#this question is hauting me

[witchreflection]

I have a question!

Since Yang Yixuan is Liu Qingge's only personal disciple, and (as per the Airplane extras) Ji Jue (and all other Bai Zhan disciples i suppose) is LQG's shidi and he call's the other peak lords shixiong...

Does Yang Yixuan calls Ji Jue shixiong or shishu?

[yanderedrabbles]

💕 Yandere Valentine's Day Gifts ♥️

Prompt: You own the local flower shop. It's Valentine's Day. Which customers will be popping in?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy calls you two weeks before Valentine's to order fifteen separate bouquets for his darling. Every exotic and rare shade that roses come in.

"I want them delivered fresh. Early morning please."

"Yes sir, I can manage that," you tell him, still reeling at the ridiculously large amount he just paid you.

On Valentine's Day, his maid let's you and your crew into his penthouse. You can't help but let out a low whistle when you see the size of the place.

He directs you to set the bouquets out around the living room. The morning light from the floor to ceiling windows catches on the glitter you dusted across the arrangements.

He has a sort of nervous energy - arranging and then rearranging the flowers. You sometimes hear a thumping, banging sound from deeper in his penthouse but when you ask him about it he says its just the building creaking. You don't know much about skyscrapers this high and so you let it go.

When it's all finally to his satisfaction, he tips you and your crew very generously. As you leave, you see him setting out a whole slew of iconic Tiffany jewellery boxes.

His darling will be showered with the most expensive love money can buy. Whether they want it or not.

Yandere! Bisexual Best Friend breezes into your shop like a true haute couture diva. He looks over his designer sunglasses and snorts with disdain at the traditional red bouquets.

"Nothing so cliche for my girl," he tells you.

He orders pink and white camellias, with sprigs of baby's breath. He has you wrap the stems in matching pastel paper. When you ask him if he'd like to include a card, he writes his message in a beautiful, looping cursive.

'I know no boyfriend will get you flowers that you actually like. That's why you have me. Happy Valentine's Day gorgeous.'

"Very elegant," you tell him.

"Thanks. I'm meeting her for brunch and drinks after this."

He shows you his other gift for his darling. A bottle of expensive perfume, in a glittery blush pink box.

When you ask him if his friend has any dates planned, he tilts his head and smiles without any warmth at all.

"Not if I can help it."

Yandere! Actor doesn't come into the shop or call you directly. It's his hurried, harried assistant that places the order.

"Five dozen roses in a single bouquet. I'll bring you some chocolate that he wants between the flowers. Oh, and a card. Don't forget the card."

When she drops off the chocolate for you to use in your arrangement, you can't help but want to look up the price. Everything from the packaging to the hefty weight of each chocolate screams luxury artisanal brand.

The final arrangement is beautiful, but in a looking-good-on-camera sort of way. You don't know the order is for him until his assistant accidentally let's it slip who her boss is. Your eyebrows shoot up but you manage not to ask any questions. A billionaire and now a celebrity. Seems like everyone wants to be extra romantic this year.

"What does he want on the card?" you ask, pen poised.

"Oh, he sent one for you to use." She hands you a card printed on thick cream paper, elegant in its minimalism. You glance at the writing before you can stop yourself.

'A star like you deserves all the flowers. Happy Valentine's dollface.'

Cute. The exact sort of thing you'd expect from a heart throb like him.

It's only when you see him and his darling on the red carpet later that night - his arm around their waist the entire night - that you begin to wonder if there's more to their relationship than meets the eye.

Yandere! Werewolf shows up right before you close, hands on his knees while he catches his breath. He ran straight to your shop after football practice and there's still grass stains on his chin.

"Oh god, tell me I'm not too late for roses." He looks so worried that you take pity on him and agree to look in the back for any bouquets that might have slipped under the radar.

He must be supernaturally lucky, because you manage to find a dozen red roses. When you get back to the front, he's taken out the rest of his gifts from his backpack.

There's an overstaffed werewolf plush, an extra large leather dog collar, some pre-packaged bones and a chew toy.

"Interesting selection," you say as you ring up his flowers.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. They uh... have a dog. It's mostly for the dog."

You get the sense he isn't being entirely honest, but you're not the type to pry. When you're done, he shoots you a gorgeous smile.

"I totally owe you one. You really kept me out of the doghouse."

He's just about to leave when he suddenly remembers something. He digs in the pocket of his letterman jacket and pulls out a clear packet of candy hearts. You look closer and realise he must have picked out individual sweets just for their message. They're repeated again and again.

'Be mine.'

'Yours forever.'

'Kiss me.'

"Do you think these are canine safe?" he asks you. You think about it for a second and then nod.

It's only after he's left that you wonder what sort of dog would want to eat candy like that.

[kyunghwannie]

Entangled In A Dance Of Love (Part-2: Confirmation of Love and Heartbreak) [18+]

Ft. TWICE's Hirai Momo, Minatozaki Sana x M!Reader

Genre: Romance and Love Tension- mostly, Smut-15%? (Only with Momo..yet), Love Triangle

Tags: Anal, Titjob, Breeding, Dom!Momo, Roughness(?), Face-fucking, subtle degradation and praise

Description: Well, Why is Momo so hard on you? Who knows what's gotten into her after Sana joined the game.. But you can't deny that there's going to be some confrontation or confirmation but surely a heart break as well.

(This is my first ever smut I've ever written, iam generally a shy person so i tried my best on the smut. Iam still learning on how to write it with good depiction. So bare with me for now)

Stream MISAMO "Haute Couture" album!

Two Months Later -

Time had slipped through your fingers like sand.

Somewhere between the grueling practices, the unrelenting training schedules, and the ever-present pressure of living up to your title as JYP's ace trainee, the days had blurred into weeks.

And now, two months later, you were here-late 2023, sitting in your dorm room after yet another brutal dance session with Momo.

You barely had the energy to lift your arms, much less process how much had changed in such a short span of time.

Momo's training had been ruthless.

She pushed you to your limits-and then past them.

At first, it had been purely professional, her guidance sharp, her expectations high.

But as the weeks passed... something shifted.

It wasn't just about polishing your dance skills anymore.

There was an undercurrent, a silent tension that neither of you addressed but both of you felt.

The way her gaze would linger a fraction longer than necessary.

The way her voice softened-just slightly-when she corrected you.

The way she seemed... almost possessive when others brought up your name.

And then there was Sana.

You weren't stupid.

You had noticed the way she had inserted herself into your life.

Unlike Momo, Sana didn't push you until you collapsed.

She didn't demand perfection.

Instead, she snuck into your world like a warm breeze-effortless, natural, dangerously comfortable.

She'd drop by unannounced with snacks, casually throwing her arm around your shoulder as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

She'd tease you, flirt just enough to keep you on edge, but never enough to make it clear what she truly wanted.

And the worst part?

You didn't know what to do about it.

Momo was your mentor.

Sana was your sunbae.

And you? You were just a trainee-caught in the crossfire between two of TWICE's most unpredictable women.

Leaning back on your dorm bed, you let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

This was getting dangerous.

But the question was...

Dangerous for whom?

---

You exhaled, staring at the ceiling, letting your body sink into the mattress. Every muscle in your body protested in soreness, a dull ache settling deep into your bones from the past two months of non-stop training.

And just when you thought you could have at least one evening to breathe...

Your phone vibrated.

You barely had the strength to lift it, but curiosity won over exhaustion-a mistake you instantly regretted.

[JYP Training Schedule]

Dance Training (Mentor: Momo) - Last Session of the Day: 6:30 PM

Your fingers went limp, the phone slipping from your grasp, landing on your stomach with a soft thud.

Y/N: "No... no, please... Not today... Not her... Not again..."

You could feel tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

The kind born from pure, existential suffering.

It wasn't just dance training.

It was training with Momo.

Two hours-minimum-of relentless footwork, brutal conditioning, and the suffocating feeling of her sharp gaze analyzing every single one of your movements.

You could already hear her voice echoing in your head-

"Again."

"That was sloppy, Y/N."

"Are you giving up already? I thought you were the ace."

Y/N: "I just... I just wanted a moment to exist..."

You turned your head to stare at the clock. 4:12 PM.

Two hours and eighteen minutes until your inevitable demise.

Your stomach twisted, knowing exactly how the evening would go.

Momo wouldn't go easy on you.

Not even a little.

And worse? She'd be in one of her "moods."

Ever since Sana had inserted herself into your life, Momo had been different. She masked it well-still the same strict mentor, the same composed sunbae-but you weren't an idiot.

She was being pushy, more intense than usual, as if trying to stamp out any external influences-especially a certain Minatozaki Sana.

And that meant hell for you.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Maybe if you faked death, you could get out of it.

...No, Momo would probably still drag your lifeless body onto the dance floor.

You stared at the ceiling, lips trembling, tears welling up as a dramatic sense of despair settled deep in your soul.

Y/N: "Why... why must I suffer like this?"

You turned to your side, clutching your pillow like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries.

Y/N: "I was just an innocent ONCE... a devoted fan... a humble admirer of my sunbaenims..."

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you sniffled dramatically.

Y/N: "I used to be the one watching their performances from behind my laptop screen, replaying their dance practice videos like a student of the arts... And now... now I am the victim of one of them..."

You turned onto your back again, eyes glossed over as you remembered the first time you saw Momo dance. The way she owned the stage, her movements effortless yet deadly, as if she were born to command the rhythm itself.

Y/N: "I admired her... I loved her work... I treated her like a goddess..."

You sat up suddenly, gripping your blanket in sheer betrayal.

Y/N: "So why is she the reason I collapse after every session like a shrimp?!"

You had never doubted your love for TWICE before.

But after two months of merciless training under Hirai Momo...

...you were starting to question if this was what ONCEs were meant to suffer.

Y/N: "I just wanted to support my idols... not be tortured by one..."

The irony wasn't lost on you.

You had spent years as a dedicated fan, hyping them up, watching their performances in awe, admiring their talent.

Now?

Now you were personally experiencing that talent in the most agonizing way possible.

And yet...

Your stomach sank as you realized something even worse.

Even though Momo put you through hell every session...

...you never once considered giving up.

Not because you had to.

But because you still admired her.

Y/N: "Damn it..."

You rolled onto your stomach, burying your face into your pillow with a muffled, frustrated scream.

You sat up instantly, heart pounding in your chest as an existential dread settled in.

Y/N: "No... no, no, no, no, no!"

Your hands clutched your head as your brain spiraled into a worst-case scenario. Momo wouldn't do that to me, right?

She wouldn't... she wouldn't make me do that again.

Not "Set Me Free.".

The hell that was TWICE's powerhouse anthem, a song that burned every fiber of your being every time you danced it.

A song that drained the very soul from your body.

A song that, at this point, you had danced so many times under Momo's supervision that even hearing the intro sent a traumatic jolt down your spine.

And yet... what if she made you do it again?

Your breath hitched.

No. No. NO.

Your hands clawed at your blanket as a flashback hit you like a freight train.

- Two weeks ago. -

Momo stood before you, arms crossed, lips curling into a satisfied smirk as you gasped for air, drenched in sweat, kneeling on the hardwood floor of the practice room.

Momo: "Again."

Your soul left your body.

Y/N: "Sunbaenim... I... I can't..."

Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, your body on the verge of collapse after dancing Set Me Free five times in a row without a single long break.

Momo tilted her head, raising a brow.

Momo: "Oh? But weren't you the 'Ace Trainee'? The one who can do everything?"

Y/N: "I can... but I also want to live..."

Momo hummed, crouching before you, her sharp gaze locking onto yours.

Momo: "Then prove it."

She reached for the speaker, finger hovering over the play button, and in that moment, you swore you saw your life flash before your eyes.

- Now. -

You shot up from your bed, panting.

Y/N: "SHE WOULDN'T DARE!"

...

...would she?

You grabbed your phone, scrolling to your messages, desperately searching for something-anything-that would confirm today's training agenda.

Nothing.

Y/N: "No. No, no, no, no, no-"

You shoved your blanket off, scrambling out of bed like your life depended on it.

You had to mentally prepare.

If Momo wasn't planning to make you dance Set Me Free tonight, then fine.

But if she was...

You needed to have your will written.

You stepped into the practice room, shoulders still tense from your earlier panic attack over Set Me Free.

The air was still, the mirrored walls reflecting your nervous figure as you set down your bag.

Your legs still felt wobbly, the trauma from past training sessions etched into your muscles, but you tried to shake it off.

Y/N: "Alright... maybe today won't be that bad..."

A loud thud made you flinch.

The door swung open.

Hirai Momo had entered the chat.

And she looked pissed.

You froze, watching as she walked in, a storm brewing in her dark eyes. Her lips were pressed tight, jaw set, and if looks could kill-

Well, you would have been dead before you could even breathe.

Your soul left your body.

You hadn't even done anything wrong today!

...Had you?

Momo dropped her bag, cracking her neck as she eyed you like a predator sizing up its prey.

Momo: "We're doing variations today."

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

That was not a good sign.

Y/N: "V-Variations?"

Momo: "Mhm."

She stepped closer, rolling her shoulders.

Momo: "I want to see how fast you can adapt to different styles of choreography. So we'll be doing various TWICE songs."

...Huh?

Your stomach sank.

Y/N: "Wait, wait, wait. Why only TWICE songs?"

Momo's sharp gaze flickered toward you.

Momo: "What? You have a problem?"

Y/N: "N-No! But- mean, can't we add some boy group songs too? Maybe something with less-"

Momo: "No."

Your words died in your throat.

Momo crossed her arms, her expression unwavering.

Momo: "You think TWICE choreographies aren't intense enough?"

You went silent.

Y/N: "I... I never said that-"

Momo: "Good. Because I'd shut you up either way."

Your soul fled to another dimension.

Y/N: "...I see."

There was no escape.

---

Your chest heaved, lungs aching as you gasped for breath.

Y/N: "Haaah-haaah-hrrgh-"

Your body shook from the exhaustion, sweat dripping from your chin as you leaned forward, bracing yourself on your thighs.

But even then-it wasn't enough.

Your body was starved of oxygen.

Your mouth parted wide, sucking in deep gulps of air, but it felt like you were drowning on land.

Your vision blurred for a second, and for a terrifying moment, you thought you were going to pass out.

Momo: "...Y/N."

Her voice was calm, but you barely registered it over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You slumped forward, catching yourself on your hands, palms pressing against the cold floor.

Oxygen.

You needed more oxygen.

Now.

Your mouth hung open as you desperately sucked in air, but it still felt like you were being strangled.

Momo sighed, stepping closer.

Momo: "You're hyperventilating, idiot."

You barely heard her as your mind frantically tried to regulate itself.

Then-suddenly-

A hand grabbed the back of your shirt, yanking you up.

Before you could react, something cold was pressed against your lips.

Momo: "Drink."

Your fingers trembled as you took the bottle from her hand, water spilling down your chin as you took huge, greedy gulps.

Your breathing finally began to slow, the rush of air into your lungs less suffocating.

Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed as the cold liquid cooled your burning throat.

A few more minutes passed before Momo sighed, her arms crossing.

Momo: "Pathetic. I thought you had more stamina than this."

Her words stung-but you were too tired to respond.

Your entire body felt like it was made of lead.

Your arms trembled as you weakly pushed yourself up from the floor, still breathing heavily, your vision slightly swimming from the sheer exhaustion.

Momo had already grabbed her things, a towel draped over her neck, as she headed toward the door.

You didn't even know why-but something inside you twisted painfully.

Even though your body screamed for you to stay still-

Your lips parted, your voice hoarse and breathless.

Y/N: "...Momo-sunbaenim."

She froze mid-step.

You didn't even see her reaction-you were too busy staring at the floor.

Y/N: "...I'm sorry."

Your fingers curled into your sweat-soaked shirt.

Y/N: "I-If I disappointed you today... I-"

You sucked in a shaky breath, still not daring to look at her.

Y/N: "I really... tried my best."

A long silence filled the room.

Momo stood motionless, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

Then-without a single word-

She turned and walked away.

The door shut behind her, the sound echoing through the empty practice room.

You barely had the energy to react.

You just slumped back down on the floor, your head resting against the cold wall.

Her grip on her bag tightened, her jaw clenching as a sharp wave of guilt slammed into her chest.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Why did she push you so hard?

And why-when she heard you apologize so sincerely, with so much raw emotion in your exhausted voice-

Did she feel like the worst person alive?

Momo: "...I'm such an idiot."

Her eyes shut tight, frustration bubbling inside her.

Momo: "Why am I being so immature?"

This wasn't what she wanted.

She had plans. She had reasons.

But today, she let her emotions take control.

And now, you-had apologized to her, even when she was the one being irrational.

She exhaled harshly, gripping the strap of her bag before walking away-

But the guilt lingered, crawling under her skin like a heavy weight that she couldn't shake off.

A Month Later - Under Her Control

The past month had been... strange.

At first, Momo was just your strict but talented mentor-pushing you past your limits, making sure your dance flowed, your rhythm synchronized, your every step sharp yet fluid.

But somewhere along the way-she started worming her way into your daily life.

At first, it was small things.

Like handing you a water bottle before you could reach for one yourself. Or grabbing a towel and tossing it at you before you even realized you were sweating buckets.

Then it escalated.

Momo: "Y/N, you're eating way too much junk. I'm sending you a proper meal plan."

And the next day-boom.

Your phone buzzed, a detailed meal plan from her sitting in your messages.

And because you were a good student, you followed it.

Then it became clothes.

Momo: "Y/N, are you seriously wearing that?"

You looked down at your black hoodie and sweats. What was wrong with it?

Momo: "You look like a sleepy high schooler. Hold on."

The next thing you knew, she dragged you to a department store, making you try on outfits that-frankly-you never would've picked yourself.

And because you were too tired to argue, you let her pick.

Soon-she wasn't just your mentor.

She was your meal planner.

Your stylist.

Your supervisor.

And somehow-you let it happen.

Not because she forced you.

But because... you were getting used to it.

Hell-was she even controlling you?

Or were you just stupidly obedient?

You had no clue.

But right now-you sat in the practice room, sipping on the protein shake that Momo had forced upon you, staring at yourself in the mirror.

Y/N: "...What the hell happened to me?"

Your hair was neatly styled. Your outfit? Approved by Momo.

Your meals? Decided by Momo.

Your training schedule? Dictated by Momo.

Y/N: "...Am I even my own person anymore?"

The door suddenly swung open, and you didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

Momo: "Alright, dummy. Time to start."

You sighed, finishing off your drink.

This was your life now.

And you let it happen.

At first, it was just a mentor-student relationship.

Momo was my dance coach. A sunbaenim I admired. A K-pop legend whose movements were so sharp yet fluid that even idols envied her.

But now?

She had become something far more than that.

Something deeper.

Something I couldn't even describe.

I didn't even realize how much she had wormed her way into my life until I looked back and saw just how deeply entangled I was in her presence.

At first, she was just strict and demanding.

But then she started staying back after practice, watching over me as I cooled down, asking if I was eating well, correcting my posture even outside dance.

Then she started sending me good morning texts.

Then reminders to eat on time.

Then checking in on me whenever I got too silent.

Then one day-when I was just sitting in the practice room, drained and lost in my own thoughts-she just sat down next to me and sighed.

Not as Momo the Mentor.

But as Momo the Person.

Momo: "Y/N... you okay?"

I didn't even know how to answer that.

Because truthfully?

I didn't know how I was feeling anymore.

My whole life had been practice, training, expectations, and the relentless pursuit of being good enough.

And somehow, Momo became the only person I could talk to about it.

She didn't push. She didn't force words out of me.

She just sat there-waiting.

And before I even realized, I was confiding in her more than I had ever confided in anyone.

I told her about the pressure, about the expectations, about the nights where I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering if I would ever be enough.

And she just listened.

Really listened.

And when I was done, she just patted my head and said-

Momo: "You're too hard on yourself."

It was such a simple statement.

But for some reason, it almost made me tear up.

Because for the first time in my entire career-someone wasn't demanding more from me.

She just... saw me.

And that was when I realized-

Momo wasn't just gaining control over my training.

She was gaining control over me.

My habits. My daily routine. My emotions.

And I-being the obedient fool that I was-just let it happen.

Months of Momo slowly taking control of my life.

Months of her presence growing larger, more influential-until she wasn't just my mentor anymore. She was my constant.

She picked my meals.

She picked my clothes.

She picked when I rested-because without her, I wouldn't.

And yet, I never once complained.

Because despite how strict she was, despite how much control she had over me... I trusted her.

She took care of me. She understood me. She was the only person I could confide in.

And that's why-when Sana started spending more time around me-I didn't think much of it.

She was a sunbae too.

She was warm, kind, playful.

She made the long, tiring training days feel lighter.

But what I didn't realize... was that Momo noticed.

And she did not like it.

---

It happened late at night.

I was still in the practice room, running through choreography alone. Sweat dripped from my temple as I exhaled sharply, trying to keep my stance firm despite my exhausted legs.

Then-the door swung open.

And there she was.

Hirai Momo.

Her expression was unreadable.

Her gaze was piercing.

Her stance-too relaxed, too controlled-like a beast preparing to pounce.

Y/N: "Momo...?"

She didn't answer.

She just closed the door behind her and walked forward-slow, deliberate, almost predatory.

I instinctively stepped back.

Why... did she look so intense?

Why did she look like she was about to do something irreversible?

Then, her voice cut through the thick air.

Momo: "You've been spending a lot of time with Sana lately."

I blinked.

That's what this was about?

Y/N: "Oh... yeah. She just-"

Momo: "Why?"

Her voice was sharp.

It wasn't curious.

It was demanding.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like a cornered prey.

Y/N: "She... checks in on me sometimes. We talk. She's nice-"

Momo: "And I'm not?"

That made me freeze.

Y/N: "What? No, I didn't mean-"

Momo: "Then why do you need her?"

She took another step forward.

I stepped back.

But my back hit the mirror.

Now I had nowhere to go.

I had never seen Momo like this before.

Her eyes weren't just sharp.

They were burning.

Not with anger.

Not with irritation.

But with something deeper.

Something that made my breath hitch.

And before I could even process it-

She placed her hands on either side of my head, caging me in.

I inhaled sharply.

Y/N: "Momo, wh-"

Momo: "Look at me."

I did.

And in that moment-I understood.

This wasn't about Sana.

This wasn't about me spending time with another sunbae.

This was about her.

Her claim.

Her possession.

Her dominance.

And I-the fool who had let her take control of my life-hadn't even realized what was happening until now.

Then she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Momo: "You're mine, Y/N."

My breath hitched.

Her hand brushed against my jaw-light, teasing, but enough to send a shiver down my spine.

She was close.

Too close.

Her scent surrounded me-vanilla, sweat, and something uniquely Momo.

My heartbeat was erratic.

My knees felt weak.

I was trapped.

Not just by her presence, but by her aura.

By the sheer power she exuded.

Then-her fingers ghosted over my collarbone.

Slow.

Deliberate.

I just stood there-helpless beneath her gaze.

And she smirked.

A small, knowing, dangerous smirk.

Momo: "You're such a good boy, Y/N."

Her voice was low, sultry, laced with amusement.

She was toying with me.

And she knew I wouldn't stop her.

Then she tilted her head, brushing her lips dangerously close to my ear.

Momo: "I won't let you go."

I could feel the heat radiating from her-too close, too overwhelming.

Her fingers traced the collar of my shirt, barely touching my skin but leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

I swallowed hard.

Y/N: "Momo..."

My voice came out weaker than I intended.

She smirked.

Her hand moved lower, teasing the fabric near my chest, barely grazing my collarbone.

I felt my breathing hitch.

This wasn't playful Momo.

This wasn't strict mentor Momo.

This was something else entirely.

She loved that.

Her lips brushed against my ear, her breath sending shivers down my spine.

Momo: "What is it, Y/N?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fists clenching at my sides.

I needed to get a grip.

But then-she tilted my chin up.

Forcing me to meet her eyes.

Dark. Intense. Possessive.

My breath caught in my throat.

I could see it.

Desire.

Not just lust.

Something deeper.

Something that had been building for months.

Then-her lips curled into a smirk as her thumb brushed against my bottom lip.

Momo: "You let me control everything, Y/N."

I needed to breathe.

I shuddered.

Momo: "Your food."

Her other hand trailed down my side-slow, teasing.

Momo: "Your clothes."

My pulse spiked.

Momo: "Your training."

Then she leaned in, her lips barely an inch from mine.

Momo: "So why not this too?"

My mind went blank.

I felt her fingers slide under the hem of my shirt-just barely, just enough to test me.

To see if I would stop her.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

Because the truth was...

I didn't want to.

And she knew it.

Her smirk deepened.

Her nails lightly dragged against my stomach, making me tense.

Then-she finally closed the gap.

Not a kiss.

But a whisper.

Right against my lips.

Momo: "Tell me to stop."

I couldn't.

I didn't.

Because at that moment...

I wasn't sure if I even wanted her to.

---

(A/N: Bare with my smut scene. Iam still learning to write beautifully and shy shy shy person hehe)

The dance studio is quiet now, the mirrors fogged with the ghost of your sweat-drenched rehearsals, the floor still vibrating with the memory of Momo’s sharp critiques. She leans against the wall, arms crossed, her gray tank top clinging to the curves of her perky breasts, damp from hours of drilling you. Her eyes—normally playful, even when she’s yelling—glow with something darker, hungrier. You’ve seen her like this before, but not like this. Not with her teeth digging into her full lower lip, not with her legs shifting restlessly under those high-waisted leggings that cup her plump ass like a second skin.

Momo: voice low, her Japanese accent thickening with tension “You… and Sana. You laugh with her. Let her touch you. Fix your hair. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. Why do you let her get so close, Y/N? Hmm?” 

Your throat goes dry. You’ve spent months memorizing the way Momo’s hips pop during choreography, how her toned stomach flexes when she demonstrates a move, how her perfect, pillowy lips purse when you’re not giving 200%. But this? This is new. Her jealousy coils in the air like smoke, mingling with the musk of your exhaustion.

