had mattered. You chuckle at the sobs she lets out, and she hits your arm. “Can we-” you’re rubbing her head still to help gather her thoughts, “can we go back to the hotel now? I think we’re good for today.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll do that. Okay. Let’s go back.”

–

(Midway on the walk back, you decide to bet it all on the line. If it doesn’t happen now, the chances of it happening later become less likely.

“I need to stop by somewhere for a sec,” you’re telling Rosé with a sudden clutch of her hand to stop her. “Wanted to surprise you with a gift.”

Rosé furrows her brows together, but shakes her head, smiling. “Promise you’ll meet me back at the hotel?”

“Won’t be long, I promise.” You reassure, kissing her and her hand soon after.)

–

You’ve never been so fast to come back to someone in your life, bouquet of roses in hand like those tv melodramas that always milks the simple moment for absolutely no reason. This might feel like one of those moments, all honesty considered, but who’s really to judge when you’re preparing for the inevitable.

The keycard slots itself in, followed by the click of the lock once closed. You notice that the lights were already dimmed - the actual preference you and Rosé agreed on after the first night, the only difference was the trail of undergarments leading to the open area of the room.

And that’s when you see her.

She’s knelt on the bed, a singular rose in her hands. Her outfit is uncovered by the layers of pants, hoodie, and scarf - revealing a lingerie set on her that you’ve never seen before, painted in scarlet red. It highlights her natural complexion, not to mention her hair - she’s the literal image of your long-lost wet dreams come to life.

“Like what you see?” Rosé asks, staring while you remain motionless.

You drop the bouquet in your hand, not for dramatic effect of course, but in utter shock at how well the fabrics meld onto her clad body.

She takes the hint, moving herself closer to you, on the edge of the bed while your hands ghost her figure - unsure of where to even begin.

“I’ve said this countless times before,” you say, heart rate spiking when her palms land on your chest, “but you look amazingly good in that.”

Her hand pulls you by the neck, and gives you a quick kiss after that. “Why thank you,” says Rosé, lip caught to her teeth when your hands slide across the lower plane of her back, resting above her ass. “I had a few other options in mind, but I always knew that your favorite color was red.”

“Aw. So thoughtful.”

“Fuck you.”

“I will.”

Rosé laughs at that. Aside from the figurative meaning, she’s aware that you can back that up.

“Do you know why? Why I broke up with you then?” Rosé asks, face shifting to a wistful gaze. Your body freezes at the sudden question, wide eyes locked with hers as open as they can be. She twirls the rose in her fingers for a few seconds, places it at your middle, finding her words.

“Still can’t put all of that together, you know.” You’re telling her.

“We were young back then. We still are.” She confesses, palm to your chin as you’re doing the same. “I thought that you didn’t care how we were - like you didn’t love me anymore. Even at first now, you were such a fucking dick-”

“Ros-”

“Shut up, let me finish. It made me realize at that moment where I- I tho-” her words are becoming more and more shaky, you can tell in the irregular breathing, “I thought you fell out of love with me.”

The harsh sting of truth still hurts when you’re thinking back on it for a second. It wasn’t a one person show, however, but you contributed to most of the downfall of the relationship in the past. You’ll own up to the mistakes somehow, someway; if you had the chance, you’d do it without a second thought.

“It made me realize, this whole trip, I saw the old you,” Rosé confesses, keeping her emotions at bay as best she can, “Like how did you know that I’ve wanted a dream trip to Paris for the longest time? How long did you work on this before we- oh, right.”

You’re laughing a bit here. Could be the psyche of trying to not come to terms with the feelings. “Use your words, it’s okay.”

“You treated me so well this past week, putting up with my shenanigans and such, forcing you to walk wherever I go but I’m just- fuck. It fucking sucks with how we are now.”

“I’m still hurt too,” you admit, wiping a tear off of Rosé’s cheek. “I hoped that us being here would give us some closure - which is working, but I also hope that we can still be happy as friends once all of this is over.”

Rosé nods, sniffling. “Won’t be easy, but we can try.”

You seal your lips with hers, finally breaking the dam of longing that you’ve been holding back until now. Her mouth burns a hum down her throat, hands weaving across your shoulders, the passion instantly infectious.

She pulls away with a heavy sigh, “Prove it.” The words match her eyes of determination and urging. “Make love to me.”

You’re not far from her, and you’ll follow no matter what.

Her face is hot: scorching and engulfing at the same time. She’s quick to slip you off of your jacket - your hands fiddling with the lace decorated all over her body, pulling on your bottom lip, giving you no chance to regroup and re-hit the areas that you want to take; she’s prioritizing in keeping you close, unwilling to loosen her arms once the grips have been set.

The fingers find the small latch of her bra, feeling her chest rise in your other hand.

She’s peeled you off of your shirt, claiming scratches on your skin.

You’ve got an angel within your reach - from the echelons of heaven and earth above. She’s gracing her presence onto you to the point where you will do anything to prove your devotion to her, hoping that she’ll grant you your deepest wishes - and make you forget about your darkest regrets.

Rosé’s so responsive and you love it. Her octave goes up a key when you’re fondling along lone breast; dividing and conquering in two places at once with your other hand palming the dampness of her panties. She pulls you onto the bed, a lasso of truth that you’ll always submit to. Whispering sweet nothings, begging you to keep going; telling you more, more, and more.

Your eyes, no matter how many times you’ve dozed off into the distance, have always landed back on Rosé in some way or form. Amidst everything, you’re magnetized to the way her eyes looked now: dangerous, wanting, hooded - as if the shades of lust have completely taken over her thoughts and with her as the vessel to carry all of those bad deeds out, as if you were the only one who could control this growing feeling.

When she finally settles on the pillows, the heat’s already become too infectious, her face flushed and lips generally parted, waiting for your return. You go for her neck, and her body tenses, back arching and heels sliding up the sheets, unsure of where to rest as you’re catering to her lovely neck.

“How bad do we want this?” you start, fingertip to your lip before wetting it. “You up for it?”

Rosé bites her lips as always and nods. “Fuck,” she gasps, taken off guard by your lips to her collarbone again. “I want it.”

A press deep into the slick center of her panties only solidifies what she’s implying.

Her hands work with yours, sliding her out of the last piece like clockwork, her tongue clashing against yours as she shuffles herself up against the headboard, but you lean down to keep her in place. The sooner you pin her down to reach her soft spots, the more likely she’ll break within minutes - it’s all part of the plan.

Giving her a heads up wasn’t an option, and that’s proven so when your fingers slide up against her slick folds, getting a feel for what’s to come when you eventually push inside and spread her open, teasing by dipping no more than your fingernail into her cunt, rubbing her clit to up the sensitivity.

“You fucking tease, I know- ah-” she spits, squirming at your touch, the friction becoming a necessity. Her inner thighs press together, holding your hand hostage. That only prompts you to traverse your fingers deeper into her pussy, and she moans. “R-right there.”

She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, or her legs, let alone her entire body in this state. The pleasure is too much to bear, and the snowball effect keeps on building. You kiss her again to keep her mind off the finger fucking you’re doing to her; she digs her nails into your forearm, pulling you by the neck to deepen the lip lock. As much as you’d love to eat her out into the night, the way that she is right now is just enough for your satisfaction.

“God, yes- fuck-”

You know that she’s almost there; all it takes is a little push. She’s grinding her hips against your hand, the three digits inside her too much to handle. Each whimper and moan and sigh she lets out is nearly bittersweet to hear and witness - pitiful that she got herself like this for you, and there’s nothing that she can do about it.

“Gonna make you cum so much,” you say huskily, pressing your forehead against hers as you feel her eyebrows mesh and rise, unsure of what to focus on. But you know exactly what it is, and it’s that euphoric rush that she won’t admit to having a craving for. “Can you do that for me? Be my good little girl and do as I say?”

Her bobbing goes frantic; she doesn’t care either way, it’s happening regardless.

“These fucking fingers,” Rosé grits, her first words that aren’t an ‘mmm’ or ‘ah’ or ‘hah’ in a while. “Baby, baby, holy shit, you’re fucking me so well with your hand, I’m so close- shit, I’m so fucking close.”

“Yeah? Let go, Rosie. I want to see you cum for me.” She pulls you in to keep her mind off of your hand, hips bucking at an insane rate. You could feel the shake in her thighs, sliding in and out of her cunt - the press of your thumb on her clit an additional point of pressure. Her eyes open and close, lazily matching the pace of your fingers and steadying.

All it takes is one more slide; one more press, and she’s fucking gone.

The sight is the holy land you’ve managed to see time and time again: watching her cum on your fingers. It’s in the rosy blush spread on her face, and you’re pretty sure that she’s squirted a bit onto your arm, but you bear no mind to that.

“There we go, would you just- look?” You’re enamored, amazed. Your Rosé is so pliant and willing to let you have control so easily that it shouldn’t be this straightforward to do.

“God, the fucking mess. Rosé-”

And the sigh is just heavenly.

She’s shaking her head in disbelief. Your fingers are still inside her, hauling past the edge of her orgasm that she can’t do anything about it.

You eventually give her a minute or two to breathe. Because she deserves it.

Unfortunately: one thing was never going to be enough for someone like Rosé.

Because she’s the kind of person who will always want to see things to the end. Usually, there’s a pause, a breather, probably the overhanging thought of what you’ve done to her again for the thousandth possible time on this trip - in these four walls - a glass of water would also suffice, or a bathroom break, but not tonight.

Rosé’s fingers are fast around the button of your pants, and you get the hint right away. You can easily tell from the glint in her eyes that if you don’t take her cunt and fuck her apart the way that she wants, there’s certainly going to be irreversible damage. This is all you are doing. It’s the match of madness that you don’t want to admit but accept wholeheartedly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insane?” You ask, hand coiling her waist, pulling her close, thumb at the edge of her belly button.

“Hmm, I think someone has, but I might need a refresher of sorts,” Rosé replies, a sultry smile as she watches you lick up her mess spread across your digits. “Add that to the number of things you’re willing to fix.”

“Who said anything about fixing?” You dart back, reining her in by the waist, listen close to the stack of laughs, break down with every rumple and fold you do to her arms and legs.

She glances at your throbbing cock waiting at her entrance, slipping the tip right in as a test, the rest to follow along until the noises coming out of her are broken, relieved.

“Okay,” she’s saying, shimmying down your length, and raising her hips. “Impress me.”

So, you get one thrust in for good measure, her hands braced around your back and legs finding a foothold around your hips. “How’s that so far?”

Rosé’s fucking arch. Her pussy grips around you like a fist - hot and tight. She looks up and then at you, softer, prettier, and you’re beginning to wonder if it was ever worth getting stranded with her for a week and not ending up like this. It’s in the sound, the feeling; fucking her in this fashion: sliding yourself in and out of her so nicely. Clinging. Dragging. Every night after the first has always been like this. And the things she says:

“Bet that feels good, right?” Pulling you from the back of your head, leaning down. “Just keep- keep, fuck, baby, like that. Holy shit, I fucking can’t-”

Here she goes again: the praising. She’s scratching your scalp, patting your back. Nails down your spine. The tempo has her gasping in a sweet tone. “Have you like this and fuck, goddamit,” you sigh, and she looks at you like she knows what the fuck you’re talking about.

You snap into her hips a little harder the next stroke. Pounding deep in her cunt was the eventual endgame. Her stomach dips with her next breath. Sucks her lips in.

Oh, and that whimper; that bubbling whimper mixed into a wail of some sort. She’s looking at you; deep into your eyes where she wishes to see that part of that universe she knows she should’ve never left in the first place. Her smile is lazy. She’s got that fucked-out gaze written all over her.

“Too much?” you say, diving into the curve of her jaw to where she moans at the contact.

“Never,” she mumbles, cock drunk at the continuous pressing you’re doing inside of her.

“Good,” you rasp.

“Baby, baby, baby,” Rosé purrs, nails clawing away the skin and sweat off your back, clutching, “Please keep fucking me.”

You bite a patch of skin away from the underside of her chin. You would rather be on the back foot here - dialing it down, but she won’t utter a complaint; she wants to feel this, how hard you can be with her. She’s taken you plenty of times before, getting her so wet at the thought of fucking her raw and dumping your load until it’s dripping down her inner thigh, watch her gasp and beg for the taste when you pull yourself out and she’s almost at the edge too.

“Not leaving you until I’ve had enough,” you’re panting, carving your dick down to the base, thumbing her clit, a twisted evil smile painted across your lips when she’s wailing out of her mind - the mere image and sound of it is obscene.

The pace is unrelenting, it wasn’t long until she’s cumming over your cock again, and again, and again - cutting off all the tension that’s building up in her spine as you’re holding the shivers spread across her body, unable to fight back but let you take her pussy so fucking well that the noises are bouncing off the walls, mix the heat into the open air, slide yourself out and slap the head of your cock on her swollen folds before letting her walls clench around your shaft. She might be fucked out, but you know that she still wants it.

“Please-’ she’s pleading, and you know. You can tell from her face and body alone that she’s not done yet.

You’re leaning down on top of her again, hooking your arms underneath her shoulders that makes the upper profile of her back fold at a ridiculous curve, and fuck her down that you’re hitting all the right places-

Her chest is heaving, nothing more than just sputtering pants - something that Rosé doesn’t register in her head right away; the air gets trapped at the bottom of her throat, swallowing, her eyes crinkle as there’s no sound coming out.

You land your lips on hers to ease her mind. “In your nose, Rosie. Like so. There we go. Leave your pussy to me. You’re so good, you’re so so good.”

Rosé’s head knocks into yours; a fierce wail pierces your ears. You can feel the clench a little tighter when you bottom yourself out; her stomach is moving in a concerning motion. Her gaze on you is almost a mix of shock, tears welling up in her eyes.

You’re kissing her again, swallowing her cry. “Shhhh.” you comfort her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” you hush, wrapping your arm to her lower back so she can stay close. “You can cum again baby, I won’t hold you back.”

Her head goes sideways, the first domino to fall. You can see her mouth shape into something coherent - probably a dragged-out wheeze, okay, fuck, just, yes.

“More, please, give me more,” she says. “Your cock, its- fuck, baby- I-”

“I know sweetheart,” you croon, impaling your cock deep in her cunt. “I’m working with you here. You’ll let me use your pretty little pussy whatever way you like, huh?”

It’ll be seconds before Rosé cums again, the wear and tear your minds and bodies are having are reaching its peak. The other times of fucking were just a competition of who can get off the other first. This time it was different; now it was getting someone over the edge first over the other - no telling how far this has gone on the scales of fucked up.

She mouths a ‘yeah’, and the situation has never been more clear. You have to fuck her. You can’t help yourself. The nodding is only prompting you to keep going, her voice completely shattered. “Just- use me.”

Right in the clamp of her melting cunt. In the tightening of her legs.

“Fucking-” she’s sobbing at this point; you’ve got yourself in the prime position to where your cockhead hits the deepest spot of her cunt. “s-so good. That’s so fucking good, you’re pounding me so well-”

She shrieks when you’ve pushed her past that brink. You’re entirely certain that it was your doing.

This was the swan song you’ve sought out to hear. A hymn played in a time of reflection - collecting your thoughts and offering them to Rosé, hoping that she can accept your blessings and absolve you of your crimes, ordaining yourself to all good actions from this point moving forward. You’ll take this liturgy for as long as you’d like; worshiping her body and listening to all the psalms that are coming out of her mouth, holding her close as she rides out the lasting remnants of her orgasm - your name as a saint’s prayer and one that she’ll keep on speaking in tongues with over and over and over until she believes it to be true. You confess, through these harsh thrusts into her cunt with your cock, choking on the vice with a vicious finesse at the angle.

(You’d wish you stayed at the cathedral a little longer than you did that day; confessing your sins was always going to be easier than pouring a heart out for someone who ripped it right out of you.)

“Amazing,” you praise, and Rosé does this mix of a smile and a wince when you’re wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Her hands guide yours down to the crease of her hips, enabling you to rock her cunt down like the lovely woman that she is.

Her voice is rattled, helpless. Like she’s been chopped up, the cracks clear as day where the faults formed. “Want- want it- I want your cum, so fucking bad, please-”

You grin when she grins, finally reaping the reward when you tug yourself up and splatter your cum all over her body. Her chest does this circular motion, arms digging deep into the mattress beneath her, wanting her skin to be soaked so well with your release. She can’t stop moaning. She doesn’t want to stop moaning.

“Finally,” she sighs, whimpering, mouth twisting to a satisfied smile at the corners. “God, it’s so fucking much.”

Her hand picks up the mess spread across her waist, wraps it around your cock in no time flat. The laugh she lets out when you groan is just sinister.

Two can play that game.

She freezes when you slide your cum-soaked cock back into her dripping cunt; listen closely at the mere gush as you slide in once more.

“Babe-”

You push.

“Think I can give more, just for good measure,” reassuring, and you hold her down so hard that the next load you give is caught deep inside her cunt.

Pushing it all back in, where it stays.

Her eyes pinch - and there’s no voice to be heard. All that’s shown is her slacked jaw, the air in her lungs passing through, soon filled with the shape of your lips pressed against hers.

"It's so- it's so fucking warm inside me, baby-"

"Yeah?"

Rosé sniffles again as her body tries to shudder out the cum leaking from her slit. You don't let it happen though.

You keep breathing her in; she brackets your hips with what little strength she has left. It doesn’t take much, and you know.

Because Rosé’s got you right where she wants, to the point where your bodies are so well molded into one where each heartbeat and thought are the same, feeling the suction of her pussy wrapped around your cock like it’s the missing piece. Half of ones together make a whole. Your cock fits so well. Above the soreness and debauchery. Once the mess is finally made. Where you’ll want to keep your cock warm and settled until you or her have finally had enough. She’s speaking nonsense still; and you just- keep- fucking going. Fucking into her cunt like it's the only thing you know how to do. Even when the throbbing subsides.

Until you decide to fully embrace her.

The heat’s still present where it stays; you don’t even make a move to clean yourself up - it’s too early for that. Instead, the sheets are pulled over you and her, take her fingers in your hands, and hold them right as they are.

You look at the clock on the nightstand; a little before midnight. “We’re showering together, right?” Rosé pouts her lips, burrowing her head into the space of your collarbone, hand held up and over scratching your hair.

“Yeah,” she says, nestling her head further up against your chest. “A few minutes here, please. With me. Stay with me.” The disarm is already in effect, and you wonder if you’re at the right place and at the right time; where your heart should be, it’s a brief period of pensiveness.

–

You blacked out. When your vision comes to, there’s nothing much for your eyes to see except the endless void of darkness that stretches over the room until the glow from the streetlights below breaks through the window. Each blink you do makes you wonder how much time has passed - along with the countless questions of what’s to come next. The thrum of your heart pounds heavy against your ears, but you’re breathing, and alive. You also notice that the space on your right side is a lot lighter compared to earlier, the quick rush of anxiety plaguing your mind.

That all changes when you look out the window again, specks of white floating down gracefully.

It’s snowing again.

“Oh, you’re up,” Rosé’s voice instantly reels you, towel wrapped around her neck and in some comfortable clothes. “I was just about to wake you.” She crawls back on the bed to your side and kisses your cheek. The moment alone holding your heart in limbo. “Sorry, I thought I’d get ahead and use the shower first. You looked so peaceful sleeping.”

Only she would be the one to blame for that.

“Why are you dressed up?” You ask, fixing your posture and leaning into Rosé’s face for another quick kiss. She draws away playfully, wagging her head a ‘no’ that makes you lean back as a result. “We would’ve saved water if we went together.”

“It’s fine,” Rosé tuts, ruffling your hair. “Go shower and get dressed. I wanna go for a walk.”

“Really? Why? Right now? It’s late.”

“But it’s also Christmas,” Rosé adds, walking away while you’re finally sitting on the edge of the bed. “We won’t be out for long. And besides, what’s wrong with a little more cardio?”

You give her a smirk at the end in agreement. Her feet are cemented in place until you reach forward with an arm, pulling her in. Once reeled she tilts her head in surrendering because she knows that you'd be clingy without explicitly saying it.

She's back on your lap. She's yours. She can be yours again. A wish that you want to make true.

"Gonna let me go?" Rosé asks, giggling, and you kiss her.

"Maybe," you answer, leaning up for another peck since it's not hurting anybody. "Just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas."

–

When the snowflakes hit your skin, part of you on the inside is jumping for joy. It’s even better as your ears are filled with Rosé’s contagious laughter, running up the sidewalk and picking up clumps of snow in her hand.

You make sure to be right behind her, for as much as you can.

–

“This whole thing has been a blast,” she says, slowing her pace when you and she are on the edge of a bridge. In the late hours in the city, where anyone could get away with anything, it’s just you and her - five feet apart from each other, walking along, wandering wherever your feet go. “An absolute dream come true for me. For us.”

The snow starts to land on your head along with your shoulders.

“Part of me makes me wonder,” Rosé continues, hands wrapped around her long scarf, keeping her neck warm, nodding her head side to side when her eyes eventually land on the sea of locks put on the fencing of the bridge. She knows exactly where she is. You know exactly where she took you. “Would any of this be different if we didn’t go our separate ways?”

“It’s a pretty good thought,” you tell her. Your exhale shows your warm breath dissipating into the cold air, causing you to bunch up your shoulders to your ears to make the heat stay. “Makes me wonder if you’d put it in your old diary back in middle school.”

“Hey. Fuck you.”

You shrug your shoulders with a smirk and walk closer to her. “I know you. You would.”

Her feet stop at a random padlock just underneath the railing. She slides it into her palm, examining it. It’s not anybody she knows in particular - just the fact that what stood out to her was the neat handwriting of the initials drawn up in a Sharpie. You feel her gaze on you when you approach her side, taking a closer look at what’s in her hand, slotting your palm underneath.