Y/N: “Momo…Sana-sunbaenim and i aren’t close in that way...

Her pupils blow wide. In one fluid motion, she’s on you—hands fisting your shirt, slamming you against the mirror. The glass chills your back as her nails scrape down your chest, her knee wedging between your thighs, pressing greedily against your hardening bulge. Her breath hitches, warm and sweet against your neck.

Momo: growling, lips brushing your earlobe “Prove it.” 

Her tongue is in your mouth before you can blink—hungry, demanding, tasting like coconut water and mint. You groan, hands sliding down to knead the supple swell of her ass, squeezing until she whimpers. She breaks the kiss, panting, and yanks her tank top over her head, revealing pert, pink-tipped tits that bounce lightly as she shoves you to the floor. You land with a grunt, staring up as she peels her leggings down mile-long legs, leaving her in nothing but a lace thong soaked through at the center

Momo climbs over you, her pussy hovering inches from your face

Momo: “You want to worship me, Y/N? Start here.” 

You don’t hesitate. Gripping her hips, you drag her down onto your tongue, lapping at her slick folds. She moars—a high, broken sound—as you suck her clit, your nose buried in her pelvic bone. Her thighs tremble, her hands fisting your hair as she grinds against your mouth, juices dripping down your chin.

Momo: voice shaking “F-fuck, just like that! God, your tongue—ahn!—should’ve shoved my panties in your mouth weeks ago…” 

You flip her suddenly, pinning her beneath you. Her tits jiggle as her back hits the floor, nipples pebbled and begging for your mouth. You oblige, sucking one while your hand snakes between her legs, two fingers plunging into her sopping cunt.

Y/N: muffled against her breast “You’re the only one I want, Momo. Only you.” 

She arches, crying out as your thumb circles her clit. Her hips buck, fucking herself on your fingers, those dancer’s legs hooking around your waist to pull you closer. 

Momo: “I need your cock. Now. Don’t care if it’s my pussy or my ass—just fuck me!” 

You flip her onto her stomach, spanking her round ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. She gasps, spreading her legs shamelessly, her tight little asshole winking at you. You spit into your palm, slicking your dick—throbbing, leaking pre-cum—before pressing the fat head against her puckered entrance.

Y/N:  “This what you want, Momo? You want me to ruin this perfect ass?” 

Momo: face mashed into the floor, voice garbled but fierce “Fucking break me, Y/N—nngh!” 

You slam home in one brutal thrust. She screams, her walls clenching like a vise around you, but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Her ass swallows you whole, every snap of your hips earning a ragged moan as her tits sway beneath her, nipples scraping the floor. She reaches back, clawing at your thigh.

Momo: sobbing “D-don’t you dare hold back! I’ll fucking kill you if you—AHHH!” 

You lean over her, one hand fisting her hair, the other groping her tit as you piston into her. The slap of skin echoes off the mirrors, her creamy cheeks reddening with every impact. She’s babbling now, a mix of Korean and Japanese curses and pleads for more, her asshole milking you relentlessly

Y/N: “Momoring-! Hnngg, iam close.."

Her body seizes, her scream ricocheting off the walls as her pussy cums, her ass squeezing you like she’s trying to drain your soul. You follow, burying yourself to the hilt as hot ropes of cum flood her depths. She collapses, trembling, as you pull out, your baby batter dribbling from her gaping hole.

---

Later, as you both lie tangled on the floor, her head on your chest, Momo traces the bite marks she left on your collarbone. Her voice is soft now, almost shy.

Momo: “Sana… she doesn’t make you cum like that, does she?” 

You sigh, tugging her closer.

Y/N: “No has Only you, Momoring.” 

Momo: “Oh? Iam Good. Now… let’s see how many times you can make me scream before the cleaners show up.” 

Dragging you up, Momo’s painted nails dig into your shoulders as she pushes you onto the studio’s leather couch, her eyes glinting with predatory intent. Her tits—full, peach-perfect, still glistening with sweat from your earlier pounding—brush against your chest as she straddles your lap, her core grinding against your already hardening cock. She grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head, her voice a velvet command.

Momo: “You don’t get to move. Not until I say so.” 

You nod, breath catching as her thumbs flick over your nipples, her lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. She smirks at your shiver, then rises to her knees, dragging her tits along your shaft, the soft weight of them making your hips jerk instinctively.

Momo: slapping your thigh “I said still, Y/N. Or do I need to tie you to this couch?” 

Her breasts engulf your cock, the slick heat of her cleavage squeezing you like a vice. She rolls her hips, making her tits bounce rhythmically, the pink peaks brushing your tip with every sway. Pre-cum beads at your slit, smearing across her skin as she leans forward, her breath hot in your ear.

Momo: “This what you wanted? To watch Twice’s main dancer turn herself into your personal fucktoy? She licks a stripe up your cock-slit. Bet Sana’s tits couldn’t even wrap around half of this monster…” 

You groan, fists clenching as she works you faster, her japanese tits jiggling obscenely, the wet sounds of flesh on flesh filling the room. Her dominance is intoxicating—every command, every touch, a reminder that she owns this moment… owns you.

Y/N: “Momo, I’m close—fuck—!” 

Momo:slowing her pace, smirk venomous “Uh-uh. You cum when I tell you to cum.” 

---

She releases your wrists abruptly, slithering off the couch to kneel between your legs. Her hands grip the base of your cock, stroking roughly as she tilts her head up, lips parted. The sight of her—makeup smudged, hair messy, those doe eyes locked on yours—sends a vicious throb through your dick.

Momo: “Cover my face. Now.” 

You don’t hesitate. Pushing her aback to pump your cock in her cleavage once more before pulling out, aiming for her smug, pretty face. Thick ropes of cum stripe her cheeks, her eyelids, her tongue as she sticks it out greedily. She moans, lapping at the tip, swallowing every drop that lands in her mouth. 

Momo:  “Look at me. Perfect, right? Bet you wanna take a photo for Sana… show her who you really belong to.” 

You’re still panting when she stands, marching you toward the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. She spins you around, your back pressing against the cold glass as she drops to her knees again, her cum-streaked face staring up at you devilishly. 

Momo: “You’re gonna fuck me in front of this mirror. And you’re gonna watch.” 

---

Giving you a few minute of dirty talk, She stroked your bulbuos cock, already hardening again. Rising fluidly, she hikes one leg around your hip, guiding your tip to her soaked entrance. The mirror fogs where your palms press against it, Momo’s reflection a blur of golden skin and messy blonde hair as she sinks onto you with a cry

Momo: clawing at your shoulders “F-faster! Don’t just stare—fuck me like you mean it!” 

You obey, driving into her with deep, punishing strokes, your eyes locked on the mirror. Her tits bounce wildly, her ass clapping against your thighs as she throws her head back, swearing in a mix of Korean and Japanese yet again. Her hands fly to her nipples, pinching them hard as she rides you, her cunt fluttering around your cock.

Momo: “See that? She grips your chin, forcing you to look at your reflection—your cock disappearing into her glistening pussy. That’s where you live now. In. Me.” 

You spiral closer to the edge, but she senses it, suddenly pulling off and spinning around. Her back presses to your chest, her hand snaking behind to grip your shaft, guiding it back into her ass without warning. You shout, the dual sensation of her tight heat and the lewd mirror image overwhelming.

Momo: panting “Don’t you dare cum yet. I want your dick down my throat first.” 

---

She drags you to the floor, lying back with her head hanging off. You loom over her, cock glistening with her juices, and she opens her mouth like a starved thing, tongue out, eyes blazing.

Momo: “Facefuck me. And if you make me gag, I’ll bite.” 

You hold her hair rather gently, sliding into her throat with a groan. She takes you greedily, gagging slightly but never breaking eye contact, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes as you thrust deeper. Her tits heave with every ragged breath, her hands squeezing her own nipples roughly, and you can feel her vibrating around you—a submissive paradox, still utterly in control

Y/N: “Momo—I can’t hold back—” 

Momo said glaring up at you, lips stretched obscenely

Momo: “Do. It.” 

You explode down her throat, her neck working to swallow every drop. When you finally pull out, she coughs, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, then licks it clean, smugness radiating off her like heat

Momo: “Now… clean me up. My pussy is dripping again with your generous work.” She spreads her legs, fingers parting her swollen lips. “Use. Your. Tongue.” 

---

Momo’s fingers are knotted in your hair, yanking your face upward until your eyes water. She’s perched on the edge of the studio’s grand piano now, legs spread wide, her puffy, glistening cunt inches from your mouth. The scent of her arousal—musky, addictive—hits you like a drug, your cock twitching helplessly in your pants. She smirks, grinding her hips forward, her swollen clit brushing your lips.

Momo: voice sharp, commanding “Lick. And if you stop before I say, I’ll make you choke on my strap-on for a week.” 

You dive in, tongue slashing up her slit, lapping at her juices like a man starved. She hisses, thighs clamping around your head, cutting off your air as you suck her clit into your mouth. Your nose buries into her soaking folds, her taste flooding your senses. She rocks against your face viciously, grinding her pussy into you, her moans sharp and needy. 

Momo: panting “Fuck—yes! Harder! Bite it, you coward—ahn!” 

You nip her clit gently, and she shrieks, slamming your face deeper into her cunt. Your jaw aches, but you don’t stop, tongue flicking her entrance before plunging inside. She gyrates, fucking herself on your mouth, her hands raking through your hair hard enough to tear strands out.

Momo: “That’s it—! Make me cum so hard I forget my fucking name!” 

Her thighs quake, her orgasm hitting like a freight train as she jerks your head side to side, milking her pleasure from your tongue. You lap at her greedily, swallowing every drop, until she shoves you back, gasping. 

---

Before you can breathe, she’s on her knees, not letting your cock rest as she started slapping against her already cum-streaked face. Her eyes blaze as she grips your shaft, slapping it against her cheeks, smearing your pre-cum with her saliva. 

Momo: “You wanna fuck this throat? Prove you deserve it.” 

You nod frantically, and she snarls, slamming her mouth onto your dick. Her throat opens, taking you to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You gag, reflexively bucking upward, but she pins your hips, nose buried in your pelvis as she gags, tears streaming down her face. She pulls off just to gasp, “Harder!" 

You fist her hair, fucking her throat like a toy, her mascara running, lips bruised and shiny. She gags, spit dripping down her chin, but never breaks rhythm, her nails digging into your thighs. The wet, obscene sounds of her throat stretching around you echo off the piano’s polished surface.

Momo: between heaving breaths “Cum—ghck!—cum down this throat or I’ll never let you touch me again!” 

You explode, hips stuttering as you pump her mouth full. She swallows every drop, coughing violently when you finally pull out, her voice hoarse but triumphant. 

Momo: “Good boy. Now… breed me.” 

---

She climbs onto the piano bench, ass in the air, her pussy glistening, still twitching from your tongue. You grab her hips, lining up, but she stops you. 

Momo: glaring over her shoulder “Ask.” 

Y/N: voice wrecked “Please, Momo… let me fill you up. Please.” 

She smirks, reaching back to spread her drooling cunt..“Beg harder.”

Y/N: “I need to cum inside you—please—I can’t think about anything but your fucking pussy—” 

Momo: cutting you off “Then take it. Breed me like the slut I own you to be.” 

You slam into her, her walls clenching like a fist as you fuck her with desperate, jackhammer thrusts. The piano keys jangle discordantly beneath her trembling hands, her tits swaying wildly, nipples scraping the wood. She screams your name, her cunt gripping you like she’s trying to suck your soul out through your dick.

Momo: “G-gonna put a baby in me? Huh? Do it—fill me till I’m dripping!” 

You grunt, knotting inside her as you cum, pumping her full even as she climaxes again, her juices mixing with your spend. She collapses onto the piano, gasping, your cum already leaking down her thighs. 

Momo turns to kiss you, ferocious and sweet

Momo: "I fucking love you so much.."

---

The room was silent except for the sound of our heavy breathing.

Bodies tangled.

Skin damp with sweat.

My chest rose and fell erratically as I lay sprawled on the cool floor, my limbs utterly spent.

And on top of me—Momo.

Equally breathless.

Equally wrecked.

Her face was buried in my neck, her hair sticking to my skin.

She didn’t move.

Neither did I.

For a while, we just existed.

In the aftermath.

In the silence filled with unspoken emotions.

Then—her arms tightened around me.

Momo: "You okay?"

Her voice was hoarse. Soft, but laced with exhaustion.

I swallowed thickly, my throat dry from everything that just happened.

Y/N: "I… yeah."

It came out more like a breath than a word.

Momo finally lifted her head, her deep brown eyes meeting mine.

Something flickered there.

Something gentle.

Something warm.

A complete contrast to the way she had just ruined me.

Her fingers brushed across my cheek, her touch softer now.

Momo: "You're shaking."

I blinked.

But now that she pointed it out—yeah.

I was trembling like a damn leaf.

She frowned.

Then, before I could react, she shifted, pulling me into her arms as she flipped onto her back, bringing me on top of her.

My head landed against her bare chest, her heartbeat steady and calm against my ear.

I sighed.

Letting my body relax into hers.

Y/N: "…You’re warm."

Momo chuckled.

Momo: "So are you."

I felt her hand rub soothing circles against my back, her fingers tracing lazy patterns.

It was comforting.

So much that I nearly melted into her touch.

A deep yawn escaped me, exhaustion creeping in fast.

Momo hummed, her lips pressing lightly against my forehead.

Momo: "You did good."

A warm feeling spread through my chest at her praise.

Y/N: "You too…"

Momo chuckled again, the sound vibrating against my cheek.

Then—she pulled the blanket over us.

When did she even grab it?

I didn’t know.

Because I was already drifting.

Momo exhaled softly, shifting slightly before whispering—

Momo: "Sleep, Y/N."

I wanted to say something.

Something witty.

Something snarky.

But all I managed was—

Y/N: "Mmm…"

Momo smiled.

I felt it against my skin.

Then—she held me closer.

The silence between us stretched for what felt like forever.

Momo’s grip on me never loosened, her arms still locked securely around my waist. Her fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along my bare skin, as if grounding herself.

I wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

But I could feel the weight of it.

Something heavy. Something serious.

And then—I asked it.

A question that had been lingering in the back of my mind since the haze of exhaustion had started to clear.

Y/N: “…What will we do now?”

Momo stilled.

Her fingers stopped moving.

She didn’t answer immediately, her breath warm against my temple as she mulled over her response.

And then, after what felt like a small eternity, she finally spoke.

Momo: "I’ll handle it."

There was an edge to her voice.

Something firm. Unwavering.

Like she had already decided.

Like she had already claimed me.

The air shifted.

Her hold on me tightened, her presence demanding in a way I had never felt before.

I swallowed, suddenly aware of just how intense this moment was becoming.

Then—her next words came.

Words that felt like a command.

Momo: "Focus on loving me."

My heart skipped.

My eyes widened slightly.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her dark brown eyes searching mine.

Something about her stare made me feel bare.

Momo: "Do you love me?"

Her voice was low.

Not a whisper.

Not loud.

But it held weight.

A question that left no room for games.

I sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling like the air in the room had gotten too thick.

Love?

I hadn’t even had time to process what we had just done, and now this?

I felt her fingers press against my jaw, tilting my face toward hers as she waited.

She was serious.

And yet, despite the suddenness, despite the intensity—

Maybe I was.

Maybe I did feel something.

Something undeniable.

Something that had been building from the very first moment she stepped into my life.

So, I gave her the only answer I could.

Y/N: "Maybe… I’m reciprocal."

It was soft. Uncertain yet honest. And that seemed to be enough.

Because Momo’s lips curled into something dangerous.

Something possessive.

And then—she leaned in.

Her breath fanned against my lips, her fingers tightening around my jaw just enough to make me shudder.

Terms of Loving Momo

Momo lay beside me, her body still warm, pressed close as if she had no intention of letting me go anytime soon. Her fingers, slow and deliberate, traced the ridges of my collarbone, down to my chest, before stopping just over my heartbeat.

Her breathing had calmed, but her grip on me remained possessive.

She was thinking.

And then, she spoke.

Momo: "If you’re going to love me, you need to know what that means."

Her voice was firm but not cruel.

It wasn’t a demand, but a declaration.

She didn’t want a half-hearted answer.

She didn’t want uncertainty.

She wanted assurance.

Her eyes locked onto mine, waiting to see if I understood.

I swallowed, feeling my throat dry, but nodded anyway. "Tell me."

A slow, almost dangerous smile played on her lips as she adjusted herself, shifting so that she was hovering slightly over me, her arms caging me in.

Momo: "Good."

Then—the rules came.

1. No Lies, No Secrets

Momo: "If you love me, you don’t get to lie to me. Not about the small things. Not about the big things."

Her fingers slid down to my wrist, where my pulse was still racing.

Momo: "I want to know everything. What you’re thinking. What you’re feeling. What you want."

Her eyes darkened, her expression serious.

Momo: "If something’s wrong, you tell me. If you’re upset, you tell me. If I do something that hurts you, you tell me."

Her voice softened just slightly, but her fingers tightened.

Momo: "I won’t play guessing games, Y/N."

A lump formed in my throat.

She meant it.

This wasn’t just about trust.

It was about respect.

I nodded. "I understand."

She studied me for a second before continuing.

2. I Am a Priority—Not an Option

Her fingers trailed back up, resting against the side of my neck.

Momo: "I’m not saying you can’t have your own life."

Her thumb stroked over my skin slowly.

Momo: "But if you love me, you don’t put me second. You don’t make me an option while you figure things out."

Her expression hardened slightly.

Momo: "I refuse to be a second thought."

There was a vulnerability behind those words.

A truth she wasn’t saying outright.

She had probably been made to feel like an option before.

She wasn’t going to let that happen again.

I inhaled, pushing myself up slightly so that I was no longer lying down. "I wouldn’t do that to you."

Her eyes softened—just barely.

Momo: "Good."

Then, her lips curled into something more playful.

3. You Don’t Get to Look at Anyone Else

She tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at her fully.

Momo: "This one is obvious."

Her voice dropped, turning dangerously sweet.

Momo: "Your eyes? They’re mine."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my jaw.

Momo: "Your hands? Mine."

Another brush of her lips—this time against my throat.

Momo: "Your thoughts? Your body? Your time?"

Her breath was warm against my skin.

Momo: "Mine."

My breath hitched.

She meant every word.

4. I Set the Pace

She pulled back just enough to look at me again, her gaze locked onto mine.

Momo: "I don’t like rushing things."

She studied my expression, as if making sure I was really listening.

Momo: "That means I decide how fast or slow this goes. If I want to take my time? You let me. If I want to keep you waiting? You wait."

I blinked. "Even if I’m dying?"

A small smirk.

Momo: "Especially if you’re dying."

I groaned. "That’s cruel."

She only grinned.

Momo: "I like watching you squirm."

I swallowed hard.

I didn’t doubt that.

Not even a little.

5. You Don’t Break My Heart

And then—her expression shifted.

Her teasing faded.

Her grip loosened slightly, but her voice turned more serious than ever.

Momo: "This is the most important one."

She leaned in closer, pressing her forehead lightly against mine.

Momo: "I don’t care how strong I am. I don’t care if people think I can handle anything."

Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping it tightly.

Momo: "If you ever break my heart, I will never forgive you."

A lump formed in my throat.

I wanted to say, “I would never.”

But something told me she had probably heard those words before.

And that they had probably meant nothing.

So instead—I said something else.

Something I knew I could promise.

Y/N: "I’ll be careful with it."

Her breath hitched—just slightly.

And then—she sighed.

Momo: "You better be."

Conflicted Thoughts: The Minatozaki Sana Problem

Momo was asleep, curled up against me, her breathing soft and even. The warmth of her body and the weight of her arm draped over my chest should have lulled me into a peaceful rest. But my mind wouldn’t stop running.

I stared at the ceiling, heart still trying to process the whirlwind of everything.

And then—Sana came to mind.

Y/N (in mind): "Shit."

I had been so wrapped up in Momo’s storm, in the way she took control of me, of us—that I hadn’t stopped to think about the chaos I was walking into.

Sana… She wasn’t dumb.

She was playful, teasing, and at times, chaotic. But she wasn’t dumb.

She had been watching me.

I had seen it—felt it.

The way her eyes lingered, the way her jokes sometimes carried a hint of something deeper.

The way she stuck around a little longer than necessary whenever we talked.

The way she reacted to Momo's presence around me.

And now that I thought about it—Momo had noticed too.

That was why she had been so aggressive.

That was why she had pinned me down with her emotions, her control.

She wasn’t just trying to claim me.

She was trying to beat Sana to it.

I let out a slow exhale, gripping the sheets.

Y/N (in mind): "Sana-sunbae… I wasn’t too dumb to notice that you… might have a thing for me."

The problem was—Sana wasn't someone who took defeat well.

She wasn’t the type to back down when she wanted something.

Sana was competitive.

She was possessive.

And yet—she was sensitive.

For all her flirting and confident demeanor, she was the kind of person who, once she realized something she wanted was out of her reach, would break down.

Y/N (in mind): "And if Momo’s revelation hits her… it won’t just be jealousy. It’ll be heartbreak."

I turned my head slightly, watching Momo’s sleeping face.

She looked peaceful.

Composed.

But earlier—she had been terrified.

For all her dominance and control, there had been something fragile in her voice when she had told me her rules.

She was afraid of losing me.

And now, I feared the same for Sana.

Would she fight for me?

Or would she cry herself to sleep the moment she realized she had already lost?

I bit my lip, torn.

Y/N (in mind): "Shit."

This wasn’t just a love story anymore.

This was a battlefield.

The Moment Everything Changed

The air in the room was warm, thick with the remnants of what had just happened. Momo’s body was still tangled with mine, her breath slow and even against my skin.

I hadn’t moved much, still too caught up in my own whirlwind of thoughts about Sana.

And then—the door clicked open.

Sana: “Y/N-ah! I brought—”

Her voice was cheerful. Giddy, even. The kind of excitement that was infectious, like she had been looking forward to seeing me after practice.

But the moment her eyes landed on us—her whole body froze.

Her smile faltered.

Just slightly. But I saw it.

The way the corners of her lips twitched.

The way her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before something—something else—crossed over her expression.

I didn’t move.

Momo didn’t either.

She was still draped over me, her bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheets, her legs tangled with mine.

There was no way Sana could misinterpret this.

There was no way she could pretend she didn’t see it.

And yet—for a second, she tried.

Sana: “Oh…”

She let out a soft laugh—forced, nervous.

Sana: “I, uh… I thought you’d still be practicing.”

Her eyes flickered between us, searching.

For an excuse.

For an explanation.

For something that would make this make sense.

But there was nothing I could say.

Nothing that would soften the reality that she was standing in front of.

Momo shifted slightly, lifting her head.

Her eyes locked onto Sana’s, and for the first time in a long time—there was no teasing.

No playfulness.

Only silent acknowledgment.

And Sana understood.

The realization hit her like a bullet.

Her fingers trembled around the snack bag.

Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something—but she didn’t.

Because what could she say?

That she had been too late?

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice.

Y/N: “Noona, I—”

(A/N: The OC is a 97 liner. Thats why Momo and Sana or older to him)

Sana smiled.

It wasn’t her usual bright, dazzling grin.

It wasn’t the kind of smile that made people feel warm inside.

It was the kind of smile that people used when they were trying not to cry.

Sana: “It’s okay.”

She took a step back.

And then another.

Sana: “I should go.”

Her voice was quiet, too quiet.

The way her eyes glistened under the soft lighting of the room made something in my chest tighten painfully.

She turned toward the door.

And then she was gone.

Just like that.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the silence.

Momo let out a small breath, but she didn’t move.

Neither did I.

Because this wasn’t over.

This was just the beginning.

To Be Continued....

[peachversace]

fashion killa

chapter two ; and fall into you

[nsfw] — smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 20,014 — read on ao3 — read part one on tumblr

tags: strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, pro hero bakugou katsuki, explicit language & sexual content, aged-up characters, porn with plot, model!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, bakugou is a soft yearning idiot who i want to eat up, kirishima eijirou is a good friend, not beta read!

summary:

Fashion Week was supposed to be simple-walk the runway, collect your check, and, if all went according to plan, spend the night with Pro Hero Dynamight. Just a little fun. Nothing more. But getting rid of Bakugou Katsuki proves to be harder than slipping out of a too-tight sample size.

Or, in which a one-night stand with one of Japan's most famous men turns into a relentless game of cat and mouse-and the worst part? You don't hate it.

notes:

the final chapter is here! thank you so much for all the love on the first chapter—it really means a lot to me. this was supposed to go up on sunday, but i didn’t like the ending, so i changed it last minute lol. i hope you guys like it and that it lives up to your expectations. thank you in advance, and happy reading!

enjoy! :D

Things get stranger after that night, but not in a way you could have anticipated. 

You and Katsuki seem to grow closer, slipping into each other’s lives with an ease that feels both natural and unsettling. It's not what you expected. You thought things would stay casual. But there’s a shift now—something in the way you reach for your phone more often, his name lighting up the screen with more frequency.

It starts with simple things. He calls you more, which surprises you because Katsuki’s never been one for chit-chat, but his voice on the other end of the line feels steady, grounding. You catch yourself waiting for those calls, anticipating the sound of his gruff voice grumbling about some villain he had to deal with or asking how your day went. It's not just calls either. Texts come in, pictures too. You send him photos of you in a photoshoot, all glammed up in haute couture, and he replies with short, dry comments, ‘Looking good,’ or ‘Too fancy.’ But you can tell he's looking, really looking. You send pictures from the gym, hair tied back, sweat glistening on your skin. And in return, Katsuki sends you his own pictures. They’re blurry sometimes, like he doesn’t know how to properly frame a shot, and he always scowls in them, half his face obscured. 

He grumbles, ��Ain’t good at this photo crap,” but you can see the effort. It’s adorable, especially when he sends you pictures from bed, messy hair and bare chest, a hint of vulnerability in the way the camera captures him. You wonder if he realizes how soft he looks.

You start spending more time together too—more than you’d planned for. It’s not always about the sex now, though that’s still a big part of it. But there’s a sweetness in how you share space. Sometimes, it’s cooking together, and he’ll stand beside you, watching your every move with that sharp focus he has for everything. Other times, it’s movies, the two of you sprawled out on the couch, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders. Katsuki’s not great with words, not in the way some people are, but he doesn’t need to be. His actions speak for him—whether it’s making sure you’re comfortable or tossing a blanket over you when you doze off mid-movie.

The softness between you is unexpected. You’ve seen his gruff, explosive exterior, the way the media paints him as some sort of untouchable force. But here, with you, he’s different. He’s cuddly, something you never would’ve expected from him. He pulls you close without hesitation, his arms firm and warm, always keeping you near. You don’t question it, but it throws you off. This wasn’t what you signed up for—this quiet intimacy that feels more like a relationship than something casual. He’s not supposed to be so sweet, so soft.

One thing that surprises you most is how much he enjoys taking pictures with you. 

You’d never have guessed the gruff, no-nonsense Pro Hero would indulge in such a thing, especially when he’s always grumbling about media shoots and press. But when you’re in one of his hoodies, and you tug him down to take a selfie, your hand gently curling around his jaw, he leans in without protest. There’s this small, content smile that tugs at his lips—subtle but real, and it lights up his face in a way that makes your heart skip. You snap the picture, and he’ll grumble, “Didn’t ask for this,” but you catch him later, zooming in on the photo, his thumb lingering over the screen. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks at the two of you together.

He’s not one for skincare, either, but when you do face masks or anything remotely involving pampering, he sits there and lets you do it, his face a picture of calm contentment. His quirk may have blessed him with great skin, but he indulges you, letting you push his wild hair back with a fluffy headband, revealing his sharp features. You prep his face, and he just watches you with half-lidded eyes, relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before. He doesn’t even protest when you lean down and kiss him in the middle of it, his lips curving into a small, lazy smile. It’s cute how unbothered he is, how he lets you do whatever you want to him.

You’ve gotten more comfortable with each other in general.

More touching, more kissing, and sex has become something deeper. It’s no longer just an outlet, no longer just physical. It’s a way for the two of you to connect, to be closer. There’s a vulnerability in how he touches you, how his hands roam your body with a quiet reverence. When he presses against you, his skin flush against yours, you feel it—the way his guard drops, the way he lets himself need you in those moments. Your head will fall back, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, his mouth warm and insistent, before his firm hand finds your face, guiding you back to him for another kiss. You feel like you’re floating in those moments, lost in the press of his body, the sound of his voice, and the way he holds you as if you’re something precious.

One night, after several rounds of unraveling each other, Katsuki does something he’s never done before—he opens up. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as he starts to talk about the Final War. You weren’t prepared for the weight of it. He tells you about being sent to the frontlines as a child soldier, about how his heart ruptured, the physical agony and the fear that came with it. His right arm, crushed beyond recognition, left him scarred—inside and out. He talks about rehab, about how long it took him to get his arm functioning again. 

And then, in a softer tone, he admits something that surprises you: “I still wanna be number one... but I’m content, y’know? With where I’m at right now.”

You’re lying beside him, his hand heavy on your waist, and you look up at him. His face is dimly lit, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that makes your heart twist. “I think you’re amazing,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure, your fingers reaching up to gently curl around his jaw, pulling him down for a kiss. It’s slow and sweet, and when you pull away, his cheeks are flushed, a faint pink creeping across his skin.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, embarrassed, but you can see the small, content smile tugging at his lips again, the same one he gives you in those quiet moments when his guard is down.

You smile back, your heart swelling in your chest as you kiss him again. There’s a softness to this moment, to him, and it feels like something has shifted between you. Something you can’t quite put into words yet, but it’s there, lingering in the air, unspoken but undeniable. 

But then there’s a pause, a hesitation. Katsuki’s expression changes, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter. "You’re the one that’s amazin'," he repeats, his voice low, almost like he’s afraid to say it too loudly. The way his words hang between you makes your heart do a strange little flip. You can feel the weight of them. 

You tilt your head slightly, giving him a teasing smile to ease the tension. "What, for walking in 120 mm heels or for letting you do facemasks with me?" you whisper, fingers brushing the scar on his cheek, tracing the jagged line that’s become so familiar to you now. 

He huffs, but there’s a flicker of something more behind his eyes. "Nah," he says, shaking his head. "For bein’ you. For workin’ hard as hell, doin’ all this stuff, and still bein’ able to… to put up with me."

The words hit you harder than you expect. You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You hadn’t realized he saw it that way—like he was a burden, like being with him was something difficult to endure. There’s a vulnerability in the way he avoids your gaze, his usual cocky demeanor gone, leaving just Katsuki—raw and exposed in front of you.

"You’re making it sound like I’m putting up with someone from hell," you say, your voice softer now, trying to coax his eyes back to yours.

He grumbles again, that same frustrated sound, but he still doesn’t look at you, and that’s when you realize just how much he doubts himself. How much he carries with him—his past, his insecurities, the weight of being a Pro Hero. And for the first time, you see how deeply it cuts him, how much he worries that he’s too much for anyone to handle.

"Hey," you whisper, your hand gently guiding his face back to you. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and his eyes, reluctant at first, finally meet yours. "I like putting up with you. You always think so bad about yourself. Stop doing that. Sometimes people just want to be around you, to spend time with you. It’s not weird, and I like spending time with you."

Katsuki’s cheeks flare up with a faint blush, his ears turning a little red at your words. He scoffs again, the sound almost automatic, like he’s trying to shake off the embarrassment. "You’re fuckin’ clingy," he mutters, but the bite in his tone is weak. His eyes flicker with something softer, something grateful.

You grin at him, laughter bubbling up in your chest. "Says the man that’s clinging to me like glue." You lean up on your elbow a little, your smile widening. "I have the pictures to prove it, by the way."

Before you can react, he’s turning his head and biting lightly at your fingers where they rest on his jaw, his teeth just grazing your skin in a teasing nip. It sends a small jolt through you, and you laugh softly, falling back into the pillows, your chest rising and falling with quiet giggles as you look up at him.

Katsuki’s grinning now, a real grin that lights up his face, his usual intensity tempered with affection. He leans down closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the way his body relaxes against yours. There’s no distance between you—no walls, no masks. Just you and him, sharing the space in a way that feels... real.

"What?" you whisper, still smiling as you reach up to smooth a hand through his messy hair. "Is my skin glowing or something?"

Katsuki scoffs lightly at your teasing, though there’s a small tug of a smile at the corner of his lips. His crimson eyes stay locked on yours, searching your face with an intensity that always makes your heart race. The heat of his body radiates against you, and even though you’re joking, there’s a flicker of something deeper in the way he holds your gaze, something vulnerable he’s still not used to sharing. 

"Yeah, sure, your skin’s glowin’," he mutters, his voice rough but soft, leaning down closer. "From all those dumb facemasks you make me do." His lips brush your temple, but the grin on his face betrays his usual gruffness.

You laugh, a light sound that melts between the two of you in the dimly lit room. "Dumb facemasks that you enjoy way too much," you fire back, playfully nudging him. "Don’t think I don’t notice how relaxed you get."

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, but there’s no real bite behind it. His hand, rough from years of hero work, trails absentmindedly along your side, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, sending tiny shivers down your spine. His touch is softer than you ever expected when you first got involved with him, but now it’s familiar—comforting in its warmth and weight.

His eyes soften as he looks down at you, the usual fire in them dimmed into something warmer, more intimate. "Maybe," he mutters, his voice low. "But I like you better without all that makeup anyway."

The simplicity of the statement, the raw honesty of it, makes your heart squeeze. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head slightly as you press a kiss to his lips, slow and lingering. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling away, his forehead resting against yours.

There’s a stillness in the room now, a sense of peace that settles between the two of you. It feels like the world outside doesn’t exist, like all the noise and chaos of your lives as pro heroes and public figures has melted away. In this moment, it’s just you and Katsuki—no expectations, no pressure. Just the quiet, simple warmth of being together. 

"You're an idiot," you whisper playfully, breaking the silence as you tap his chest lightly, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your skin as he presses another soft kiss to your forehead. "Guess I am for you."

Katsuki's words make your heart skip a beat, and you have to bite your lip to stop the smile threatening to break through. The way he says it—so casually yet so earnestly—makes warmth bloom in your chest. You’re not used to this side of him, this softness that he reserves just for you.

“What are your plans tomorrow?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to disturb the peace between you.

You think for a moment before replying, "Well… I have Pilates in the morning, and then I’m getting my nails done. Do you have any suggestions?" You stretch your arms lazily above your head, watching him with a playful glint in your eye.

Katsuki shrugs, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh as your fingers instinctively move to scratch his scalp. The sound he makes in response—a low, content rumble—reminds you of a cat purring, and it makes you smile. He presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips warm against your skin, before mumbling, “Dunno. Whatever makes you feel good.”

You grin, already knowing what will get a reaction out of him. “So if it’s an ugly purple color, you’ll be okay with it?”

As expected, he makes a face, his brows furrowing in clear disapproval. The corner of your mouth twitches in amusement as you roll your eyes. "Don’t worry, I’ll probably go for a nude pink," you murmur, leaning in to nuzzle your nose against his. The closeness between you feels so natural now, like a second skin. "And then I have a meeting with my agent about being a brand ambassador for an upcoming label, but I’m still thinking about it. That’s all."

He hums, a low sound of acknowledgment vibrating through his chest, and then you return the question. "What about you?"

"Got the day off," he says after a beat, his voice a little hesitant as if he’s testing the waters. "Thought… thought maybe I’d cook for ya or somethin’." His fingers brush against your lower back, the warmth of his touch drawing you even closer. It’s so subtle, the way he pulls you in, but it feels like he’s trying to close any remaining distance between your bodies. "Make ya those sushi rolls you liked. The ones you had in the US."

The way he remembers something so small, something you mentioned offhandedly during a trip, makes your breath hitch slightly. It’s not just the gesture itself—it’s the meaning behind it. How vulnerable and open he’s become with you, how he always wants to do things for you, to make sure you’re comfortable. His actions say what his words sometimes struggle to—how much he cares, even if he’s not always good at expressing it.

You swallow, the emotions swirling inside you making your chest feel tight in the best way possible. "You don’t have to do all that, Katsuki," you say softly, your fingers tracing small circles along his shoulder, feeling the strength and warmth beneath his skin. "But I’d love it. You know I’d never say no to your cooking."

He grumbles, his usual tough exterior showing through even in moments like this. "Yeah, well, don’t expect it all the time," he mutters, but the way his fingers tighten slightly on your back tells you he’s already looking forward to it. He likes taking care of you, even if he’ll never admit it outright.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering there for a moment. His skin is warm, and the simple act of affection makes him relax even more against you, like he’s letting go of something heavy he’s been holding on to. 

"I’m looking forward to it," you whisper, and the sincerity in your voice seems to catch him off guard. He looks up at you, his usual sharp gaze softened by the quiet intimacy of the moment. There’s something vulnerable in his eyes, something that makes your heart ache in a way that’s both beautiful and terrifying. 

"Yeah," he says, his voice rough but tender. "Me too."

And in that moment, with the quiet warmth of the room surrounding you, it feels like everything is exactly as it should be. The casual arrangement you once had has blurred into something deeper, something more profound. You can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way he speaks to you, in the way he cares for you. 

You never expected this to happen, but now that it has, you’re not sure you want it to stop. Katsuki has wormed his way into your life in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and it scares you, just a little. 

But when he’s this close, when his touch is this gentle, and when his words are this soft, it’s hard to imagine ever wanting to let him go.

It’s like stepping into a high-end restaurant when you walk into Katsuki’s apartment the next day, after finishing up your schedule. 

The moment you enter, the smell of freshly prepared food hits your senses, and the sight of the spread on the dining table takes your breath away. He’s really gone all out—sashimi platters laid out beautifully, with slices of the freshest fish you’ve ever seen; multiple types of sushi from nigiri to uramaki and temaki, each piece looking meticulously crafted. The fried dishes, like ebi furai and karaage, are golden and crisp, making your mouth water at the sight of them.

It’s a lot. More than you ever expected from him, especially after how shy he seemed about cooking this for you. 

But what really catches your attention isn’t the food—it’s the bouquet of flowers sitting at your usual seat.

Your breath hitches as you step closer, reaching out to touch the delicate petals. The bouquet is a stunning mix of roses, lilies, orchids, and carnations, all in varying shades of pink. The arrangement is soft but vibrant, delicate yet full of life, and you can’t help but be completely charmed by the gesture. You pick it up carefully, the scent of the flowers filling the air as you lift the bouquet closer to your face. The blend of colors is beautiful, and it makes your heart flutter.

With the bouquet in hand, you turn to look at him, your expression softening into a teasing but warm smile. "Flowers, huh?" you murmur, your voice light with affection, though there’s an underlying sense of surprise too. You’d never thought Katsuki would go this far, to do something so thoughtful and gentle.

Katsuki stands a few feet away, looking a bit out of his element, his usual confidence slightly faltering. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, a telltale sign of his discomfort with this kind of vulnerable gesture. His eyes flick to the flowers in your hands, and then back to you. His mouth twitches like he’s about to say something, and after a beat, he murmurs, almost bashfully, “It’s the same color as your nails.”

You blink, and then you realize—he’s right. The delicate pink flowers are nearly an exact match for the nude-pink shade you’d mentioned getting done at the nail salon earlier that morning. It’s such a small detail, something you didn’t even think he’d remember, let alone match. It’s thoughtful in a way that makes your chest tighten and your heart swell.

You think you might just melt right there. He’s always been sweet in his own gruff, awkward way, but this? This feels different. This feels like he’s trying to show you something more, to express something he doesn’t have the words for.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, your voice a little breathless as you take a step toward him, the bouquet still in your hands. You want to say something else, to tease him maybe, but the lump in your throat won’t let you. Instead, you just stare at him, feeling the warmth in your chest grow, spreading like wildfire.

He looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, his lips curling into a small scowl. But there’s no bite behind it. If anything, he just looks a little embarrassed. “Don’t make a big deal outta it,” he grumbles, though the way his eyes flicker back to yours betrays his nerves.

But you can’t help it. How can you not make a big deal out of it? He went through all this trouble just to match a detail as small as your nails with the flowers he picked. He cooked an entire feast for you, filled with dishes you love. And all of it—all of it—is done with the kind of care and thoughtfulness that makes your heart ache in the best way.

You set the flowers down gently on the table and step closer to him, your hands reaching for his. You feel the callouses on his fingers as you intertwine them with yours, and he stiffens slightly before relaxing, allowing you to pull him closer. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you whisper, your voice soft and tender. “But I love it. I love everything. Thank you.”

Katsuki’s gaze flickers down to your hands, then back up to your face, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out how to respond. He shifts his weight, looking uncharacteristically shy. “S’nothin’. Just wanted to do somethin’ nice.”

Your smile grows, and you can’t resist the urge to stand on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. His skin flushes under your touch, and you feel the way he holds his breath for a second before he relaxes. “Well, it means a lot to me,” you murmur against his skin, your lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.

When you pull back, his gaze locks onto yours, and there’s a softness in his eyes you don’t often get to see. For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the world feeling a little smaller, a little more intimate. The bouquet, the dinner, the way he remembered something as small as the color of your nails—it all feels like more than just casual affection. It feels like he’s slowly, hesitantly opening himself up to you in ways he’s never done before.

And it makes your heart race.

“Now, come on,” you say, breaking the silence with a grin as you tug him toward the table. “Let’s eat before this masterpiece gets cold.”

He huffs, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Sit down already.”

As you take your seat, you can’t help but feel a little giddy. Katsuki takes his seat across from you, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, surrounded by the feast he’s prepared. There’s a warmth in the air, a sense of quiet happiness that lingers between you.

And as you pick up your chopsticks and dig into the meal he made just for you, you realize that whatever this is between the two of you, it’s something more than you ever could have imagined. Something real. Something that’s growing in ways neither of you expected.

That night feels like a memory already etched into your soul, a moment you know you’ll never forget. 

The signs were all there from the start—the flowers, the dinner, the shy glances exchanged between the two of you over the table. There was a softness in the way you spoke to each other, a quiet warmth that lingered in the air, charged with something more than just affection. 

It was inevitable, the way the night would unfold.

Now, the room is filled with nothing but the quiet creaking of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin, and the breathless, intimate sounds you and Katsuki make together. Your hands grip the pillow beneath your head as his strong hands hold your thighs, keeping them folded around his hips. He moves with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. There’s something deeper in the way he touches you tonight—something tender and almost reverent.

Through the haze of pleasure, your eyes blink up at him, catching the intensity of his gaze. It’s overwhelming, the way his molten eyes lock onto yours, filled with an emotion so raw it almost makes your chest ache. You can’t help but tug him closer, wanting to feel his warmth, his skin against yours. He obliges, his forearms coming to rest on either side of your head, bracketing you in. Your legs instinctively tighten around his waist, your ankles crossing at the small of his back, pulling him even closer.

“Katsuki,” you gasp, the word slipping from your lips in a whisper. It’s a plea, a confession, everything wrapped in one. He answers you not with words but with a kiss—soft, slow, and wet. His lips press against yours with a tenderness that belies the strength of his body, and it makes you shiver with how gentle he’s being. There’s something different in the way he’s moving, like he’s trying to tell you something he can’t quite put into words.

Then, his voice breaks the silence, low and vulnerable. “Say my name,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck.

The need in his voice makes your heart stutter. You feel his vulnerability, the rawness of him asking for something so simple, yet so important. So you do—you say his name over and over, like a mantra. “Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki…” Each word is punctuated by a kiss, your lips brushing against his in fleeting touches. His name feels sacred on your tongue, like it’s the only thing that matters in this moment.

His eyes darken, flecks of gold and violet swirling in the molten depths of his gaze. It’s like he’s seeing straight through you, into the deepest parts of you, and it makes you feel bare, exposed. But in the best way. You’re not just giving yourself to him; you’re sharing something far more intimate, something unspoken but understood. The two of you are drowning in each other—in the kisses, the warmth of your skin pressed together, the way he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

He’s exploded you, just like his quirk, and in his touch, you feel like fireworks—bright, burning, alive. Every time he moves, you feel like you’re breaking apart in the best way, only to come back together, more whole than before.

And then, Katsuki slows his movements, like he’s trying to savor every second of this. His thrusts become deep, deliberate, each one dragging out the moment as if he never wants it to end. There’s something reverent about it, like he’s worshipping you, wanting to memorize the way you feel, the way your body responds to him. It’s so intense, so real, that it almost overwhelms you. 

You can’t help but moan softly, your body arching into his as he moves within you. The sensation is slow, building like a crescendo, and you feel like you’re on the edge of something greater than either of you. You’re not just feeling pleasure—this is something deeper. His touch, his kiss, the way he holds you, it all makes you feel like you’ve become something otherworldly, like a star burning brightly in the night sky.

His lips brush against your ear, and in the quiet between breaths, you hear him whisper, “You’re incredible.” The words are hushed, almost like a secret, but they hit you hard, sinking deep into your heart. He’s never been great with words, but in this moment, he doesn’t need to be. The way he touches you, the way he holds you, speaks volumes.

And just like that, you feel yourself slipping, falling into that blissful oblivion, with Katsuki right there with you. The world outside disappears, and all that exists is this—the two of you, tangled together, lost in the feeling of each other. Time slows, the space between each breath stretches, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not just two people anymore. You’ve become something greater, something inseparable, something you never want to let go of. 

As the two of you finally find release, together, it feels like the stars themselves have exploded inside of you, leaving you breathless, weightless, and utterly content.

It’s close to dawn, and the first hints of light peek through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. 

You’re completely spent, bodies tangled together, exhausted after countless rounds of pleasure, yet it’s not just the physicality that keeps you close. It’s the warmth of his touch, the familiarity of it, the way his body instinctively presses against yours. Katsuki is holding you like you’re something precious, his lips brushing over your skin—your jaw, your neck, your shoulders—leaving behind tender kisses in his wake. His hands glide over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, tracing your curves with a gentle reverence that makes your breath hitch. There’s something so intimate in the way he touches you now, not just as a lover, but as someone who’s cherishing every moment.

You nuzzle closer, your head resting against his muscular bicep, pressing a soft kiss to it with a smile. His warmth surrounds you, and you can feel his chest rise and fall with every breath he takes. The silence between you is comfortable, peaceful, only filled with the sound of your shared breaths and the occasional rustling of the sheets.

In a teasing, hushed tone, you break the stillness, “You never told me what you think of my nails.” 

Katsuki huffs a quiet laugh against your cheek, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Idiot,” he mumbles, the insult carrying no real bite. His teeth sink into your skin teasingly, making you let out a startled squeak, but you laugh when you feel his lips press a soft kiss in the same spot. His voice is a little rough, but warm as he admits, “They look good.”

You smile at his response, feeling the warmth of his approval as it spreads through you. “Good,” you whisper back, your voice soft in the quiet room. You let the moment drift into comfortable silence once again, enjoying the simple pleasure of being close to him, his body still pressed to yours. The bed shifts slightly as you both move, adjusting your positions to be closer, your limbs lazily draped over each other.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, cutting through the silence, and you instinctively reach for it. You scroll through a few messages before opening the camera, catching your reflection on the screen. There’s a faint flush to your cheeks, and you can see the small marks he left on your skin—little love bites trailing down to your collarbone, proof of the night’s passion. You look at yourself, and you can’t help but smile.

You’re glowing.

Before you can dwell on it, Katsuki shifts beside you, slowly leaning in to rest his head against yours, his weight a comforting presence. Your smile softens as you press the button on the camera, capturing the two of you in the frame. He doesn’t protest—he never really does when you take pictures anymore—and there’s a softness in his eyes, a quiet contentment that’s so different from the sharp, hardened persona he shows the world. Here, with you, he’s just Katsuki, sleepy-eyed and tender, his face relaxed in a way that makes your heart swell.

You click on the video option, and still, he says nothing, just watches as you record. He leans further into you, his body language loose and easy, completely at peace in your presence. You lift your hand to his jaw, gently scratching at the stubble growing there, and he blinks lazily, his eyes half-lidded as he leans into your touch. His vulnerability is on full display, and it’s something so personal, so special, that it makes your chest tighten with affection.

Without thinking, you turn your head and press a soft kiss to his lips. He lets you, meeting your kiss with a slow, sleepy response, his lips warm and slightly chapped. The kiss is tender, and when you pull away, it leaves behind a small, wet sound that makes you smile. You press another, quicker kiss to his lips before glancing back at the camera, capturing the quiet intimacy of the moment. 

On the screen, you see him with that small, almost shy smile curling at the corners of his lips. It’s a rare expression, one that he only seems to show when he’s with you, and it makes your heart flutter. There’s no mask here, no front, just him—content, soft, and utterly at ease with you.

And in that moment, you realize how deeply you’ve both fallen into this. How much you’ve come to mean to one another. His presence feels like home, like something you’ve been missing all along. 

There’s something deeper here, something you didn’t expect, and now it feels terrifyingly real.

And that thought scares the hell out of you.

You avoid him after that night.

It’s dumb; it’s stupid; it’s insane, but after that night, the intimacy had shaken you to your core, and you’re not ready to deal with the weight of what that means. The soft way he touched you, the vulnerability in his voice when he asked you to call him by his name—those aren’t things that fit into your neat little box labeled casual. And you don’t want to face the fact that whatever this thing is between you and Katsuki, it stopped being casual a long time ago.

So, you pull away. You don’t call him, don’t text back as often, and when he tries to reach out, you tell him you’re busy. It’s not entirely a lie. Work is busy. You’ve been booked back-to-back with photoshoots for Vogue China, campaigns for Kintsugi and Chanel, and appearances for Tsukiyo. Haute Couture Week is just around the corner, and you’re drowning in preparations. 

But the truth is, it’s easier to hide behind your schedule than face the reality of what’s happening between you and Katsuki. You bury yourself in work, hoping the distance will clear your head, will give you time to sort out your feelings. Because you’re not sure what you want anymore. Do you still want something casual? Or has it become something more? You’re not ready to answer that question, not ready to confront the feelings that have begun to creep up on you.

And then, late one night, the consequences of your actions come knocking—literally.

It’s around one in the morning when there’s a knock at your door. The sound startles you, breaking the quiet of your apartment, and you instantly know who it is. You hesitate for a second, your heart racing as you walk over and pull the door open.

Katsuki stands there, still in his hero gear, covered in soot and sweat, fresh from patrol. His eyes are sharp, but there’s a softness in the way he looks at you—something like confusion, or maybe even hurt. He doesn’t waste any time.

“You avoidin’ me or somethin’?” His voice is gruff, but there’s a vulnerability in it, the kind that makes your chest tighten.

“No!” you blurt out, too quickly. Your voice sounds high, and you can’t even convince yourself. “No, I’ve just been... busy. You know how it is.”

He narrows his eyes, his expression hardening. “Busy, huh?”

You nod, trying to hold his gaze, but your heart is pounding in your ears. “Yeah. Work’s been crazy lately.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at you with that intense, unreadable look of his, and you feel the guilt crawling up your throat. You expect him to yell, to snap at you, but when he finally speaks, his voice is low, hesitant.

“Did I... do somethin’ wrong?”

The question hits you harder than you expect. You see the hurt in his eyes now, the way his jaw tightens, like he’s bracing for something. Your chest tightens, and you want to reach out, to reassure him, but you hesitate. You shake your head quickly. “No, Katsuki, you didn’t do anything. It’s... it’s not you, it’s me.”