She keeps staring at the lock, leaning your face into your chest. You bury your nose in her hair, thoughts trailing to someplace where you don’t want to think about anything else.

You point at another fancy lock decorated with gems. She points out an old-fashioned one next to you.

‘Hey,” she says once more, looking up. The lift in your eyebrows serves as the appropriate response. Silence starts to grow between you two, the gust of wind blowing through your bodies.

Rosé tries to read into your expression: stoic and mysterious. She knows that you’re not one to vocalize your thoughts out loud - instead, you stay quiet and listen obediently, waiting for your turn to speak when it’s the right time. A soft smirk spreads across her lips, knowing exactly what’s going on in that brain or yours.

You wrap your arms around her and rest your chin on top of her forehead. “I think you have a general idea of what I’m thinking about right now.”

She’s laughing into your chest, unable to look up. You look down to see what was taking her so long, only to realize that she’s hiding her tears away from the world.

Somehow, like before, you know exactly how to comfort her when the emotions are starting to boil within her. “Rosie.” You’re saying her name softly, clutching her tighter now, the grasp of your fingers reaching to where you wish for them to stay.

“I just wished that maybe-” and her voice breaks. Composure is starting to weigh down on your shoulders; heart rate rising in uncertainty. “Maybe if weren’t such idiots back then, we-” and the sentence doesn’t even get finished there. She’s trying so hard to put her thoughts into words, “like maybe in another life we weren’t like- well, this.”

Her face is back in your hands, the tears building and spilling all at once. You give her a look of sorrowfulness - hopelessly, desperately, longing to make her realization a reality.

“Memories, Rosé,” you’re telling her, “they’re all just memories. We don’t need the memories. Depreciating yourself isn’t gonna make anything better because we both grew.”

The tears well up in your eyes, too. You may be broken, but she’s also the same.

"I hope you can forgive me for a lot of things; for cutting you off and leaving you in the dark," she tells you, jaw twitching - unable to make eye contact, linking her fingers with yours, "but if there's one thing you choose to never forgive me on, my dear, is the fact that I wasted all your precious years."

(I know, you’re saying to her, in tandem with a verse that you’ll recite as penance once you and her part ways. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care about any of that. I just want the both of us to be there for each other, no matter what happens in between.)

–

As of now, you’re mentally checked out from all the logistics once everything’s been checked in at the airport, waiting to board. Rosé’s dozed off on your arm. She thought that it was a good idea to get less than the usual six hours of sleep and her current state serves to be the consequence. The scarf draped around her shoulders was yours, adamant in wanting to save another keepsake from you; she claims that it looked better on her. (Which is a bit of an insult, you think. Though it’ll do the job of covering up the bruises along her neck just fine.)

But, things are played out differently in the final act of the return trip.

You hear her flight announce the boarding phase and tap her shoulder to wake her up. She shoots up instantly, blinking. Everything else falls into place: gathering her belongings, rolling up her luggage to where she can grab and go, fixing up her appearance with that one pair of sunglasses that she likes so much, but doesn’t wear just yet. You walk with her to the main walkway of the gates, getting all of the last looks you’ll possibly have in these last few moments.

The familiarity with distance affects the healthy human mind to think of it as some sort of curse rather than a luxury - depending on the situation, you’ll take it with a grain of salt.

Her arms are folded with her handbag and jacket, staring at you so eagerly. “So, you just gonna stay quiet this whole time or-”

You scoff, because it’s the truth - and so like you. “Uh- well, I was just wondering,” you say, scratching your head shamelessly. “Are you sure you want go forward with this?”

Rosé bobs her head for yes. The decision’s already been made; no point in changing it. “Unless you want to create a shit storm with our friends when we get back, then by all means go for it.”

“Right.” you deadpan. “Just for accountability.”

“If things do go south, you know where my flight’s headed. And given the present situation that you’re in, I’m in no position to make that choice for you,” she says, looking over to the tv board to see where her boarding gate was at. “Guess this is it, " she declares, sighing, "any last things or words you want to do or say?”

You say something. And you do something. You pull her in for a hug, get the last whiffs of her coconut scented shampoo in her hair; she kisses you. You kiss her forehead as her eyes flutter shut; you hold her a bit too long for your liking, but tells you that she doesn’t mind. Don’t be far away, okay? At least let me catch up for once.

She tells you: never. It’s a running inside joke. The classic game of cat and mouse, an old fabled goose chase; you’ll keep going after her even when you don’t expect it to happen. She’ll lure you back in so easily that all it doesn’t sound terrible as it seems.

–

When you do settle on the plane, you have your moment of getting the window seat. Your eyes are getting familiar with the arraignment, how cramped the leg room is, the assortment of movies you know that you’ll sleep through. There’s a lot of things circilng around your head; either one at a time or all at once. This fever dream is coming to and end, and you’re left torn to not tell the tale.

You check your phone and turn off do not disturb, taking in all the notifications that you missed the past few days. The work messages, fill-ins with coworkers and friends; then there’s Jennie’s messages.

“I’m so fucked.” You manage, muttering under your breath. Tongue tip to your teeth to mentally prepare youself for what’s to come.

–

(You keep thinking about that night on the bridge, holding Rosé in your arms - in midst of the cold weather hitting you. She tells you that this getaway was everything to her, and it’s the simplicity in the delivery that makes you want to share those snap-shot moments with her even more. Nothing else mattered to you: managing to fall in love with her all over again.

We can try, you’re saying, we can always try again, and she smiles through the tears. You and me. Together. Properly.

“I’ve always loved the idea of starting over. It’s exciting. All of these things. All of these moments we spent together, it just felt right,” and her gaze goes crestfallen. “Never really thought that I’d come back to you, and I couldn’t be more proud.”

And once you’re way up in the sky, it does feel like some sort of whirlpool back into the reality of life, the final fade to black shot - you look out the window and ponder: a choice can be made still. All of the stars have to align at just the right time for it to happen. It can happen. You could alter the course of the story if you just made the right calls. Maybe you will.

Your gaze falls down to the ocean below - and maybe it’s a long shot, winding into a pipe dream.

You’ll never realize what you can do unless you take the chance.)

#blackpink smut #blackpink rosé #blackpink rosé smut #rosé smut #kpop smut #park chaeyoung #male reader #kpop fanfic #idol x male reader #kpop x male reader

627 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 3 days ago

Text

complicated

y/n meets someone, only to find out that he's going to be her stepbrother

wordcount: 17.3k+

—————

(Y/N)'s mouth pinched as she looked at the aisles of wine before her. Knowing her Uncle Mick, he wasn't even going to have a sip, not when he had whisky in the cabinet instead. But, it felt wrong meeting his new girlfriend—fianceé, actually, as of last weekend—empty handed. She wanted to make a good first impression, especially since she hadn't made any serious efforts to come by and meet her until her uncle dropped the proposal on her.

Truthfully, it was because of her uncle; he was a hopeless romantic who had told (Y/N) on more than one occasion that he had fallen in love with someone he'd just met in the years since his wife had passed. It was hard justifying taking time off from work and booking plane tickets for a short-lived relationship.

But, that obviously wasn't the case this time. He'd been raving about this woman—Anne—for the last six months. Enough so that he purchased a ring and wanted to marry her as soon as they could thread something together. And her Uncle Mick wanted her to be a part of the whole process—she was the daughter he never had, he'd said.

So, even if he wasn't going to take a single sip of whatever rosé she picked out, she was going to do it anyway. She needed to get to know this woman and let her know that she was going to be welcomed with open arms into this small, but loving family.

Perusing down the aisle, (Y/N)'s eye caught a bottle with a golden foiling around the cork. The label was especially pretty, printed in French with a year on it that would take at least a couple of minutes for (Y/N) to do the math on. It was pretty, and undoubtedly more worth more money than she planned on spending tonight. But, that was the point, she thought.

She'd make more money, but her uncle wasn't going to get married again. (She hoped, anyway).

The only problem? It was on the very top shelf and nowhere near the edge. She wasn't going to be able to reach it unless she called for help from one of the employees wandering around here. They didn't particularly seem to be in the mood, though. She didn't blame them, what with this being how they spent their Friday evening, watching every patron come in looking for some liquor to kick the night off.

Looking around, she wondered if there was anything around here, one of those pokers that many retail spaces used to get high up t-shirts off the top racks. She knew the idea was stupid before she even finished the thought, but she couldn't completely ignore the hope that fizzled in her chest.

Okay, maybe if she stood on the tips of her toes and reached really hard, then jumped she could reach it. Yeah, she could try that. Hopefully, she would only be able to reach the bottle she wanted and not knock over the plenty of other ones lining the shelves.

With her hand blindly reaching the top of the shelf, fingertips grazing the empty surface, (Y/N) readied herself to jump as high and controlled as she could.

"Do y'need help?"

The stranger's voice knocked her out of her plan. At the end of the aisle was a man with curling brown hair looking at her with a pinch between his brows. He had a white button up covering his torso, a light blue cardigan slouching over his form. He didn't wait for his answer before he started towards her.

"Um," she started, dropping to stand flat on her feet, "Yeah, actually. Thanks."

"Of course," he smiled, relief unstitching his brows. "'M happy I caught y'before y'jumped. I don't think that would have worked out like y'hoped."

"Me neither," she laughed, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, "But thank you. I was trying to reach the gold one on top."

His smile was kind as he effortlessly reached for the bottle. (Y/N) couldn't help the way her eyes dropped over him, appraising every inch. Rings glittered on his hands, some with gaudy gems, others nothing more than brassy bands. The cardigan she had seen across the aisle was actually a knitted depiction of a cloudy sky, fluffs of clouds stitched into the material. His trousers were a warm brown, matching the belt cinched around his waist and shin of his shoes. As he reached, his hand had a cross inked between his thumb and forefinger.

He was really cute. Really, really cute. In a real way, she considered if he was a model. Why a model like him, with a perfect nose and shattered green eyes, would be in the wine aisle of the liquor store of her home, she had no idea, but she was grateful for whatever circumstances put him here.

Blinking away from him in hopes of concealing just how intently she had been staring at him, (Y/N) graciously took the offered bottle in his outstretched hand.

"Thanks," she smiled, "Thinking now, I don't think my plan would have worked."

The man in front of her settled in, hands in pockets as he gazed down at her. "Yeah? Rethinking the jump?"

"Oh yeah," she laughed, "I think my bag alone would have knocked down an entire shelf."

A short, breathy laugh fell from his lips. "Definitely. Would've ruined your night before 's even started." He gave a pointed look to the bottle in her hand.

"Oh no, I'm just going to my uncle's house for dinner. He probably wouldn't have even noticed if I was soaked in wine with glass stuck in my jacket as long as he had food in front of him."

The man hummed, giving a slow drag of his eyes over her form. "I don't know. You're hard to ignore."

Her skin was decidedly warmer under his gaze. She couldn't bite back the grin that sparked over her features.

"In a good way?" she chirped, blinking up at him as if he were the sun and she a flower.

He had dimples. Her breath clung to her throat.

"Only the best," he flirted, shifting on his feet as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He hesitated before reaching for the device. A beat passed as she let him read the notification, his lips thinning before glancing up at her. "I have to get going, but... I hope this isn't weird to ask, but could I have your number? Or whatever y'would want to share?"

The man had come off so confident, approaching her without prompting. Lazily dragging his eyes over her with his hand shrugged in his pockets, entirely sure of what he could offer her should she take him up on it. But, now, asking for any way to contact her, he had struggled to find his words. She watched as he attempted to form the best way to ask for her number, a thin smile on his lips.

She only nodded her head. "I can give you my number."

The man before her brightened, dimples and bunny teeth on display. "Cool," he muttered, offering his phone up the same way he had offered the wine.

Typing in her information, she glanced at him through her lashes. "My name's (Y/N), by the way."

"Oh, yeah," he rushed out, breathing out a huff of laughter, "That's right—names. 'M Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she smiled, passing his phone back, "Thanks, again."

"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, looking down at the new contact on his phone. "Of course. I'll—um—I'll text you soon. Have a nice night at your uncle's."

"Have a nice night," (Y/N) said, biting back her own grin.

Harry hesitated in his spot for a moment, looking at her with pretty green eyes and fluttering lashes before forcing himself to take off.

He only glanced back at her twice.

—————

Sitting in her rental car, the drive to Uncle Mick's house mapped on her phone, (Y/N) took a moment in the silence.

What kind of romantic comedy had she just found herself in? Giving out her number to random, pretty boys she met in the liquor store of all places. If she found out this had been a bad choice later, she would blame the cloud cardigan and the shades of green in his eyes. Anyone would melt when faced with those.

Pushing the car into drive, (Y/N) allowed herself to wonder for a moment just how long she would have to wait for him to message her. She hoped she wouldn't have to wait very long at all before she had a chance to see him again.

—————

(Y/N) felt out of breath as she approached the front door of her Uncle Mick's house, as if she had ran here instead of driven.

The traffic on the way here had been humbling to say the least. And to think she called his place her hometown when she had turned into the wrong subdivision twice and was shocked every time another stoplight blocked what she remembered to be a straight path home. She could do another other than watch her arrival time drift further and further than the eight o'clock they had agreed upon.

Clutching the neck of the wine bottle, (Y/N) figured thirty minutes late was better than not showing up at all. Despite having texted her uncle when she pulled up, she still pressed the doorbell. On the other side, she heard the clattering of overgrown feet with barking following shortly after. Flipper was awake, then.

She was stuck outside for only a minute before the knob clicked and turned. Uncle Mick pulled the door open, smiling lips and crinkled eyes the first things she saw.

"Hi, honey," he greeted, pulling her into a hug while Flipper went crazy behind him, "You made it."

"Hi, Uncle Mick," she smiled, feeling suddenly emotional now that she was hugging him. It had been way too long since she saw him—the man that had raised her from the age of eleven. She hugged him especially tight at the thought. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too. But you're here now, and we've got dinner warming in the oven for you." His kind smile only widened when he saw her gift in hand. "And you brought wine! Did I tell you this one was my favorite?"

(Y/N) blinked. "Since when did you have a favorite wine?" she asked, passing off the wine as she locked the door behind herself.

Her uncle shrugged, tipping his chin up in faux-superiority. "Can't a man change, (Y/N)? Or must I always drink acetone?"

She let out a bubbling laugh as she followed after him, petting Flipper on his shaggy head. Trailing through the living room, she could see the lighting in the dining room, the chandelier that had gone unused for most of her childhood now lit at full power. A scented candle now dotted the coffee table, along with fluffy throw pillows and a knitted blanket on the sofa.

The entire house seemed... softened. Eased into another phase of life that included delicate edges and soft-scented air. This woman must really be something to get Uncle Mick to take down his fish of the month calendar.

Approaching the threshold, (Y/N) braced herself to follow after her uncle. She was going to have to start the night with an apology.

Mick started the introduction, stepping aside when he said her name as if presenting her to a ballroom instead of his fianceé.

"Sorry, I'm late. I—"

Her words became stuck in her throat.

Sitting in one of the four chairs at the small table was Harry. Cloud cardigan and all.

What the fuck was he doing here?

"You alright, kiddo?"

Blinking back to earth, (Y/N) nodded her head. "Yeah sorry," she muttered, forcing out a laugh, "I forgot what I was saying, as I was saying it."

A round of laughter filled the room. Including Harry's.

Making a point to avoid the end of the table that his chair sat, (Y/N) pointed her smile at the pretty, dark haired woman sitting right next to where her uncle had set himself up.

"Sorry," she started, again, walking around the table to meet the woman halfway. "I wish I could have come around to meet you sooner. You must be Anne."

(Y/N) had her hand outstretched to shake, only to be pulled into a warm hug. The embrace was soft and comforting, just like the effect she seemed to have on her uncle.

"Don't worry," the woman, Anne, smiled, "Mick has told me all about your job, so I understand. Thank you for taking the time to come down and see us. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

She had kind eyes, hazel with shatters of a familiar green. Just the reminder had a flush plucking at her cheeks, knowing who was sitting just behind her.

"It's really nice to meet you too, Anne," (Y/N) smiled, hoping the natural turn of the conversation wasn't the one that this would take.

Her hopes were shot down when Anne gestured behind her, her grin only widening.

"(Y/N), this is my son, Harry. He's down visiting from work too."

Harry. Harry was her uncle's—who was really like her father for all intents and purposes—fianceé's son. The man that would be as close to a bother as she could get as soon as this wedding happened, was the same one she had thought about going on a date with all during the drive here.

He seemed to have the same shock running through his system as she stood from his chair. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Nice to meet you, (Y/N)."

Boundaries were maintained as they shook hands. Even if she was, unfortunately, taken aback by how large his palm was compared to hers. Warm and encompassing around her fingers.

Matching his gaze, she could see the matching panic she was sure was also written on her face. They both felt that flirty energy in the wine aisle. They had only been cut off because they had somewhere to be—which happened to be the same place.

Her name was in his phone with a pink heart emoji.

And now they were just a wedding short of being step-siblings.

"Nice to meet you, Harry."

Forcing herself to pull her hand back, (Y/N) made the self-serving choice of looking towards her uncle. Whatever had conspired between her and Harry had gone unnoticed if the beaming grin on Mick's face was anything to go by.

"I can help with dinner," (Y/N) offered, hoping for a reprieve in the form of the quiet kitchen, "You said it was in the oven, right?"

"Oh yes, dinner," Uncle Mick laughed, "The lasagna is in the oven. Thank you, (Y/N)."

That was all the permission she needed before scurrying off to the kitchen. She moved on robotic limbs to the appliance, but stopped short of pulling open the door.

Instead, she leaned over the stove, hands braced on the ledge.

What kind of tragic comedy had she found herself in?

—————

"Goodnight, kiddo. Thanks for coming tonight."

(Y/N) hugged her uncle that much tighter. She could hear the sincerity in his voice; this was about more than a dinner she had managed to make it down for.

"Goodnight, Uncle Mick."

Their embrace lasted a beat longer before she unraveled herself from his hold. Over his shoulder, she could see Harry having a moment with his mother. Seeing them side by side like that, the resemblance was so clear. Even down to the set of their teeth and the cheekbones.

Especially when they smiled at each other like that.

"Still on for breakfast in the morning?" Mick asked, fatherly affection painting his features.

"If you can pick me up, yes," she conditioned, batting her lashes and beaming up at him.

"As long as you're up and ready to go, I can make that happen."

She pulled him into another hug to show her thanks. "I'll see you in the morning. Love you."

"Love you too, kiddo. Get to bed so you don't keep me waiting."

Heading towards the door, (Y/N) threw a glance over her shoulder, intending to wave to her uncle one more time, only to catch Harry following in her footsteps. Her lips thinned. She knew he was on his way out too, but she had hoped she was moving faster than him. Now It would be weird to rush out ahead of him and let the door slam in his face. Especially if this was now her soon-to-be stepbrother.

Harry's pleading eyes met hers. Begging her to wait just a second for him. She supposed, even if she wanted to avoid it, they needed to talk about this at some point.

Now, they both were waving goodbye to their respective parents. Final declarations of how nice it was to meet one another were shared, following them out onto the chilly stoop. Silence fell over them as the door sealed behind them.

Just the two of them now. (Y/N) and her almost-stepbrother. (Y/N) and the guy she had just short of fantasized going on a date with only hours earlier.

His steps slowed to match hers.

"So," he started.

She didn't offer any words. Was now when they acknowledged the obvious flirting they shared in the liquor store? Or were they going to save that for the wedding?

"Kind of fucked up, huh?"

At that, (Y/N) couldn't help but to laugh. The sound was surprisingly loud, breaking into the quiet neighborhood.

"That's exactly what I was thinking," she murmured, coming to a stop next to her car. Daring to look up at him, she caught him already looking down at her. His eyes were just as pretty now as when she saw him for the first time that night. Before she knew her adoptive dad was marrying his mom. "Did you... You didn't know before, right?"

A pinch appeared between his brows. "No. Had no idea. The last time I was down here was two years ago, when I helped my mum move."

"That's crazy. The last time I was here was two years ago, too."

A rueful smile touching his lips. They were both having the same thought.

If only...

"They seem really happy together, though," (Y/N) posited, knowing they were going to have to accept the terms of their newfound relationship.

"Really happy," Harry agreed, glancing back at her childhood home, "'S been a long time since I've seen my mum that happy."

"Same for my uncle." (Y/N) nodded her head, her smile thin when Harry turned back towards her. Whatever she had started knitting for him this evening, now needed to be severed. "It was really nice to meet you, Harry. Thanks for everything tonight."

Faint dimpled dented his cheeks. "It was nice to meet you, (Y/N). Get back to your hotel safe."

"You, too," she reciprocated, pulling open her car door. Harry took a step back, his hands in his pockets as his eyes followed her. "Oh," she gasped, "You should probably change my name in your phone, by the way. I think the emoji might throw some people off."

At that, she was granted Harry's bursting laughter as she climbed into her car. She probably felt a little bit too much pride over that.

Pulling out of her uncle's driveway and out into the street, she couldn't help but peek into her rearview. Though a part of her wanted to think Harry had his eyes following her, the other part of her was quick to send a reminder that that wasn't something she should want. Not anymore.

While there wasn't anything serious that had conjured between them, the potential having been torn from their hands was enough to feel a little bit of loss. They hadn't even had time to mess it all up themselves.

Now they'd never know.

—————

Tucked away in her cubicle, (Y/N) smiled at her phone.

The group chat labeled Wedding Party complete with every floral emoji the keyboard had to offer was going crazy. But, she still went to the single message from Harry first.

I love my sister so much but I think I'm going to have to block her if she sends one more Pinterest board to my mum. This whole thing was supposed to be small and now we're looking at a gelato bar for the reception.

There wasn't even supposed to be a reception.

She covered her mouth as if that would make the grin growing over it obsolete. She knew well what he was going through. For the first two months of this engagement, all talks of the wedding had been flippant, that the ceremony would happen when it happened. In a matter of weeks, everything had changed. There was now a joint bachelor and bachelorette party to plan.