His entire body tenses at your words, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

You take a step back, rubbing your arms nervously. “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you say quietly, almost like you’re hoping he won’t hear you.

He takes a step closer, his voice firm, almost demanding. “Do what?”

You swallow, trying to find the right words, but they stick in your throat. “This... us. I wanted things to stay casual, you know? Casual but serious? But now... everything feels different… and I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship.”

He’s silent for a beat, his jaw clenching, his fists tightening at his sides. “So avoidin’ me was your solution?” His voice is sharp now, tinged with frustration and hurt. He’s not yelling, but his tone cuts through you.

“No, it’s not like that. I just didn’t know how to—”

“Didn’t know how to what?” He interrupts, his voice rising slightly, his eyes flashing. “Didn’t know how to tell me I’m just some fuckin’ fling to you?”

“No!” you shake your head desperately, stepping forward, but the words feel stuck, like no explanation is good enough. “It’s not like that, I just—”

“Then what?” His voice cracks, and for a moment, you see something raw in his expression. He lets out a shaky breath and takes a step back, his shoulders slumping as he runs a hand through his messy hair. The usual fire in his eyes dims, replaced with exhaustion—emotional exhaustion. He looks tired. Tired of fighting for you. “Y’know what? Whatever. Do whatever the hell you want.”

You freeze as he turns, his back to you, and walks toward the door. Your mouth opens to stop him, but no words come out. You watch helplessly as he reaches for the door handle, his movements slow and heavy, like he’s waiting for you to say something—anything. 

But you don’t. 

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening. 

You stand there, your heart pounding, staring at the empty space where he just stood. The weight of the conversation, of everything you didn’t say, settles in the pit of your stomach, and for the first time, you realize just how badly you’ve messed up. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But it does. And now, you’re left standing in the aftermath of your own avoidance, the silence of the room echoing with the absence of him.

And for the first time, you wonder if it’s too late to fix things.

────────────────────────

The weeks after your... breakup? Was it even that? You still don’t know how to label it, but whatever it was, it’s hard. It hurts more than you thought it would, more than you ever expected it could. You don’t cry easily, you’ve never been the type to fall apart over someone, but Katsuki—Bakugou—was different. His absence feels like a missing piece of your life, a hole that you can’t seem to fill no matter how much you try.

You find yourself crying at night, tears slipping down your cheeks as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s a quiet kind of crying, the kind where your chest aches and your throat tightens, but you don’t make a sound. It’s unexpected, this grief, this sense of loss. You hadn’t realized how much he meant to you until he wasn’t there anymore. Until the warmth of his presence, his gruff voice, his touch was gone, leaving you cold and hollow.

But you push through it. You force yourself to keep going, to focus on your work, because that’s what you do. You’ve always been good at throwing yourself into your career when things get hard, and this time is no different. Even if your heart feels like it’s been ripped out. Even if you feel like you’re walking around with this empty, aching space inside you. 

Even if it feels like... love.

But you don’t let yourself dwell on that thought. You shove it down, deep inside, where you don’t have to deal with it. Instead, you work. You focus on your job, on the constant demands of your schedule. Haute Couture Week in Paris comes quickly, and you’re on a plane before you even realize it, throwing yourself into the chaos of the fashion world.

Paris is as hectic and glamorous as always. You’re swept into a whirlwind of fittings, castings, and shows. You walk down runways draped in the most luxurious fabrics, you pose for countless photoshoots, you attend brand events where everyone looks perfect, where everyone seems to have it all together. On the surface, you look the part—you’re poised, composed, radiant. But inside, your thoughts are consumed with him.

Every time you stand still for more than a second, your mind drifts back to Katsuki. To the way he looked that night at your door, the hurt in his eyes, the way he walked away. You think about the nights you spent with him, about the softness in his touch that you hadn’t expected, about the way he kissed you with such intensity that it made you feel like you were the only person in the world. 

You miss the way he would scowl when he was embarrassed, the way he’d flick your forehead when you teased him, the way he’d grumble but still pull you closer when you were lying in bed together. You miss him, and no matter how much work you bury yourself in, that feeling doesn’t go away. 

And you do bury yourself in work. 

You walk runway after runway, your legs aching from the hours spent in heels. You attend fittings, standing perfectly still as designers adjust fabric on your body, their hands moving with practiced precision. You barely eat, following the strict diet that keeps you in shape for the shows, even when your stomach growls in protest. You push through photoshoot after photoshoot, your face a mask of calm professionalism even when your head feels like it’s going to burst from exhaustion.

By the time Haute Couture Week ends, you’re exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. But there’s no time to rest, no time to stop and process the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling inside you since that night with Katsuki. September is coming fast, and with it, the next fashion month. Castings have already started, and of course, you’re booked solid. Tsukiyo, Ryūmon, Dsquared2, Dior—they all want you, and you don’t have the luxury of slowing down.

You tell yourself that this is what you need. That keeping busy is good, that focusing on your career will help you forget. But late at night, when the city around you is quiet and your hotel room feels too big, too empty, you can’t stop your thoughts from drifting back to him. To the way he said your name, his voice rough but soft at the edges. To the way he held you close after everything, his hands gentle on your skin. To the way he looked at you, like you were more than just some casual fling, like you were something that mattered.

And that’s what scares you the most.

Because deep down, you know it was never just casual for him. You saw it in the way he touched you, in the way he let you call him by his first name, in the way he always made sure you were comfortable, that you were okay. You could feel it in the way he held you close, even when he didn’t say the words. Katsuki was serious about you, and that terrified you because you hadn’t let yourself believe that you could be serious about him too. 

But now, lying in your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling in the dim light, you wonder if maybe... maybe you were serious about him too. Maybe this wasn’t just some casual thing for you either. Maybe you let your fear get the best of you. Maybe you pushed him away because you were scared of what it meant to feel this way about someone.

Maybe... it’s too late to fix it.

You first meet Kirishima Eijirou at the brand event for Yūgen, a high-end luxury brand that’s slowly carving its name into the industry. 

The event is bathed in understated elegance, the kind that makes everything feel weightless, like an ethereal dream. The fragrance of Yūgen lingers in the air, soft but pervasive, the scent weaving in and out of your senses. It’s a haunting aroma—woody, floral, with a touch of something mysterious that stays with you long after you leave the room. The brand’s aesthetic mirrors that feeling, subtle craftsmanship and poetic beauty all wrapped in quiet luxury.

You’re wearing one of Yūgen’s finest designs: The Moonlit Silk Gown, a floor-length masterpiece in pearlescent ivory that moves like liquid moonlight against your skin. The cherry blossom embroidery is so delicate, it looks as though it might dissolve at any moment. The backless design leaves a trail of silk down your spine, each movement making you feel like a walking work of art, fragile but powerful. You look flawless—because you have to—but inside, you’re far from it. 

It’s been a long week. A long month, really. 

Physically, you’re exhausted. Every photoshoot, every runway, every campaign pulls energy from you in a way that leaves you hollow by the end of the day. But emotionally? That’s where the real toll is. It’s been weeks since you and Katsuki—Bakugou, you remind yourself, like a bad habit you need to kick—had your falling out, and despite throwing yourself into work, the ache hasn’t dulled. 

A vacation sounds tempting, but the thought of having time—time to rest, time to think—is too much. You don’t want to think. Not about what happened, not about the way you avoided him, not about the hurt in his eyes that still haunts you late at night. So you bury yourself in everything else—work, events, anything that keeps you moving forward without looking back.

The event is in full swing, and you’ve spent hours mingling, moving through the crowd like a ghost, smiling, nodding, talking to people whose faces blur together after a while. Celebrities, designers, businessmen, all wanting a piece of your attention. You’re good at it—the small talk, the easy charm, the graceful way you handle yourself. But by the time you finally find a moment to sit down, you feel like you’re about to collapse.

Your feet ache from the heels you’ve been wearing all night, sharp pains shooting through your legs with each step. Your head pounds from the constant hum of conversation, lights, and the weight of it all. You take a deep breath, trying to center yourself, to focus on anything other than the discomfort coursing through you. You consider finding an excuse to leave early, to escape the noise and the pressure, but before you can even act on it, a voice cuts through the noise around you.

“Hi, may I sit here for a moment?”

You blink, looking up, surprised to find a tall figure standing over you, smiling. It takes you a second to place him—Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Pro Hero Red Riot. 

He’s famous, one of the top heroes in the country, known for his kindness as much as his strength. You’ve heard about him before, mostly from Katsuki. Despite Bakugou’s endless grumbling about Shitty Hair this, Shitty Hair that, you could always tell there was a lot of affection there. Kirishima is one of Bakugou’s closest friends, a bond that goes back to their high school days. 

It’s odd, meeting one of Bakugou’s friends now, after everything that’s happened between you two. You’ve only met Kaminari and Ashido briefly, and that was back when things with Katsuki were... different. Now, you don’t know where you stand with him, let alone the people in his life. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Not after how things ended.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you say, forcing a polite smile. Your voice is steady, though inside, you feel the familiar tension creeping back up your spine. You watch as Kirishima sits down beside you, his broad frame filling the space with a kind of easy warmth. He’s dressed in a sleek black suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to his muscular form. A golden chain hangs around his neck, catching the soft light of the room. 

He doesn’t feel overwhelming, though. Despite his large frame and the unmistakable air of strength he carries, Kirishima exudes a kind of gentleness that puts you at ease almost immediately. His presence is the complete opposite of the tension that’s been gnawing at you all night. 

“Long event, huh?” Kirishima says, his voice light, but there’s a genuine empathy in his tone. It’s the kind of voice that invites you to relax, to drop the mask you’ve been wearing all night.

You nod, offering him a tired smile. “Yeah. It’s been a long week, actually.”

He chuckles softly. “I bet. These things can be exhausting, even for someone like you.” His eyes flicker down to your gown, admiration clear in his gaze. “You look incredible, by the way. That dress... it’s something else.”

You let a tired smile curl around your lips. “Thanks,” you say softly, though the compliment feels weightless. You’ve been hearing it all evening, and the words don’t really touch you anymore. 

Kirishima smiles back, but his expression carries a hint of concern now. His easygoing demeanor is still there, but there’s something more perceptive in his gaze. 

There’s a pause, a moment of silence between the two of you, as the murmur of the event continues around you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to mind the quiet. “You seem overworked,” he says after a moment, his voice gentle but probing.

You shrug, taking a sip from the champagne in your hand. The bubbles fizzle, but even the sharp taste of alcohol does little to break through the numbness you’ve been carrying all night. “I am,” you admit.

He raises a brow, clearly concerned. “Why don’t you take a break then?”

The answer comes to you immediately, almost on instinct. “I don’t want to,” you say flatly. “Taking a break means having time for myself, and that’s the last thing I need right now. Plus, I can’t.” You gesture vaguely, feeling the weight of your schedule already pressing down on you. “Fashion Week is in two months, and my calendar’s already packed. There’s no time.”

Kirishima hums in understanding, but there’s something unsaid in the air between you. His gaze softens as he looks at you, clearly mulling over his next words. The silence stretches, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he knows about you and Bakugou—if Katsuki ever mentioned you to his friends. Did he talk about you? Did they know you were… something, once? The thought makes your heart flutter, but it’s quickly followed by the familiar ache. You feel a lump rise in your throat as you try to push it all down.

Before you can dwell on it further, Kirishima finally speaks. “You know, I have a friend,” he says, his tone casual but laced with something deeper. “He kind of reminds me of what you’re going through. Recently, he went through something… rough, and it’s been hard on him. He’s been burying himself in work, and honestly, he’s not the same as he used to be. Not as happy, not as... alive. Like, something’s missing, you know?”

Your breath hitches. You know where this is going, but you can’t stop yourself from listening, from feeling every word sink deeper.

“The funny thing is,” Kirishima continues, his voice softening, “he never really told us about it. We found out by accident, actually—one of our friends snooped through his phone and found a picture.” He chuckles lightly, but it’s a sad sound. “He was pissed, obviously, but he didn’t stay mad for long. I think it’s because back then, he was still happy. Whatever he had, it made him content. But then… things happened.”

He turns to look at you, and his smile is sympathetic, almost knowing. “I think you understand.”

Yeah. He definitely knows. 

The weight of his words settles in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You feel the guilt rise up, thick and choking, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. You don’t want to show just how much it’s affecting you. “I hope your friend is doing okay,” you manage, though your voice comes out quieter than you intended.

Kirishima shrugs, his eyes flickering with a sadness of their own. “He says he is, but… I know him. He’s not.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It’s all your fault. You can feel it—deep down, you know it. You’ve hurt him, and now he’s suffering because of it. The thought makes your chest tighten painfully. “I bet that… something he had misses him, too,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe they didn’t realize how important he was until it was too late.”

Kirishima smiles, but it’s tinged with that same sadness. “Yeah. That’s usually how it goes, isn’t it? We don’t realize what we’ve lost until it’s gone.”

You let out a small, bitter chuckle, nodding in agreement. The weight of the truth in his words is almost unbearable. You didn’t realize. Not until it was too late. And now, you’re left with nothing but the hollow ache of what used to be.

Kirishima watches you carefully, as if weighing his next words. “But, you know,” he says after a pause, “my friend, for all his gruffness… he’s pretty forgiving. He’s changed a lot since we were kids. He’s softened, in his own way.”

Your heart stutters at his words. You feel the lump in your throat grow bigger, making it hard to breathe. “Do you…” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Do you think he’d forgive that something? If they tried to make things right?”

Kirishima shrugs, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he looks at you. “I think he would. He misses them more than they probably realize. But… they won’t know unless they try.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, and before you can say anything else, Kirishima stands up, offering you a kind smile. “It was nice talking to you. And hey, think about that vacation. It might be exactly what you need.”

You nod, too overwhelmed to say much in response, and watch as he walks away, his presence fading into the crowd.

The second he’s gone, your mind spins in a thousand directions. You sit still, your thoughts a jumbled mess of guilt, regret, and longing. You think about what Kirishima said—about Katsuki, about how he misses you, about how he might forgive you if you reached out.

Is it possible? Could he really forgive you? After everything?

Your heart races as you play the conversation over and over in your head, and slowly, a realization starts to settle in. You’ve been running from your feelings for weeks, but now… maybe it’s time to stop. 

Maybe it’s time to try. 

That’s when you make your decision. 

You’re done hiding; done avoiding the truth.

The commute to his apartment is hell. 

Everything that could go wrong, does. There’s an accident on the highway, forcing your driver to navigate the congested streets of Musutafu. The city is thick with humidity, and a summer storm has turned the streets into rivers. The rain pounds against the car windows relentlessly, and every drop seems to mock you, making you feel like the world itself is pushing back against this decision.

A few blocks from Katsuki’s apartment, the road is blocked by construction. Of course it is. Because, why wouldn’t it be? You’re so close, and the frustration bubbles up inside you until it spills over. Without thinking, you throw the door open and leap out of the car, pulling off your heels and clutching them in your hand. The rain immediately drenches you, soaking through the silk of your gown. 

But you run. Barefoot through the city streets, you run.

By the time you reach his building, you’re a sight—your silk dress clings to your skin, the once-elegant fabric now heavy and dripping, your hair plastered to your face. Your heels, still in your hand, are soaked through, and your feet slap against the slick pavement as you take the final steps to his door.

You knock, and it only takes a few moments before the door swings open. Katsuki stands in the doorway, his body immediately tensing as his gaze sweeps over you. His eyes go wide, and you can see the confusion—maybe even concern—flicker in them as he takes you in. 

You probably look like a drowned rat, soaking wet and panting from your sprint, but that’s not what gets to you. It’s him. It’s the way he looks. He’s tired. So tired. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, and the bags under them make it clear he hasn’t been sleeping. His broad shoulders are hunched, his usual fire subdued, and that alone breaks something inside of you. 

You did this to him.

“What the fuck—” he starts, his voice rough, but you cut him off before he can get any further.

“No. You listen to me.” You step forward, your heart hammering in your chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps from your run. “I want to talk. I couldn’t do that last time.”

His mouth snaps shut, and he blinks, clearly thrown by the intensity in your voice. He nods, just slightly, a gesture so small that most people wouldn’t even notice it—but you do. He’s listening.

You take a breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions swirling inside you, and then you begin. “I never meant to avoid you,” you say, voice shaky but determined. “I just… wasn’t ready to deal with the weight of what happened. I wasn’t ready to confront the feelings that you—” You swallow hard. “—the feelings you gave me.”

Katsuki’s eyes stay locked on yours, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he’s trying to keep himself calm, to hear you out.

“I always thought I wasn’t ready for a relationship,” you continue, feeling the words start to spill out faster, as if you need to get them out before you lose your nerve. “I thought I wanted something casual. But you… you changed that. You made me realize how wrong I was.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you force yourself to keep going. “I miss you. I miss you all the time. I miss your warmth, your kisses, the way you hold me close, the way you always make sure I’m comfortable, the way you’re grumpy but always so sweet… I miss everything about you.”

His breathing picks up, a faint hitch in his chest, and you notice the way his hands flex at his sides, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

“You were never just a fling to me,” you say, your throat tightening with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you feel like you were. I’m sorry for everything. I was scared, and I didn’t know what I wanted, but now I do. I want you.”

You see him stiffen at those words, his expression shifting, but you press on. You have to say it all, everything.

“Today… today made me realize just how stupid I’ve been,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know what I had until I lost you. And I’m—” You choke slightly on the words, but push through them. “I’m in love with you.”

He inhales sharply, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet hallway, but he doesn’t move. His eyes widen slightly, but you can’t stop now.

“I think about you all the time,” you continue, your voice shaking with every word. “I feel like such an idiot, because I had everything—you—and I screwed it up. I was scared, and I—I let you walk away, but I don’t want to make that mistake again. I want you, Katsuki. I’m choosing you.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, each one carrying the weight of everything you've been too scared to admit, too scared to confront. The hallway is quiet, save for the sound of your uneven breathing and the faint drumming of rain against the building outside. Katsuki is still standing there, his broad frame taking up the entire doorway, but he's utterly still. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and unblinking, as if he's trying to process every single word you’ve just thrown at him. 

And you know Katsuki. 

You know him in ways most people don’t. He’s strong, stubborn, and often explosive, but beneath that tough exterior is a vulnerability that he hides from the world. He doesn’t let people in easily, not really. His sharp edges and brash attitude are a shield, a way to protect himself from the constant pressure, the overwhelming expectations. He’s used to people seeing him as a weapon, a force of nature. But never as something to be chosen—never as someone who could be the safe place for someone else.

So when you stand here, drenched in rain and raw emotion, telling him that you do choose him, that you’re in love with him, it shakes him to his core. You can see it in the way his breath catches, in the way his body tenses like he’s bracing for impact. His eyes, usually so full of fire, are now filled with disbelief, as if he’s trying to convince himself that this is real, that you're real.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out. It’s like he’s frozen, caught between wanting to say something and not knowing how to. Bakugou Katsuki, the man who always has something to say, who always knows how to react, is speechless. 

The silence stretches on, and with each passing second, your heart feels like it’s being squeezed tighter and tighter. You’ve laid everything out—your heart, your soul, your fears—and the silence in return feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and your throat tightens, making it hard to breathe.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the tears finally start to spill over. You can’t stop them anymore. They fall freely now, mixing with the rain still dripping from your soaked hair and clinging to your skin. “Please.”

Katsuki’s eyes flicker, his jaw tightening as if he’s fighting some internal battle. He’s never been good with words—he’s never been good with feelings—and you can see how much he’s struggling right now. The vulnerability on his face is something you’ve only seen a handful of times, and it cuts through you like a knife. 

Finally, he exhales sharply, a sound that’s more like a growl than a breath, and he takes a step forward. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before he cups your face, his palm warm against your cold, rain-soaked skin. His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek, the gesture so uncharacteristically gentle for him that it makes your heart ache even more.

“You… fuckin’ idiot,” he mutters, his voice rough and thick with emotion. There’s no anger in his words, though—just a kind of raw frustration and something deeper, something more vulnerable. His crimson eyes are locked on yours, searching your face as if he’s trying to make sure this is real, that you’re not going to disappear on him again. “You think… you think I didn’t fuckin’ want this? That I didn’t want you?”

You blink up at him, the tears still blurring your vision. His voice is cracking in a way you’ve never heard before, and it hits you just how much this means to him. 

“I wanted you,” he says, his hand still cradling your face as he leans in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Fuck… I still want you.” His voice is raw, the vulnerability bleeding through with every word. “But you…” He swallows hard, his other hand coming up to grip your waist, pulling you just a little bit closer. “You pushed me away. You made me think… I wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t worth shit to you.”

The pain in his voice is palpable, and it makes your chest ache in a way that feels almost unbearable. You shake your head, your own voice cracking as you try to get the words out. “No. No, Katsuki, that’s not—”

He cuts you off, his grip tightening just slightly, but not in a way that hurts. It’s like he’s holding on to you for dear life, afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear again. “You don’t get it,” he mutters, his breath hot against your skin. “No one… no one ever fuckin’ chooses me. Not like this. You think I didn’t want you to come after me? You think I didn’t want you to fight for me?”

His words hit you like a freight train, and you can’t stop the sob that escapes your lips. He’s right. You did push him away. You made him feel like he wasn’t worth it, like he didn’t matter as much as he should have. And now, seeing the pain in his eyes, hearing the hurt in his voice, it feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Katsuki. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to handle it, but I… I love you. I love you so much, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to find the truth in your words. Then, slowly, his expression softens, the hardness in his gaze melting away as he exhales a shaky breath. His thumb brushes over your cheek again, wiping away the fresh tears. 

“Shitty timing,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. In fact, there’s something almost tender in the way he says it, like he’s trying to hold on to his usual roughness, but it’s slipping through his fingers. 

You let out a shaky laugh, your tears still flowing, but now there’s a warmth building in your chest—hope, maybe. You can feel it in the way he’s holding you, in the way his body is slowly relaxing against yours. He still wants you. He still cares.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The rain continues to fall outside, the world around you moving on without care, but in this small space, it’s just the two of you. Just Katsuki and you, standing in the doorway of his apartment, soaked to the bone and hearts laid bare.

Finally, he pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace that leaves no space between you. His chin rests on top of your head, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his heart beats against yours. 

“Don’t run from me again,” he murmurs, his voice gruff but laced with something soft, something tender. “I won’t fuckin’ let you.” 

You nod against his chest, your arms wrapping around him as tightly as you can. “I won’t. I promise.” 

He’s warm and so familiar, and you pull away from the embrace slowly, your fingertips grazing the sharp edge of his jaw as if grounding yourself in the solidity of him. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and there’s a slight tremor in his breath, a vulnerability that only you get to see. With your hands framing his face, you look up into his eyes—those deep, crimson eyes that burn like embers in the dim light of the hallway—and you murmur, “I love you.”

The words are soft but sure, slipping from your lips like a secret, and they hang in the air between you, filling the space with something fragile yet undeniably real. Katsuki’s breath hitches, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that betrays the storm brewing inside him. His hands, which have always been rough, steady, and unyielding, now grip your waist gently, like he's afraid you might vanish if he holds too tightly.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he closes his eyes for the briefest moment, letting the weight of your confession settle inside him, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that you rarely get to see. It’s raw, unguarded, and it steals the air from your lungs. His head dips, and with a shuddering breath, he captures your lips with his own.

The kiss is tender, a slow unfolding of everything unsaid. It’s not rushed or frantic—it’s a return, a homecoming. It feels like stepping back onto familiar shores after being adrift for too long. His lips, warm and firm, taste of all the things you missed, of safety and fire, of passion restrained but not diminished. His kiss is like the first light of dawn breaking across the horizon, soft yet full of promise. It’s the summer sun that melts the tension from your bones, the serene hush of winter’s first snow, the gentle bloom of spring flowers, and the quiet fall of autumn leaves—all of it wrapped into one. A constant rhythm, pure and right, grounding you in the moment.

Before you realize it, he’s pulling you into his apartment, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. Your heels clatter to the floor in the genkan, forgotten as his strong arms wrap around you, lifting you with effortless grace. Your hands find their place again, cradling his jaw, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips seek yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless. You’re weightless in his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he guides you down the familiar hallway, each step measured and deliberate, leading you toward the sanctuary of his bedroom.

The scent of him surrounds you, filling your senses—sharp and smoky, like burning embers, mixed with something inherently Katsuki. You missed this. You missed the way he feels against you, the steady pulse of his heartbeat as it thunders beneath his skin, the way his presence alone fills every corner of the space with warmth.

He lays you gently on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath your weight, and for a moment, he pulls back. The loss of his warmth is brief, but you feel it keenly until he’s tugging his shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, every scar etched into his skin like a map of battles won and lost. His body tells stories—of strength, of endurance, of survival—but all you see is the man who holds you now, the man who wears his heart hidden beneath layers of gruffness and fire.

Your hands move instinctively, tracing the familiar lines of his chest and shoulders. Your fingertips ghost over each scar, each ridge, as if memorizing him all over again. His skin is hot beneath your touch, and your hands curl around the back of his neck, pulling him back to you. His mouth meets yours once more, but this time the kiss is deeper, more urgent, the heat between you building with each passing second.

He welcomes you back like the dawn welcomes the night—slowly, but with an inevitability that feels like fate. His touch is reverent, as if you’re something sacred, something to be cherished. His hands, rough and calloused from years of combat, move with a surprising gentleness as they begin to peel the wet fabric of your dress away from your body. It clings to your skin, soaked through from the rain, but he is patient, his fingers working carefully, unwrapping you from the silk like a gift.

His touch is molten, a slow burn that spreads through you, lighting up every nerve. It’s like molasses—thick, slow, and deliberate—filling the space between you, pulling you deeper into the moment. Katsuki is fire, fierce and untamed, and in his hands, you feel like molten gold, soft and pliable, shaping yourself to the heat of his touch. He moves with purpose, his gaze never leaving yours as he strips away the last barrier between you, leaving you bare beneath him.

When he finally presses his body against yours, skin to skin, it feels like everything you’ve been missing. His warmth envelops you, his presence grounding you in a way that nothing else can. His hands roam over you, tracing every curve, every line, his fingers mapping out the soft planes of your body with a tenderness that contrasts with the fire that burns in his eyes.

There’s something unspoken between you now, something that doesn’t need words. His touch is a silent claim, his fingers skimming over the dips of your waist, the arch of your spine, the softness of your thighs. He knows every inch of you, and yet it feels new all over again, like he’s discovering you for the first time. His hands are steady, but there’s a quiet desperation in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid this moment might slip away if he lets go.

Katsuki’s breath is hot against your skin as he lowers himself down, pressing kisses along your collarbone, down to the hollow of your throat, each one a promise, a vow. His touch is deliberate, a slow, deliberate worship of your body, as if he’s reminding you of everything you are, everything you mean to him. His hands glide over your hips, his fingers brushing the tender skin of your inner thighs, and you arch into him, your breath hitching as you feel the weight of his love in every movement, every touch.

In his arms, you are safe. In his arms, you are whole.

He is fire and strength, and you are his, claimed by the fierce heat that only he can bring. You are molten gold, shaped and refined in the crucible of his love, and together, you burn brighter than the stars.

His lips press against yours, fueled by a newfound hunger, a kind of urgency that pulls a gasp from your throat, a soft whimper that escapes into the space between you. His hands roam your body with a heated reverence, fingers tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips, until one hand dips lower, slipping between your legs. When his finger slides inside you, the sensation is immediate, raw—a sharp intake of breath echoes through him as he feels you clench around him. You’re so warm, so wet, and it sends a shudder down his spine.

You can feel the tremor in him, the restraint, the overwhelming desire bubbling beneath the surface as his forehead presses against yours, breath mingling with yours in the stillness of the room. Another deep pant leaves him as he moves his finger inside you, the motion making you arch into him, your body responding to him as if you were always meant to. But before you can even catch your breath, he pulls away, eyes burning with a fire that ignites something deep inside you, and in one swift motion, he’s pressing his hips against you, rutting the length of his cock against your slick heat.

His body trembles with restraint as he teases you, but soon enough, he can’t hold back. His hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer as he lines himself up, and then he slips inside you—slowly at first, the feeling of him stretching you, filling you, taking you inch by inch until he’s seated fully within you. The world stills, and for a brief moment, it’s just him and you—joined together as one, moving in a rhythm older than time itself.

It feels like floating—weightless, untethered, as if you’re both suspended in the space between worlds. He rolls his hips, a slow, rhythmic tide, and you meet him, each thrust a push and pull, the two of you locked in a quiet dance. It’s like the meeting of the sea and the bioluminescent sands, glowing with heat and light, each touch sparking something deep and primal within you.

You murmur his name, “Katsuki…” your voice breathless and needy, and he responds with a kiss, his lips soft but insistent as they claim yours. He thrusts into you, achingly gentle, his movements precise but tender, each one filled with care. His hips move steadily, his hands cradling your body as though you’re something delicate, something priceless. To him, you’re precious—a masterpiece he’s lucky enough to hold, a delicate thing that he handles with reverence. Every time he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are filled with something deeper than desire—something raw and unspoken, something that ties the two of you together in ways words never could. 

Your hands drift over the hard planes of his chest, tracing the scars that mark his skin—testaments to battles fought and won, to the life he’s lived. Your fingers explore the rough edges of his body, skimming over the taut muscles that ripple beneath his skin, and the stubble along his jaw that scratches lightly against your fingertips. Each touch is full of reverence, because to you, Katsuki isn’t just a work of art; he’s a force of nature. He’s beauty in its rawest form, an Adonis sculpted from lava and tempered by explosions. He’s the embodiment of power, but beneath it, you feel the vulnerability he only ever reveals to you.

Your hands continue to explore his body, memorizing every part of him. You thumb the scars along his shoulders, fingers dancing along the ridges of his abs, and as you do, you marvel at how someone so strong, so unyielding, can be so gentle, so loving. He moves inside you with reverence, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and heavy against your lips. His body presses down against yours, the heat of him sinking into your bones as he thrusts deeper, driving you further into the mattress. His movements are unhurried but deliberate, each one building on the last until the tension in your body coils tight. 

And then it snaps, the pleasure washing over you in waves, pulling you under as you come undone beneath him. His name is the only thing you can manage, whispered over and over like a mantra, like a promise, your hands clutching at him as though he’s the only thing anchoring you to this moment. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, not from sadness but from the overwhelming emotion of it all—of being with him like this, of feeling loved, cherished.

Katsuki follows you into that blissful fall, his own body trembling as he reaches his release. A broken moan escapes him, raw and guttural, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he holds you close, his thrusts slowing to a stop. His breath is warm against your skin as he cups your cheeks, tilting your face toward him for a kiss that’s softer now, full of unspoken words and emotions too heavy to name.

When he pulls back, his forehead resting gently against yours, his eyes flicker open, and you see everything in them—gold, violet, amber, the brightest and most precious colors shimmering in the depths of his gaze. It’s as though he holds the universe within him, and all of it is focused on you. His lips brush against yours, the softest of touches, and he whispers in that deep, gravelly voice, “I love you too.”

The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, but they’re happy tears, and you blink them away as you smile. You press another kiss to his lips, your heart full, knowing that whatever happens next, you’ve found your way back to him. 

And that’s all that matters.

The aftermath is a world all its own—silent, untouched by the chaos that exists beyond the walls of his bedroom. 

Here, in the quiet glow of the moonlight, everything feels simple. The unspoken tension and complicated emotions that usually color the spaces between you seem to fade, leaving only this moment. It’s just you and Katsuki, wrapped up in each other, connected by something deeper than words could ever capture.

You’re cradled against him, his body solid and warm beneath you. His fingers trace slow, languid lines up and down your side, a repetitive, soothing motion that makes you feel grounded. Your own fingers mirror his, lazily drawing circles over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths under your touch. The scent of him—burnt caramel, cloves, sandalwood—wraps around you like a familiar blanket. It’s intoxicating and comforting, a part of him that feels so deeply etched into you now, as permanent as carvings on an ancient tree.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The stillness is sacred. But then, as if the weight of everything unsaid finds its way to your lips, you break the silence. "You know," you whisper, your voice soft as it brushes against the darkness, “today I realized that I deserve to take a break. To stop running away from everything.”

Katsuki’s fingers still for a moment on your skin, but then he leans down slightly, a silent acknowledgment that he’s listening. His hand rests at your hip, grounding you both.

“And… and you do too,” you continue, your voice growing a little stronger, though still fragile. "Your mom’s always on you about taking a vacation, right?" You feel his chest rise sharply beneath your head, his body stiffening just slightly. You take a shaky breath, pushing forward with the thought that’s been growing in your mind. “So… I booked two tickets. In the car. On my way here. To Indonesia. A luxury vacation. The plane leaves tomorrow morning.”

For a second, the world pauses. Katsuki freezes, his hand stopping mid-motion, his entire body going still as if he’s trying to process the words. Slowly, he leans up, propping himself on his elbows, his gaze searching your face with a mix of disbelief and confusion. His fingers find your chin, tipping your face toward him so your eyes meet. “You did what?” His voice is low, rough, not quite angry but edged with a bewilderment that you rarely see from him.

You lean into his touch, your heart swelling at the feel of his calloused fingers against your skin. “I want to go away with you,” you say, your voice steady and honest. “I’m tired, and you’re tired, and I just… I want to be with the man I love. To take time for us. Away from everything.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing. His chest rises and falls beneath you, each breath coming in measured, as if he’s trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to break through. His jaw tightens, muscles clenching as he looks at you, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his gaze.

It’s like he can’t believe it. Like he’s struggling to understand that you, here in this moment, are choosing him. That you’ve made this grand, impulsive decision for him—for both of you. His eyes dart away, unable to hold your gaze, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. You watch the way his emotions twist inside him, how they tangle up in his mind like a storm that he can’t quite put into words. You can see it all—the disbelief, the hesitation, the way this feels too good to be real for him.

He doesn’t speak, but the weight of his silence says everything. For someone like Katsuki, someone who’s spent his whole life being told he’s too much, too harsh, too aggressive—it’s hard to let himself be wanted like this. To be chosen. And it breaks your heart a little, knowing that this is how deep his vulnerability runs, how much he’s carried on his own without ever asking for anything.

Gently, you reach up, brushing your thumb along his jaw, guiding his face back toward yours. “You deserve this too, Katsuki,” you whisper. “You deserve to take a break. To just… be with someone who loves you.” Your voice softens, a faint crack in the quiet. “Let me love you.”

His breath stutters at those words, his eyes meeting yours again, this time filled with something deeper—something fragile. His hands tighten on your body, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But then, he just exhales shakily, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

You can feel the tension slowly leaving his body, the weight of his resistance melting away as he allows himself to accept what you’re offering. He doesn’t speak, not yet, but his lips brush against yours in the softest of kisses, and you know he’s heard you.

It’s a moment of surrender, not just to you but to the idea that he can have this—that he’s allowed to be loved like this. And as you both lay there, tangled in each other, you realize that this is the start of something new. 

Something real. 

Something that, for once, feels like it’s yours to keep.

There has to be someone sabotaging Tsukiyo, you think. There’s no way this could happen two Fashion Weeks in a row—the final outfits not fitting again.

It’s déjà vu. Minase looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. The tension in the room is thick as assistants, stylists, and tailors dart around like bees in a hive, scrambling to fix the chaos unfolding before them. You’re sitting in the same spot you were last time, watching the chaos but strangely calm, Amanai seated beside you. The familiarity of it all is almost comical.

“This can’t just be bad luck, right? Someone has to be sabotaging the brand,” you muse aloud, watching Amanai get her hair touched up while your own makeup artist carefully layers shimmer onto your eyelids. 

Amanai snorts, tilting her head slightly as the stylist adjusts a stray curl. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But at this point, I’m almost used to it. Minase will just do what she always does. Cut some outfits and make sure the important ones fit. These are summer pieces anyway—more skin showing means less fabric to worry about.”

You chuckle, a tired sound that mingles with the hum of panic around you. The Spring/Summer collection is about fluidity and celestial romance, staying true to Tsukiyo’s ethereal identity. You’re supposed to embody that dreamlike essence, but right now it feels more like a fever dream than a romantic one.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. She always manages to pull something off.”

Like clockwork, Minase’s voice cuts through the frenzy. “We’re cutting some outfits!” she announces, her voice laced with an edge of barely-contained frustration. “We’ll focus on the most important pieces. It’ll shorten the show, but it’s all we can do.” She turns to one of the stylists, rubbing her temples with a groan. “At least The Celestial Ripple Dress still fits,” she mutters under her breath, almost as if she's trying to convince herself that this won't be a complete disaster.

You exhale, grateful that your outfit isn’t one of the ones causing trouble. 

With hair and makeup done, you’re hurried to the fitting room, where the assistants and tailors usher you into your first outfit of the night: The Sakura Veil Jumpsuit. It’s an airy, pastel pink piece, with floral appliqués floating on a sheer overlay. The deep V-neckline glimmers with crystal embellishments, catching the light as you move. You feel the soft iridescent embroidery brush against your skin, mimicking the delicate movement of petals in the wind.

It’s snug, but the tailors make some quick adjustments, and soon enough, you’re able to walk comfortably in it. With one final touch-up to your hair and makeup, you prepare yourself for the runway, the whirlwind of activity swirling around you like an unseen storm.

Amanai and Hanari are already at the curtains, peeking out at the venue. Amanai is dressed in The Moonlit Nomad Ensemble, a layered kimono-inspired blazer in misty gray, paired with fluid silk palazzo trousers that make her look like she’s gliding. Embroidered constellations shimmer faintly on the blazer, cinched at the waist with a metallic indigo belt, adding a regal structure to the otherwise ethereal look. 

Hanari is draped in The Ocean Mirage Dress, a sky-blue gown made of sheer layers of chiffon that ripple like water. The bodice is structured with wave-like 3D elements, flowing seamlessly into a skirt of cascading ruffles edged with micro-crystals that glitter with every movement.

Amanai turns to you, her expression calm despite the chaos. “So? Ready?”

You smile wryly, adjusting your boots. “I think so. Just hope I don’t face-plant. These boots are a little slippery, and I don’t think I can handle the embarrassment of falling in front of everyone.”

Hanari snorts, barely suppressing her laughter. “Just make sure to fall gracefully, then. That’ll still fit the theme, right?”

You all share a brief moment of amusement, but soon enough, it’s time to get serious. The smirks and giggles are quickly replaced with the practiced poise of professionals. 

Time to focus.

One by one, you step onto the runway. Hanari goes first, her gown flowing like liquid, followed by Amanai, whose ensemble glints subtly in the soft lighting. Finally, it’s your turn.

The second your foot touches the glossy floor of the runway, the world condenses into a singular moment. The backstage chaos falls away like a distant memory, and all that remains is the rhythmic click of your boots against the floor and the steady pulse of your own breath. The lights are blinding, but you keep your gaze forward, your body moving with effortless grace. You’ve done this a hundred times, but tonight, there’s something sharper about your focus, something more intense.

The audience fades into the background, their murmurs barely registering in your mind. Each step feels deliberate, every movement controlled. You feel the fabric of your jumpsuit shift against your skin, the weight of the crystals on your chest catching the light as you move. The shimmering appliqués float as if alive, and you become a part of Tsukiyo’s dreamscape—an ethereal figure, moving through a world of starlight and fluid beauty.

As you near the end of the runway, you pause, turning slowly to give the audience a full view of the outfit. You hold your head high, projecting an aura of quiet confidence. 

You turn on your heel, making your way back down the runway with steady, deliberate steps, the sound of your boots echo with each click, vibrating deep in your chest. There’s a practiced grace to your movement, but every step feels charged with a weight that goes beyond the runway. You remind yourself to stay poised, to let the outfit speak through your body, through your calm. The audience’s eyes are still on you, but their murmurs barely pierce your bubble of focus.

When you finally step off the runway, a quiet exhale of relief escapes your lips. You feel your muscles relax, but only slightly. There’s still one more outfit to showcase—the most important one of the night. As you slip into the organized frenzy of backstage, assistants swarm you with quick, precise hands, ushering you toward the fitting area for the final look: The Celestial Ripple Dress.

The jumpsuit slides off with ease, and in its place, the assistants fit the silk of the Celestial Ripple Dress against your skin. The fabric feels like liquid, molding to you as though it’s alive. The iridescence of the material shifts between hues of lavender and warm peach, flickering like the first light of dawn. The architectural collar frames your neck and shoulders, delicate patterns flowing from it like lacework, lending you a regal air. The beaded obi-style belt cinches your waist, and as you glance down, you admire the laser-cut lace at the hem, each detail a testament to the craftsmanship of the design.

It’s a vision, a dream, and as you catch your reflection, you feel like a celestial being. But the reality of what’s about to come slams back into you with the controlled chaos around you—stylists pulling at your hair, makeup artists adding touches of shimmer to your already glowing skin. You still carry a faint tan from your trip to Indonesia two months ago, and the subtle golden tone contrasts beautifully against the soft tones of the dress.

Before you can fully immerse yourself in the calm before the storm, Minase appears at your side, her energy frantic but precise. She adjusts a few last details on the dress, her fingers working quickly.

“Listen,” she starts, her voice low but urgent. “Remember what I told you. Confidence. You need to own this moment. Make sure every single person in that room sees you—sees the dress. And that final pose?” She gives you a meaningful look, her eyes wide with intensity. “It has to be perfect. You need to look like you’ve stepped straight out of the stars. When the lights dim, and you see those white LEDs flicker, that’s your cue. Got it?”

You nod, giving her a reassuring smile despite the nerves twisting in your stomach. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

Minase’s eyes flicker with a mix of tension and trust, and she nods before stepping back to allow the final touch-ups. The makeup artists dab a bit more highlighter on your cheekbones, and the hair stylists smooth out the last few tendrils framing your face, ensuring everything is in place.

As you take a deep breath, steadying yourself, the assistants guide you toward the runway entrance. Your pulse races, but the adrenaline is steadying, sharpening your focus. Around you, the backstage murmurs grow softer, almost muted against the steady beat of your own heart. Several people wish you luck as you pass, but their words blur into the background as your mind narrows into a singular focus: the final walk. Amanai and Hanari catch your eye from the side, their reassuring smiles grounding you in the moment. You return the smile, grateful for their support, but you know that no amount of encouragement can ease the pressure bearing down on you.

The runway lights begin to dim, casting the space into an ethereal shadow. The energy in the room shifts—hushed but charged with anticipation. A shiver of excitement runs through you as the white LED lights flicker, signaling the start of your walk. 

Here we go.

You step onto the runway, and the moment your heels hit the floor, every pair of eyes in the room locks onto you. The dress catches the dim light, shimmering like a pool of liquid starlight, and with each step, the fabric shifts between hues, casting soft reflections across the room. The collar frames your face, a delicate extension of your own elegance, and the beaded belt accentuates your silhouette, guiding every movement with a subtle grace.

The world seems to fall away again. It’s just you, the runway, and the audience. You walk with the kind of confidence Minase drilled into you—a confidence that commands attention, yet exudes an effortless air. The hem of the dress whispers against your legs as you move, the intricate lace catching the softest hints of light with every step.

You hear the faint click of cameras, the subtle murmurs of awe from the audience, but it all blends into the background. In this moment, you are no longer just a model walking the runway; you are the embodiment of Tsukiyo’s celestial dream, a being that belongs to the stars.

As you approach the end of the runway, you pause, turning gracefully to give the audience one last view of the dress. The delicate collar flares slightly as you move, and you hold your final pose—a celestial queen, untouchable yet mesmerizing. You feel the weight of the moment, the pressure, but also the thrill of it. The audience is enraptured, their eyes drinking in every detail, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to hold its breath with you.

And then you turn, gliding back down the runway with the same deliberate grace. The energy in the room hums, and you can feel the attention still on you, as if the entire space is caught in the glow of your presence. 

As you step off the runway, the weight of the night slowly lifts from your shoulders, and you release a deep sigh of relief. The adrenaline that had been pumping through your veins starts to ease, leaving you with a calm satisfaction. “Good job!” echoes from all around you, stylists and assistants offering you quick words of praise as you make your way further backstage. 

Minase rushes toward you, her arms enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug, squeezing tightly. You return the hug, a wide smile spreading across your face. You know you did good tonight—really good. 

The look on Minase’s face is proof of it. 

You’ve done it again. 

The afterparty is in full swing by the time you arrive. 

The warm hum of low conversation and soft jazz mixes with the gentle clink of glasses. Dim lighting washes the room in an intimate glow, as glittering gowns and sleek tuxedos fill the luxurious space. The familiar click of your heels echoes against the polished marble floor, blending into the cadence of the night. Your eyes sweep the crowd, taking in the lavish surroundings, but you're instantly drawn to Amanai and Hanari, who are comfortably seated near the bar, their faces bright with laughter.

You’re dressed in a liquid gold slip dress that shimmers like molten metal with every movement. The delicate spaghetti straps highlight your shoulders, and the draped cowl neckline adds a touch of sensuality, balancing elegance and allure perfectly. The fabric clings to your body just enough to accentuate your figure before pooling subtly at your feet in a way that feels ethereal, otherworldly. Every step you take makes the high-shine metallic fabric catch the soft lighting, creating a fluid, rippling effect as though you’re a goddess dipped in gold. Paired with minimalist strappy heels, you feel the kind of confidence that only comes with wearing something that makes you feel utterly captivating.

But before you can reach Amanai and Hanari, you feel the familiar warmth of a hand sliding against your back. You already know who it is before you even turn around. There’s no mistaking the touch, the possessive yet gentle slide of a palm against your spine, the electric tension that runs through your body when he’s near.

A slow smile curls onto your lips before you even look over your shoulder, and when you finally glance back, your heart gives a small flutter as you meet Katsuki’s gaze. His expression is amused, eyes glinting with that familiar intensity you know so well. The edges of his mouth are curved slightly upward, a rare smirk tugging at his lips as if he’s just as aware of the magnetic pull between the two of you.

“Hi,” you breathe, the word barely a whisper as you turn fully toward him.

Without a second thought, your hand comes up, fingers curling lightly around his strong jaw, guiding his face down to yours. The kiss that follows is soft, slow, and searing. There’s something intoxicating about the way his lips move against yours, the way he holds back, teasing, yet still letting you feel the depth of his affection. When you pull away, you press another quick kiss to his lips, something playful. His eyes are half-lidded, lazy but brimming with affection, a softness in his expression that only you ever get to see.

Katsuki presses a kiss to your thumb, his lips warm against your skin. You wipe the smudge of lip gloss from his lips with your thumb, a soft chuckle escaping you. “You didn’t answer my texts,” you say quietly, your voice carrying a playful edge. “I didn’t know if you’d already arrived or not.”

He lets out a tch, glancing over his shoulder toward the back of the room where his friends are lounging. “Came with Shitty Hair and the others,” he mutters, nodding toward Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Mina. They’re grinning and waving at you like a bunch of excited kids. You smile and wave back, but your focus quickly returns to Katsuki.

“You did good out there,” he says, his voice almost too soft for him, but it’s laced with pride. It sends warmth flooding through your chest.

“You think so?” you ask, searching his face, feeling your heart swell when you see the genuine admiration in his eyes.

He hums, nodding slightly. “Yeah.” His tone is gruff, but the sincerity is clear.

You tease him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “So, I looked good then?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in that familiar way of his, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. “You always do,” he mutters, his hands slipping down to rest on your hips, his thumb brushing the fabric of your dress. There’s an understated affection in his touch, like he’s always more comfortable showing his feelings through actions rather than words.

Your fingers smooth over the fabric of his blazer, admiring the sharp, tailored fit of his all-black ensemble. He looks effortlessly handsome, dressed in a sleek black blazer with subtle metallic details that add an edge to the classic silhouette. The buttoned-up dress shirt underneath enhances his sharp jawline, and the wide-leg pleated trousers give him a sense of casual elegance. He looks sophisticated, polished, but still undeniably him. 

Your Katsuki.

“Well, you look pretty good yourself,” you say, your smile widening as you take in his appearance, your hands lingering on his chest. “Real handsome.”

He scoffs again, but you catch the faint blush dusting his cheeks, and it makes you smile even more. He always does this—acts tough, but you know how much your words affect him. His fingers flex against your waist, a small tell that he’s pleased.

He still has a faint tan from your trip to Indonesia, and the memory stirs a warm ache in your chest. It's hard to believe it's been two months since that whirlwind adventure. You can still picture the lush rice fields, ancient temples, breathtaking sunsets, traditional villages, and those perfect beaches.

Indonesia had been like a dream. 

It was everything you both needed. The two of you sat down and talked, really talked, about your feelings. Katsuki had opened up in his own gruff way, admitting how he felt after walking out of your apartment that day—how he wasn’t sure if he was just a fling or something more. You shared your own fears, how you’d been too scared to admit to yourself how much he meant to you.

And in that moment, everything felt right. 

The rest of the vacation was a dream—relaxing on the beach, hiking through the jungles, trying local food, and, of course, spending every night tangled in each other’s arms. You hadn’t realized how much you missed his touch, his voice, until you had it again. Every morning and night spent wrapped in him felt like a piece of you had been restored.

And now, you’re dating. Officially; something you hadn’t dared to hope for before the trip, and the thought still makes your heart race sometimes.

“So, I look good now as well?” you tease, a playful glint in your eyes as you step closer to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body.

Katsuki raises a brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His thumb brushes over the golden necklace around your neck—the one with the first kanji of his name as the pendant, a gift he gave you after the trip. His other hand remains firm against your back, his touch grounding you.

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles, voice low and steady, filled with that quiet, unspoken affection only he can give.

“Sweet talker,” you tease softly, your lips quirking into a smile as you gently smooth a hand down Katsuki’s chest. His warmth seeps through the fabric of his sleek black blazer, grounding you in this moment of intimacy. 

He raises a brow but doesn’t refute it, letting your words settle with that usual gruffness, though you can see the faint trace of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. “Let me say hi to the girls, then I’ll join you at your table, okay?” 

He nods and leans in, pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips, and you can feel the possessiveness in the way he lingers for just a second longer than needed. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that feels almost out of character, but you know it’s him—Katsuki showing affection in his own way. You pull away and pat his chest, turning to make your way toward Amanai and Hanari at the bar. 

You glide through the room, feeling the eyes on you once more—not from the runway this time, but from the afterparty’s crowd. Your golden slip dress catches the ambient light, shimmering like liquid gold with every step. You’re in your element, but your heart is still wrapped up in Katsuki’s touch, in the way he looks at you like you're the center of his world, even in a room filled with people.

Greeting Amanai and Hanari doesn’t take long—just a quick exchange of hugs and a few words of praise for your performance on the runway. You laugh softly as they gush over your dress, the compliments filling you with warmth, but there’s an eagerness to get back to Katsuki. 

By the time you return to his table, he already has a drink waiting for you, of course. He always pays attention to the details, even when he pretends not to. As you approach, you quickly go around the group, greeting everyone with hugs and smiles. Kirishima gives you a bear hug, Kaminari’s enthusiasm is infectious, and Mina’s wide grin feels like a mirror to your own.

“You looked so cool!” Kaminari practically bounces in his seat, his eyes wide with admiration. 

Sero, his usual laid-back self, nods in approval while toying with an unlit cigarette between his lips. He smirks. “Yeah, you killed it out there. Not surprised, though.”

You settle into your spot beside Katsuki, his arm naturally wrapping around your waist as you lean into his solid frame. His presence is comforting—like a rock in the midst of the swirling energy around you. You smile and shrug modestly. “Thanks, guys. I’m just glad that starting tomorrow, I have a few days off. A mini vacation before the real work starts.”