Harry had been her lifeline through this roller coaster. They didn't talk about the night in the wine aisle, never breaching the previous terms of their acquaintance. Instead, they had grown to be friends. Good friends. The kind of friends that had separate conversations outside of group chats. The kind that would send anything that reminded them of one another. They had inside jokes now.

They were friends. Soon to be step siblings.

(Though, even if it wasn't something she acknowledged, (Y/N) knew good and well there was a phantom following her any time she interacted with Harry. That phantom never let her forget that she was still attracted to him. Even if no action could be taken, she wasn't going to be able to forget him as the man in the cloud cardigan with the pretty eyes and freckled nose).

I'm supposed to be figuring out a bachelor party and I think I would rather die than think about what my Uncle Mick would want to do on his last night as a "single man"

I might just change my number actually and hope no one notices

Hahahahahaha

And now we both get to be there for that last "single" night. Thrilling stuff!

You'd still let me have your number though, right?

She didn't want to admit how her cheeks warmed reading his texts. Maybe because it was something she wanted to see—though she'd never admit to as much out loud—, but she swore there was still that flirty undertone to the way he spoke to her. Like he wasn't quite over things like they were supposed to be.

Of course

I'm scared you'll go crazy without it and I still need you for the actual wedding

It was a small indulgence, telling him she needed him. While she wouldn't act like there was something astronomical that had been built between them, it was hard to ignore the fact that the more she spoke with him, it didn't exactly tamp down her feelings for him.

I know you do.

(Y/N) blinked at her phone screen. She could hear the words in his voice, that drawling accented voice. The way his eyes would have connected with hers had they been speaking in person. How there would have been a quirk in his lips, a reminder that this was very much a silly, lighthearted joke even if a part of her short-circuited.

Ignoring everything else, (Y/N) typed out a lame, noncommittal response ("You wish lol") before locking her phone and placing it face down on her desk. The email in her inbox suddenly sounded a lot more appealing than they had only a few minutes prior. Even making the copies she had been putting off for the whole morning had suddenly been pushed up the to-do list.

Anything to keep herself busy—too busy to think about Harry.

She would be seeing him again soon because of the bachelor/rette parties that were coming up within the next month, and she needed to have her head on straight. It was embarrassing to be so distracted, caught up in someone she'd only met in person once. A total of maybe six hours had been spent together that entire weekend she had visited home, counting both the initial dinner and the brunch before the both of them were to jet back to their respective homes. Each of those hours had even been buffered by the attendance of their parents.

And yet, here she was.

Forcing herself out of her seat, (Y/N) made her way to the copy room. Everything was going to be okay, she reminded herself, fiddling with the blunt edge of her master copies in her hands. She was going to see Harry, be so clearly and readily reminded that she was going to be his stepsister for all intents and purposes, and every affection she held for him was going to dry up. All she needed was to meet him once more, and wipe away the liquor store meeting from her head.

Everything was going to be fine. Perfectly fine.

As long as she somehow figured out how to mash the idea of a fancy dinner for Anne's bachelorette party with a fishing trip for Uncle Mick's bachelor counterpart.

—————

(Y/N) scrolled to yet another page of search results.

If she saw any more party bus and strip club ideas for a joint bachelor/bachelorette party, she was going to scream. There was no way she was going to down shots and dance on a pole around her uncle and her soon to be stepfamily.

There wasn't a single chance that she was the first to ever plan something like this for an older couple. Someone—one of the billions in the world—would have undoubtedly come up with an idea far before her. And yet, she was on the third page of google results, and she knew if she drifted to the fourth, she was done for.

There had to be at least something nearby that could check the boxes for both sides of the honored couple.

She was this close to booking reservations at a restaurant that had a claw machine for diners to pick out their "lobster" (looking at photos, it appeared to just be a handful of plastic lobster figurines based off of a cartoon). If Gemma hadn't already taken on so much with her mother, including planning out many elements of the wedding itself, (Y/N) would have just short of begged her to come up with something. But, that wasn't fair. She wanted to be a good soon-to-be sister and take something off of Gemma's plate, especially since she had apparently recently welcomed her first baby.

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) rubbed her temples. She needed to focus and make a decision. The reserved weekend was only a handful of weeks away, and she needed to get these plans finalized before it was too late.

At her side, her phone buzzed, the vibration scaring (Y/N) out of her skin for a brief second.

Blindly reaching, she brought her phone up, effectively blocking her laptop screen. A text message had come through. From Harry.

Are you busy?

She sighed, lips thinning as she debated answering. While she was busy, the idea of being distracted sounded much more fun than looking at another aquarium dining space—complete with a tab that would take her months to work off.

Not really why??

With that, a call came through. Also from Harry.

(YN) clutched her phone. She'd only talked to him on the phone once, and it was brief. He'd hadn't been able to reach his mother and needed quick directions to the brunch spot he met them that first weekend. She had barely talked to him, passing along the phone to his mother in the same breath as her greeting.

Tapping her thumb on the green circle, (Y/N) accepted the call before she could think better of herself. It was just Harry, she drilled into her head. Just Harry—a friend and nothing more.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you," was his greeting, his accented voice flowing through the speakers in a way that almost felt offensive. How dare he answer he as if he was just as happy to hear her voice as she was for him?

"What's going on?" she forced out, hoping it sounded a lot more casual than she felt.

Harry let out a sigh, the sound of rustling fabric audible in the background. "Nothing jus' trying to figure out m'plans for the stag weekend. Figured I'd call you since y'have all the answers."

His tone had been teasing, lilting through a smile. He knew she had been struggling to figure out what to plan for everyone, but she hadn't revealed just how much of a problem she was having. The last time they had even really discussed the topic was a week ago, when she felt as if she had all the time in the world to thread something together.

Today, after looking at the calendar and the countdown to the agreed upon dates, his poking didn't feel so funny.

"Um, yeah," she muttered, running a stressed hand down her face, "I'm figuring out everything right now, and finalizing stuff. I'll let you know for sure when I can."

A brief pause settled between them.

"(Y/N)," Harry started, his voice decidedly gentle compared to the teasing a moment before. "Y'alright?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sorry," she murmured, stumbling over her thoughts. "It's just been a little bit of a long week, so I'm really tired."

She meant to finish on a breathy laugh, lighthearted even if she didn't really feel that way. Instead, it came off as just a little bit sad.

"Bad week? Or jus' a lot?"

"A lot," (Y/N) sighed, "But it's alright. I think once I get everything figured out for the party, I'll be fine."

"If y'want, I can take over some things. I can make calls or set up reservations. Whatever y'need."

A small quirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That would be really nice, Harry," she started, resigning herself to telling the truth, "but, I actually haven't picked out anywhere or decided anything yet. It's a lot harder to plan something that has the vibe of a fishing trip, but served high-class food. The closest I've found is this place with a 'lobster' claw machine."

(Y/N) didn't have to see him to know he blanched at the idea, his scoff evidence enough that he was on the same page as her.

"Yeah , that might not be what mum's looking for," Harry laughed. (Y/N) wished she could see his dimples. "I can take a look around too, though. It might help to have some more eyes."

Her lips thinned at the idea. She was supposed to be taking this on by herself; Gemma and Harry had enough on their plate, it didn't feel fair to pawn any more tasks off.

"I don't know," she mumbled, "You and your sister are already don't so much, I don't want to—"

"(Y/N), 's alright. 'S just a couple of google searches, 's not a big deal," Harry interrupted her, his voice gentle, "'M getting a little worried about you."

He ended with a breath of laughter, though (Y/N) found it hard to buy that he wasn't sharing a little bit of honesty with her.

With her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) blinked at her laptop screen once more. If she had to figure out how to reword "fancy fishing restaurant" one more time, she might explode. If anything, it would be nice to take a small break from attempting to make these decisions.

"That would be nice, Harry. Thank you."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again, "See? I told you, y'needed me."

(Y/N) didn't even attempt to argue.

—————

Through bleary eyes, (Y/N) caught the time on her phone. One in the morning. The phone call with Harry had just hit over the four hour mark.

"But, yeah," Harry laughed, cutting himself off with a small yawn, "I don't plan on going to any of my school reunions. I don't think it'd go over very well."

(Y/N) let out a peal of laughter, the noise quiet and tired. "I think you should; it would be very funny, at the least."

"Maybe," he hummed, "If I don't get arrested."

"For something that happened ten years ago? I don't know," she countered, singing the syllables, "We'll only know for sure if you go."

"Then y'have to come with me. If I get in any trouble, 'm making it your problem."

It could be the late hour making her delirious, or the fact that she wasn't able to convincingly lie to herself at the moment, but it felt like something to have Harry casually make those future plans with her.

"I'll be there," she cemented through a sleepy smile.

A pause settled between them, the sound of rustling sheets audible through the phone.

"I should let y'go, (Y/N). 'S later than I thought," he drawled, "I didn't mean to keep you up."

"No, it's okay," she insisted, "This was nice. Thank you for helping me—and hanging out with me tonight."

I missed you is what she wanted to say. Just barely was she able to choke the thought back.

"You've got me, you know that," he promised, "But, all of the confirmations and everything should go to you. If you need anything though, you can send them to me, I don't mind."

"Thanks, H," she hummed, letting her eyes fall to a close. "I'll talk to you soon?"

"Of course—I'll probably start bothering you first thing in the morning." He spoke as if his first text message wasn't going to be the highlight of her day.

"That'll be nice," she let slip, incredibly warm with the tufts of her bedding fluffed around her, "And I'll actually see you in a few weeks."

"That'll be really nice," Harry said, something running under his tone she was too tired to examine, "'M excited, (Y/N)."

"Me too," she yawned.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," Harry drawled, tongue lingering over her name, "Sleep well"

"Goodnight, Harry," she smiled.

There was a brief moment. A pause where neither of them hung up.

(Y/N)'s breath caught, suddenly so awake compared to just a moment ago.

Then the call cut.

Four hours on the phone with him, leaving with sore, smiling cheeks and drooping, sleepy eyes.

In three weeks, she would see him again for the first time in months. Everything was going to be fine—and normal.

—————

"To mum and Mick. Congratulations."

Flutes of champagne were raised over a white-tableclothed table, sparkling and golden. Smiling faces were shared over the setting, blushing cheeks on Anne's face with an eye-crinkling smile on Uncle Mick's. The clinking of the glasses sounded in the quiet, reserved space before being brought to smiling lips.

A wonderful way to end dinner.

(Y/N) couldn't help but to meet Harry's eyes across the flute. He was already looking at her, bouncing his brows when he caught her attention.

She looked away first, cheeks warming.

"Thank you, Gem," Anne smiled, voice sing-songing over the syllables. "I love you so much, you know."

Gemma only smiled at her mother. That was definitely the third glass of champagne beginning to talk. "I love you too, mum. Just as much."

Anne's eyes watered, glossing the already glazed look over her irises. "Both of you," she said, looking to her children, "The best, you are. I couldn't be luckier."

Gemma shared a sly smile with her husband at her side as Harry opened his mouth to take on his mother's emotional reaction. Only for Anne to cut him off, turning her attention to (Y/N).

"And, you," she started, folding her hands over her heart, "I couldn't be more excited to have you in my family. Thank you for everything you've done for Mick."

Though (Y/N) thought it was a little bit funny, the slur to Anne's words and the overly affectionate way she spoke to her, but she couldn't help but to match a bit of that emotion. It was nice to hear something so loving, and know that she would be there for her Uncle Mick when (Y/N) wasn't able to.

"Of course," she smiled, hoping no one noticed the slight sniffle of her nose, "I can't wait to be a part of your family either. I know my Uncle Mick is very lucky to have you."

It was then that Anne broke, letting out a stream of sobs. (Y/N) watched as her Uncle had his own soft smile on his face, amused at his bride's antics though there was a matching sheen to his eyes. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, looking at the guests in attendance.

"Tonight was very special, you guys. Thank you," he smiled, complete joy in his eyes, "I think it's time we head home."

Gemma was quick to agree, a gentle hand on her mother's arm. "Us too," she smiled, glancing at her husband, "It's time we get back and let the sitter go home."

When neither Harry nor (Y/N) disagreed, no one hesitated to start getting up and readying for the journey home. Jackets were donned, and eyes were wiped. While Anne was busy with her children, her hushed voice emotional, Uncle Mick came right to (Y/N).

"Thanks, kiddo. Really," he muttered, "This was perfect—and I doubt it was easy." He cast his gaze through the bow windows encompassing this private room.

Outside, the shining lake rippled under the moonlight, dock rocking in the waves. The elegance Anne had requested came in the crown molding and clean decor, while Mick's requests came through in the dock outside and the fresh seafood from the kitchen. How (Y/N) had overlooked this place through her searches, she wasn't sure, but she wasn't sure she would have been able to do this without Harry.

"Harry helped a lot," (Y/N) specified, beaming up at Mick, "But I'm happy you liked it. I'm happy you're happy."

Seeing the way he looked over his shoulder at his bride-to-be, (Y/N)'s heart almost burst. How truly lucky were they. The perfect movie they made.

"Love you, kiddo," Uncle Mick murmured, wrapping her in a hug, "You going back to the hotel?"

"Probably," she nodded, "We're still looking for your suit tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," her uncle sighed, not entirely excited at the idea of the outfit, but willing to do what it took to make his soon-to-be wife happy. "I'll pick you up, okay?"

"Thank you," she smiled, giving him one more hug. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he smiled, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before departing.

Anne was passed from her daughter to her almost-husband, happily falling into his arms with loose limbs. She gave a noncommittal wave to the group following after her.

Gemma was the next to depart, hugging (Y/N) and sharing her thanks for planning this part of the evening. Harry didn't attempt to take any of the credit, only watching quietly until it was his turn to bid goodnight to his sister and brother-in-law.

Out in the parking lot, the pavement bathed in moonlight, (Y/N) rubbed at her thinly covered arms.

Just she and Harry were left.

"Tonight turned out really well," Harry commented, a dimpled smile on his face, "Good job, (Y/N)."

She shook her head. "I just confirmed everything, and you know that. Thank you for getting this all taken care of."

Harry shrugged, shoulders lifting though he kept his eyes trained on her. It had been like this for most of the night; his undivided attention had clung to her like a second skin. He came back to her every time. The end of every conversation was punctuated by his look to her face, gauging her reaction. It was thrilling, though the thrill was tempered from the fact that she knew she wasn't supposed to keen under his attention like that.

Looking out towards the water that had set the scene for the evening, (Y/N) could feel his eyes on her. She felt a bit crazy, her skin prickling under his attention. There was a large part of her that dreaded the fact that she had to head back to her hotel alone now. They'd barely had time to speak to one another as a group, let alone on their own. She doubted they would have a chance like this again for the rest of the weekend.

Harry was her family now. Maybe some extra time with him was all she needed to officially understand that. Overwrite those previous flirty memories of him with something much more appropriate.

That was why she wanted to keep the night going. That was why she opened her mouth, question on the tip of her tongue.

"Did you..." (Y/N) started, carefully picking her words as she kept her gaze out on the lake, "Are you tired?"

She could cringe at the sound of her voice tripping over her question.

"Not really," he drawled, smile audible in his voice, "Are you?"

"Not really," she repeated, daring to match his gaze. Her skin warmed when she caught him with his eyes already engaged on her. With the moon above draining the world of color around them, his eyes somehow still acted as a beacon, the green rippling like the lake. "Do you want to get a drink, or something?"

His dimples were cast in shadow, denting his cheeks as his grin grew. "I think I saw a bar not too far from here when I booked this, if y'don't mind walking."

While her dress didn't exactly agree with the weather, the chilly breeze kicking up the hem and casting goosebumps over her skin, there wasn't a single part of her that could find a reason to decline.

"Lead the way."

—————

"After you."

Harry opened the door with a flourish, bending at the waist as he gestured (Y/N) through the doorway. It was entirely too dramatic, especially for the kind of bar he had taken her to. A peal of laughter left her lips.

The inside of the bar was much warmer than the chilly air outside, enough so that even with the thin jacket on her arms, (Y/N) started to sweat. After Harry entered behind her, the door closed, sealing behind them.

The nautical bar was a drastic change to the restaurant they had just left.

Fishing nets were strewn over the ceiling, filled with weather torn life-preservers, various starfish, oysters and clam shells. Sparkling pearls were dotted throughout. The walls were decorated with different portraits depicting sea-faring legends and the glorious ships they sailed. Creaky floorboards sounded under their feet, the lumber matching that that boarded up the walls and made the majority of the round tables of the bar. The bartop itself was a candy apple-red, sleek and only a little scuffed. The mirrored back wall of the bar was lined with liquor, reflected int the low light of the establishment, only a single bartender fixing drinks for people (Y/N) had no doubt were a mix of regulars, and people like she and Harry who were just looking for a drink after touring through the area.

When a gentle hand landed on her back, ushering her forward, (Y/N) stiffened. Blinking behind her, she knew the touch came from Harry, though it still had her throat running dry just to see that it was, in fact, him looking out for her.

He cast his eyes around them as they slowly approached the bar, the whining floorboards louder than his voice, "'S a little different than the pictures online."

"Yeah?" she smiled, following his eyes to the portrait of a fishing captain with a sopping beard and hardened eyes. Truthfully, (Y/N) worried that if she looked away and then glanced back at the painting, a skeleton or ghoul would be in his place. "I can't believe that."

Harry let out a breathy laugh at her joke. Stepping to the bar, he didn't build upon their teasing, instead, pulling one of the vinyl stools out for (Y/N) to sit. Taking the proffered seat, she pretended to study the liquor bottles behind the bar instead of just how close Harry was now that he took the spot at her side. Especially when he settled in with his legs spreading, his knee touching hers.

"You kno—"

"What can I get you two?"

The gruff voice of the bartender cut Harry off unceremoniously, his tired eyes flicking between the two of them impatiently.

"(Y/N)?" Harry murmured, letting her go first as if she was going to be able to concentrate when she heard the syllables of her name wrapped in his voice.

"Um," she stumbled, looking at the bottles behind the barkeep as if it were a menu, "A—uh—a cosmo? Or just a vodka cranberry? Something like that."

The bartender bounced his brows as he grunted. He must not have liked (Y/N)'s answer as much as she didn't. Harry's order went much smoother, even if he did have to wipe the sly smile off of his lips as he asked for a whiskey, neat.

As soon as the man who could have easily been the subject of one of the paintings left them be as he started their drinks, (Y/N) hung her head in her hands. "Oh my god," she quietly groaned.

Harry nudged her with his shoulder, ducking his head to conspire with her though she didn't really feel like he was on her side given the way he had to bite back his amusement. "It wasn't that bad."

"Yes it was," she laughed, "I thought he was going to ID me and think it was a fake."

He shrugged. "We've got time."

(Y/N) let out a laugh, feeling a little less embarrassed as she turned to look at him, cheek cushioned by her hand. It was quite the feeling, to know that they really did have time. At least for tonight (after their parents joint bachelor/rette parties, of course). Then, she would come to her senses, and live the rest of her life with Harry as her legal sibling.

"Right. We've got time."

—————

"Harryyy."

"Yes?"

"Harryyy."

"Yes, (Y/N)?"

"Harryyy—"

Putting his hand out, Harry stopped her from spinning on her stool. (Y/N)'s singsong voice stopped right in its tracks when she saw him, warmth creeping up her neck, though she doubted it was from the alcohol. Even if there was a lot of that in her system.

"What, (Y/N)?" he laughed, craning his neck as he crowded around her.

"Do you think they'd let me do karaoke, even if there isn't a stage?"

Another bright laugh left Harry's lips at her words. "I think there might be a little more missing than jus' the stage, but 'm sure we can work something out. You've got to ask first, though."

Giving a slight incline of his head, (Y/N) followed to see him gesturing to the bartender. The one person in the whole room she was sure would immediately shoot down her idea. As if it wasn't a fun one.

"H, you know he's going to say no."

"I don't know," Harry crooned, "Y'should probably ask. He might like karaoke, too."

A light could have pinged over her head. He really could like karaoke, he's just shy about it. It would only take a little bit of convincing, maybe even a song or two, and he'd be so on board. Should she start with a ballad or a—

(Y/N) felt someone crowd around her, static running down her back. Harry looked over her head, lips thinning.

"Hey stranger."

Blanching at the greeting, (Y/N) whipped her head around. Behind her was a vaguely familiar face. She couldn't place the name, but she knew this man. Even if he was a bit harder to recognize out of uniform.

And acting way more familiar than a waiter should.

"Hi," (Y/N) answered with an owlish blink.

The man paused, as if waiting for something more to come out of her mouth. Nothing did.

He let out an awkward laugh, thrown off by her lack of response. "Wedding things over for the night?"

Behind her, she could hear Harry shifting over his seat. Just that much closer to her, his knee brushing against hers.

"For tonight, yeah," he answered for her, "Jus' getting a couple of drinks before going back home."

The man hummed, nodding his head. He didn't pay much attention to Harry, only looking at him for as long as it took him to finish his words before he was stitching his eyes back to (Y/N).

"You should've told me you were looking to go out tonight. I could have shown you the good spots."

It was a bit childish the way she pouted at him. "This place is good," she countered.

She wasn't going to let him speak bad about this place. Harry picked it and she was having fun.

"Well yeah, but," he started, "There's a couple of other places that look a little more your speed."

"I'm having fun here," she insisted, reaching blindly back towards Harry, "He picked it. I like it."

It was odd the way he looked at her. The way he followed her hand as she found his leg. He looked through her, searching for something more.

"Aren't you..." he started voice trailing off before Harry stepped in.

"I think we're alright for now, man," Harry said, "I think we're gonna head home soon, anyway."

Whatever this man had been looking for before had been pushed to the wayside. Something a little too fast flash through his eyes for her to decipher, though the brown of his irises lacked some of the flirty warmth from before.