It feels good to let that thought settle in—time to recharge before diving back into the hectic world of photoshoots and campaigns. You’ve been looking forward to this breather for weeks now.

Kirishima, always the supportive one, grins at you. “Good for you! You should take all the time you need.” His warm, encouraging tone is typical of him, and it only adds to the sense of relief that washes over you.

Mina hums in agreement, her bright eyes twinkling as she takes a sip from her drink. “Yeah, you deserve it. Fashion Week looked intense this year.”

You nod, feeling the tiredness start to creep in, but it’s a good kind of exhaustion—the kind that comes after you’ve given it your all. “It was, but honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s just… fulfilling, you know?”

Katsuki’s hand tightens slightly around your waist at your words, his quiet approval always there even when he doesn’t voice it. His presence beside you, even in these small moments, is grounding. He’s never one to shower you with compliments in public, but his actions—the way he holds you close, the way he’s always there when you need him—speak volumes.

Mina leans in, her smile mischievous. “So, what’s the plan for your mini vacation? You and Bakugou jetting off somewhere?”

Katsuki scoffs, his eyes flicking toward her with mild annoyance, but you catch the subtle way his hand remains on your back, protective and reassuring. You laugh softly. “We haven’t decided yet. Maybe something low-key. Relaxing.”

Kaminari nudges Sero with a grin. “Bet it’ll involve lots of… relaxing.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling at the innuendo, while Katsuki gives Kaminari a warning glare that shuts him up quickly. “Keep talkin’, Sparky, and you’ll regret it.”

“Jeez, I’m just kidding, man,” Kaminari holds his hands up in surrender, laughing nervously. 

You smile and lean your head against Katsuki’s shoulder, feeling his body relax under your touch. “Honestly, I’m just excited to spend some time with this guy. We don’t get enough of that these days.”

At that, Katsuki glances down at you, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll figure something out.” His voice is low, private, as though the two of you are the only ones in the room.

You smile softly, leaning up to kiss Katsuki’s cheek. The subtle gesture of affection makes his face flush slightly, but he keeps his composure by pretending to sip on his drink, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone. It’s a small, rare show of his vulnerability, the way his cool façade slips just for you. Even though he’s trying to play it off, you can feel the warmth in his posture, the way his arm tenses slightly as if to pull you closer. 

His friends, however, are far from oblivious. Kaminari and Mina are practically glowing with grins as they exchange glances, amused by the way Katsuki tries so hard to act nonchalant. Kirishima's grin is wide and genuine, clearly happy for his best friend. They know this side of him, the softer side he shows only to you, and it’s a sight they cherish—though they’d never dare tease him about it, not seriously anyway.

“I just want somewhere with a beach,” you continue, keeping the conversation flowing as you sip your drink. “Maybe Okinawa. Maybe the Caribbean. I’m still figuring it out with our schedules, too.” Your voice is light, relaxed, but the longing for a break is evident in the way you speak. The whirlwind of fashion shows and shoots, though thrilling, has left you craving some time away—a place where you can unwind and just be.

Katsuki’s thumb absentmindedly strokes your waist as you speak, his subtle way of showing that he’s listening, even if he doesn’t say much.

“But I do know that I need a break,” you laugh softly, the exhaustion creeping into your tone, though it’s balanced with a sense of excitement for whatever comes next. “Something relaxing, somewhere far away from all of this chaos.”

Kaminari nods in understanding, his carefree grin softening into something a bit more thoughtful. “No, I get it. This whole thing is a lot, and you’ve been working hard. You gotta enjoy some time off.” His words are simple, but there’s an appreciation in his tone for the effort you’ve been putting in. Hero work, modeling, it’s all a lot, and sometimes people forget how much goes on behind the scenes.

You nod in agreement, grateful for his words, and the conversation begins to shift. Soon enough, they start talking about their hero work—patrols, training sessions, recent missions. You find yourself listening more than speaking, content to let the conversation flow around you. Your hand rests on Katsuki’s thigh, the soft fabric of his trousers warm under your palm. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers up and down, feeling the solid muscle beneath your touch. It’s a comforting gesture, one that feels natural between the two of you now, and you notice how it subtly relaxes him.

Katsuki, who usually has a sharp edge in his voice when he talks, is different tonight. His gruff tone is still there—because that’s just him—but it’s not harsh. He doesn’t bark his words or throw in as many biting remarks. When he speaks, it’s with measured authority, chiming in with his own thoughts on their hero work without dominating the conversation. He’s relaxed, at ease with you at his side.

You catch snippets of the conversation: Kaminari rambling about a recent mission that went awry, Sero and Mina debating the best techniques for urban rescue, Kirishima enthusiastically talking about new training regimens. Katsuki listens, occasionally grumbling an opinion or a sarcastic comment, but you can feel the quiet respect between him and his friends. They look up to him, even when they joke around, and he, in his own way, values their friendship deeply.

Every now and then, Katsuki’s hand moves to your back, brushing against your skin as if to remind himself that you’re still here, grounding him. It’s a small gesture, but it makes your heart flutter every time.

You gaze at him—really look at him—and it hits you: your boyfriend is like a supernova. His eyes, red but gleaming gold in the light, his messy blonde hair somehow still effortlessly handsome, and the way he fills out that sleek black blazer and those perfectly tailored pants. He looks absolutely irresistible.

And then, an idea starts to take shape in your mind.

You can’t help but grin mischievously, leaning further into Katsuki's side. You press a quick, feather-light kiss against the corner of his jaw when no one's looking, letting your fingers lazily trace patterns on his thigh. Your foot slides up and down along his ankle, a slow, deliberate tease that makes him stiffen slightly, his breath catching in his throat. For just a moment, his usual composure falters, and you feel the way his muscles tense under your touch.

A wicked grin spreads across your face as you lean in close to whisper, your breath warm against his ear, "Meet me in the bathroom from last time."

Katsuki’s sharp inhale is barely audible, but you hear it, and it only makes your grin widen. His reaction is perfect—a mixture of shock and anticipation. He tries to maintain his cool, but you can feel the tension radiating off of him, his grip on the glass in his hand tightening just slightly.

You pull back as if nothing happened, your expression innocent as you stand up. "I’m just heading to the bathroom," you tell the group with a casual smile, and no one bats an eye. But Katsuki knows better. His gaze follows you, smoldering, even as he tries to act unaffected.

With a teasing sway of your hips, you walk away, knowing full well that he's watching. The sounds of the party fade as you make your way to the more secluded part of the venue, the quiet settling around you. There’s a pleasant thrum in your body, the buzz of alcohol adding to the heady anticipation that builds with each step. You move through the hallways with ease, your heart pounding just a bit faster as you turn the familiar corners.

Slipping inside the private bathroom, you take a moment to check your reflection. The liquid gold of your dress shimmers under the soft lighting, clinging perfectly to your curves. You snap a few mirror selfies, the excitement bubbling up inside you, and even take a moment to fix your makeup. 

A few minutes pass before you hear the door creak open behind you. Katsuki slips inside, his presence filling the small room immediately. His face is flushed, his usual scowl more pronounced, but you can tell he’s fighting it—his embarrassment, his frustration at how easily you get to him. It makes you laugh, a soft, teasing sound that fills the space.

"Don't look so grumpy," you tease, turning to face him fully. "You're about to get the best head ever, honey."

His ears turn an even deeper shade of red, the blush spreading across his neck, but all he can manage is a low, unintelligible grumble. He looks almost flustered, which is rare for him, and it only makes you smile wider. Before you can say anything else, he steps forward, wrapping his arms around your waist, his body pressing against yours from behind. His breath is warm against your skin as he buries his nose in the crook of your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there.

The warmth of his mouth on your skin sends a shiver down your spine. His lips linger for a moment, soft and deliberate, before he pulls back, resting his head against yours. He’s relaxed now, his earlier tension melting away as his eyes become heavy-lidded, the earlier scowl gone. His hands stay firmly on your waist, holding you close, and you can feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

You smile at both of your reflections in the mirror—Katsuki looking uncharacteristically soft, his gaze half-lidded and affectionate, while you’re practically glowing with warmth. It’s moments like this that remind you of why you love him so much. Despite the brash exterior, the sharp words, and the gruff demeanor, he’s always so gentle with you. He’s always so careful, so loving, in a way that makes you feel treasured.

"I love you," you say softly, turning your head to press a kiss on his cheek. He lets you, his lips curving into a faint smile before he tilts his head to capture your lips in a soft, whispery kiss. It’s slow, tender, and full of unspoken affection, his way of saying what he’s never been good at putting into words. 

"Love you too," he mumbles against your lips, the words barely audible but sincere.

The simple exchange fills you with a sense of warmth, but you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face next. "Now, let’s get down to business," you say, your voice light with amusement.

Katsuki snorts, rolling his eyes, but there’s a trace of a smirk on his lips. "Yeah," he grumbles, his tone playful, "let’s get down to business."

You laugh softly, your heart swelling as you realize—this is your life now. Moments like this, the quiet intimacy, the teasing, the shared affection—it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it. 

With Katsuki, it’s always exciting, always a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. 

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

final notes:

thanks for sticking around and for reading! this was such a fun story to write, and i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i did.

here is my ko-fi :) as some of you may know, i’ve been sick and haven’t been able to work as much, so any support would mean a lot. no pressure, of course!

again, thank you so much, and until next time!

[eroscomet]

Make it Right

Chapter two- Hauting for Home

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Paring: Astrid Deetz x Fem!Ghost!Reader

Warnings: Mentions death, a bit angsty, bad writing. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Word count: 3k+

A/N: Hello, lovelies! I'm so sorry that this chapter took a while to make. I was busy on the weekend; however, I found time to finally finish the chapter for you all! I really do hope you guys enjoy this one! I will try to get a specific schedule for updates on certain stories. If you guys are wondering about updates for 'Picking Up Pieces That Aren't Yours,' I will try to update that as soon as possible. I will also be doing a couple drabbles on different characters and or drabbles of characters I've already written for. I would also like to thank you guys so much for all the support you all have been showing me! I am so thankful and grateful for each and every one of you! Thank you so much for every like, reblog, and comment, it means a lot to me!

Not proof read

╰┈➤Series Masterlist

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"You talked to my dad?!" Astrid had exclaimed with an amused smile on her face. There it was, that twinkle in her eye that you had missed so much. She hadn't been very happy recently, with you not around and everything else in her life that had been happening.

"Yeah, when I had first died. I got sent to the immigration office, and what do you know? There he was behind the glass. He's just as kind as you always told me he'd be. Surprisingly, he immediately recognized me. He told me that he had been watching after you and practically watched our love 'blossom,' as he put it." The two of you continued walking outside.

You couldn't help but think about how people must be seeing this. Astrid looked as if she were talking to herself from an outside perspective. Aware of her past, you knew people had a tendency to bully her, so when nearing Miss Shannon's School for Girls, you tried to get her to talk as much so that others wouldn't look at her funny. So, you took up most of the time on the way there, talking as much as she could so that she didn't have time to talk. Which was odd because she was usually the one who'd talk while you'd listen.

"He said he liked me, which is a relief. Sometimes, I feel like your mom is more confused but is trying to be supportive. I mean, remember when I had first come over, and she started talking about how she too 'experimented' as she said. Anyway, that isn't the point. I met your dad, and we actually frequently visited you together. It's funny, sometimes we'd bond over how much we missed you."

Astrid's eyes had furrowed as she had begun to notice that every time she began or wanted to speak, you only spoke faster, almost sputtering out information. A frown tugged at your lips as she had caught on.

"I just don't want people to look at you even more weirder than they already do. If you're talking to yourself, they'll find that an easy target. Try...putting on some headphones and pretending you're on the phone? Or you can just put your phone up to your ear?"

She smiled as she took her phone out of her pocket and brought it up to her ear.

"Thanks, you're right. So, what else did he say about me? Did you see my grandfather? What's the afterlife like?" Astrid felt like she had a million different questions to ask.

"Your dad says he's proud of you and that he sees himself in you all the time. As for your grandpa, no. I mean, I feel as if it's harder to find him since he did lose his head to a shark. The afterlife is a bit weird. I can't tell you much about it since I haven't exactly crossed over. I basically only know what headquarters and a few shops look like. I mean, there's a 'Soul Train' which essentially takes you to the 'Great Beyond,' but I never went because I don't want to risk not being able to watch over you."

You grabbed Astid's shoulders, moving beside her to walk toward the street end of the sidewalk. Even though you were dead, the sidewalk rule never really left you, even while Astrid couldn't even see you.

"Yeah, I figured. I almost can't believe that a shark bite ended his life, I knew my family wasn't normal, but we can't even have a somewhat normal death? The Great Beyond, huh? Soul Train is a clever name though. Does no one know what's on the side?"

"I mean, I've never seen someone leave then come back from the train in the full year, almost two years that I've been here. I'm not taking the risk and crossing anyway, I can't lose you again after we just got back to each other."

"You're right..." Her eyebrows furrowed, her attention on the sidewalk as they continued to walk. She thought to herself for a moment before speaking again.

"So, you don't have any ghost tricks you learned?"

"Of course, you'd ask that, would you be disappointed in me if I said I didn't?"

"I mean, you've been gone for a year almost two, I'd expect you to know at least something to make me feel better for all the time you've been gone."

"Okay, uhhh... I can walk through walls and, I guess, float a bit."

"That sounds like every other ghost."

"Just because i'm a ghost doesn't mean I have super powers, Astrid."

"Just saying."

"I mean, I do have this nasty scar from the accident." You lowered your shirt neckline, showing the scar on the lower part of your neck. Astrid winced at the scar before looking away.

"Right. Weird how all it took was one neck twist for you to die.

"Well, it's more like my neck twisted as if I was a cartoon character that got punched, and my head began spinning-"

"Ew, shut up. Don't talk about it like it's something light."

"I'm sorry, you're right."

It was silent for a bit as you guys walked into the school, Astrid opened one of the doors while you phased right through the other door. Astird put her phone back into her pocket as she walked upstairs and past the other students. You followed after her, your eyebrows furrowing at the other students nearby her dorm. Some of them whispering to each other while giggling.

That's when Astrid opened her dorm room's door, a bedsheet attached to the ceiling by a rope coming straight towards her. The bedsheet makes out a ghost with a 'Boo' sign in its chest area. Astrid stumbled back before turning around and looking at the other girls, who began to burst out into laughter behind her.

"When you're all driving carpool and banging your pilates instructor to fill the empty voids in your life, we'll see who gets the last laugh."

The girls smiles and laughs quickly died as she finished speaking. Astrid turned around as she went into her room, shutting the door behind her. You smiled proudly, a laugh escaping you as you saw the looks on the girls faces as they disburst from Astrid's door.

"Witty as always." You said as you phased through her dorm room's door. The make-shift ghost on the ceiling startling you a bit as you had almost 'ran' into it. Sometimes you forget you're a ghost even if it's been a year.

"They have not toned down with the comments? You had always been careful about this topic, not wanting to bring it up too much with Astrid.

"No." It was a simple and straightforward answer that made you not want to question further. A part of you felt angry that you were helpless to all of it now that you're dead. You had gotten so used to defending her against everyone but now your words would only fall on deaf ears.

You sighed as you plopped yourself onto her dorm room's bed, thinkiing for a moment on how to steer away the conversation of bullying that she obviously did not want to talk about.

"Did you hear that my sister's pregnant? I know that I shouldn't bother looking over them since they're perfectly fine.."

"I'm not surprised."

"She's naming the baby after me."

"God, that's ridiculous! Naming their kid after a relative who isn't even dead yet-" Astrid's voice faltered for a moment. The fact that you were dead and have been for almost two years was still a punch in the gut after all this time.

"That's what I said, baby." You offered her a small smile as you played into the bit that you were still alive for Astrid. She still wanted to make her at least feel a bit better.

'Baby.'

Your words - and your smile, even if it was for her benefit - just made Astrid's heart twist further in her chest.

"You're killing me here."

"Why?" Your head tilted to the side as you looked at her.

"Because you're supposed to be dead." Her voice came out in a strangled whisper as she looked down at the papers scattered on her desk.

You bit your lip, you didn't want to show that what Astrid had said hurt you. Even if you were dead, you still had emotions and feelings. You paused for a moment before deciding to drop the topic.

"So, they're having a baby shower. You should go."

"Oh god, a baby shower? Is it too late to make you disappear again?" Her face had immediately scrunched up with distaste at the idea of being forced to go to a baby shower - especially your self-centered sister's baby shower where she'd name her child after you for her own gain.

"Come on, you couldn't see me for a whole year, and now that you're finally able to, you already want to get rid of me? That's cold, babe, even for you. Even for me who's dead cold. Get it? Huh? Dead cold. Because i'm dead? And i'm cold now because I have no blood. No? Okay."

"Oof, that was horrible." She said as she shook her head and grumbled in response.

"Come on, admit you missed me. I heard all your late-night talks that you thought weren't reaching my ears."

"I did miss you - I've missed you for a whole year." She confessed, sounding a bit surprised by her own confession. The room fell silent, the weight of everything that had happened falling onto the both of them. Neither of them wanted to address it, though, they didn't want to have to deal with it now.

"Did you ever-" She paused for a moment as she thought of the right words to say, "When I'd lay in your bed and mope, were you just...watching me?"

"No, I hated that. I'd still do what I would've done if I were alive. I tried holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear that never got to you."

"Sweet nothings, huh?" She teased, which earned an eye roll from you. Again, the room had fell silent as the two were lost in thought before Astrid spoke again, breaking the silence.

"How bad did it hurt?"

"Uh.. Well... I just remember being on the ground one second, then in the air the next. I landed, and well- You know what. It had hurt for that second that I was alive, but it had been an instant death if anything."

Having to talk about your death wasn't an easy topic. It was a reminder of how quick you had lost it all. The blood in your system, the beat of your heart, Astrid. The sight of you nervously fidgeting with your own fingers made Astrid's heart ache.

"I hate that." She muttered, her voice coming in strained, almost as if she was forcing herself to get the words out.

"I'm sorry." Your words were mumbled as she continued to fidget with your fingers, now more anxiously than before. The apology caused Astrid to shut her eyes, trying to hold herself together. She felt that now was not the time to start breaking down.

"Don't. Don't apologize." She had almost snapped at you as she opened her eyes to shoot a glare at you.

"Okay." You were never one to go against her word, you didn't want to start a fight. Especially not now. All you could do was bring up one of your hands, beginning to gently pull on the hairs on the back of your neck as you avoided Astrid's eyes.

"Is that a nervous habit of yours now? Pulling your hair." She asked as she reached her hand out idly to brush your hair out of your eyes.

"I had gotten it when I first reached the afterlife. When you watch the people you love hurting, and all you can do is ghost around them..." Your voice had faltered, forcing yourself to clear your throat and then begin to speak again.

"You feel so helpless. Watching everyone who used to be around you and love you so miserable about your death. It makes you feel guilty but, most of all, useless. There's no way to hold, touch, talk to, comfort them... It's hard."

The room had fallen silent after your words. Astrid's fingertips gently brushed along the back of your head - tracing the place that you usually pulled at. She let her hand rest there, trying to keep you from pulling at your hair again.

"How cold am I?"

Your words made Astrid pause for a moment. Leaning closer to you as she wrapped an arm around her now ghost girlfriend. The chill of your skin made her shiver involuntarily - but Astrid tried not to show the way her body automatically wanted to shy away from the cold.

"Really damn cold. It's like you're an ice cube almost." Her words a mumble as she got closer to you, laying next to you as she rested her head on top of yours.

"I'm sorry that I'm not warm anymore." Your own words come out as a mumble as well, instinctively, your head rests on her shoulder.

"I know you don't much like when it's really cold. I thought I was keeping myself with this sweater but now that someone's actually able to touch me, I realize it's doing nothing for me."

"Gosh, you don't have to apologize for that. At least you're here." She pulled you closer against her, her arms wrapping around your waist - burtying her face into your shoulder, even if your skin was freezing and caused a slight burn against her own warm skin. She ignored the way that her body had involutarily shivered at the contact - focusing instead on the fact that her girlfriend was here.

"Barely." You mumbled quietly as you gently pulled away from your girlfriend, knowing that you were probably burning Astrid's skin with your own cold, dead skin that was now a pale blue hue.

"Don't be like that. You're talking as if you have no more hope."

"Death has a way of doing that."

Astrid let out a quiet huff at your words. Her eyes flickered back and forth from you and her own hands that were now gripped tightly on her bedding - but in the next moment, she let go. Almost as if with a full burst of speed, she darted to you. Her arms wrapping around your body, hauling you into her bed in a tight, crushing embrace.

"Astrid-" You had said in surprise and protest. You knew that you were cold. Dead. The cold would burn Astrid at one point, and you didn't want that. Not when you used to be alive and warm for her. You used to keep her warm and now you can only burn her with your icy dead skin.

"Don't even think about complaining. I don't care if you're cold." Astrid snapped as she held you impossibly close against her. Her body shivered once again as your cold skin was like a bucket of cold water dumped over her body - but she ignored the cold, focusing on the sensation of her girlfriend in her arms.

A frown had tugged at your lips, knowing that eventually, Astrid would get too cold, but after a year of being a lone ghost who watched your loved ones move on or suffer because of you, you couldn't help but be a little selfish. Your arms wrapped around her as tightly as you could.

You missed your girlfriend so much. Watching over her for a year, her suffering for a full year over your death, had done a number on you. You'd cry if you could, but all you felt was this deep internal sadness. You had no heartbeat, you had no blood to warm your body, you had no tears to shed from your dry eyes. Your chest was the most still it had ever been, you had no air to breathe anymore.

It had begun to feel like too much for the both of them. Being this close to each other after a year of thinking they'd never be able to have contact again, feeling each other's skin despite the feeling of a small burning on her own skin from your own. It was almost enough to make Astrid cry.

The cold was beginning to seep into her skin - making her shiver and leaving her skin prickled. But Astrid wouldn't - couldn't - let go of you. Not when it had been a year since she was able to hold you. You had only frowned as you held her tighter. A small hiss escaped Astrid from the cold contact as she tried to get herself impossibly closer to you.

"Damn it, it's getting too cold." She hissed, speaking between clenched teeth as she tried to bury her face into your shoulder further.

"Warm up with the blankets, I'll just lay beside you. I promise I won't disappear." You pulled away, gently moving Astrid off of yourself as you carefully pulled her bedsheets over her body. When you finished tucking her in, you lay beside her, admiring every detail you could land your eyes on.

She only huffed a bit, feeling oddly petulant about the fact that she had to let go of you However, she did as she was told. A small shiver rattled her body as her eyes locked onto yours. She managed to mumble something incohereently as she reached for you, trying to tug you close again.

"Too cold, baby. Just give it a moment. I'm here, you see me." You tried to reassure her as you gently tugged a strand of hair behind her ear.

'Baby.' The soft nickname only made her want to pull you close again, but she knew that you were right. Her body was cold - skin still pricked and burned from being in contact with her girlfriend. She snuggled further into the bedding, her hand gently reaching out to yours. Linking her own pinky with yours, causing you to smile. Her eyes looked into yours as if asking if it was okay to which you had nodded.

┗━━━✦❘༻♡༺❘✦━━━┛

A/N: I don't know why this felt like such a short chapter to me despite it being the most words I've written so far?? I might have some filler chapters for this and 'Picking Up Pieces That Aren't Yours' sometimes. Then again, there is still a lot to write for the storyline themselves. Thank you, lovelies, for all the support on my posts! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I'm so sorry if some days I do not have time to update. Also, if there's anyone that wants to be tagged for updates on this story, leave a comment saying so! Bye, loves!

[mangled-by-disuse]

uhhh lemme think...

Quest for Camelot, which I loved originally (and I think might have suggested to you?) but then went back and rewatched and was like aw damn this kinda sucks actually (probably for the same reason I liked it as a kid, which is: good god the 90s shallow feminism is inescapable and representative of all my worst childhood opinions)

V for Vendetta and I, Robot, which I think I experience in the same way you're describing The Menu, Knives Out, and Ready Or Not (...although Ready Or Not I mostly enjoyed in a way entirely separate from its political themes.)

I hate Rocky Horror in a way that's probably like 90% a pushback to people insisting that I have to like it, and 10% just Not My Vibe. that's the main one where i keep seeing it on people's lists and being like "yes i watched it but not by choice ugh".

I think those were the ones I was thinking of?

bandwagon hopping

[alienara-simblr]

🌆 Chapter 5 : The Neighborhood Download 🏘️

It's a big post, please read carefully ...

🥂 It's FINALLY here, the long-awaited neighborhood download post ! You'll finally be able to explore this new map yourself, add your Sims, and play fantastic brand new...old stories. However, depending on the neighborhood you want to download, you'll need to make sure you've already downloaded and installed the necessary custom content from the lots you need ! To speed things up, the "chapter" posts offer direct access to the entire download folder for the area in question (e.g. "Chapter 1" proposes the lots from Neighborhood 1 etc.)

🌃 All the neighborhood have been cleaned with Hood Checker and completely empty of all their sims (in folder, and in the neighborhood file with SimPE). The Neighborhoods with lots have 🇫🇷 FRENCH and 🇬🇧 ENGLISH texts for every lot titles and descriptions from the original SIMS 1 descriptions.