He decidedly ignored Harry, looking towards (Y/N) as if Harry hadn't spoken at all.

"Let me buy you a drink at least," he charmed, dipping his head until he was level with her. "I can't lie, I was hoping that dinner wasn't the only time I'd see you."

(Y/N) blinked. She opened her mouth to say something disjointed and a little too drunk back, only for Harry to pipe up.

"I think we're alright; the tip we left earlier should have been enough. Thanks."

His hand landed gently upon her own where it sat on the cuff of his knee, warming her skin.

That searching look was back on the man's face, gaze locked on their hands.

"I thought... Isn't she your sister?" the man blanched, scoffing.

"Actually," (Y/N) hiccuped, "I'm his stepsister. But, not even that, if you want to get specific. His mom is marrying my uncle, so it's, like, legally even less than that."

(Y/N)'s bubbling didn't make much sense, but it didn't appear that this man was listening anyway. He only looked towards Harry, as if he was the one that was attempting to argue these details. A frown tipped her lips.

"We're alright, mate."

The man paused for a moment. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "Weird," before stalking away.

Her brows knitted together as she watched him leave to haunt a different corner of the bar, a group of people she hadn't noticed before welcoming him in with conspiratorial glances and whispered voices.

"Sorry," Harry muttered behind her, causing her to whirl on the stool to face him, "I should have asked if you..."

She canted her head at him. She was too drunk for things to not be spelled out. "What?"

He let out a short laugh, dropping his gaze from hers as he knuckled at his nose. "I... Did y'want to talk to him? I didn't mean to get involved if y'were..."

"No," (Y/N) shook her head, "He was being annoying. Was he from the restaurant?"

There was a line holding Harry's shoulders that seemingly was cut loose then, dropping the lines of his body into something much more relaxed. "He was, yeah. Can't remember his name, though."

"Me neither!" she blurted, reaching towards him with her hands landing on his shoulders, "I thought I was just really drunk, so that's nice to—"

As if on command, she suddenly stumbled from her stool, falling into him with a gasp. Harry didn't hesitate before his hands landed on her waist, steadying her with a tight grip. Her heart bounced around her chest as she came down from. Looking up at him through the fan of her lashes, she saw him already watching her, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

"Y'alright?" he asked, a pinch between his brows.

"Yeah, sorry," she answered, simply, melting into him despite being more than capable of settling into her own spot once more. He was too comfortable, too warm, too everything she had been thinking about for months now to move on. And she was too tipsy to know better. "Thanks for catching me."

With her cheek pressed against his chest, Harry's hold on her shifted until he had his arm around her middle. The other waved down the bartender.

"I think 's time we get y'home, love."

"No," she whined, "We just got here."

The laugh he let out rumbled underneath her cheek, warming her further from the sound alone. "Maybe a few hours ago. You've got a big day tomorrow anyway, y'need to sleep."

"Maybe," she sighed, eyes fluttering to a close as Harry handled their tab. "Are you coming tomorrow? For the suits?"

"No," he murmured distractedly, "'M going home tomorrow, remember?"

"But you just got here," she argued, suddenly offended at the idea of airports and planes and flight times. What was the point of any of that if that meant Harry would be miles and miles away from her again?

"I know," he smiled, standing from his spot with a guiding hand on her back, "But we'll see each other again soon, okay? I'll make sure of it."

She didn't doubt his promise. If Harry wanted to see her, he would make it happen.

(Y/N) could only stare at him with stars in her eyes, warmth simmering under her skin.

They had time, she reminded herself. Even if just tonight.

—————

"C'mon, (Y/N). Gotta help me, love."

"Okay."

"Love, you've gotta stand up on your own for a second, 'kay? Jus' until I get the door open, then I can help y'again."

"Okay."

"(Y/N)."

"Hm?"

Harry sighed, the curve of his lips audible. Looping his arm tightly around her waist, he continued attempting to get the keycard to her hotel room to work, all while she clung to him, almost sliding down his body now that he wasn't devoting all of his attention to steadying her.

She was too tired. How could he expect her to stand up on her own when she was so tired she almost fell asleep on the way here? It was unrealistic. Especially when he was offering his body as her crutch; he was warm like a blanket, firm yet forgiving at the same time. The perfect kind of pillow.

A faint technological beep came from behind her. Harry fiddled around for a moment before he was clutching her again.

"C'mon," he murmured through an amused smile, guiding her inside though she didn't bother to turn around and face forward with her steps. Instead, she let Harry do the heavy lifting, getting her through the threshold and letting the lumbering door click to a close behind them.

Her hotel room was small and rudimentally furnished, stiff carpet under their feet. When she had checked in, she hadn't thought much of the space. Now, through bleary eyes with Harry holding her so carefully, it was the prettiest, coziest, most comforting place she'd ever come to spend the night in.

Her clothing was still strewn out of her opened suitcase, the lamp on the side of her bed turned on with the television streaming the default channel for the hotel. A normal, sober part of herself would have felt a bit embarrassed at the sight of her panties hanging out of her luggage, knowing Harry would no doubt spot it. But, she wasn't normal or sober. She was drunk and clinging to Harry like a lifeline.

"There we go," Harry mumbled, depositing her on the edge of her bed. He stood before her, running a hand through his hair. "Y'gonna be alright?"

"Mhm," she hummed, looking up at him with what she was sure were hearts in her eyes, "Are you?"

Harry laughed. His smile, dimples and all, was more intoxicating than any mixed drink could hope to be. "I think I'll be alright, (Y/N)."

She canted her head as she looked up at him, taking in the rumpled collar of his white shirt, now sporting a smudge of her pink lipstick. "Do you really have to leave tomorrow?"

His lips thinned as he gazed down at her. "Yeah. I do."

Her lips puffed into a pout, wandering hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. "When am I going to see you again, then?"

"I don't know," he answered, lips into a lopsided smile, "Before the wedding, hopefully?"

"Just hopefully?" she whined, using her grip on his shirt to tug him down until he was forced to flop onto the mattress at her side. "I thought we'd see each other more when we found out... everything."

Harry only let out a heavy sigh. His eyes glanced around her face, searching through the planes of her features. "I know."

(Y/N) laid back on her bed, suddenly hit with a weight that she had avoided thinking about for the last few hours. She could feel Harry's eyes following her.

"I don't want to be mean," she said, speaking quietly in the empty of the hotel room, "But it kind of sucks, right?"

A beat passed.

"What do y'mean?" His voice was strained. She didn't need to look at him to know that he knew what she meant.

"Like," she started, matching his gaze, "You know. Everything. I'm happy for them, but... We get along so well, you know? At least I think we do."

A small quirk tugged at his lips. A sad curl. "We do, don't we?"

"I think we would have had a lot of fun," she smiled, biting back a yawn.

"Aren't we already?" he asked, falling back to lay beside her.

This close, (Y/N) was able to see the details that had made her heart race all those months ago. The shatters of green in his irises. The sprinkle of freckles along his nose. The scar on his chin. The uneven stubble shadowing his cheeks.

"Yeah," she exhaled, tone dreamy. She reached for him, her fingers grazing over the warmth of his cheek. "I just—I thought, when we met...I thought it would be different for us."

Harry didn't say anything. His eyes fluttered closed as she touched his face, fingertips grazing over the lines of his features. Touching his cupid's bow had her heart hammering in her chest.

"Didn't you?"

When Harry blinked his eyes open, he matched her gaze unabashedly. "I did."

Reaching up to grab her hand, he laced their fingers together and pulled the bundled limbs to his chest. "But, we're alright like this, don't y'think?" he murmured, that sad smile back on his face, "At least we never had a chance to mess anything up."

She knew he was attempting to spin her thoughts into something hopeful. That they would be happy and partners in crime together like this for the rest of their lives. And it would be okay. There would never be a need or even a thought for anything more.

But, all that stood out to her was that they never had a chance.

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth, a well of emotion crashing behind her ribs. "We never had a chance."

"Oh, (Y/N)," he crooned, collecting her in his arms until her cheek was cushioned in his neck and his arms were a comforting cage around her waist.

She melted into him, reveling in the warmth of his hold and the blocks of muscle making up his body. There was so much softness to him, with the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. So much she could have gotten to know, she thought. There were always going to be parts of him that she wouldn't know.

"I miss you already," she whispered.

"You know I've got you, love. 'M always here."

"Not in the way I want."

It was bravery in the form of alcohol and the lack of eyes on her face that made it so easy for the words to slip out. Though it didn't feel so right when his hands on her back paused.

It felt even worse when he started disentangling himself from her hold, the phantom of his arms lingering around him. He slowed when he caught her eye, his own a bit sad to match the own on his lips.

"I know," he whispered, "Me too, (Y/N). But, we're going to be alright. Like this, we're going to be okay."

She didn't stop him when he left her hotel room, the door clicking behind him. He will be on a flight tomorrow, leaving her once more.

Hopefully, he had said, that they would see one another before the wedding. Though, in the silence of the suite, (Y/N) didn't have to be sober to know she had been a mistake, speaking so blatantly. The hope he had shared that they would see each other again before the wedding was no doubt diminished.

Blinking up at the texture of the ceiling, she sighed.

What the fuck had she done?

—————

"My uncle said he can pick me up from the airport, so that should be fine."

"Good, good," Gemma mumbled, "And you're staying with me and my mum or did you want your own space for the week?"

"I mean," (Y/N) mused, "I was going to leave it up to you guys. I can get a room somewhere if you want family time, or whatever you want."

"Well, you are family now, (Y/N). You're more than welcome to stay with us. I know my mum would enjoy getting to spend time with you."

(Y/N) wanted so badly to glow at the thought of being welcomed into a family like the Styles'. She had wished for years that she would somehow find out she had a long-lost sister or any sibling at all to spend her days with.

Instead, she was grateful this was only a phone call, so Gemma didn't catch the way her lips tightened at the idea of being considered family to someone she had attempted to kiss the night of her uncle's bachelor dinner.

And been promptly rejected by, of course.

But, she was over all of that, she reminded herself. Just like Harry was.

"I think that would be a lot of fun, Gemma. Thank you," she accepted in a way she hoped was gracious.

"Mum's going to be so excited to hear that," Gemma bubbled, "That works out perfect, too, since I think Harry and Michel are going to stay with your uncle for the week. Keep up the whole tradition thing, everyone all separate."

(Y/N)'s lips pinched that much more at the mention of his name. She could still feel the way the emptiness of her hotel room settled over her when he had left. Nothing was more sobering than that, she found.

"Yeah," (Y/N) chirped, "It's cute."

Gemma let out a bubbly laugh, "Exactly. Okay, so I'll get with mum and figure out all of the little things we still need to do before the wedding, and I'll let you know as soon as I know!"

"So exciting! I can't wait." There was a part that really was very excited and was looking forward to seeing her Uncle Mick get married, eager for him to be happy again after experiencing so much grief the years prior. There was another large part of her that could wait a little longer; wait a few more months, or even a year before she saw Harry again. At least long enough for her to have forgotten that night at the bar, and have a new boyfriend.

Gemma chattered a bit more, thinking out loud as she ticked things off her list. (Y/N) was fine being her sounding board, nodding and humming where needed before sharing a quick goodbye.

Locking her phone, (Y/N) was left in the quiet of her apartment. It was a little too close to the silence at the hotel room, the experience at the forefront of her mind.

Pursing her lips, she gripped the edge of her countertop. She was going to see Harry again, in just a couple of weeks.

Should she text him? Attempt to clear the air before even seeing him?

No, it was bad enough that she had scared him off, she couldn't be the one to reach out first. Months after, even. If he wanted to talk to her, he would have by now—even if only to clear the air.

It was times like this that she wished she had siblings. If she had a brother or a sister, she wouldn't be walking into this whole thing by herself. Despite her Uncle being there, his wedding wasn't exactly the setting to let him know that she'd attempted to go out with his new wife's son—the one that would be her stepbrother for all intents and purposes.

Legally, though, she corrected herself. Stepcousins.

(Y/N) sighed. That still didn't sound very good, especially not when she usually just considered her uncle her dad, no matter what she called him.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. (Y/N) flinched back at the noise before reaching for the device.

On the screen she had a single notification. A text message from a friend.

Mitchell Row-Lund

How was the phone call? Do you have to room with that guy?

Staring at the message thread, an idea came to mind. It wasn't a good one. (Y/N) could even field an argument about how it is actually a stupid idea. But it was an idea, nonetheless.

Gemma did say she still had a plus one available. And, it wasn't like Mitch had anything going on, she knew that for a fact.

Plus, he knew some of what was going on with Harry, sans many details, but enough to understand why it was a very big deal that she couldn't go into this alone. Uncle Mick would enjoy seeing him too.

Ignoring the text, (Y/N) called Mitch's contact instead. It only took a couple of rings before he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Mitch, are you busy in, like, three weeks?"

"(Y/N)..."

—————

"Are you sure you girls don't need help with anything?"

Gemma whipped around from the stove where she was spreading the different layers to the lasagna. She gave her mother a glare.

"Mum," she reprimanded, "We're fine. You're supposed to be relaxing."

"I know, I know," she sighed, "But, I don't mind helping. I can—"

"No," Gemma cut her off, abandoning her post at the stove to escort her mother back to the glass of chardonnay waiting for her in the living room. "Your only job is to answer the door when the boys get here, and watch your show."

Anne hmphed, casting a playful roll of her eyes only where (Y/N) could see. A huff of laughter left her lips as she watched the mother-daughter duo argue before Anne relented to actually being taken care of for the night. It was sweet, the kind of banter and familiarity they had between one another. It reminded (Y/N) of the relationship she had with her aunt. It was nice to know that her Uncle was marrying into a family like this.

"When will she learn?" Gemma joked when she reentered the kitchen, casting a very familiar roll of her eyes towards (Y/N). "It's like pulling teeth to get her to relax."

"She's too sweet for her own good," (Y/N) said, continuing the chopping of the vegetables for the side salad.

"Her biggest flaw," Gemma sighed, shaking her head.

"I can hear you!"

Anne's shout from the living room drew laughter from both of them.

"Then what did I say?" Gemma shot back, giving (Y/N) a look like watch this.

A pause.

"I don't know, but I know you're whispering!"

Gemma lifted her brows like see. It was enough to pull another peal of laughter from her. It was already shaping up to be quite the night. The last one before the wedding, before Mitch would be in town and the first time she would be forced to speak in a confined room with Harry since arriving.

She had been lucky enough to avoid being alone with him, the activities and rooms having been too busy to catch more than a single glance of him before rushing through. It was the nice part about Anne and Uncle Mick wanting to uphold a bit of tradition, the bridal party and groomsmen being separated as much as possible during this last week.

(As far as (Y/N) remembered, she thought it was only the night before the ceremony where this distance mattered. She wasn't going to correct anyone, though).

But, tonight had come and her sanctuary was on a timer.

In Anne's cozy dining room, there was nowhere to hide from Harry. Especially not when this evening was considered a family dinner.

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth as she kept her eyes on her hands, attempting to focus on the strokes of the knife and not anything else. Especially not the time.

That did seem to work against her, though, when the knock on the door took her by surprise. She hadn't had time to brace herself, school herself into someone who didn't care about whatever happened tonight.

Her throat bobbed when she heard the sound of Anne's front door opening, a familiar set of voices sounding from the stoop.

Gemma practically beamed as she slid the pan of lasagna into the oven before rushing out to meet her husband, who also had her daughter on his hip. (Y/N) lingered back, listening to the sounds of the stitched together family.

This time tomorrow, her uncle would be married and she would have two new siblings. One of them being the man she could hear right now cooing to his niece.

Wiping down the knife and placing it off to the side, (YN) ran a stressed hand through her hair. Seeing her uncle would make her feel better, she thought. She'd start there.

"Hey kid," her uncle murmured when he caught sight of her. His creased eyes lit up as she stepped into his hug. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she smiled, making sure her eyes stayed stitched on his face with not even a peek over his shoulder, "How are you, though? Tomorrow's the day."

(Y/N) could see light practically dancing through his eyes when he cast his own gaze behind himself, where the cooing of a baby and her fawning audience could be heard. "Excited. Really excited."

"Good, good," (Y/N) smiled, suddenly feeling a bit choked up. She wondered if this was how he was going to feel when she had her own wedding (fingers crossed, anyway. She needed to find a partner first before considering a wedding.)

"The lasagna has a few more minutes in the oven, but (Y/N)'s salad is almost done. Harry, you can set the table."

Perking up at the sound of her name, (Y/N) regretted it as soon as she heard Harry's only a moment later. Gemma was playing the role of gracious hostess, though it didn't appear she could turn down the opportunity of bossing her little brother around.

Though, it didn't seem like he minded much at all. Harry only gave a beaming grin to his niece before poking at her stomach and making his way towards the dining room.

For the first time since walking through the door, their eyes met.

(Y/N) felt her throat run dry. The last time she saw those shatters of green, the intensity of his gaze turned in her direction, he had been telling her that there wasn't any room for what she wanted with him. That they were going to be okay—whatever that was supposed to mean.

All after she had so clumsily fallen all over him, even attempting to kiss him.

Harry only cracked a small, polite smile. Not a single dimple or crease on his freckled nose appeared.

"You made a salad tonight?" Uncle Mick asked her, ripping her back to reality, "And you still have all your fingers?"

Turning to face him, (Y/N) plastered a smile on her face, playing into his small joke. "Barely. Gemma had to sew my pinky back on, but I think it should be better by tomorrow."

Her uncle let out a boisterous laugh at her jest, none the wiser to whatever had passed between her and Harry only a breath before.

This was going to be a long dinner.

—————

"Dinner was wonderful, ladies. Thank you."

Uncle Mick handed out praises to the women at the table, though Anne was quick to shrug it off.

"It was all the two girls," she insisted, "I was quarantined to wine-and-couch duties."

(Y/N) didn't have to peek under the table to know that her uncle had squeezed his bride's hand. All she needed to see was the affection that painted his gaze as he looked at her. "Well deserved," he muttered to her before looking to where (Y/N) and Gemma were sitting side-by-side, "Thank you two, then. Everything has been amazing."

Gemma gave a similar reaction to her mother, shrugging it off with a shy smile on her face. "Of course. It's the least we could do for the happy couple, right?"

She gave a look to (Y/N) the shadow of dimples in her cheeks. Too much like Harry, (Y/N) thought. She still made sure to nod and smile along.

"I'm happy everyone liked it," (Y/N) interjected, hoping she sounded more present than she really felt. Especially when she could feel eyes on her—eyes she had been pointedly avoiding all throughout the meal.

Anne stood up, beginning to collect dishes from the mats around the table. "I can start cleaning up, and—"

"Mum, no. I thought Gemma told you that you're not supposed to be doing any hard work tonight."

Harry's clear voice had (Y/N) blinking, her spine stiffening as she kept her eyes on her soon-to-be aunt.

She scoffed at his words. "Doing the dishes in my own home is far from hard work, Harry. You kids—"

"Anne," Uncle Mick piped up, a gentle hand landing on her arm, "Let them take care of this. There's still some time before I think we call it a night, and there's wine still in the bottle."

(Y/N) watched as Anne's eyes softened, features flourishing into a gentle smile.

"Oh alright," she relented, "Just for tonight. And, maybe tomorrow."

That was (Y/N)'s cue to begin collecting the dishes herself. Gemma had done the hard work by putting together the main part of the meal, and deserved a moment with her child and husband. Besides, the quiet of the kitchen and task of taking care of the dishes was what she needed after being on edge during dinner.

"I've got it, then," she offered, beaming a smile to her Uncle, "You guys go relax for a little while."

Arms laden with china and silverware, (Y/N) took to the kitchen while the rest of the family moved onto the other room. A heavy breath left her lips.

She fixed her eyes to the faucet as the sink filled with warm water, soap bubbles forming on the surface.

Truthfully, she knew there wasn't any reason to be so nervous, so stiff, all night. It wasn't like Harry was going to speak about that night out in the open—if he wanted his family to know, he'd had months to expose the facts before now. But, he hadn't.

It was a bit pathetic to admit given the fact they had never even so much as kissed, but seeing him felt a lot like running into an ex. Embarrassing, seeing as he had seen her more vulnerable than she felt comfortable showing. Nerve-wracking, as she wasn't sure what kind of reaction she was going to get from him. And a bit heartbreaking; it was hard to see him knowing there was such a definitive line in the sand.

As if there wasn't always one there, (Y/N) reminded herself. The second they made it to her uncle's house that night, there was always goin to be a barrier between them.

Flicking off the faucet, she got to work cleaning off the dishes. From the living room, she could hear quiet coos from a sleepy baby, and slight laughter amongst a family sharing memories.

That was enough to have the line holding her shoulders taut to give. A family. Everything her uncle deserved.

"Want help?"

(Y/N) practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of the deep, accented voice suddenly joining her in the space.

Whipping her head around, she saw Harry lingering in the threshold of the entrance to the kitchen. He had a short smile on his lips, the ghost of dimples in his cheeks.

Not a real smile. Something polite to be offered to someone he didn't really care to be talking to.

"No, I'm alright,"(Y/N) answered, just as tight. "Thanks, though."

"Are y'sure?" he pressed, taking a cautious step inside the barrier of the tiles, "I could dry while y'wash. It'll cut the time in half, or something like that."

She let out a huff of laughter at his attempt to lighten the mood. She was sure she wasn't the only one feeling a touch of the tension that had gathered.

She figured she couldn't really continue to avoid him forever.

"If you really want to," she relented, letting a genuine, though small, smile curl her lips.

Harry took her words as the invitation needed, crossing the room to join her at the sink. The damp dishes had begun to accumulate on the towel she had laid out at her side. He moved with familiarity through his childhood home, finding another dish towel before pushing up the sleeves of his warm brown sweater.

Just like the first time she had met him, (Y/N) couldn't help but trace her eyes over the cross tattooed on his hand. Seeing the sleeves of his shirt pushed up, she got a view of what she remembered wondering hid between that cloud-cardigan those months ago.

A bare-chested mermaid. A nightmarish beetle. A collection of tiny sketches around an anchor at his wrist.

"So," he started, wiping off the first dish in the pile, "I've barely gotten a chance to talk to y'since we've got here. How have y'been?"

She nodded absently, swiftly turning her gaze to the soapy basin. "I've been alright. Just busy getting the final details figured out with your mom and sister. How about you?"

"Same," he murmured, "'S all gone by so fast. I can't believe 's already tomorrow. I feel like we were jus' meeting for the first time."

He meant for the comment to be something lighthearted. They could bond over the passage of time, right? It was easy to nod her head and laugh, tell him that yes, everything had gone by so fast. But she was excited, nonetheless. That his mother was a wonderful person and she couldn't wait to welcome her into their small family.

Instead, (Y/N) was only able to manage a small smile.

"Yeah. Crazy."

Crazy that it really had only been months since she met Harry while perusing wine for her uncle, thinking he was just a handsome stranger. Someone she could see herself going on a date with.

Now, he was going to be as good as her stepbrother. The revelation left a sour taste in her mouth.

A beat passed.

"(Y/N)," Harry started, one of his rings clinking against the plate in his hand, "If y'want to talk about—"

She shook her head. She didn't need to revisit that night. Especially not right now, while washing his mother's dishes in her sink.

"I don't," she insisted, "Sorry if I'm being weird. I just... I was worried I had scared you off or something, since we haven't talked. But, I'm fine, really."

"You didn't. Scare me off, I mean," Harry answered, the words coming out in a rush as if a reflex. The pile of damp dishes were forgotten for the moment as he turned his attention to her. "I jus' wanted sure if y'wanted to talk to me after... everything."

"Don't worry about it," she answered, sidestepping just how much she wanted to hear anything from him in the time that had passed since the night at the bar. That she wanted to know if he still even tolerated her. "Everything got a little complicated, so it's probably best we didn't—don't. You know?"

Harry's expression seemed to solidify at her words. Unmoving, unchanging, though something seemed to leave from his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed, a single nod of his head. He waved the cloth in her direction, nonchalant. "We've got a while to figure everything out as long as tomorrow goes well, right?"

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, a little less rigid. While it wasn't the outcome she may have wanted (that was one where he came in on a flying steed, hearts in his eyes, and unwavering conviction in his feelings for her. Or at least trying it out with her), it was the best outcome she could have predicted.

They finished the dishes in silence.

—————

(Y/N) clapped, tears in her eyes as she watched her uncle plant a kiss on his blushing bride. The white of her gauzy dress made Anne's skin glow that much brighter, sweet pink and a warm bronze.

They were now man and wife as the officiant announced, allowing them on their way.

Falling back into her role as dutiful bridesmaid, she followed after Gemma as the procession to the reception began. Glancing at Mitch, she caught him biting back a smile. She knew he would have something to say about her sobbing two seconds into the ceremony.

Getting out of the chilly garden and into the reception venue was a needed transition. (Y/N) hadn't even realized her fingers were turning to icicles until the heat from the hall wrapped around her.

It was quiet in the space. Only a select few of the venue staff milling about as they made the finishing touches on the reception space, and a newly knitted family were present. Much like herself, Gemma had tiny tears in her eyes as she reached for her daughter from her husband's hip. Harry had his mother wrapped up in a long hug.

It was her uncle that brought her attention away from the embrace. He murmured something to her, the words a bit garbled through his thick throat before he had her in his arms.

(Y/N) didn't hesitate before she was reciprocating the hold. She tucked herself against his chest, feeling just as safe as the day he had told her that she was going to be taken care of now that he was there. The memory only made her snuggle that much closer to him.

"Congratulations, dad," she whispered, choking up hearing the title she only rarely used. She knew it had the same effect on him when he clutched her tighter, a shuddering breath wracking his chest.

"Thanks for being here, kiddo. Love you."

"Love you, too."

All too soon, her uncle was whisked away to take photos with his bride, the photographer eager to capture the moments with that blissful glow on their faces. Family shots had been taken prior to the ceremony, when everyone's makeup and hair were in perfect condition, leaving (Y/N) a moment alone for the first time that day.

It wasn't until she was putting on her false lashes that she had heard Harry had brought a date. She knew that there was no reason to have any kind of reaction to that revelation, especially since she had also invited Mitch. And yet, there was still that sour, churning feeling in her stomach.

While it wasn't a thought she nurtured or had the guts to admit, there had been a lingering hope in her that maybe, with everything twisted up and complicated, that there could be something worked out. That Harry was so unhappy with the distance as she was.

But, he had brought a date. Someone serious enough to invite to a family wedding, though not serious enough to mention to her when they were washing the dishes the night before.

That was fine. He could do whatever he wanted, just as (Y/N) was doing.

And neither of them were going to be heartbroken. Least of all (Y/N).

—————

"Are you sure that's his date?"

(Y/N) only grumbled through her spoonful of gelato. That counted as the third time Mitch had questioned Harry's choice of plus one. And the third time (Y/N) thought she made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested in speaking on the details of the coupling. It was bad enough explaining to everyone that Mitch was just a friend instead of a boyfriend, he didn't also have to rub it in that Harry had brought a real date.

"(Y/N), don't get mad at me," Mitch warned, casting his eyes over her head towards the dance floor, "I'm just asking. Because he's barely talked to her all night."

"Well, that's rude of him, then," (Y/N) cemented, taking another bite of her birthday cake gelato. This dessert had been Gemma's idea—about the same cost as a cake, but many more people could eat from the bar and there wouldn't be a handful of leftover slices that the family would be forced to take home.

"Will you still think that if I tell you it's been because he's too busy looking at you?"

She glared at Mitch through furrowed brows. "Right."

"I'm serious," he hedged, bouncing his brows before tipping his head towards her, urging her to look at her back. "If you turn around right now, you'll see."

"Just because he's looking at me, doesn't mean anything. He's my brother now, Mitch."

Reaching for his drink, Mitch didn't look very believing in the story she was spinning. "I would be a little nervous if I had a brother look at me the way he is right now."

"What does that mean?"

He knew he had her then, a crooked smile on his lips. "Look for yourself."

Giving in, (Y/N) pretending to stretch in her spot. She pasted an easy smile on her face as she nonchalantly turned to look over her shoulder.

There, on the dance floor, with his niece on his hip, Harry's cheeks flushed. He quickly looked away, having been caught by (Y/N) as he gazed at her. His date was fluttering around, speaking to Gemma and her husband with an easy smile on her face. She was familiar with the family—more familiar than (Y/N) would think a new girlfriend would be.

But, that wasn't any of her business.

Turning back to Mitch, she attempted to look as if nothing she saw had even sparked a train of thought in her mind.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Right," he drawled, sly smile on his face. "And, he's not coming over here, right now."

"What?" (Y/N) bubbled, suddenly at attention. Her cup of gelato created in her tightened grip. Whipping her head around, she stopped in her tracks, expression dropping. No one was walking over to their table—let alone Harry.

A burst of laughter came from her date.

"That wasn't nice," she said, fighting back her own laughter. Truthfully, while it was pathetic how easy it was to get her to react, she knew if the tables were turned, she wouldn't be able to contain her giggles at Mitch's desperation.

He shrugged. "It was funny, though." He took a long sip of his drink, ice clinking together. "If you're so jumpy, I don't know why you haven't gone to talk to him at all."

"Mitch," (Y/N) started, finally abandoning the remnants of her gelato, "It's just not the right time. You already know everything, so."

"So what? He obviously wants to at least talk to you. Just put him out of his misery."

(Y/N) shook her head. "Even if things weren't complicated, he brought a date, Mitch. I don't think he's really dying for my company."

"So?" he repeated, raising his brows, "You brought a date, too. And it's me."

She could only roll her lips between her teeth. She wasn't going to examine the point he was making.

"I'm going to get a drink."

—————

(Y/N) felt entirely too accomplished when Gemma's daughter burst into another round of laughter at the shapes she was throwing on the dance floor. It was easy to make her laugh now that she knew what made the little girl giggle, but it still felt like an all star achievement every time a bubbling peal left her heart-shaped lips.

"Auntie (Y/N) is just so silly, isn't she?" Gemma babbled to her daughter, equally delighted to hear her having so much fun. The later the night went, the more and more of a miracle it was that she hadn't grown fussy and in need of a bedtime.

Just as she was about to make another uncoordinated movement, a gentle hand landed on (Y/N)'s shoulder. She saw the gleaming diamond ring adorning the fourth finger first, already knowing who it belonged to.

"Could I cut in, girls? Sorry to ruin the fun," Anne asked, her beaded gown trailing behind her as she beamed at her granddaughter, "It's my turn to dance with Aunt (Y/N)." She paused, glancing over. "If that's alright, anyway."

"Yes, of course, of course," (Y/N) bubbled off, "We'll just finish our dance battle later."

"I'd watch out if I were you," Gemma teased, "After a snack, this one is going to run you out of town, I'm afraid."

"I'd like to see her try," (Y/N) played along, narrowing her eyes despite the smile attempting to take over her mouth.

Gemma walked away with a laugh, taking her daughter back to her husband. A happy little family, they were.

"I can't believe you're still at it," Anne laughed, swaying along to the music with (Y/N), "I can barely handle standing in these shoes, and you've been dancing like nothing."

(Y/N) lifted the hem of her dress, showing off her socked feet. "I took my heels off hours ago. I got through one dance before I had to make a choice."

Anne let out a boisterous laugh. The champagne bubbles from the number of toasts recited throughout the night had seemingly had their intended effect. From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) could see both her Uncle Mick and Harry looking in their direction, affectionate smiles on their faces.

"I'm just happy you're having a good time," Anne crooned, blissful smile stuck to her features, "I was getting worried."

A furrow pinched (Y/N)'s brows. "You were? Why?"

A heavy sigh left her lips. "I told Mick I wouldn't say anything," she started, casting her eyes to her new husband, "But, I've just been worried about you and H."

(Y/N)'s movements lagged in time to the music. "Me and Harry?"

"Don't tell him I told you," she rushed out, "But, he said there was something? I can't remember exactly what he said, but he just seemed really upset when I told him you were bringing a date, and when I asked what was wrong he just said it was complicated, or something like that. I could tell something was going on last night, but I didn't want to push."

In so many words, Anne was laying out her mother's intuition. Despite neither she nor Harry divulging any secrets, Anne had been able to pick up on the words between the lines.

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, her grip on the skirt of her dress tightening.

Anne chewed on her bottom lip before speaking again. "I know it's not any of my business, you kids are adults and can do whatever you want—or don't want. But, I think you should talk to him. If it's complicated in the way I think, I want you to know that... It's okay. Complicated things happen all the time, but that doesn't mean it has to be impossible."

Champagne was a hell of a drug.

"Right," (Y/N) answered, a tight smile on her face. "Thank you, Anne. I think I need some air, I'll be right back."

Before much else could be said, Anne's brother popped in to steal her away for a dance. The heavy subject she had just dropped on (Y/N) was forgotten, instead excited to chat with someone new for the time being.

That left (Y/N) to swiftly creep out of the venue and into the garden that had previously been fashioned into an elegant aisle for the ceremony.

The chilly air she had been eager to get out of earlier now felt like a balm on her skin. In so many words, Anne had basically given permission for (Y/N) to do whatever she wanted when it came to Harry. Despite the marriage that had just connected them as family.

It was both freeing and heavy as she stood in the garden.

Freeing to know that even from someone both removed but so close to the situation, she didn't think (Y/N) was catastrophically insane or unnervingly gross for even considering Harry as someone.

Heavy to know that they hadn't been quite as undercover as she hoped. Not everyone would agree with Anne's ruling, and (Y/N) dreaded the idea of finding out just who could be on the opposing side. Including Harry and the date he brought tonight.

The music from inside seeped through the open windows. As if reading the mood from even out here, the DJ had switched to a slow song. The singing violins and melodic voice of the singer floated around (Y/N), making it that much easier to be a bit melodramatic as she trailed her finger of a wilting cornflower, the hue matching the color of her dress.

"There you are."

(Y/N) didn't have to turn to know who had joined her in the garden. The voice alone was enough to have her spine straightening, goosebumps sparking over her skin.

She offered a quiet smile to Harry as she dropped her hand from the flower. "Here I am," she said, "Is everything okay?"

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. A wilting periwinkle flower went lopsided in his breast pocket.

"Yeah, jus' saw y'with mum and then y'disappeared. I wanted to make sure y'were alright."

"I'm fine," she offered, "It got a little stuffy in there, that's all."

"Well," he started, moving towards her until his toes were just on the edge between the patio and the garden, "Y'missed our dates sneaking off together."

(Y/N) blanched at the information. "Are you joking? I'm so sorry, oh my god. I'll find Mitch right now, I can't be—"

"No, no," Harry laughed, "'S fine. Sarah's been asking me about him since he got here anyway. I know it was only a matter of time."

"Oh," she sounded, settling at the information Harry was sharing, "So Sarah's not...?"

Harry shook his head. "She's a friend I've had for years. Mum loves her, so she was coming whether or not she came as m'plus one. This way she got to pick where she sat."

(Y/N) laughed. Half from the practicality of this woman's choices, as well as a wave of relief that ran over her. So he hadn't brought a date tonight. Only a friend that was seemingly much more interested in (Y/N)'s date.

"Mitch is just a friend, too," (Y/N) clarified, pretending as if she didn't hear Anne's voice in the back of her head as she offered the information.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Otherwise, I was going to have to follow them and beat him up or something."

"No need," (Y/N) sighed, "He'd be sad if you did that, anyway. He thinks you're cool."

Harry's eyes brightened. "Really?"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," (Y/N) warned, biting back a smile, "He only said that when I told him you put together the music list for the DJ. He thinks you have good taste."

"Well, he's not wr—"

"I had to break it to him that you think frosé is better than actual rosé. I think he's still coming to terms with it."

Mock offense took over Harry's features. "How dare you? I told y'that in confidence."

(Y/N) shrugged, a playful smile painted on her lips. "I had to save him the trouble of finding out on his own. He never would have recovered."

Harry shook his head. "'S not even that bad, I don't get it."

"Coming from someone who thinks frosé is the best wine offering, that makes sense."

He playfully nudged his shoulder against hers, shaking his head. A beat passed between them, the muffled voices from inside spilling out into the courtyard.

"I saw y'talking to mum," Harry started, switching off the subject with the tease falling out of his voice, "Looked a little intense."

She hoped he didn't catch the way her spine stiffened. "It wasn't anything serious," she lied, "Just got a little emotional with everything."

When Harry didn't immediately answer, (Y/N) chanced a look in his direction. He already had his eyes trained on her, shatters of green examining her features with raspberry lips rolled between his teeth.

"What?"

"She didn't—" Harry started, cutting himself off before reorienting himself, "It wasn't about anything complicated?"

(Y/N) blinked. Had their conversation really been that loud?

"Harry, I didn't tell her anything," (Y/N) insisted, "She said she just had a feeling, but I didn't—I don't know how she knew—"

"I told her," Harry piped up, dropping his eyes to the grass at their feet, "Kind of. She could tell something's been going on, and she asked once. She thought I didn't like y'or something. I jus' told her it was complicated, but that must have been enough."

He let out a huff of laughter though she was sure neither of them were feeling particularly humorous at the moment.

"'M sorry if she made y'feel uncomfortable or anything. She jus' wants me to be happy, and—"

"She told me it was okay."

Harry went silent at her admission. Raspberry lips rolled between his teeth.

(Y/N) waited, a breeze playing with her dress.

"She said it was okay? That... whatever she thought was happening between me and you, was okay?"

(Y/N) nodded.

She watched as the very corners of his lips turned upwards.

"Your uncle said the same thing."

A furrow had (Y/N)'s brows pinching above her pointed gaze. "When?"

Harry's lips stretched into a full smile. "Jus' now."

It took a moment to process the fact that Harry was telling her this information with a grin on his face. Nothing polite and short. A real, dimple-baring, nose scrunching smile.

He was happy. He was happy to hear this news.

That whatever had started those months ago was okay. Whatever that meant for them.

"This is good," (Y/N) whispered, voice melding with the music from inside the venue, "Right?"

There was a part of her that wanted to close the distance between them. Crush the grass under her socked feet and cup his jaw between her palms. To slot her lips between his and kiss him. To do the one thing she had been holding back from since that first dinner at her uncle's house.

But, she needed to wait. She wasn't going to have another moment like that in the hotel room. If Harry wanted her, he was going to have to say it, otherwise she was staying rig—

Taking the leap for her, Harry closed the distance in one long stride. He gently took the line of her jaw in his hands, tipping her head up until the tips of their noses were touching. The length of his lashes were only a breath away from tangling with hers.

"Really good," he breathed, waiting for her.

That was all she needed to hear before she was stretching to the tips of her toes, pressing her lips to his.

Harry steadied her with his hands on either side of her face, guiding her into this first kiss. He took her bottom lip between his two, his kiss lingering and sweet. The only urgency came from the fact that they both knew just how long they had waited for this moment, though there was no reason to rush through it.

She could taste the pistachio gelato he had earlier in the night, alongside the sweet wine served by the bar. With each tip and tilt of her head, she felt the tip of his nose grazing hers, the scruff of his chin against her own, the soft give of his mouth. Reaching up, she bundled her fingers into the lapels of his jacket, keeping the lines of their bodies close together.

(Y/N) no longer felt the chill in the air, consumed by the feeling of Harry's kiss. This was worth waiting for. Worth the complications, and the uncertainty. Worth bringing Mitch to a family wedding just for him to disappear with someone else's date. (Something she was going to expect a thank you over, if he and Sarah worked out past a hookup).

Harry drew away first, though only far enough to rest his forehead against hers. Blinking her eyes open, she found him already looking at her, half-lidded with blown pupils.

"'M sorry," he murmured, the fullest points of his lips grazing her own, "About the last time. I should have—I didn't want to leave, I jus'—"

"It's okay," (Y/N) whispered, puckering her lips to give him a delicate kiss, "I get it. It hurt at the time, but I understand. Everything was just too much then."

A slight quirk angled his lips. "Complicated, right?"

(Y/N) couldn't contain the small huff of laughter that fanned from her lungs. "Exactly."

Tipping his chin, Harry sealed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss. His hands on her jaw slid down, following the line of her arms until he reached her hands.

"We should go back inside."

Lacing her fingers between his, (Y/N) made no move to head back inside the venue.

"Do we?"

A light danced through his eyes. Casting a glance at the party going on behind them, Harry tightened his hold on her hands.

"I think we could wait a little longer. Don't you?"

All (Y/N) could do was attempt to kiss him through her smile.

—————

thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own pleaseee send them in!

602 notes · View notes

snoopyracing · 21 hours ago

Text

grapes and good fortune // ln4

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 4.7k

warnings: cursing and alcohol use

includes: friends to lovers, mutual pining, and fluff

summary: when your plan to find love on new year's eve doesn't work a certain someone may just fix those plans.

a/n: surprise! here's a cute little lando nye fic for you! it was so fun to write and i hope you all enjoy :)

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s not the end of the world to be single. You’ve gone your whole life technically being single– each guy you’ve had a thing with never resulted in a full fledged relationship. It never really seemed to bother you that much, you’d learned to be more independent and learned that your time is in fact more valuable than men think. Though, as the years passed and your friends started to get into serious relationships you couldn’t help but feel a little left behind.

You knew everyone’s time would come and seriously you were in your early to mid twenties – you still had a whole lifetime ahead of you. But the third wheeling you seemed to be a professional at by now was starting to get embarrassing. Also, holidays just really seemed to suck while being single. You knew there was more to life than being in a relationship, but god dammit you’re a human. You crave love and affection and no matter how independent you are– you still want to love and be loved.

Your friend group had unsuccessfully tried setting you up with more guys than you could count. Each one you really did try and give a chance, but there was nothing there. You didn’t think you had high standards by any means, but if you didn’t feel anything with these guys then why waste your time?

“You went on how many dates this month and none of them piqued your interest?” Your friend grills you as the two of you are sitting on the balcony of your apartment. You’d come back from another unsuccessful date and decided to drown your sorrows with a bottle of wine and a yapping session.

“Genuinely think there might be something wrong with me at this point.” You complain as you sip the sweet wine in your glass.

“There isn’t anything wrong with you.” The two dates a week for the past month say different, but you weren’t going to actually disclose that number to her. “Maybe your heart has already laid claim to someone else?”

“I think I would know if I was in love with someone.” She doesn’t say anything, but the way she inconspicuously sips her wine is telling you what she’s wanting to say. “Not this again.”

She puts her hands up in defense all while having a shit eating grin on her face. “I didn’t even say anything, but you immediately assuming that’s who I’m talking about says it all.”

“I’m not in love with Lando.”

Yes you were.

“I mean he’s one of my closest friends and it would just make things weird. He also for sure does not look at me in any way other than platonic. He’s got models flocking to him and literally thousands of other girls– I couldn’t compete.” Your friend remains silent once again as she sips her wine and watches the scene in front of her unfold. “Ok– just because I drunkenly admitted last year that I might possibly have a little tiny miniscule amount of feelings towards him does not mean I’m in love with him.”

“Yes it does.” Your friend replies without missing a beat.

“No it doesn’t” You say with a huff.

“Y/N, babe. You don’t see what everyone else sees and maybe your brain is trying to protect itself from the small chance of destruction, but you two are so in love it’s actually ridiculous.”

“I don’t think he’s looking for a relationship right now. If this season so far is any indication of what next season is gonna be like, do you really think he’ll want a serious relationship to juggle too?” You’d chugged the last bit of wine in your glass and immediately filled it back up.