🌇 NEEDED NEIGHBORHOOD DECO

Redbud Tree CUSTOM version by @suratan-zir Age of Empire 3 Trees conversion by @haut-gothique Dead Trees by @mustluvcatz-reloaded Placeable Cliffs by @greatcheesecakepersona Nessie the Plesiosaur by Psychosims The Neighborhood Fog by @jodeliejodelie The Waterfall by Numenor The Osara Wood Bridge by @simborg The Wood pier fragment by @criquette-was-here on MTS Busy Road Vehicle Set by @criquette-was-here (Police car ; Garland Bubalina Tractor ; Semi-trailers ; flatbed loaded) The Bus stop and Post by @criquette-was-here Rural Road Charm’s Asphalt Tarmac Pieces by @criquette-was-here Those Telegraph Poles by @criquette-was-here The Fence & Hedge set by @criquette-was-here Smuggled Deco's Giant FS13 Harvester by @criquette-was-here Railway Tunnel Portal from Feverfew by @criquette-was-here Railway Tunnels by @criquette-was-here on MTS Street Lights Set by @criquette-was-here 4t2 Street Lights by @beautifulnerdkitty Building by @ethanmcgregor (can't find name ; begin by “fixed”) The Blue Water Tower by @funphumph Smallest Maxis Watertank by Psychosims 4t2 Stone Wall A by @lordcrumps 4t2 Dirty Long Road by @leoz94 (ts4dirtyroad1 ; ts4dirtyroadlong ; ts4dirtyroadpovorot1 ; ts4dirtyroadpovorot2) 3t2 Old Mill by @hafiseazale MagicTown default replacement for Maxis Bimp by @shastakiss 🌉 You will NEED BRIDGES for the neighborhood, but the choice of the bridges depend on which roads you are using. 🔹IF you are using MAXIS roads, you need these bridges (and you will have to place them yourself on the completely remade neighborhood) 🔸IF you are using @criquette-was-here's Rural Charms Roads like me, you will need her Unified Brigdes

🏞️ OPTIONAL NEIGHBORHOOD DECO

Skyboxes by @dramallamadingdang (I use Mixed Clouds) Skylines by @greatcheesecakepersonna (I use Green Hills)

🌲 DEFAULT REPLACEMENT PINES

You can chose to keep the Maxis ones or use one of those :

Neighborhood Pine Forest Defaults by @teaaddict, @lowdeus, and @shastakiss My Darker Recolor of the previous set : SFS - Mediafire (it's the version used on my pictures, obviously) Tree Clump recolors by @jodeliejodelie

☑️ CHECK LIST

💾 Did you make a backup of your Sims2 folder ? 🌁 What neighborhood do you want and how to install it ? ⚒️ Did you check the master meshes post ? installed everything ? 🏘️ Did you installed all the needed lots and their CC ? 🌲 Did you install the neighborhood decorations from this post ? 🙏 Did you send a prayer to the Gamer's Gardian Angel ? 🦑 Did you exorcised the Pink Soup out of your PC ? ✅ Then you're ready to GO !

🎁 DOWNLOAD OPTIONS

The Empty one is... empty of lots, It's just my remade version off Kalisa's map. I had to change it to create MagicTown, changed the roads with SimPE and decorated the hood. The second option, is an edited neighborhood with only the MagicTown addition, all the OldTown and Downtown lots are Kalisa's CC free ones. It allows you to have less CC to install because you will need only the MagicTown related ones. That's why I had a flag system on my master meshes post . And finally, the entirely remade neighborhood has all my made and remade lot and need ALL the CC from the lots and the master-meshes post.

🟥 MAIN Empty Hood : SFS - Mediafire 🟧 MAIN MagicTown + Kalisa's OldTown : SFS - Mediafire 🟨 MAIN Entirely Remade : SFS - Mediafire 🟩 SUB Empty Hood : SFS - Mediafire 🟦 SUB MagicTown + Kalisa's OldTown : SFS - Mediafire 🟪 SUB Entirely Remade : SFS - Mediafire

To install the MAIN HOODS, you have to put the neighborhood folder in your TS2 document folder : .../My Documents/(Your Sims 2 folder)/Neighborhoods/ To Install the SUB HOODS, you have to put the neighborhood folder in your TS2 "Open for Business" installation folder : (Your TS2 Installation repertory).../EP3/TSData/Res/Neighborhood Templates/

🏘️ ★ 🛠️ ★ 🏡 ★🧍★ 👫 The TS1 Sims Neighborhood is on its way...

[giuseppe-yuki]

fashionista

zhou guanyu x teacup pig shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.5k

warnings: none :)

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: you get a new outfit (ft. a trip to the convenience store)

pictures credits from pinterest :)

as one of the unofficial fashion moguls in the paddock, it was your job to serve face whenever you appeared in the paddock. the sound of paparazzi camera shutters clicking were almost always a sure sign that you were near. 

today, you entered the paddock hand-in-hand with your boyfriend zhou. he, of course, was dressed to the nines next to you. your baggy parachute pants paired with a tight cutout top and zhou’s baggy jeans with an almost see-through mesh top looked like the pinnacle of haute couture streetwear. 

you smile directly at the cameras following you both, sending a small wave at a man dutifully taking what looked to be at least twenty pictures of you per second. continuing down the paddock, you stop a few times in order for zhou to sign a few pieces of merch. you adjust your slim sunglasses on the bridge of your nose to hide your eyes from the blazing hot texas sun. as you pass the vcarb motorhome, you spot daniel ricciardo dressed in a cowboy outfit. he clicks his tongue and sends finger guns to you and zhou when you walk by.

zhou leans towards you and whispers into your ear, “baby, we should have dressed more like that, for cota!” 

you turn to face him, wrinkling your nose. “no way am i ditching my outfit for cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, zhou!” you tilt your head, looking at him with a questioning look. “i mean, would you rather wear that or the outfit that marc jacobs sent you tomorrow?”

he sends you a chagrin smile. “point proven, i guess.”

before you could continue your walk, a snow white samoyed bolts out the mercedes motorhome next door. it sniffs zhou twice before plopping itself in down. lewis runs out of the motorhome a second later, skidding to a stop next to the dog. 

“holy cow, you need to calm down,” he says pointedly to the dog. he bends, hand on his knees, panting. “i’m getting old, and i swear im not going to be able to catch you anymore!”

the dog shoots lewis a look, as if rolling its eyes. lewis looks up, as if just noticing you two standing if front of him. 

“well, if it isn’t the best dressed couple on the grid,” he says, chuckling. he scans both of you up and down. “nice outfits, by the way! i think you two are possibly the only people that can outdress me.” 

“thanks!” zhou replies. “i honestly think you are still the undisputed fashion icon of the paddock, though.” 

you nod, agreeing. 

“why thanks!” lewis says, beaming. he then glances at his watch, and frowns. “oh shit,” he says, “i think fp1 is starting soon! i gotta go. you guys should probably run to the garages too.” he waves at you both and starts sprinting away, samoyed at his side.

“you ready to go?” your boyfriend asks, smiling at you. 

you take a second to fix your sunglasses again, and give him a quick nod. zhou grabs your manicured hand, and you both dash towards the kick sauber garage.

“omg, wait for me!” your boyfriend shouts, hands still on the driver’s wheel. but, you had already leaped out of the barely stopped alfa romero 33 stradale, clutching your snakeskin birkin.

the sun had already set in the texas sky, painting everything with a dark blue haze, including the white car that you had just jumped out of. by the time zhou had turned off the engine and hopped out of the car, you were already in front of the convenience store, giddy with excitement. he lightly jogs to you, briefly turning his body to lock the alfa romero with the car key lob. you press a light kiss on his cheek when he arrives next to you. 

after getting a pretty good result in both fp1 and fp2, you had promised zhou that you would both go on a run store, pick out a ton of snacks, then go back to the hotel to watch a movie and possibly “celebrate,” if you get my drift. unfortunately, after multiple meetings and an unplanned dinner with valtteri, it was too late to go to any normal store, so the next best choice was the convenience store that was open 24 hours. 

you grab his hand and run into the store, dragging zhou behind you. you walk past the candy aisle, hot dog warmers, and stunned cashier, arriving at the chips aisle. the colorful packages jump out at you, advertising for you to “face the intensity” or warning you that it was “dangerously cheesy.” 

“which one should should we choose, zhou?” you ask, turning to him. he too, is looking through the wide variety of snacks in front of him. 

after a few seconds of pondering, a grin spreads across his face. “my trainer is probably going to kill me, but all of them!” 

after fetching a big basket from the front of the store, you and zhou fill it to the brim with different kinds of chips. next, you walk over to the drinks area. both of you choose your favorite drinks, all the while giggling at the blue printed pictures of checo and max on the redbull cans on the shelf. 

your boyfriend walks over the cashier counter with the basket with the snack and is about to start checking out, when you spot the slurpee machine in the corner of the store. 

“zhou, come look! they have the famed slurpees here!” you exclaim, pointing at the thrumming machines stirring brightly colored concoctions. 

“i know we have a few drinks in the cart, but we should totally get some,” he says, looking at the bright letters spelling out SLURPEE.

you nod in agreement, and grab a cup from the row of cup bottoms sticking out from under the counter. when you hold up a cup, your eyes grow the size of saucers. “there is no fucking way. this cup holds fucking 22oz of liquid and it is only the second largest size there is!” you cry. you look next to you, and sure enough, zhou is holding a cup that says MEGA on the side that holds 40oz of liquid. he laughs at your reaction, but starts laughing even harder when he spots another cup to the right of you. it has bubble lettering spelling out DOUBLE GULP on the side, and it holds a whopping 50oz of liquid. 

after a laughing fit and a slurpee overflow mishap, you both walk to the counter to check out all your snacks. 

the cashier, still stunned, slowly scans the mountain of snacks next to him. gathering up his courage, he looks at the two of you shyly. “you’re zhou guanyu and you’re his girlfriend, right? i’m a really big fan of you both and i always love your paddock outfits.” 

zhou thanks the cashier, and you give him a warm smile in appreciation. 

after bagging the snacks, you and zhou load everything into the trunk of the alfa romero. it looks out of place next to the few battered chevy pickup trucks still in the lot at the dead of night. instead of climbing into the car after,  you and zhou take your giant slurpees and a few bag of snacks and sit on the edge of the sidewalk. from an outsider walking by, you both looked like a typical couple, (albeit very fashionably dressed one at that) with zhou’s arm around you and your head on his shoulders. 

later, when your tongues are stained with blue and you brush chip crumbs off of your baggy parachute pants, you find yourself looking at the plaza opposite of the convenience store. zhou, strolling back to you from throwing away the empty chip bags and melted slurpees, nudges your shoulder.

“watcha looking at?” 

you gesture with your head towards the store on the other side of the street, where a sign blares in bright red, “Pet Shop.” 

he shoots you a smile tinted with blue food coloring and takes your hand in his.

right as you enter, you are pulled by zhou into a random aisle. 

“wha-?” you splutter out as he continues to pull you down the walkway. your voice echoes throughout the deserted shop. that’s when you notice the products around you. pet clothes. you recognize his intent immediately. “absolutely not, baby,” you declare disgustedly, pulling against his grip. “those cheap costumes are not going an inch near me.”

“come on,” zhou says, trying to reason with you. “it’s not that bad!” 

he points to a little cowboy outfit on the sea of costumes, that has a little red hat, blue bandana along with four little cowboy booties. “perfect for cota, no?” 

you glare at him.

you find yourself in front of a horde of photographers and camera people the next morning when you arrive in the paddock. zhou adjusts you in his arms, tilting the red cowboy hat in a fashionable way and tightening the bandana on your neck while also smoothing down his brown leather jacket. you let out an oink as a sign of appreciation. you know what, you think contently, this outfit is starting to grow on me.

a reporter, holding a mic out, approaches you both. “martin brundle, for sky sports. excellent drive yesterday, for fp1 and fp2 yesterday, zhou. also, you and your erm- teacup pig here, fantastic outfits. may i ask, who is the designer behind her outfit for today? is it perhaps ralph lauren? or tom ford?"

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso @my0hmary @mbappebby @madkohi @ralshatos @heartsforleclerc

[cool-fancier]

Threads of Love

Jennie Kim x Fem Reader

Synopsis: When Jennie Kim, a famous fashion director, invites her doctor wife to model for her magazine, love, vulnerability, and dazzling couture redefine their beautiful bond.

Word count:1.4K

Thank you so much for requesting and I hope I did good :)

The rain fell softly over Paris, the gentle tapping against the windows muffling the city’s usual hum. You stepped through the door of your shared apartment, utterly drained after your shift at the hospital. It had been one of those days—a string of emergencies, endless paperwork, and the persistent ache of being on your feet too long. All you wanted was to see Jennie and let the warmth of her presence wash away the chaos.

Before you could even shrug off your coat, Kuma came bounding toward you, his fluffy tail wagging furiously. His tiny paws scrambled on the hardwood floor as he skidded to a stop in front of you, barking his usual enthusiastic greeting.

“Kuma!” you exclaimed, crouching down to scoop him up. He licked your face eagerly, making you laugh despite your exhaustion. “I missed you too, buddy. Were you good for Mom today?”

Jennie’s voice floated from the living room, warm and teasing. “He was perfect. But I’m not sure about you, running off and leaving us alone for fourteen hours.”

You straightened, still holding Kuma, and turned toward her. She was leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed and her head tilted slightly. She wore an oversized hoodie—yours, of course—and her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face. The soft light of the candles she always insisted on having lit cast a warm glow over her, making her look effortlessly beautiful.

“You’re right,” you said with a grin, walking toward her. “How could I leave my two favorite people for so long?”

“Good question,” Jennie murmured, stepping closer. Her eyes flicked to Kuma. “Okay, Kuma, let Mom have her turn.”

Kuma wiggled out of your arms and padded off, content to find a spot on the couch, leaving you alone with Jennie.

Before you could say anything, Jennie wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. It was soft and lingering, her lips brushing against yours in a way that melted the tension from your shoulders.

“Better?” she asked, her voice a quiet murmur against your cheek.

“Much,” you replied, your hands resting on her hips.

She studied you for a moment, her fingers idly brushing against the fabric of your shirt. “Rough day?”

“Long,” you admitted. “But it’s over now.”

“Good,” Jennie said, tugging at your hand as she led you to the couch. “Come on. Sit down and let me spoil you a little.”

— — — — —

The two of you settled into the couch, Kuma hopping up to curl between you. Jennie pulled a blanket over your lap, tucking it in with care before leaning back against you. Her fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm as the steady rhythm of rain filled the silence.

After a while, she tilted her head up to look at you. “I was thinking about something today,” she said, her voice casual but tinged with anticipation.

“Hmm?” you hummed, your eyes half-closed.

Jennie shifted so she was sitting up, tucking one leg beneath her as she turned to face you. “You know how I’ve been working on the next big issue for Haute Lumière?”

“The one that’s been keeping you up until three in the morning every night?” you teased, opening one eye.

Jennie smiled, nudging your arm lightly. “Yes, that one. Well, I’ve finally figured out the theme.”

“What’s it about?”

“Redefining beauty,” Jennie said, her voice softening. “It’s about showcasing strength and authenticity—real stories that break out of the narrow, polished molds the fashion industry usually celebrates. I want it to feel… human.”

You smiled, nodding. “That sounds incredible. Very you.”

“Thanks,” she said, her hand brushing against yours. “But there’s just one thing missing.”

“What’s that?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Jennie hesitated, her lips parting as if she wasn’t sure how to begin. Finally, she took a deep breath. “You.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

“I want you to be the centerpiece of the issue,” she said, her voice gaining strength with each word. “You’re everything this theme is about. You’re strong, compassionate, beautiful. You save lives every day, and then you come home to me and make my world brighter just by being in it. That’s what I want people to see.”

You stared at her, momentarily speechless. “Jennie, I don’t think—”

“You’re going to say you’re not a model,” Jennie interrupted gently, her hand covering yours. “But you don’t have to be. I don’t want you to be anyone else. I just want you to be you.”

Her eyes searched yours, a mix of vulnerability and determination. You could tell this wasn’t just another idea to her—it was personal.

“You’re serious about this?” you asked quietly.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything,” she said, squeezing your hand. “But I don’t want to pressure you. Just think about it, okay?”

You exhaled slowly, the corners of your mouth twitching into a faint smile. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

Jennie’s face lit up, and she leaned forward to kiss you, her lips lingering against yours. “That’s all I need.”

— — — — —

A few days later, Jennie brought you to Haute Lumière’s main studio. The space was massive, its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the room with light. Everywhere you looked, there was movement—stylists adjusting racks of couture gowns, assistants setting up lighting rigs, and photographers buzzing about with cameras slung over their shoulders.

“Wow,” you murmured as you stepped inside, taking it all in.

Jennie grinned beside you, slipping her hand into yours. “Impressive, huh?”

“Definitely a little intimidating,” you admitted, glancing around at the flurry of activity.

“Don’t worry,” Jennie said, squeezing your hand. “You’ll get used to it.”

As she led you through the space, she stopped to introduce you to her team.

“This is my wife,” Jennie said to every person you met, her voice brimming with pride. “She’s a doctor. Isn’t that incredible?”

You blushed under the attention, but Jennie didn’t seem to notice—or, more likely, she didn’t care. She was too busy singing your praises to anyone who would listen.

Eventually, she brought you to a rack of gowns. “This one,” she said, pulling out a dress with intricate beading and shimmering fabric. “I’ve been saving it for you.”

You eyed it skeptically. “Jennie, when have you ever seen me wear anything like that?”

“That’s exactly the point,” she said, holding it up in front of you. “It’s bold, it’s elegant, and it’s you. Trust me.”

You met her gaze, the way her eyes sparkled with excitement making your hesitation falter. “Okay,” you said finally. “I trust you.”

Jennie’s smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss your cheek. “You’re going to be amazing.”

— — — — —

The day of the shoot arrived, and despite your nerves, Jennie was a constant source of reassurance. She hovered near you as the stylists worked, offering words of encouragement and stealing kisses when she thought no one was looking.

“You’re doing amazing,” she said as the makeup artist applied the finishing touches.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you replied, your voice tinged with nervous laughter.

Jennie crouched beside you, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “You’re here. That’s enough.”

When you stepped in front of the camera, Jennie positioned herself just behind the photographer, her hands clasped together like a proud parent.

“Yes! That’s perfect!” the photographer called as you struck a pose.

“That’s my wife!” Jennie cheered, clapping her hands.

“Jennie, stop,” you said, laughing despite yourself.

During a break, Jennie pulled out her phone and leaned over the photographer’s shoulder. “Want to see her at her absolute best?” she asked, scrolling through her camera roll. “This is from our wedding.”

The photographer chuckled, glancing at the screen. “You two are adorable.”

“She’s the love of my life,” Jennie said, her voice soft but certain.

— — — — —

That night, back at home, you lay curled up on the couch with Jennie and Kuma. The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the windows as Jennie scrolled through the photos on her tablet.

“You were incredible,” she said, resting her head on your shoulder.

“I had a pretty great cheerleader,” you replied, kissing the top of her head.

Jennie smiled, intertwining her fingers with yours. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Always,” you murmured.

And in that moment, with Kuma snuggled between you and Jennie’s hand in yours, the world felt perfect.

[mercury2venus]

CHAPTER 1.

THE BASICS

The new millennium is right around the corner.

I can always feel when something is coming

My head would be clearer

My emotions foxtrotting with logic

The brink of a shift always felt new.

January I've held in high regard for years.

Since '97 I've been running my magazine and its existence has granted me opportunities to mingle with the elite. Doing so shot me right to the top  and that's how I ended up here. Clutching my journalist pass as I glance around the room awaiting the gentleman of the hour.

Kyle Alexander.

A genius in his own right. The man took haute couture and gave it to the streets of NY like dealers giving fiends their medicine. And my god is his mind sickening.

To be honest he's an enigma of sorts. He never does interviews. Never takes pictures with his designs OR models but today? That'll change. I plan on being the first magazine to get that interview by any means necessary.

"I hate these things, I don't know why I ever come to events they're meaningless to me"

I scoff and turn around. " Well to some of us they mean everything." I extend my hand, " Mec—

" Mecca Ali…I know who are you."

I stared at him for at least 2 minutes. Face sculpted by the Gods, eyes gave icy pretty boy villain. He was gorgeous. But no the hell he didn't just cut me off ?

" and you are ?"

He ignored my question. " Would you care for a drink ?" He asked.

" No, I'm here on business. I don't drink on the clock " I replied.

" Rest a bit"

"I'll rest when I'm dead".

He raised a brow. "Touché" 

I sat in an awkward silence before I excused myself.

"What about our interview Ms. Ali? Isn't that why you came here ? He chuckled.

I whipped around with wide eyes " You're Kyle Alexander?"

"In the flesh. So let's start this interview shall we?"

[lovewardeath]

My Pagan Veiling Tips!

This is my personal tips, if you find that something else works with you, then stick with it, this is just what works for me, and if you find it works, great! Also anyone can veil, remember that.

1. Good quality veils usually are from Muslim shops, here are some I personally use: sunnahstyle.com, hautehijab.com, bazaralhaya.com.

2. Invest in a good undercap (hair net or underscarf) especially if you plan on not showing any hair, I recommend haute hijab or sunnah style for the best undercaps.

3. Scarf magnets are a Godsend! The websites I recommended have good magnetic strength & are inexpensive! Sunnah Style are the cheapest!

4. Rectangle veils are more versatile than square scarves. If you plan on doing many styles, rectangle are the way to go. If you want simple, stick with square.

5. Woven, Chiffon, Mehdina Silk, or other light fabrics are best during Hot weather seasons. Jersey fabric is best for cold weather seasons.

6. Reminder, soft and light fabrics are more likely to slip, so wearing an undercap or magnets will help make the veil stay in place. Heavier fabrics like jersey will usually stay in place, but use magnets if you are in cold season, if you want your scarf to stay snug.

7. Light fabrics are usually less opaque, so folding it will make it least see through. Or simply wear an undercap will help with the opaqueness.

8. Etsy is best for printed veils, otherwise Haute Hijab has a great selection of printed fabrics. But remember, they only have Woven, Pleated, & Chiffon printed fabrics on their website.

9. I recommend SunnahStyle for face veils, mainly since I only bought them from that website, they have many types and colors: half veil, one layer, two layer, three layer, no-pinch (for people who wear glasses or just don’t like the pinching regular veils give), buttoned veils, etc.

10. You will probably get mistaken as a Muslim when wearing these styles, even though there’s historical evidence of the veil belonging in many practices. If you are uncomfortable with the association, I would recommend buying religious symbols or pins to put on your scarves to help differentiate you.

11. Remember, do not overdo yourself. Even wearing the lightest of fabrics, if you are in hot weather, you will still heat up. Please don’t overheat yourself, it’s okay to take off your scarves. Or invest in a portable fan, and drink lots of water to prevent heat exhaustion. Especially if you take meds that make you susceptible to heat.

12. The Gods will not be angry with you if you have to take off your veil, they understand that you are human and that you need to take care of yourself first.

These are some of my tips, if you have any questions, don’t feel afraid to ask or reach out to me. I hope this helps you on your journey!

Here’s the @ I promised when I posted this: @mikeyanderson97

[junedenim]

not shy of a spark

part 2 part 3

one day with a stranger in a foreign country

word count: 16k

Alex notices her for the first time on the other side of the train's aisle. She's wearing a blue bandana around her head, tied under her chin, and looks like she belongs in a Godard film. Her dirty blonde hair peeks through and she's wearing sunglasses, like him. She's got wired headphones on and is staring out the window, just like him.

He's looking for too long. He knows it. She's going to catch on at some point. His eyes aren't hiding his infatuation but he can't help but look. There's no one sitting beside her and there's no one sitting beside him. She only has a saddle bag with her that's sitting on the empty chair.

He can't think of an opening but he can't stop staring. He tries not to look too suspicious but he's locked in looking at her during the train ride.

When they arrive in Brussels, she leaves before he can get out of his seat. Then, Alex spots the book sitting on her seat. All he can think is how big of a fool he must be if he wastes this chance to talk to her—a shy idiot who stares at a girl for the whole train ride and says nothing.

Once he gets off the train, he sees her by the escalator. She's looking through her bag and he assumes she is looking for the book. His heart feels heavy and he inches slowly toward her, not wanting to spook her.

"Excuse me," Alex says. She looks up at him. She's taken her sunglasses off and he can see her blue eyes. They're a calm ocean wave crashing into him. It takes him a second to spit it out. "This your book?"

She looks at the book in his hands and smiles up at him. Alex feels pride like he's achieved some Herculean task by giving the book back to her. "Yes, yes." She grabs the book from his hands and returns it to her space in her bag. "Thank you."

Alex can't let her walk away so he asks, "Is it any good?"

"The book?" She questions. He nods. "I like it so far. Have you read it?" He notices her French accent for the first time. It's light, not as strong as his English one, but it ebbs into the pronunciation of her words. It makes sense she's French. The book was in French. Haute Fidelite.

He shakes his head. "No, no. I saw the movie years ago."

"Oh, with Jack Black, right?" She giggles. She has a good laugh, an infectious one that courses itself through Alex.

He chuckles. "Yeah. You like Jack Black?" He wants to slap himself in the face and he thinks the wincing shows on his face. She laughs again, almost like pointing a finger in his face and saying Ha ha!

"I love Jack Black. Do you like Jack Black?" She turns the question on him with laughter.

Alex quails. "Who doesn't?"

She's about to say goodbye. Alex can feel her floating away from him and he can't let it happen. He doesn't want to be a creep but he doesn't want her to disappear forever without giving it a try. "Have you been here before?"

She nods and he exhales in relief that he has an in. "My mother is from here. When my grandparents were still alive we came."

"Do you think you could show me around a little? Point me to a good cafe or summat." He shoves his hands in his pockets. He must look nervous. He has to. Alex is sure his antsy behavior is creeping her out and the fact that he is breaking a sweat isn't helping.

But then she smiles and he thinks everything will be alright. "I could stop for pain au chocolat."

Alex grins. "You say it so French."

He's a dimwit English man because "Well, I am French." She smiles at his charm, which he would label stupidity. "I'm Charlotte but everyone calls me Lottie."

"Alex." She takes his hand and shakes it. A jolt runs through his arm like a nerve has been hit.

"Follow me? Yeah?" She instructs and he follows as she travels out of the station. Her dress, a simple white one, flows behind her and she looks as though she has the keys to the gates of heaven.