A loud scoff comes from your friend. “With some girl he just met? No. You are a whole different story though. You two have history and are quite literally each other’s person. Two peas in a pod. Match made in heaven.”

You didn’t understand why your friend was so adamant about Lando and you getting together. What if it ended in flames and your friend group is stuck having to play children of divorce? You don’t want that.

“Do you hear yourself right now? I think you’ve had too much wine because that’s not true.”

She sits up on the edge of the wicker couch with an annoyed expression painted across her face “Do you hear yourself? I’ve never seen someone deny themselves happiness like you.”

“I don’t think I have actual feelings for Lando though. I really think it’s just because we are the only two single people in our friend group and it’s like I feel obligated to somehow have feelings for him. I just need to find the right person and whatever I may be feeling about Lando will go away.”

If someone could professionally roll their eyes your friend would be a pro. “You’ve already found the right person though!”

Before you can argue back for the hundredth time tonight the familiar tune of an incoming facetime call fills the air. Your phone that’s sitting on the glass coffee table lights up and Lando’s face fills the screen. You glance over at your friend who’s got a smirk on her face that could rival the Cheshire Cat.

“Speak of the devil.” She laughs.

You let it ring, fully knowing that if you answer it your friend will be insufferable the whole time you’re talking to him. You do send him a quick text to make sure everything's alright and of course he immediately responds with-

everything's all right.. just missed you is all.

Which has you locking your phone and stuffing it in the pocket of your hoodie. When you reach for your glass and realize it’s empty again you decide to just grab the bottle and drink straight from it.

“Drinking from the bottle because you’ve come to terms with how dumb you’ve been?” Your friend teases.

“Nope. It’s from having to deal with you all evening.”

Alright so maybe you did have actual feelings for Lando, but you were never going to fully admit that to your friend or anyone else for that matter. You didn’t want to risk ruining what you two already had, which was an amazing friendship. So for the following months you continue to go on an endless amount of dates and with each one that fails your friend's voice rings in your mind.

Maybe you wouldn’t be able to find someone else if you subconsciously compared every guy to Lando. They were never funny enough or charming enough or took themselves too seriously. In the end it was simply the fact that they weren’t Lando. So maybe your heart had already dug its claws into Lando, but you weren’t going to give up without one last battle.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

New Year's Eve. The final night of the year and the one party of the year that celebrates ends and beginnings. You’d hoped that with the plan you had for tonight that your streak of horrible dates would end and the next one would be the one. The trend of eating twelve grapes under a table at midnight on New Year’s Eve had been all over your social media. According to the internet if you were to do this you’d find love or your soulmate the following year– which was something you were so desperate for. So, your said plan was to bring some grapes with you and find a table to sit under.

As you were taking one last final look in the mirror a familiar British accent echoed through your apartment. “Are you almost ready?”

You quickly slipped on your heels and grabbed your bag off the dresser, but by the time you turned around there stood Lando, leaning against your doorframe with a slight smirk on his face. “Been waiting forever. It’s gonna be next year by the time we get out of here.”

His teasing, which usually always got a reaction out of you, was ignored. The sight of him had you frozen in your tracks for a moment. He had on a white button up, which he always looked good in, but it was the couple of undone buttons at the top and the necklace you got him for his birthday last year around his neck that got your attention. There was always something about seeing Lando in things you got him that made that funny feeling bloom in your stomach. Perhaps it was the fact that everytime he chose to wear them you knew he was thinking about you and that when he was away a part of you was always with him.

“Quit staring.”

You're knocked out of your trance and the blush that creeps onto your cheeks from getting caught is almost as embarrassing as being caught. “I wasn’t staring. I was admiring my good taste. Should have gotten one myself.” You try to play it off and push your way past him with what little amount of confidence you have at the moment.

“I’ll get it for you, then we can be matching.” Lando says as he follows behind you.

“I can buy it myself.”

“Yeah, but I’m still gonna get it for you anyways.”

You stop in the kitchen and grab the little bag of grapes out of the fridge. “I don’t need you to get it for me Lan.” You’re too preoccupied with figuring out how to fit everything into your small purse to see the utterly confused look on Lando’s face.

“Ok forget about the necklace. Why the hell are you bringing grapes with you?”

“Incase I get hungry.” You reply without missing a beat.

“There will literally be food at the party. I even made sure Max got those little cocktail sausages you like.”

And there he goes again, making those feelings you’ve tried and are still presently trying to push down come to the surface all because of some damn cocktail sausages. “I appreciate that Lan, but I’ve been on a grape kick lately. Just can’t seem to get enough of them.”

With your purse finally closed with the grapes securely inside, you head towards the door, more than ready to get to the party.

“I’ll text Max and tell him to get some grapes delivered.” Lando mumbles as he closes the door behind him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You’d never considered yourself much of a party girl, but there must have been something in the air tonight because you were living it up. From the dancing to the drinking and then to top it off somehow in the middle of everything you showed off your DJing skills with Lando.

Somehow you’d managed to unglue yourself from Lando for a moment and ended up in the kitchen among the various kinds of alcohol. You’re pouring the last bit of coke into your coke and malibu when Max comes up beside you.

“I see you finally escaped from Lando for a moment.”

An airy laugh emits from you. “Yeah, he’s been a little clingy tonight.” You state as you turn and lean back against the counter, facing the large crowd of people.

Max copies your actions, but not before grabbing a beer. “What are you talking about tonight? When he’s back home it’s like you two are conjoined at the hip.” Which was true, but you didn’t get to see Lando as much as you’d like, so you make the most of what you can. “Oh forgot to tell you, your grapes are in the fridge.” He motions towards the stainless steel appliance with his beer bottle. “Lando better pay me back. Do you know how much I paid to get that damn bag delivered? Absolutely insane.”

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape at Max’s words. “I heard him mention something about asking you to get some when we were leaving. I thought he was just joking.”

Max scoffs. “There is no such thing as Lando joking when it comes to you. Think he’d chop off his own arm to make sure you were happy. Hell if you needed an organ he’d be the first one in line to give you one.”

This time it’s your turn to scoff. “No he wouldn’t.”

“Why do you do that?” Max groans.

You narrow your eyes at him, confused as to what he was referring to. “Do what?”

“Act like he doesn’t think the world of you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, but no words come out. Instead you bring your cup to your lips and fill the void with your drink. What Max had said was true, but you couldn’t help it. You figured if you forced yourself to think that Lando didn’t care that deeply about you, then those feelings that you harbor for him wouldn’t rise to the surface. It didn’t help that his behavior recently had you thinking that perhaps he felt the same about you and when you have your mutual friends in your ear implying that to be true it just makes things that much harder for you.

“You probably haven’t even noticed that he’s been practically watching us talk this whole time have you?”

You can feel your heart rate start to speed up just at the thought of it. As your eyes scan the room they finally land on the Brit standing in the corner with some other people, but he’s not actually engaging in the conversation, he’s too busy staring back at you. Somehow from across the room you can still see those pretty mixture of blue and green eyes of his sparkle and when he realizes you're finally looking back at him a shy smile spreads across his face before he’s quickly looking away.

“Wish you two would stop dancing around each other and just admit what we all already know.” Max mumbles before taking a swig of his beer.

Maybe it’s the mixture of alcohol and the fact that you’ve once again got someone in your ear about Lando and you, but you can sense those feelings starting to claw their way back up and you aren’t sure if you can push them back down tonight.

“Ten minutes until midnight!” The DJ’s voice travels through the apartment and you’re sure Max will be getting some kind of fee taped to his door in the morning.

Max says something about talking to you later before exiting the kitchen and you realize with ten minutes till midnight that you’ve got to get your grapes and find a table to fit under. For the moment you push Lando to the back of your mind and focus on your very important task at hand.

Luckily for you Max had a decently sized dining table in his apartment so with your grapes in hand you crawled under the table, which thankfully was shielded by a tablecloth, and settled in for your feast.

Lando on the other hand had been searching for you everywhere since the ten minute announcement. He’d literally just seen you in the kitchen with Max and then when he looked back again you were both gone. He’d gone in the bathrooms, the bedrooms, the closets, every single place he could think you would be and it’s like you had vanished. Max had a large apartment, especially to be living in London, but it wasn’t that big to allow for you to not be found. His texts to you had gone unanswered and he began to think maybe you had left, but he knew you would have told him if you were leaving, so that theory went out the window.

When the five minute announcement hit his ears he began asking people if they had seen you and with each no or i think she was in the kitchen a while ago he received his hopes of finding you before midnight started to diminish.

He’d finally worked up the courage to tell you how he’d felt tonight. After years of holding himself back and not wanting to ruin what you two already had, he’d decided that life was too short and that he would come to regret not allowing himself to truly love you like he should. He knew you were the one and there wasn’t a bone in his body that didn’t think you didn’t feel the same. So, he was finally going to bite the bullet tonight and he wanted you to be the person he was kissing as the clock struck twelve. But if he couldn’t find you, then how in the world was he supposed to do that?

Lando was honestly starting to get worried over not being able to find you, screw the whole love confession at this point. What if something had happened to you? He’d been all over Max’s place countless times and he still couldn’t find you. With the official countdown echoing through the apartment he decided to just say fuck it and head to your place and see if you had gone home.

As he was heading to get his coat a familiar sparkly heel sticking out from under the dining table caught his attention. It was the same type of heels he’d seen you put on earlier and he did somewhat of a double take. He wondered if it was the couple drinks he’d had messing with him because why would you be sitting under Max’s dining table?

He crouches down and slowly lifts the table cloth up, unsure of what he’s going to find underneath it. Everyone is only getting louder and with five seconds until midnight what he finds staring back at him under the table is not at all how he expected his night to end up. There you are with your now empty bag of grapes on the floor and your cheeks stuffed full of said grapes. You resemble something of a chipmunk and Lando can’t help but laugh at you.

“What the hell are you doing down here?”

The excessively loud shouting of happy new year from everyone while noise makers and confetti fill the air distract both Lando and you for a moment. He didn’t think this is the position he’d be in right now, he figured he’d be in that crowd with his lips on yours like so many others right now. While you on the other hand didn’t think you’d be caught in such an embarrassing situation, not to mention you hadn’t even gotten all your grapes down, so this stupid thing was probably all for nothing.

His attention is back on you in no time and he really wants to know what you were doing. Were you that addicted to grapes that you had to hide under the table while you got your fix? If so, he may need to have a talk with you.

“Seriously, why are you hiding under the table stuffing grapes into your mouth?” He prods again.

Your mouth is still so full of the grapes that you can’t really talk and all you can manage to get out is leave while simultaneously trying to jab his leg with your heel. You were embarrassed and at this point scared you might choke on the grapes, and you’d rather go out in peace then have Lando cause a scene because you were choking.

“Ouch!” Lando yelps as your heel finally makes contact with him. You know he’s being dramatic because you barely even kicked him, but you would try anything for him to drop that table cloth and let you be. “Come on, come out from under there.” Lando grabs your arm and practically forces you to come out from under the table.

Luckily, everyone else was too preoccupied with still ringing in the New Year to see you crawl out and as you dust yourself off you're still chomping on the last couple grapes left. The party only seems to be getting crazier and you don’t really feel like staying here until the party inevitably ends at an ungodly hour in the morning, especially now that your plan for love has undoubtedly failed.

You finally swallow the last couple grapes and take a deep breath, the fear of choking and embarrassment now behind you. “Do you care if I leave? Not really feeling the party that much anymore.”

Lando doesn’t even question your request. “I’ll walk you home, let me grab our coats and tell Max we are leaving.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The cold England air hits you as you exit Max’s apartment building and you’re thankful that your place isn’t very far from his. It’s silent between Lando and you for some time, the sound of your heels on the pavement, fireworks in the distance, and other people celebrating are the only things you two hear.

“Can I ask you something?” Lando finally breaks the silence.

“Shoot.”

He takes a deep breath fully knowing once he opens this locked away side of him that there’s no going back. “Have you ever thought about us?”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his question, yet you try to remain cool and collected. “What do you mean?”

He stops in his tracks causing you to mimic his actions. “Like,” he motions between the two of you, “us.”

There’s not a doubt in your mind about what he’s referring to and yes you do think about the two of you. Yet your brain feels scrambled once you're actually confronted with the possibility of Lando feeling the same as you. You’d tried so hard to ignore the feelings, hell you’d tried something you saw on the internet to hopefully bring a different man into your life to finally squash those feelings. You’d just never thought you’d be in this position though and it’s throwing you into a whirlwind.

Lando isn’t sure what your silence means and he figures he’s already started, he might as well just fully admit it at this point.

“Fuck it. I told myself I was going to do this tonight and I’m not gonna chicken out again.” His cheeks are rosy from the cold and you can tell by the way his pretty eyes dart all around your face that he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “I’ve got feelings for you.” He finally blurts out.

“No scratch that I’m in love with you Y/N. Think I have been for some time now. I’ve tried telling you how I felt for what seems like ages, but I’ve always been too scared to. I’ve been afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same and to me I’d rather bottle up my feelings and keep you in my life then tell you how I feel and lose you. But clearly I’ve grown tired of that and realized that the reward would be higher than the risk. You’re my person Y/N. I couldn’t imagine life without you and to have you be mine would make life that much better. So here I am baring my heart to you on some street in London on New Year’s Eve. I actually had a whole plan on how I was-”

His rambling while you loved most of the time was cut off by your desire to shut him up with your lips on his and you did just that. You grabbed him by his coat and pulled him into you, your lips crashing together. It takes him a moment to realize what's happening, but when his brain finally starts to work and he kisses you back it’s everything you could have imagined and more.

Kissing Lando is like heaven on Earth and the way his soft lips feel against yours has you wishing you would have just stopped being so stubborn and listened to your friends ages ago. His large warm hands come out of his pockets and he cups your face as he deepens the kiss, which has you feeling lightheaded and warm all over.

There’s fireworks being let off not too far away that light up the sky above you, but you’re too engrossed in each other to pay them much mind. It’s truly like a scene straight out of a movie and you know you’ll remember this moment forever.

You two finally pull away to breathe and it’s like you can see the world in a whole new way. The depressing grey landscape of London in the winter time suddenly looks like it was painted in technicolor and neither of you can wipe the cheek hurting grin off your faces. “So I guess you feel the same?” He asks.

“Yes Lando Norris, I’m in love with you too. Have been for a while and like you I didn’t want to ruin what we already have. To me there was no possible way that you felt the same and I hate rejection and the idea of losing you. So, I went on a million dates trying to find someone that would replace how I felt about you, but I guess you can’t replace someone who your heart has already laid claim to.”

You feel Lando intertwine your fingers with his and it’s like everything just feels right in the world.

“I’m glad we stopped being so stubborn and that I don’t have to see you out with all those random guys anymore.”

“Believe me, none of them even came close to comparing to you. It was like going on a date with a sack of potatoes most of the time.”

His infectious laugh fills your ears and you feel your heart swell. You can’t believe this was what you were depriving yourself of for so long.

The rest of the walk back to your apartment is spent walking hand in hand. All while little giggles escape each of you ever so often and Lando occasionally kisses you on the head or lifts your intertwined hands up to plant a kiss there.

“I have to ask again. It’s really been bugging me. What were you doing under that table?” Lando asks as you near your apartment building. A loud groan emits from you and there isn’t anything less that you would want to talk about than that. “Come on, just tell me!”

“Fine! I saw this thing on the internet that if you eat twelve green grapes under a table at midnight that it’s supposed to bring you luck in the love department in the New Year. Like you’d find your soulmate or something. I was so desperate to try and get over these feelings I have for you so what we had wouldn’t be ruined that I was willing to try anything.”

He’s silent for a moment and then he looks at you with the biggest smile on his face. “Well I’d say it worked didn’t it? You’ve found love and not to be overzealous, but I’d say your soulmate too.”

You’re stunned for a moment when you realize that yes, the grapes did work, just not in the way you planned. The universe had put Lando in your life years ago and for some weird reason had you wait this long to finally truly be in one another's lives, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Hell, you’d eat a whole package of grapes if that meant Lando and you got to be together in every lifetime.

“They did, didn't they? I guess almost choking to death was worth it in the end.”

“I mean I know I’m every woman’s dream, but you didn’t almost have to kill yourself to get my attention baby.”

You playfully slap his arm as he laughs at you. That big head of his was sometimes fully ego and you realized you were going to have to put up with it all the time now. “Oh shut up.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” He states before pressing a kiss to your lips, which has your mind feeling like TV static once again.

When you pull away and look him in the eyes there’s nothing but pure love staring back at you and you know that this is who is meant to be in your life, till the end. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The next morning you receive a group text from Max with Lando and you in it.

max: why have i found an empty bag with what looks to be a grape stem in it under my dining table??? i fully know it was one of you.

you: i don’t know what you're talking about.

lando: me either. no grapes were consumed by us last night. must have been someone else.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #mine #writing

630 notes · View notes

thebestsetter · 3 days ago

Text

Would you fall in love with me again?

• Synopsis: he knew football changed him. That's why he couldn't help but be scared. Would you still love him the same?

• Characters: Kunigami Rensuke (post Wild Card), Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser

• TW: Kaiser had an episode, the f word like one time

• A/N: EPIC consumed my mind.

𝕂𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕚 ℝ𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖

He was different.

That was the first thing you noticed when Kunigami Rensuke, your boyfriend, knocked at your door on a random wednesday after disappearing for 7 months to go to some "Blue Lock" project.

"Is it really you?" You asked, voice dripping with doubt and love at the same time. Your knuckles were white from how strong your hold on the door was "Or am I dreaming once again?"

"I am not the man you feel in love with" he said, his deep voice wavering, not even giving you a proper 'Hello, how are you?' after so long "I am not your calm and gentle boyfriend. I've changed. For good"

You stayed silent, though it was not by choice. You were just so, so overwhelmed by emotions that it seemed like you had forgotten how to speak. Your tongue felt heavy inside your mouth, and your eyes were wide, unmoving, despite the tears threatning to spill from them, almost as if if you blinked, Kunigami, your house and everything else around you would disappear, and this would be nothing more than one of the countless dreams you had with him.

"Kuni" you started, getting closer. Your hand perfectly cupped his cheeks, as if it was meant to be there, and he instantly leaned in, almost like it was second nature. You caressed the dark circles under his eyes, and you were sure you had similar ones from the nights spent locked in your room, crying and missing him "What kind of things did you do?"

"I gave up on my hero ideology" he lifted one of his hands and put it right above yours, still on his cheeks "As I destroyed friends and teammates like they were objects I could use" he closed his eyes, basking in your warmth. Gently, he kissed the inner part of your wrist and sighed in relief, almost as if he was still convincing himself that you were, indeed, very real "And I am not the love you once knew"

The tears that were in your eyes finally fell. You could feel his hands trembling - if you were feeling scared, he was terrified. Terrified that you would reject him. Terrified to be cast away from your life. Terrified of who he became.

"Well, if that's true" you swallowed hard, blinking as more tears kept coming "Could you do me a favour? Just a moment of labour, I swear. Could you please pick up that flower over there?" You pointed to a Baby's breath, neatly arranged at the floor, beside the door "I think it's whitering. Could you carry it over? Take it far away from here, please"

Rensuke eyes suddenly shot opened, his own tears starting to appear

"How could you say this?" His voice got patheticay loud, and he despised himself for crying in front of you, but it couldn't be helped. What you asked him was ridiculous "I helped you plant that baby's breath on our first date. It's a simbol of everlasting love - our everlasting love." His voice grew louder, more desperate, like he was talking to someone kilometers away from him "I can't do that, you know it. The only way to move it is to cut it from it's roots."

You couldn't help but smile. You grabbed his free hand with your own one, looking directly at his eyes. It was like the world around you both had stopped, and even the birds' singing and cars noises ceased. You could only hear Kunigami's frantic breath in contrast to your calm one.

"Well, only my boyfriend knew when that flower was planted" you smiled, getting closer to him. You rested your forehead in his, closing your eyes. He followed your actions, sighing "So I guess that makes him you"

You pointed to his chest, right where his heart should be

"Don't tell me you're not the same person. It's still you, right here. And you know I've been waiting for you"

He opened his eyes, staring right at yours as both of you cried, ugly sobs coming from your mouths.

He was still your boyfriend, after all. Your lovely, amazing boyfriend who you loved so much it hurt.

And when he finally kissed you after months, trying to convey a love so raw and genuine through his actions, everything seemed to fall back into place again.

𝕊𝕒𝕖 𝕀𝕥𝕠𝕤𝕙𝕚

5 years.

That's how long you waited for Sae Itoshi to come back from Spain. To come back to Japan. To come back to you.

5 years of rejecting suitors. 5 years of dreaming of him every night. 5 years of suffering, yearning for your boyfriend who was all the way across the globe.

That's why, when he finally comes home looking even worse than you, you were not surprised.

"Are my eyes decieving me?" You smiled lightly, your nose already feeling stuffed - you knew you were about to cry

He muttered your name dreamily, staring at you intensely.

He's not sure how, but he managed to find the strength to smile your way. God, how long has it been since the last time he smiled? And yet, just by being next to you, he felt his lips stretching up.

Something was strange, though. You knew him. You knew Sae Itoshi, the boy who dreamed big and who you fell in love with. You knew him.

"Your eyes look tired" you frowned, getting closer and closer until your your knees were practically touching"Your smile's torn. You're different, Sae"

His smile fell, and you almost regretted what you had said. He grabbed your hands and caressed them with his thumbs, avoiding your gaze - something uncharacteristic of him

"Would you fall in love with me again?" He asked, sighing. His eyes finally met your gaze, and you could see the sadness in them - almost as if he was a young Atlas, carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. You wish you could help somehow, ease his burden, but it was clear you couldn't "If you knew all I've done. The things I can not change."

His eyes sparkled, and Sae Itoshi never cried, but you swore you saw them getting a bit glossy. You didn't know what he was talking about, but he clearly had a fight with someone - probably a teammate or something.

"And I know you've been waiting for me" Sae continued, not giving you a chance to answer "But I am not the love you knew before. I am not the man you adored. I'm no longer him" he let go of your hands, staring right at you like he could read your soul - even though you knew if he could, he wouldn't understand a single thing. You weren't understanding your own thoughts. How could he?

"So tell me, Amor" he said, his spanish pronunciation way better than you remembered it to be "Would you fall in love with me again?"

A gentle silence settled between you, which was strange. You've dreamed for so long about what you'd say to him once you saw him again, and yet when you saw him you were completely at a loss of words.

Sae took your silence as an answer. He began to walk away, head hung low and hands on his pockets.

He knew this would happen. He knew it. He was not that Sae Itoshi. He was not even human. He was a machine, made for playing soccer. He knew you wouldn't accept him.

He knew it. Yet it didn't hurt any less when he grabbed his travel bag and started distancing himself from you

"I..." he heard you saying, and even though he tried not to, he stopped. He needed to hear your answer. His brain and heart needed closure.

He could practically hear the gears on your head turning, trying to find the right words to convey your feelings

"I will fall in love with you over and over again" you answered, voice steady "Doesn't matter how long it's been, Sae, I will always love you. I've waited for you. And I will always wait for you. You're mine, Sae. And I'm yours. That's something no amount of time or distance is ever going to change"

A gentle silence settled between you both once again, as you stared at eachother's eyes. The 10 meters that separated you both suddenly felt like 10 kilometers.

The snow felt like quicksand while Sae made his way to you, first taking hesitant steps, and then almost running to get to you.

And when he hugged you and you fit perfectly into the crook of his shoulder, you knew you'd be alright.

You were not going to give up on each other. No matter how hard things were.

You both then kissed each other, sealing that silent promise.

𝕄𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕖𝕝 𝕂𝕒𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕣

Kaiser has always been a hard person to deal with, but he's been way worse after the Neo Egoist League.

He was screaming at the smallest inconveniences, spent days without even sparing you a glance, trained till he passed out from exhaustion and was making even more snarky remarks, if it was even possible. He was not fine, and you knew that. You knew him.

Your suspicions were confirmed during one of his episodes.

Kaiser usually had some episodes while remembering his childhood trauma, and he always confided in you to help him overcome them.

You were proud of this arrangement, actually: trust has always been what held your relationship together.

That's why you couldn't make sense as to why he was hiding from you during one of the worsts - if not the worst - episodes you've ever seen him had.

"Micha?" You asked, finding him curled up in the corner of your shared closet "Are you okay?"

"Don't come near me" He whispered. His eyes were red from crying, and you could swear you saw a purple bruise on his neck. Why didn't he call you?

"Okay" your voice was gentle, as if you were soothing a kid "Okay. I won't come closer. But I'm right here. Just focus on my breath, my love. Can you follow it for me, please?" You began breathing louder, hoping he'd follow your lead

Sadly, he began shaking his head, breathing growing even more frantic

"I-I can't" he muttered, shaking like a leaf

"Of course you can" you whispered "C'mon, breath in" you breathed in and held for a while "breath out" you repeated. Finally, he followed your commands

Luckily, after a while, his breath began to come back to normal, and you pondered just what was going through his head to make him act like that.

"Can I come closer now?" You asked, voice still gentle. When he nodded, you wasted no time in sitting right next to him, still not touching his body

Silence was loud between you too, and you wondered if he was even going to speak something about it

"W..." he began, voice breaking. He then took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say "Would you fall in love with me again... if I lost all I had?" He asked. He gave you no time to think begore he continued "Would you have fallen in love with me if I was just a little kid with a fucked up, drunk dad? If I had no money, name or fame?" He looked at you, staring at your eyes like he would forget them the moment he looked elsewhere "Would you?"

Once again, silence enveloped the room.

"Forget it" he muttered, starting to get up "It was a stupid question"

He was almost standing when you put your hands on his knee, earning a confused "huh?" from him.

Just like he did earlier, you took a deep breath

"Michael, I don't care how, where, or when. You're mine. I love you for you. I don't care for your name, your value or your football abilities. I don't want to see Michael Kaiser, the emperor. I want to see Michael Kaiser, my boyfriend." You also got up, slowly reaching for his hands, like you were asking for permission. "I love you, Kaiser"

He tried really hard not to cry again. You could see it. The way he contorted his face before letting the tears fall freely.

One after the other, he began crying hard. Sobbing and hiccuping and all. He would never cry in front of anyone. Others would never see this version of him. But you would.

In a swift moment, you hugged him, feeling his arms hold you stronger as his cries got louder, uglier.

Strangely, he wasn't embarrassed. He was relieved.

Relieved he could be vulnerable in front of you. Relieved he could be himself.

He couldn't hide anything from you, could he? Well, he hoped he could at least hide that ring in his socks drawer.

But not for much longer, though. After what happened, he'll wife you up was soon as possible.

But for now, only the feeling of your arms grounding him was enough.

Masterlist

661 notes · View notes

nkogneatho · 3 days ago

Text

"BETTER WRAP THAT PRESENT UP BEFORE YOU GIVE IT TO ME"

—gojo satoru x reader.

—#TAPE NO 1 OF 'Tis the Season to be Naughty

—cw: fem!reader, cunnigulus, nicknames, reader in lingerie

Throughout your dating life, you have never met a man who was interested in fucking you for your benefit. All they cared about is a quick fuck as long as they cum. Nothing for your pleasure. That changed when you met Satoru. He fucked you for you. To make you see the stars. To make you cum till you couldn't anymore. It's only fair that you returned him the gesture once in a while.

Christmas was Satoru's favorite because he loved spoiling you with gifts, watching your eyes light up and your fingers carefully unwrapped the gift, squealing and kissing him for them. He also loved the way you would beautifully decorate his gifts—he almost never wanted to open them, tearing away your efforts but you insisted—write him little cards with cute hearts drawn on each. But this year, you hid one gift from him.

"Sweetie pie, I am home." He announced, walking through the door. The higher ups tied him up with work even on Christmas eve, yet being the strongest he was, he completed it before time to spend time with his baby.

"Honey?" You didn't reply. The room lights were off, only the fairy lights on the christmas tree illuminating the sexy silhouette of you leaning against the bedroom doorframe.

"Welcome home. Santa left you a package."

"Wha—Holy shit." He walked closer, the soft glow of the lamp light bouncing off your skin and what he thinks is the most provocative lingerie. Red lace hugging your curves in all places oh so beautifully, he was jealous of them.

"Well, well, well...Looks like someone's been busy while I was out, huh?" He gulped. Taking in the sight of your figure barely contained by the lacy red ensemble.

"Santa left one his naughty helpers for me?"

"Mhm" you nod, looking at him with a smirk while his hands pulled in your waist. "Was tired of helping him. Thought you needed to use me more than him." Slender fingers roamed all over your body, thumb lingering on some places for a little longer.

"All this for me?" He questioned, his pointer toying with the string.

"Yeah. All yours, Toru."

"Mmm..." he hummed. "Love unwrapping my presents. This might be the best one yet." That is all that was said before his lips crashed yours, an arm snaking your back to hold you as your arched into him, guiding both of you to the bed. Satory plopped you down but he remained on the edge.

He inhaled loudly, eyes bathing in the sight of you. the exhale followed a little later, almost coming out as a groan. You spread your legs, teasing him with the most inviting posture.

"Fuck. You're going to be the death of me Y/N Gojo." His lips trailed kisses all over your legs before they caught up to your pussy. He could feel it through the lace. All throbbing and wet. Just for him. Poking his tongue out, he pressed it against your clothed sex a few times, making you squirm. his fingers abandoned your thighs to rub you through the red fabric. He didn't take your panties off, just moved it enough to get access of your cunt. He left warm breaths on her.

"Pretty fucking pussy. Always so wet for me," he teased. Moving your thighs further apart, he licked a long stripe between your slick, parting your pussy lips. His eyes closed to feel how good you taste before going on for real. Warm, sloppy muscles making out with each other. Your fingers cascade through his locks, sweet moans leaving your lips.

"Fmuuck. shweet fmucking cwunt," mouth never leaving her. His big hands travel up to palm your tits and pinch your nipples, eyes so focused on you and the way you squirm, yelp and whine.

"Fhhuck. Toru, ngh—feels sooo good."

He continues his adorable abuse on your pussy before he shoves two fingers in your hole, inching you closer and closer to your climax.

"C'mon, princess. Do it for me. Santa sent you to help me, didn't he? Go ahead and help me. Lemme see this cute pussy cum." If you weren't gonna cum from the tongue or the fingers, you sure as hell did from his lewd sentences.

"G-gonna cum, toru. fuck. please ah—"

Soon enough, you were vibrating, thighs closing around his head, and fingers pulling his head too tight.

"Good girl." He breathed as he licked his lips. "Tell Santa thank you. Now..." you heard his belt unbunckle, "time for your present, princess."

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

489 notes · View notes

cathnospam · 2 days ago

Text

CW// UA CollegeAU, Oral, Reader is a lil oblivious, Bakugo is his own warning

“Returning the Favor”

Bakugo owes you and he hates it. But you don’t know it.

He has been meaning to pay you back for months, but he simply can’t due to world literally hate him.

It all started just a few months ago when you offered your Blondie to go down on him after a mission.

He’s been more crankier than usual and when you exhausted google for answers; relaxing, taking a mental day, going to a spa, the list went on , but nothing worked.

you were left with an orgasm.

It releases stress and tension, plus it feels amazing it shouldn’t hurt right? Granted, you and your boyfriend never went as far as mutual masturbation, but when you offered he wasn’t very resistant towards it.

So you did, and even though it was your first time, he definitely didn’t think so! You gagged a few times sure, but that just added to the sexiness on you, and like Google said; it worked.

He wasn’t chipper or anything, but he was more calmer, pout still there as usual, but his eyes were more relaxed. Even when Denki kept touching at him (you assume he did it on purpose to make him mad) all he did was roll his eyes, call him sparky and walked away.

You did catch him staring at your mouth more because of this, but it was worth it seeing him be less annoyed and angry.

So here we are now 3 months later and it’s became a routine between you both; at least a couple times a week you let him come to your dorm and you ….handle him. It never goes any further than that though since neither of yall are ready to take that dive into real intimacy, but it was okay—

You don’t mind at all! Maybe you’ve developed an oral fixation, but ironically enough sucking his dick is a stress reliever for you as well. Some days you’ve just ask him if he wants to come over and you spend the evening taking care of him.

Little did you know Bakugo hates it.

He doesn’t hate you or what you’re doing to him, it drives him insane, a few days ago he got hard during a shower thinking about your pretty little moans on his dick so that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was for the past few weeks he has been wanting to express his appreciation towards you by going down on YOU, but every single time he attempts it’s always an interuption.

Jirou needs you for a problem she has, an emergency at one of the agencies you both work at, he remembers a few times he fell right asleep after cumming. It’s embarrassing!

So, Bakugo has been adding up the costs and he knows he owes you, it’s gotten to the point he feels like he is using you.

Sure he says thank you, takes you out, cleans you up, etc etc, but he wants to REALLY pay you back. The moment he moves his body to get between your thighs you both have to leave. It SUCKS. He hates OWING.

But it wasn’t just about paying you back he does think about eating you out. Embarrassingly so, in different ways too.

Maybe with a skirt on and nothing under? Bent over the bed? Sit on his face? Maybe 69? Side ways? He can’t stop thinking the different ways to eat that pretty pussy of yours.

He couldn’t take it anymore he HAS to at this point. So, once again you text him asking if he wanted to come over and of course he’s already on his way, but once you tug down his sweats he stops you.

“Baby—?—oh!”

No words needed he attacks your neck gently to distract you from how he was pushing you down on your comfy bed, “‘Suki you—“

“Just…shut up. Please. “ Luckily you were wearing just one of his shirts and a thin little thong, he kisses down and all around your tummy and thighs, indirectly teasing you, ‘Have to pay you back..”

“Pay ..me?”

He groans, knowing damn well he doesn’t wanna continue unless he asks for your permission, but wont get an answer until he answer your questions, “I been wanting to return the favor…but every fucking time I do we gatta stop and I don’t want you…to think…I don’t know that I’m using you.”

You blink, registering what he’s saying, “Katsuki you are using me.” When his eyes grew wide you started to giggle and shake your head, “Not in a bad way! You’re using me to help yourself. And I love to. I love making you feel good, it was my idea y’know…but I never did it so you can do it back to me. We’re in a relationship not a…deal.”

As much as it made sense Katsuki was just too stubborn (and hard) to accept it, “But…” you lie back, tugging off your panties and spreading your legs for him. His piercing red eyes were wide, stunned at even prettier your pussy looked last time he seen you. He swallowed hard when he noticed your lips already wet, were you playing with yourself earlier? “If you are offering you can, but I want you to do it because you want to not because I owe—-oh!”

Your boyfriend wasted no time holding open your thighs to latch his lips in your pussy. Granted he never done it before, but the weeks of looking at pussy eating videos helped him navigate where to lick and suck.

Sure. He didn’t necessarily owe you, but he sure as hell wanted you to know he loves and appreciate you all the same.

And with the way you were moaning his name, he knew he paid his debt.

525 notes · View notes

aliceinborderlandsquidgame · 24 hours ago

Text

One hell of a team | In-ho x Wife!Reader |

Summary: You will follow your husband anywhere.

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Violence - Different back story for In-ho - Blood - Death - Use of (Y/N) - Reader gets called "love" -

The Frontman, the man with the most power within the island, to who the guards obey without question.

Was currently trembling under his wife poited look.

"You want to enter the games?" You asked him, your tone cold and almost jugdmental.

In-ho calmed himself down. It was an idea that stayed with him after the death of the Chairman and even mor with how player 456 had insisted the last two years in finding them. He had played before and won, he knew how terrible others could be, he had walked out like a new man, used the money for himself and you. Never really gave much thoguht on how life were lost.

But, for some reason he wanted to go again.

"Im going with you"

His glass of wisky fell onto the floor, the loud crash did nothing to bother you while you ate.

"No, thats not happening. I need you here to control the games and guards" In-ho started trying to get a valid reason to why you defenetly should not come.

"Oh, you need me to? Well I need you here. With me. With our family. How do you think I would do seeing you there ? I still remember how you got when you came back from these the first time"

"That was different" The Frontman said taking a deep breath "I wont be just one more player, it will be like when the Chairman went in"

"That still does not ease my mind" (Y/N) responded "Till death do us a part and follow you anywhere" you recited showing him your weeding ring. "Remember?"

In-ho felt his chest got thight at the sight and the memory of the small yet full of love weeding you two had back when life was more simple.

"Alright, you can come with me. Its not like you would wait for my approval" he responded smiling at the end "But no one must know that we are married, you understand that ?" He added now serious

"Of course, its what makes more sense, we will just casually meet there and see how it plays" You nodded to him "And please, better clean up that glass before someone steps on it"

"On it, love"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

For the most part pretending not to know each other was easier than expected. While you knew the guards knew who you two were you were still a bit scared. Specially during the green and red light, since both of you had got separated and now you were froze in your spot.

"You need to move" In-ho said from behind his arm playing along "Follow me in the next sing, alright? Just take my hand"

"Im scared, im sorry" You said feeling guilty over wanting to be there with him and starting to fail on the first game no less.

"I know, I was too. But im here, just follow me"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You had to hide your smirk when he pressed the circle to go on with the games, you knew he would do it just to piss off Player 456 and make things more cahotic.

He went with the rest and stood besides you trying himself not to smile at you.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The first approach to Gi-huns team was tense to say the least. You two had voted circle and even worse In-ho had been the vote that ended the tie.

But with his own charisma and yours you two got to be on his good side.

Till In-ho decided to talk, really you sometimes forgot who sassy he could be.

"And some picked umbrella?" He asked faking suprise when he had seen it on first hand. "Most of them died I assume"

You could see the look on player 456 and decided to be more sensitive

"Hey, dont be like that. Im sure they went in blind and did not know what it was about" You said keeping a safe distance so no one would think you two were together or knew each other before the games.

In-ho was having too much fun.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

That first night they both were in their respective beds. Still keeping their false relationship. However once (Y/N) was sure all were asleep she went towards In-ho who was awake like he knew she would be coming to him.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a whisper, worried that for her this would be too much.

"Im fine, I wanted to see if you were fine"

He nodded not saying a thing but taking her hand.

"Also, I saw you break that fight, really ? When did you even learn to do that ?" This made him smile and hold her hand thighter "Really! I only see you in your office all the time"

"You think I would come in here without knowing how to defend myself or you?"

She smiled at him, blushing in the dark. "No....I just thoguht all you did was be in your office and give orders"

In-ho rolled his eyes "Just wait till we are out of here, i will show you just how fit im"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The six legs game was both a chaos and funny. Honeslty you could not help yourself on hugging him and player 456 (who was slowly getting on your soft side) as you saw a team win.

However the shoots that came for these who did not survive were too much. You would swear In-ho gave the guards a cold stare because you would flinch sometimes.

"Hey, dont worry they wont shoot the ones who havent played" Player 456 reassured you with a calm tone

You nodded, knowing that even if you lost they wont shoot you or In-ho. It was still sweet to see him trying to calm you down.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"Not a word" He said during the night when you two were able to talk again.

"I was not going to say a thing, but you did in on purpose or were you really missing ?"

In-ho closed his eyes knowing you would later get the recording of him missing during the game and use it against him.

"It was all planned" he said trying to sound as convincing as he could.

"Whatever you say Honey"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The game of making pairs gave you nausea because of the carousel kept spinning around. And the rounds were stress again. The worse part was getting separated from In-ho who find you seeing how two players were dragging you so they could have the number they needed.

You havent see him get that angry in years, his protective self being on as he pulled one from the neck and punched the other one.

He kept punching almost forgetting there was a game you two were supposed to play.

"Leave him we still need two more" You urged only for a guard to shove two confused and scared players besides you and In-ho.

"We got them" He assured getting your hand and going to one room.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"In-ho!! (Y/N)!!" The worried screams of Gi-hun filled the place as he looked for both of you.

Even if he had promised to try and dont get attached to new players and survive he could not help but feel a connection with both of you.

"Gi-hun!" In-ho's voice called making him look over and see him coming towards the rest with you by hand something that made him curious but decided not to ask.

"Im glad to see you two alright" Gi-hun said seeing just a few bruises on you, and noticing blood on In-ho knuckles.

You catched his eyes and went to explain "He saved me" you told the rest looking at them then at In-ho who was looking back at you "I would have not made it otherwise"

The look of love you two shared was so genuine, some wonder if you two were together but trying to be discrete to protect yourselfs.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"They will most likely attack us tonight" Gi-hun explained as he showed the fork the guards had left when the food was given.

The idea only assented itself when the men returned from the bathroom, with blood on them.

"And what do you propuse us to do?" In-ho asked all of the Xs were in a circle trying to listen to what Gi-hun had to say.

Gi-hun told the others his plan, honestly you thoguht it was nusts, it wont work. They were far suprassed on numbers but you had to shut yourself up.

You could tell your husband was both amazed by it and even kind of respecting it. Or at least that what he showed to him. He needed Gi-hun's trust after all.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

"Hide well" In-ho said besides you in a low tone "We can trust the guards but till they get here we cant trust the others"

You nodded knowing that very well since this was a typical phase of the game for years.

"We will be safe" You said holding his shoulder. "Do what you have to do, dont worry about me" You tried to make him feel at ease but he could not. The only thing that scared him more than anything were the other players trying to get to you.

"Just hang in there" He responded his forehead against yours.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

The fight was on its hot spot. The players were killing each other without a second thought.

Nothing like living it, even if you have seen this type of thing multiple times. Its was unnerving to see them just going at each others troath. The screams and cries were too much for a moment, the dark did nothing to help.

Thats when you felt it. Someone had dragged you out from under the bed and was now on top of you. You saw the player move their left hand ready to Strike at you. You tried to punch and defend yourself but the person on top was too strong.

A cold scream left your mouth as the forker pierced your shoulder.

You could not help it, the adrenaline and anxiety was getting on you.

"In-ho! In-ho help me please" You screamed for him, your husband the love of your life.

"Shut up, the next one will be your neck" The person said and for a moment you saw it. Dying in here and leaving In-ho.

Till you felt the person being pushed and the screams of them. You blinked trying to make sense.

It was In-ho, he had taken the fork from the player and was now piercing the neck of the player, not even leaving a chance for them to survive.

"GO HIDE NOW!!" In-ho ordered, he being scared himself and angry. He saw red when you were dragged and it was for the brutal grip Gi-hun had on his arm that he did not move faster.

You did as told getting under another bed and making sure no one could reach you.

"You fucking scum! How dare you lay hands on my wife" In-ho almost screamed too angry to see that the player was now dead. All his face and hands where covered in blood.

"Stop it!! They are dead, we need to continue the plan, the lights will be back soon" Gi-hun said taking him and pulling him away from the dead player.

"Get (Y/N), and be ready" Gi-hun told him trying to keep himself calm even when he was close to jump over and save you and In-ho. He wondered if he had hear it right, you were his wife?

In-ho did not waste time, searching for you in the dark till he noticed you. He went quick, pulling yourself out from the bed telling you its was him.

"Shh shh its me, its over dont cry Love" He said trying to make you feel better.

"In-ho?" He nodded and you cried harder "In-ho I was so scared"

"I know love I know, just a bit more alright? It will be over soon. Listen once the guards come in and we follow Gi-huns plan do not come. Someone will come and get you"

"Im going with you, im not leaving you in a bullet fight!"

"You know nothings gonna happen to me, I want you here, safe, alright?"

Finally you accepted.

"I love you In-ho"

"I love you too Love"

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

As In-ho had said when the guards got back after the fight one took you, Player 120 tried to protest but was put back in her place by other guard.

"You are under suspect of have been part of the riot. You are now eliminated from the games"

The guard said playing his role, starting to get you out of the room while you screamed following the act.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

"Apologies Madam, orders from the Front Man" The guard said bowing once you two were outside and out of reach from the others players.

Even if you were still breathing hard you nodded. "Dont worry, just take me to him". The guard nodded.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

He knew he was needed in the control room but refused to let you alone like that. He went to your share room, his heart broke at your image, bruises and blood over you. A guard was checking your shoulder but left after he order them to.

Silence fell over both of you as he went to you and hugged you careful not to hurt your shoulder.

He removed his mask to look at you properly.

"Im sorry, I should have never let you come, I should have stopped this sooner" He said with pain in his voice

"Dont blame yourself, I told you I was going in with you. This was not your fault In-ho" You reassured him feeling sad and worried over him.

"I cant not blame myself" He gently passed his hand over your cheeck "You are the best thing in my life and I almost lost you because of my own desires, never again"

You two kissed softly grounding yourselfs. You two were safe and together nothing else matters from now. Only the love and devotion you two had for each other.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

#squid game imagine #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #front man x reader #the front man x reader #in-ho x reader

498 notes · View notes

moonlightwritingf1 · 1 day ago

Text

The Art of Surrender | LN4

❀˖°𓍼♡ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, dealing with back pain, reluctantly lets Lando, give her a massage. As his hands work through her tension, an undeniable chemistry builds between them. The massage becomes a turning point, revealing unspoken emotions and desires.

❀˖°𓍼♡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❀˖°𓍼♡ word count ━━━━━━━ 3.1k

❀˖°𓍼♡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The evening air was warm as Y/n sat on her couch, wincing every time she shifted. Her back still ached—four days later, and the damn furniture delivery was still haunting her. She’d tried everything: hot showers, over-the-counter painkillers, even a heating pad. Nothing worked. The thought of calling for help crossed her mind, but who would she call? Her friends were busy, and her family… well, they were miles away. She sighed, leaning back into the cushions just as her doorbell rang.

She frowned. Who could that be? Groaning, she pushed herself up and shuffled to the door, peeking through the peephole. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him standing there, his signature lopsided grin and those piercing blue/ green eyes. Lando.

“Hey, Y/n,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing as always. “Miss me?”

She opened the door, trying to keep her expression neutral. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, holding up a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. “Thought you might need some company. And, let’s be honest, I missed seeing your face.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. She stepped aside to let him in, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered. Stop it, she told herself. He’s just being nice. Lando had been nothing but persistent since they met a few months ago, always finding ways to show up in her life, always making sure she knew how much he liked her. But she couldn’t let herself believe it. Not really. Someone like him? It didn’t make sense.

“You look tense,” Lando said, setting the wine and snacks down on her coffee table. “Everything okay?”

“Just my back,” she muttered, sitting back down on the couch. “I had to move some furniture the other day, and now I’m paying for it.”

Lando’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you call someone for help?”

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Didn’t think of it.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “You’re too stubborn, you know that?” He moved closer, sitting next to her. “Here, let me help. I can give you a massage.”

Her eyes widened. “What? No, that’s—”

“Come on,” he interrupted, his tone playful but insistent. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Besides, I’ll go get some massage oil or cream. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

Before she could protest further, he was already heading for the door, leaving her gaping after him. “Wait, Lando—!”

“Be right back!” he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the hallway.

Y/n groaned, flopping back onto the couch. This is ridiculous. But deep down, a small part of her was relieved. She trusted Lando—maybe more than she wanted to admit. When he returned, she hesitated again, but the determination in his eyes made it impossible to refuse.

“Fine,” she mumbled, leading him to her bedroom. “But just the back.”

He laughed softly. “Sure, just the back.”

Y/n disappeared into the room, shutting the door behind her. She stood there for a moment, her heart pounding. What am I doing? Slowly, she undressed, leaving only a pair of short shorts on. She glanced at herself in the mirror, biting her lip. This felt… intimate. Too intimate. But she climbed onto the bed anyway, lying on her stomach and burying her face in her arms.

“Ready?” Lando’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

The door creaked open, and she heard him step inside, the soft rustle of the bag he carried. Moments later, she felt the bed dip as he kneeled beside her. His hands, warm and gentle, pressed against her back, spreading the cool massage oil over her skin. She shivered, not just from the temperature, but from the way his touch seemed to ignite something deep inside her.

His fingers worked expertly, kneading the tension out of her muscles. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. It felt incredible—too incredible. Gradually, his hands began to wander lower, skimming the sides of her waist, brushing dangerously close to her breasts. Her breath hitched, and she felt a warmth pooling between her legs.

“Relax,” Lando murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Let me take care of you.”

She nodded weakly, unable to form words. His hands continued to roam, moving toward her hips, then down her thighs. Each touch was slow, deliberate, sending jolts of electricity through her body. Her shorts felt damp, sticking to her skin, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice.

But of course, he did.

Lando’s fingers paused near the hem of her shorts, his gaze fixed on the thin fabric clinging to her. He swallowed hard, feeling his own arousal building. Fuck. He hadn’t expected this, but now that he was here, all he could think about was how badly he wanted her.

“Turn over,” he said suddenly, his voice husky.

Y/n blinked, lifting her head to look at him. “What?”

“Your front,” he explained, his eyes dark with desire. “If you want, I can massage that too.”

She hesitated, her heart racing. This was crossing a line—a line she wasn’t sure she was ready to cross. But the way he was looking at her, the heat in his gaze… it was impossible to resist.

Slowly, she turned onto her back, her cheeks burning. Lando’s eyes scanned her body, lingering on her chest before meeting her gaze. Without a word, he applied more oil to his hands and began massaging her stomach, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. Every brush of his fingers sent shivers down her spine.

Then, without warning, his hands drifted higher, cupping her breasts. Y/n gasped, her back arching instinctively. Lando’s thumbs circled her nipples, teasing them until they hardened beneath his touch. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the moan threatening to escape.

“Look at you,” Lando whispered, his voice thick with desire. “So beautiful.”

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. For the first time, she allowed herself to truly see him—the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered, the way his body reacted to hers. Her eyes flickered downward, noticing the obvious bulge in his jeans.

Lando followed her gaze and smirked. “Like what you see?”

She blushed, but there was no hiding the truth anymore. “Yes,” she admitted softly, surprising even herself.

His smirk softened into a genuine smile, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Good. Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched as Lando’s fingers traced the hem of her shorts, his touch feather-light yet deliberate. “Should I stop?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his lips still close to her ear. His warm breath sent shivers down her spine, and she could feel the heat pooling between her legs.

She shook her head, barely able to form words. “No.”

His smirk returned, and his fingers slipped under the fabric, grazing the sensitive skin of her thighs. Her body tensed momentarily, but then relaxed as his hands moved higher, massaging the curve of her hips. “You’re so tense,” he whispered, his voice laced with concern. “Let me help you relax.”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the sensation of his touch. His fingers worked their magic, kneading the muscles in her lower back before trailing down to the small of her back. She could feel the wetness between her thighs growing, a testament to how much he was affecting her.

Lando’s hands paused, and she heard him draw in a sharp breath. “Y/n...” he said, his voice husky. “You’re soaking.”

Her face flushed, but she didn’t open her eyes. “I know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He gently tugged at her shorts, and she lifted her hips slightly, allowing him to slide them off. The cool air brushed against her exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from his gaze. She felt vulnerable, yet completely safe in his presence.

His fingers grazed her inner thighs, and she trembled. He continued his exploration, moving closer to her core, his movements slow and deliberate. When his fingers finally reached her wetness, she gasped, her hips instinctively arching towards his touch.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He circled her entrance with his fingers, teasing her without giving her what she truly wanted.

She whimpered, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. “Lando... please...”

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the effect he had on her. “Please what?”

“Touch me,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with need.

He obliged, sliding a finger inside her slowly, watching her reaction intently. She moaned, her walls clenching around him as he began to move his finger in and out. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, and she could feel herself spiraling closer to the edge.

But just as she was about to reach her climax, he pulled his hand away, leaving her yearning for more. She opened her eyes, glaring at him. “Why did you stop?”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers. “Because I want to taste you first,” he whispered before capturing her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, mimicking the way he wanted to explore her body.

When he finally broke the kiss, he trailed his lips down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses along her collarbone. He paused at her chest, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing until she was squirming beneath him.

But he didn’t linger there for long. His lips continued their journey downward, kissing a path across her stomach before reaching her inner thighs. He gripped her hips firmly, holding her in place as he positioned himself between her legs.

She could feel his breath on her most sensitive area, and she shivered in anticipation. “Lando...” she breathed, her hands tangling in his hair.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust. “Relax,” he said, his voice soothing yet commanding. “Let me take care of you.”

And then his tongue was on her, licking a slow, torturous path up her slit. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through her veins. He lapped at her hungrily, savoring every drop of her essence, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her from squirming away.

His tongue flicked over her clit, and she saw stars, her entire body trembling with the intensity of the sensations. He alternated between swirling his tongue around her sensitive bundle of nerves and thrusting it inside her, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

She couldn’t hold back anymore. With a final cry, she came undone, her orgasm washing over her in waves of ecstasy. He didn’t stop until she had ridden out every last tremor, his tongue continuing to tease her even as she collapsed back onto the bed, spent and breathless.

He crawled up her body, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. “You taste amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

She smiled weakly, still recovering from the mind-blowing experience. “You’re incredible,” she replied, her voice hoarse.

He grinned mischievously, his hand trailing down her body once more. “And we’re just getting started.”

Y/n lay on the bed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Lando hovered above her, his eyes dark with desire, a small smirk playing on his lips. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension between them so thick it was almost tangible.

“You’re beautiful,” Lando murmured, his voice low and husky. His fingers traced a slow path down her arm, sending shivers rippling through her. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, but she still hesitated, her walls firmly in place despite the intimacy they had just shared. “Lando…” she started, unsure of how to respond.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a tender kiss that made her head spin. When he pulled away, his eyes locked onto hers. “Don’t overthink it, Y/n. I know you feel it too. This.” He gestured between them, his hand trembling slightly. “It’s real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She swallowed hard, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. “I… I do feel it,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it scares me. You scare me.”

His expression softened, and he cupped her face in his hands. “Why?” he asked gently, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Tell me.”

Y/n took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. “Because you’re you. You’re this amazing, successful, larger-than-life person. And I’m just… me. I don’t want to get hurt if this doesn’t work out.”

Lando’s eyes searched hers, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “Y/n, you’re everything to me. Don’t you see that? It doesn’t matter who I am or what I do. When I’m with you, I’m just a guy who’s completely and utterly in love with this incredible woman.”

Her breath hitched at his confession, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You mean that?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Every single word,” he replied without hesitation. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

For the first time, she let herself truly believe him. Let herself trust him. Her hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed together. “I’m in love with you too,” she whispered, the words feeling like a release after holding them in for so long.

A wide grin spread across Lando’s face, and he kissed her deeply, pouring all of his emotions into it. When they finally broke apart, he chuckled softly. “Took you long enough,” he teased, his tone playful.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help laughing. “Shut up,” she said, smacking his shoulder lightly.

He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips to place a kiss on her knuckles. “Make me,” he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes. Slowly, she shifted beneath him, her hands sliding down to his waist. She could feel the hardness pressing against his jeans, and it only fueled her courage. “Maybe I will,” she murmured, her voice sultry.

Lando’s breath caught as her fingers grazed the bulge in his pants. “Fuck, Y/n,” he groaned, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily.

She smirked, enjoying the effect she had on him. With deliberate slowness, she undid the button of his jeans, then the zipper, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his boxers. He hissed through his teeth, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as she slid her hand inside.

Her fingers wrapped around his length, and she savored the way he shuddered at her touch. “You’re so hard,” she whispered, stroking him slowly.

“Only for you,” he managed to choke out, his eyes blazing with need.

She pushed him off of her with a playful smirk, watching as he landed on the bed with a soft bounce. Sliding between his legs, she locked her gaze with his, the intensity in her eyes making his breath hitch. She smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of his cock before taking him into her mouth. Lando let out a strangled groan, his hand tangling in her hair as she began to move. Her tongue swirled around him, teasing and tasting, driving him wild.

“God, you’re perfect,” he panted, his hips bucking slightly. “So fucking perfect.”

Y/n moaned around him, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through his body. Her hands roamed over his thighs, her nails digging lightly into his skin. She could feel him twitch in her mouth, hear the way his breathing became ragged.

“Y/n…” he warned, his voice strained. “If you keep going like that, I’m not going to last.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “And what if I don’t want you to?” she asked, her tongue darting out to lick a stripe along his length.

Lando cursed under his breath, his grip tightening in her hair. “You’re killing me,” he groaned, but he didn’t stop her when she took him back into her mouth.

Her movements became more fervent, her lips sucking and her tongue caressing him in ways that left him utterly undone. He could feel the pressure building, his entire body tensing as he teetered on the edge.

“I’m close,” he gasped, trying to warn her again.

But Y/n didn’t stop. Instead, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with devotion, and in that moment, Lando felt his control shatter. With a guttural moan, he came, her name on his lips as she swallowed every drop.

When he finally regained some semblance of composure, he pulled her up to him, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. “You’re incredible,” he murmured against her mouth, his hands roaming over her body. Lando’s chest heaved as he pulled her up, his hands trembling against her skin. His voice was rough, still catching on the edges of desire. “I want to fuck you so bad, Y/n. But I need a minute to get hard again.”

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile as she shifted her weight, her thighs pressing against his hips. She leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. “I can wait. It doesn’t matter how long—whether it’s seconds or minutes—as long as in the end, I get to feel you inside me.”

His eyes darkened, a low groan escaping his throat as her words sent a fresh wave of heat through him. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer.

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against his chest. “Good. Then we’ll go out together.” Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, her touch feather-light but electric. “Take your time, Lando. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled sharply, his body already responding to her nearness, her words, her touch. “Fuck, Y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her gaze locked with his, unwavering, filled with a quiet intensity that made his heart pound. “Show me,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his. “When you’re ready, show me exactly what I do to you.”

Lando’s hands tightened on her waist, his breathing uneven as he felt himself hardening beneath her. “I won’t make you wait long,” he promised, his voice rough with urgency. “Not when all I want is to be inside you.”

She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him. “Then take me, Lando. When you’re ready, take me and don’t hold back.”

450 notes · View notes

ccsainzleclerc5516 · 22 hours ago

Text

Away From You For The Holidays

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: unstable family relationships, please don't take offense this is completely fictional

Since Lando and you are not from the same country, this is another holiday that the two of you spend apart from each other. You still haven't gotten to the point where you spend the holidays with his family or he with yours because during the year you're both on the road all the time and spend little time with your families, so when Christmas time comes, your family wants you to spend that time with them, just like Lando's family wants to be with him.

You came home to your hometown a week before Christmas, and now that it's already the third day after Christmas, it's becoming difficult for both of you to be so far away from each other.

Now, your family can be tough sometimes. You've never had the warm and close relationship with your parents that Lando has always had with his. You love your parents as much as they love you, and you can thank only them for everything you've achieved in life, but the truth is that growing up, they weren't always fair to you, and you never had the emotional support from them that you wanted and needed as a child.

For example, your mom always has to add something a little negative to every compliment she gives you. Always. And if you mentioned to her that her comments sometimes, most of the times, hurt you, she would somehow find herself offended. It's just always been that way, and that's why you don't like spending too much time at home with your family anymore.

It was the same today, your mom made some inappropriate comment that threw you off balance and it just all came together and became too much for you. You missed Lando, so you retreated to your room and started crying quietly longing for his warm comforting hug. Lando seemed to sense that you needed him because not long after tears started to fall down your face, your phone rang showing his name on the screen.

You quickly wiped your tears trying to hide that you were crying knowing it would upset Lando before you answered.

"Hey, baby" You spoke, sniffling a little.

"How's my most beautiful girl in the world?"

"I'm fine, I'll be even better when I see you." Your eyes water and you sniffle again.

"Baby, are you crying?" Lando notices immediately.

"I'm not.."

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asks worriedly. "Turn on the camera, let me see you."

"I'm okay, don't worry. I'm just a little emotional that's all."

"Can you please turn on the camera? I want to see you." He pleads.

You hesitate for a second, but when he asks you so tenderly, you really can't say no.

"Hey" You smile at him, but your red eyes betray your sadness.

"My baby..what’s goin on?"

"It's nothing, I'm just tired of being home and I can't wait to be with you again."

"I'm getting on a plane tomorrow and I'm coming to pick you up." You expected this from him and that's why you didn't even want him to know you were crying because you didn't want to disturb his family time at home.

"No, no! We're both flying to Spain in two days anyway so I'll survive until then, don't worry." You reassure him because you definitely planned to spend the New Year's together in Spain.

"I know, but I don't want you to spend a single second sad, especially not during the holidays. I can't sit still at home knowing that you're crying miles away from me."

"Don't worry, love, I'm fine, you already know how it goes during the holidays at my house."

"I really want this to be the last year we're not together for Christmas. Next year, I don't care if anyone gets mad, but next year on Christmas Eve I want us to be together in our home in front of our Christmas tree and under our blanket. I'm tired of being miles away from the person I love most in the world on such special days of the year."

"I know, baby, I want that too more than anything, but-"

"No but's, no, I know what you're going to say and I don't wanna hear it. You're my priority and I want you to be next to me at all times." He says and you sigh knowing it's easier said than done. "Baby, one day we'll have our own family and we'll most definitely want to spend Christmas at our home with our kids, and then later come everyone else. And I want it to be like that next year as well, you and I at our home for Christmas, and then we go and visit our families together. Okay?"

His words brought a smile to your face and warmth around your heart already fantasizing about what it could be like next year. You wanted it more than anything. You and him. Together.

"Okay, baby. I want that too and I honestly think that's the only right way."

"It is. No more crying, okay?" He says and you nod. "Ugh, I wanna kiss you so bad right now” Lando sighs tilting his head and looking at you with nothing but pure love.

"Trust me, you won't be able to get rid of me in two days."

"Baby, in two days, I'm not letting you out of my arms anymore."

412 notes · View notes

the-lady-bryan · 6 hours ago

Text

So at first I reblogged this with nothing. No comment, no tags. But then... I dunno I just felt compelled to share this from my life and came back to edit my reblog.

Years ago in February 2010, I moved from Florida to Georgia due to my parents splitting for good. I knew if I stayed with my dad, violence would happen at some point and one of us would be dead and the other in jail for it. I had just started treatment for my bipolar in August 2009 shortly after getting my diagnosis. To move, I had to drop out of college. I'd had to take a year off previously due to family and financial reasons, and had finally gotten back in January 2010. I also had to get a new psychiatrist and therapist so I could continue treatment for my mental health.

It was in group therapy at the new facility in GA where I met this woman. We'll call her Raven, as that's her preferred name. Raven was an older woman in her 50s. We did not have anything in common. But I saw her every week at group. She's been doing this for years. Decades at this point, and while we didn't really interact beyond polite greetings and goodbyes or small talk in the waiting room, a lot of what she said about coping skills resonated with me. Standard coping skills never worked for her, and they don't for me either. So any time she had suggestions for others outside the box, I'd make a note to look into it or try it out. Little by little, her suggestions began to help me adjust to my new situation and work on myself finally after years of being a punching bag for various members of my immediate family. I also heard a lot about her kids, especially her oldest. She never named them. Just indicated them as first son/eldest, daughter/middle, and second son/youngest.

Due to being unable to find work, I left GA for Florida for six months in 2011, returning to GA in September of that year. When I went back into treatment, I didn't see her anymore. I didn't go to group, didn't have transportation reliable enough. And we didn't have appointments near each other either so I didn't cross paths with her again. I'd largely forgotten this woman who had such a positive impact on my recovery and healing journey.

Then, in January 2013, I (unknowingly) met her again at my local library. At this point in my life, I was finally at a point where I was able, with some difficulty, start socializing. I was more confident in myself and my skills and while I hadn't landed a job yet, I did have a few interviews, that sadly I didn't pass but it was better than my job hunts before! And I owed a lot of that progress to that woman's nonjudgmental attitude and suggestions during group years previous.

When I met her again, not recognizing her (admittedly I didn't realize our connection for about 4-6 months after our remewting at the library) I also met her eldest son who was with her that day, who's name I did not know. Because of her suggestions, which I took to heart and used to work on myself for a few years, I was able to not have a panic attack talking to new people. So when this dorky but kinda hot looking guy's phone shouted "EXTERMINATE!" at top volume in the library in a Dalek voice, it immediately drew my attention and prompted me to go over and chat him up. I was only interested in making a new friend, and it was obvious we had a shared interest (as I was wearing my Tom Baker scarf that day as well, so yeah... Very obvious shared interest).

Now, 11 years after marrying that man who's name I learned that very day, and 14 years after meeting his mother, my life is not at all where I imagined it to be at 37. I expected to be a hermit with dogs and alone forever. Now I'm a married person with a 10 year old kid and a dog older than the kid by about a year or two. It's been hard, yes. But I'm actually quite happy with the way things turned out.

Weird how it all started by meeting this one crazy old woman at group therapy.

What’s crazy is you can just meet someone and have no idea they’re going to change your life forever

17K notes · View notes

cirambay-stories · 1 day ago

Text

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (reader is in college, Joel in his early 50s), no outbreak, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving).

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, you two retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway. “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish.

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa.

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croaked.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hissed in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again.

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired. “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.

a/n: Thank you for making it this far!!! ☺ I apologize if there are grammatical errors, misrepresented American school holiday system, and missing important tags/warnings (please let me know!)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #dbf!joel #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic

385 notes · View notes