When they make it out of the station, she asks him, "What brings you to Belgium?"

That's when he starts lying to her. "I've never been before. I've always wanted to but kept putting it off."

"What about you? Why were you in London?" Alex asks.

She smiles at him. "I've got friends up there."

When they enter the cafe, Lottie takes the scarf off and he sees her full head of hair, glowing and cascading down her back like a rushing waterfall. "What would you like?"

"Oh." He forgot about that part. "A coffee, I guess, and a croissant." Relief comes when she orders for them.

They sit at a table outside. The air is breezy but not windy and the temperature sits firmly in no-need-for-a-jacket weather, even if he wears one still. "Do you mind?" She plucks a cigarette out.

"As long as I can bum one," Alex says.

She hands him one and a flame bursts between the two of them. "Do you usually ask strangers to be your tour guides in foreign countries?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. You get a translator and free cigarettes." Alex shakes his head. "No, no. I don't usually do this kind of thing."

"So, I'm the exception." Her smile sparks something in him. It implores him to be honest. He tells her that he's on a bit of a getaway, although he doesn't tell her what he's escaping. Brussels is the closest city by train from London and he'd never explored the city before. She tells him she's stopping her for the day before she heads back home for Paris tonight. She hasn't been here since she was a teenager.

After they've finished their pastries and coffees, she asks, "Do you want to see the peeing boy?"

Alex leans forward. "Pardon?"

She giggles and he feels like she's making fun of him. "You don't know anything about Brussels, do you?"

Alex bows his head shamefully. "I'll admit my research was lacking for the most part."

"Come on." She grabs his hand and drags him out of his chair. She lets go and he hates that she lets go.

On the walk over, she asks him what he does for a living. She must think he's a drug dealer or pimp by his evasiveness but he admits, "Oh, I'm, uh, a musician."

"What kind of musician?"

He's not helping matters. "I, uh, do a little, uh—I'm in a band."

"Oh, my ex-boyfriend was in a band," she says light-heartedly. "Do you like being in a band?"

It's oddly refreshing. It's not like everyone he comes across knows who he is but it's been a long time since someone has asked him what he does for work and doesn't know already. An especially long time since a pretty girl asked him.

"Yeah. I mean, I've known them—the guys—my whole life and it's a fun job to have."

"Not many people get to do their dreams for a living."

"What do you do?"

Lottie groans. "I'm a nanny but it's a temporary thing, at least, you know, for now. I'm kind of figuring the whole what I want to do with my life thing out."

Alex says, "That's perfectly respectable."

She scoffs with laughter. "Tell that to my parents. I think they would be supportive of me if they knew I had a passion for something. Like if I wanted to be a musician they would completely support me. I think they would, but I don't even have something like that."

"Well, what do you like?" Alex is fascinated and wants to know every little bit about her. Wants to understand what makes her tick. Wants to make her tick. He feels like a horny teenage boy but he can't help it. He swallows down his desires as best he can because listening to her talk is enough.

Lottie shrugs. "Euh, I mean, I have hobbies. I like to paint and I think I'm a good cook but...I don't want to do those things."

He nods. "I know what you mean. Music can feel that way sometimes. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't do that. Probably be a teacher like me parents or something."

Lottie smiles. It's bright and she stares at him like looking at a star up close would do to you. "Both your parents teach?"

"Yeah, yeah. Me mum's a German teacher. Me dad's taught science and music and stuff." He feels like an awkward gangly teenage boy in front of her. She's strong and moving and just has a way about her.

"Is that where your musical ability comes from? Turn down here," Lottie directs as they round a corner.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I suppose. It kind of came about in different ways."

"Do you speak German?" She's quite the interviewer.

"A little but not really."

"Huh."

Alex chuckles. "Huh, what? You making fun of me for being a dumb Brit."

She's giggling and he doesn't care if it is his lack of intelligence that is making her laugh because she's got a laugh that'll crack you in two. "No, never," she says but really means yes, totally.

"You're ripping on me because the British education system failed me. If I could learn another language I would," Alex tells her as they walk down the steps to the tram.

"What language would you learn?"

They're walking shoulder-to-shoulder and he feels something shutter in him by the way her shoes click along the tile. "French would probably help me out a lot right now."

Lottie had been sparked, smiling, she asks, "Would you like me to teach you?"

Alex, passing through the turnstile, smiles and answers, "I'd like that."

"Do you know how to say bonjour?"

Alex rolls his eyes. "I'm not that far gone."

Lottie throws her head back in a giggle. "I don't know how much the British education system failed you."

"Bonjour, je m'appelle Alex."

They hop on the tram waiting for them. Lottie nods her head in approval. "Très bien."

"That means I did good, right?"

She snorts a laugh and nods. "You're a right old Frenchie."

The tram is decently packed so they stand by the door, holding onto the same pole. He's not much taller than her but he still smiles down upon her. The top of her hair has fly-aways coming off of it from when she pulled her scarf down but she looks like she looks like the embodiment of divinity.

There's a lull of silence as the tram moves. She breaks it by telling him, "In Ypres, where my bomma, my grandmother, is from, they hold this festival where people dress up in cat costumes and throw cat stuffed animals from a tower."

Alex chuckles. "Why?"

She throws her left hand up in the air, talking with it. "It's symbolic, I think. They used to throw real cats from the tower to rid the town of evil spirits and bad luck."

"So, it's probably for the best they just do the stuffed animals now."

"I think so," she agrees. "What about you? Where in England are you from?"

"Sheffield," Alex answers.

Lottie leans her head on the pole, gazing up at him. He gets lost in her eyes. Could stare at them for an extended period of time that some might consider staring or stalking but definitely creepy. "What's Sheffield like?"

Alex doesn't know how to answer. He's always felt where he was from was plain, especially in comparison to what this Parisian girl has experienced. "I don't know. I mean, I like it."

She giggles at him. "Do you still live there?"

"Yeah, technically I still live with my parents. That sounds a bit lame, doesn't it?"

She's nice about and shakes her head. "I don't think so. I live with the family I nanny. Not exactly luxury."

"A live-in nanny sounds luxurious," Alex comments.

"For the family maybe but they stuff me in a closet."

"Like Harry Potter?" He questions.

She hums, "Mhm?"

"You know, how he lives under the stairs," Alex explains.

"I've never read Harry Potter."

He throws his head back with a groan. "You're making me sound like a geek. I thought it was a general knowledge thing."

"Maybe." She shrugs. "I never read Harry Potter. I was geekier in other regards."

"Like?" He wants to know everything about her. Wants her to expose her insides to him like a game of Operation and poke around, find her heart, and keep it for himself.

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. "I'm not going to scare you off yet."

"Oh, come on, I'm sure it's not anything as embarrassing as an unnatural obsession with The Strokes."

"I like The Strokes." She is the perfect girl. He delusional thinks that if she knows the Strokes she must know him but her eyes don't hint at that.

"You have to have one irredeemable quality, Lottie."

"Well, I don't know. I have this problem with my therapist."

He's taken aback. "Your therapist?"

"Yeah, I mean, that's a whole other bag of worms."

"Can of worms," he corrects the error with a chuckle.

"Right," she acknowledges. "We got into this disagreement over my ex-boyfriend. You know, he was a certifiable psycho and he had—this is our spot—he had this problem with, well, he was a porn addict."

Alex stills and doubles over in laughter and she has to drag him off the tram so it doesn't leave with him.

She furrows her brows. "What?"

"I just wasn't expecting you to say that."

Lottie sighs, "I don't pick the best men. That has been abundantly clear and my therapist has agreed with that for the past decade—"

"You've been going to therapy for a decade?"

She squints at him, "Are you sure you're not French? You're very judgy."

"Sorry, sorry." He doesn't want to upset her in any way, especially something he should probably be doing too. "I just don't know anyone who is in therapy let alone for a decade."

"I'm of the opinion everyone could use it otherwise they'll be spontaneously getting on a train to Brussels." She can read him like street signs. He says something and she knows exactly where he's headed.

"Hey!"

She grins at him. "Who said I was talking about you?" She continues walking straight. "I think everyone should be in therapy but my therapist is a certifiable nutjob but that's why I think she fits me. She's had a problem with everyone of my boyfriends, even the good ones. But my last one, who I broke up with because of the porno addiction, she told me that I give up too easily and I should work it out with him. I'm like 'You've told me to break up with my last 5 boyfriends but you want me to get back with the guy who has VHS tapes of porn under his bed."

"VHS?" Alex laughs.

Her head nods with amusement. "Yes, it was bad."

"Do you think you'll get back together with him?" Selfishly, he wants the answer to be no. He also wants her to say "Never, I want to be with you now." That's when he really feels like a foolish sad sack.

Instead, she says, "Uh, no. I'll just hop on a train to Amsterdam or something and continue to avoid my issues in Paris."

"You think you're going to keep traveling?" How's a world tour sound?

"I'd like to but I've got to head back to Paris for my job. They gave me the week off to visit my friends in London but they're expecting me back tomorrow morning. What about you? You off on a European tour?" Unknowingly, she's right.

"Nah, I have to get back to London for work too." Recording a second hit album more accurately.

"So, one night in Brussels?"

"That was the plan."

"Except you had no plans. Well, other than to prey on an unsuspecting French girl." She's simpering and he supposes that means she is fine with him preying on an unsuspecting French girl.

"I'm not preying on you," Alex insists. I just want to kiss you.

"You are totally taking advantage of me. I had plans too, you know. Now I'm stuck walking with you to look at a little boy piss."

Alex needs to know. "Is it seriously a little boy pissing?"

She giggles, "You'll see. We're only a street away."

"What were you planning to do here?" He doesn't want to drag her away from her plans and, if she'll allow him, he'd tag along with her anywhere.

"I didn't really have any plans. Reminisce. I haven't been back in so long I fear I made Brussels up in my imagination." She's reflective looking, eyes darting around the art nouveau buildings for answers.

"How does your memory compare to how it is now?"

"Not too far off." She points her finger. "Here's the pissing boy."

Alex sighs and closes his eyes in both relief and amusement. "It's a statue." A little boy elevated above a fountain basin, holding his penis, water sprouting into the bowl. Alex is an idiot.

Lottie throws her head back in a cackle. "Did you think I was taking you to watch a real boy piss?"

"I don't know what they get up to in mainland Europe. You're throwing cats off of towers here!" He's slightly embarrassed but her laugh, even if it's at him, relieves an ache of this being a moment he looks back on in regret. No regret with that laugh.

"Manneken Pis. He's a hero."

"If every man who whipped out their dick in Britain got a statue, I don't think there would be any room left in the country."

She giggles. "The story goes he saves Brussels by peeing on a fuse that was lit by enemies to explode the city walls."

"The moral is public urination?"

She clutches her stomach. "I guess." He can't help but join in.

They set off walking to nowhere in particular. They don't even discuss where actually their feet are taking them. They just use it as a pathway for conversation. She holds her hands around her waist and she talks in a hushed manner but clear. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he's sure his mumbling can't be easy to understand but she never asks him to repeat himself.

"Do you travel a lot?" He asks her.

Lottie replies, "More when I was younger. Mainly just in Europe but I went to New York once."

"My grandma took me to Disneyland once."

"Really? No one in my family would ever do that."

"Why?"

"They all hate amusement parks. Really, they all hate amusement." It shocks him considering she seems so amused by everything. So amused by him. The first to crack a smile, burst into laughter, and encourage him to do the same.

"Not the most wild bunch?"

"No, they're wild. My brother's personality takes up enough space for 4 people. My maman has this laughter you can hear from 3 towns over. But they're, euh, more sophisticated to say." She says it so delicately and intently, he can't but think there is more to the story.

He jokes, "Oh, us Brits are just rolling in the mud."

"Eh, eh, I'm not saying that! My family is uptight. I'm not saying I don't love them but I'm not the biggest fan. I'd like to go to Disneyland." She thinks for a moment. "No I wouldn't."

He laughs. "Why? Why the sudden change?"

She scoffs, "I hate lines. I have the patience of a masturbating boy."

Alex fears she's reading his mind and that she's calling him out like I know what you're thinking and you can't have it. He's also choked up in laughter. "What?"

"Oh, well, you know, I'm sure you know. It's quick and they have to have it now and god forbid maman walks in on you with the laundry so you have to get it down now and fast."

"You're crazy-sounding, Lottie." He shakes his head and catches his breath.

"Maybe but I'm not wrong. Do you want to go in here? You like records?" She points to a shop, a little off the way.

He mocks, "Do I like records?" Alex follows her head first into the record store. She greets the shop owner for them and heads straight to scouring her way through the records.

They stand side-by-side, throwing spare glances at one another, but the other never catches them. He embarrassingly sees one of his records in the eye and is eternally grateful the band made the right decision to not put any of their faces on the cover.

They make it to the Gs when she turns to him. "I have to be honest. I don't even have a record player."

Alex snickers. "You're missing out."

"I like the idea of it. We had one growing up but I don't even have a CD player. The family I nanny, they like music but they don't like loud things. They're the type that they gather around the piano every night."

"So it's not like they're for modernity, in fact, they're more old-fashioned than a record player."

"Precisely." They do this little dance. Showing each other a record in silence and either getting a nod of approval or a shake of dismay. By the end, Lottie has no records and Alex has about twenty.

"I can not carry all these back to London." He struggles to even pick up the stack.

She guffaws at him. "Why don't you pick 5 of them?"

Alex waves her off. "Nah, I don't think I'm going to get any of them."

She bulges her eyes at him. "Seriously. You're going to hurt the poor shopkeeper's feelings."

"Here, I'll get you one," Alex offers.

She laughs and shakes her head. "I don't even have a record player."

He selects one out of his pile and walks it over to the cashier. "This is my way of inciting you to get your first. I consider it marketing to get the vinyl industry back up and running."

The shopkeeper tells him, "12 Euros."

The cash only sign glares at him. "Oh, shit," Alex mutters under his breath.

Lottie smirks. "You don't have any Euros, do you?"

Alex sheepishly looks over at her. His wallet only showing the few pounds he had in cash. "Yeah, sorry."

She digs through her saddle bag and pulls at the cash from her wallet and hands it over to the shopman. "You really weren't prepared for traveling."

"I intended to get some at the train station. Got a little distracted." He feels like the biggest doofus but she's looking at him with heart eyes.

Lottie smiles and shakes her head in disbelief at him. "What did you get me anyway?" Alex picks the bag off the counter as they exit the shop. He pulls the record out of the bag and she reads aloud, "Love in Portofino, Dalida."

"I figured a little French to match your French, although some of it might be in Italian. I don't remember." He slides the record back into the bag but keeps carrying it.

"Well, thank you," she says. Their feet continue on the cobbled road with no direction in particular.

He dismisses the comment. "You paid for it. I stood there and looked stupid."

"The gesture was still there and I appreciate it." He's not sure if he's delusional but he swears she makes eyes over at him, batting her lashes with her hair blowing away in the wind. Her eyes zero in on him and he feels like he's drowning. A wave has taken him away and he can only gasp for air, steadily struggling. "The town hall is right up here. It's beautiful if you'd like to see it."

Alex isn't sure it can compare to the sight beside him but he is willing to give it a try. With a nod of his head, they set off in that direction. "What do you play in that band of yours?"

He's not expecting to talk about the band. He feels awkward, avoiding such a big subject of his life, but he's eager for this escapism. He desires to just be a boy with a girl in a European city with no cares of what is to come next. "Oh, um, I play guitar and sing."

"You sing?" She questions.

"Yeah." The way she says her question prompts him to think out loud, "Why? I don't give the impression I do."

"I never said that."

"Ah," he wags his finger at her, "but your tone did. You were surprised that I sing."

She explains, "You don't have the demeanor I imagine for a singer."

"Which is?"

"I don't know. I imagine it's a rock band, right?" He nods. "Then, I don't know, something like Elvis or something. You're not very cocky, at least not with me."

"You're not the first to say it and I understand why." His shyness is pretty obvious. "I'm not offended by it."

"Good." She smiles at him and he smiles back. They stand before the town hall, Saint Michael gazing down upon them but they are too occupied with one another to pay any mind to him. Somewhere between these glimpses at the other, Lottie breaks eye contact, and meets Michael's eye contact. "Here we are. Voila! That's here you are in French."

He can only utter, "Wow," but he's not sure who he is saying it to. The carvings of the gothic structure or the lulu leaving him rapt at every corner.

His eyes trace over every inch of the hall. Her eyes trace over him, not looking, not noticing. She's seen the town hall enough, she hasn't gotten enough of Alex, unguarded, relaxed, and enthralled in the building. He's got a cut on his chin, slight and almost unnoticeable. His hair is tamed in a rough manner that fits his personality, hiding himself away but messing about to stand him out in a crowd. His arms are crossed now, no longer hidden away in his pockets. His brown eyes trained forward but expressing something that you can't place your finger on.

They meet hers soon after. She points her finger at a street to their left. "If we go this way, there's a hill where you can look over the city."

Alex isn't sure if it's instinct or some form of confidence that takes a hold over him, but he grabs her hand, much like she did outside that cafe, and says, "Let's go then." Unlike her, he doesn't let go. Her palms are soft and wrap his calloused hands up in a gentle hug. On the walk over, he looks over with a smile to see that she's already returning one.

The incline ahead exercises their legs but they're never fully out of breath. Too deep in conversation to notice the beating of their heart and constricting of their lungs. "When I was younger," she tells him, "we'd come here every summer. You know, when Paris grew overrun with tourists, and I was on break from school. My papa would put me on his shoulders and I'd feel on top of the world. No fear of falling. I feel like I've been searching for that feeling ever since."

He wants to give her that. Wants to wrap her in his arms and soothe every ache. He knows it's some infatuation and, at first, he thought he was thinking with his dick, not his head. Now, he thinks he's thinking with his heart. She talks of feelings he forgot, buried deep inside his childhood self and forgot the wonder of. She's an innocent rush within a darkling.

"I used to beg to drive me parents car," Alex tells her, "when I was 5 or 6. One time, me mum sat me on her lap. We were in some abandoned parking lot. She let me drive the car around. She'd press the gas and break, of course, because I couldn't reach it but I steered and everything. Sometimes I wish for that control back."

"But you didn't even have it then," Lottie points out.

His brows furrow. He doesn't understand what she's saying. "What?" He had his hands on the wheel then. Now, it feels like he's strapped to the roof of the car.

"You weren't the one driving. Your mum decided when you stopped or started."

Something clicks in him. A knot gets undone. The analogy doesn't stop the car he's in from speeding down the highway but he feels he can ride with it, at least be in the backseat. "You're making me out to be one of those creepy boys obsessed with their mothers."

She wheezes. "It sounds like you're just fond of your mum, which is good. You haven't said anything too weird yet."

They're at a stoplight but their hands are still together, neither making a move to change that. He turns to look her in the eye. "Yet?" He squints at her.

"Are you an only child?"

He drops his jaw in an offended manner. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She drops her jaw in a chagrin manner. "You are!"

"What's wrong with that?"

She giggles at his affrontement. "Nothing. You're the one getting all frustrated about it."

He can't help but laugh along with her. "I am not."

Lottie points a finger at him. "Yes, you are."

They reach the peak, although it goes unnoticed amongst their laughter. Lottie turns to the view. "Here we are."

"Wow," Alex utters. They stand atop a peak of stairs looking outwards on an urban floral boom. Flowers line the cement down to the townhomes that stand on the ground floor. The town hall tower stands through the midst of buildings—Saint Michael's back to them.

"Let me get your picture." Lottie holds up her camera—a little yellow thing with a bright smiley face sticker on the front.

"What?"

She urges him forward. "Come on, you gave me the record. I'll give you a picture." He stands centered at the top of the stairs. His pose is awkward, unable to figure out where to place his hands. Her record in its bag hangs in his hand and he brushes a hand through his hair, although it does little to tame it. She snaps it leaving her with a bright smiley face.

"What's this building here?" Alex gestures beside them.

"The Magritte Museum, I think. That's what the sign says. Do you want to go in?" She's looking at him excitedly, fuck, he would do anything for that to continue.

He nods and they walk up to the porticoes where she admires every inch. "I think I could have been an architect in another life," Lottie tells him.

"Why not this life?" He asks.

"I suck at math."

He pays for the tickets with his credit card even if it means he's slapped with a large conversion fee. In the elevator, smushed together with 6 other people, he can't help but look at her. When their eyes meet, he feels something in him unlodge. Like that lump that's been stuck in his throat for the past 6 months has finally gone down. At last, he can breathe again.

When they reach the top floor, she reaches back for his hand and pulls him through the halls of the museum. He smiles down at their intertwined hands because what art is better than her touch? He's known her for 2 hours and he's saying shit like that. Fuck.

It's around Magritte's impressionist period that Alex finally has to whisper into Lottie's ear, "What the fuck drugs was this man on?"

She giggles, eyes trained on the painting "The Stroke of Luck" or, really, a pig dressed in a suit at a graveyard. "It's surrealistic, not drug-fueled mania."

"Then why is the pig looking at me like that?" He whispers and she giggles once more. That pig is eyeing him down and he knows it. Its eyes will follow him to every corner of the room, he swears.

"It's like Animal Farm," she tries to explain.

"Orwell?"

She nods. "Precisely."

"We should have gotten the audio tour. I don't understand anything," Alex whines.

"Don't doubt yourself. The pig feels pleasure at a cemetery. He stares at you insidiously. And you know, all men are pigs so."

She giggles from her riposte as he exclaims, "Hey! We aren't all bad."

Lottie rolls her eyes, but she knows. "Well, most are. Magritte doesn't seem like such a pig." She lets go of his hand and flounces off to the next section. He stands to watch.

At the end of the section, he asks her beneath a painting, "What's it mean?"

Her head tilts down from staring up. "The French or the painting?"

Alex huffs. "Both, probably."

"Well," she informs him, "the French is 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe' 'This is not a pipe.'"

He shakes his head in confusion. "But aren't I looking at a pipe?" He's staring at it, painted to near perfection. The shades in mahogany wood are clear. The cursive lettering insisting that it is, in fact, not a pipe.

She insists, "No. What are you looking at?"

"A pipe," he insists.

"But is it? It is both a pipe and not a pipe."

"Huh?"

"Could you smoke it?"

"No."

"Then it isn't a pipe."

He smirks.

"You get it now, don't you?"

"Magritte is a fucking genius."

She bursts out laughing so loud she has to clutch her mouth to contain the disruption. They quickly dart out of that room into the next.

Before Anne-Marie Crowet, Alex leans over and says, "It looks like you."

"The painting?"

He nods. "Not exactly. Not nearly as pretty as you."

She purses her lips. "You're trying to be suave."

"How am I doing?"

She just smiles.

They sit in the park afterward. It's across the museum and their feet hurt from standing in front of paintings for too long. They're on the grass, feeling every inch as the breeze breathes through them. He lies back on his hands and she sits in a criss-cross, picking at the little flowers that sprout from the dirt. She plucks one out and shifts over to him. He thinks she's going to hand it to him but she doesn't. She brushes his hair behind his left ear and places it there.

His heart is running a marathon and she looks pleased, the beauty of a flower growing from the earth or the sun at dawn or her. He has to do what he's been fighting against since his eyes met hers in the train window back in St. Pancras. He takes her face into his hands and kisses her. It's slow-moving but transmutes his system. She floods into him and his shore welcomes the wreckage. There's no point in stopping it and he can't think of a single reason why he shouldn't.

She pulls away from him with that oh-so-bright smile and rests her forehead on his. "I was worried I was going to have to make the first move."

"I just wanted to be sure."

"Pussy," she jokes. She giggles while she says it and he thinks she doesn't get to say the word often because she says it like a kid who whispers curse words behind their parents' back.

His hand is holding her cheek so delicately like her porcelain skin might shatter. "Just not a pig."

Her smile is overwhelming. She shakes her head lightly. "Not in the slightest." Kissing him again and shining light through all the cracks within him.

She leans upon him for a few moments. Head on his shoulder and heart in his hands. "What would you be doing right now if I hadn't become my tour guide?" She asks.

"Probably picked up some other girl," he jokes.

She elbows him. "Funny. You're trying to be funny."

Alex chuckles at her reaction. His arm brushes up her side and soothes her into him. "No, I'd probably be wandering around aimlessly having no clue where to go. Probably still trying to figure out how to get out of the train station. What about you?"

Her face changes and retracts. She stares off and hides herself away from his sights. "I don't know." He can tell she's lying when she shrugs him off.

"You can tell me," Alex tries to urge. "Or not. Whatever you want."

"I don't mean to depress the conversation." She looks back over at him. "Probably visit my bomma's grave. And sightseeing and such. Sorry to bring the light out of the conversation."

Alex shakes his head. "You're not. I want to hear about these things." Her mouth forms a small upturn. "Would you like to go?"

"No, I'll go another time," she tells him.

Alex stands up and reaches his hand down to her. "You should go. I'd like to come too if that's alright. If you would want that. I don't want to impose or anything."

She grabs his hand and he pulls her up. "You wouldn't be. I don't want to force you. We can meet up later if you'd like or part here, you know, I had a great time."

They're both too caught up in their rambling trying not to come off too strong. "No, no, you wouldn't be forcing me. I don't want to ruin your plans at all."

She finally grabs his hand. "Alex, let's go." She pulls him off the grass back onto the street. "It's up in Molenbeek so you can see a new part of the city. She's been dead for over a decade so it's not like I'll be weeping at her gravestone. I felt I had to go while I was here. Haven't been here since her funeral."

"Don't feel any pressure to hold anything in while I'm here. I want to know what you are feeling."

"Even though it's sad going to her gravestone, but being here in Brussels, remembering those things I did with her makes me happy. To be honest, I'm happy doing it with you. I think I'd be depressed walking around the city all by myself but sharing it with someone—with you—is a whole new pleasure. Thank you."

Alex shakes his head. "You don't have to thank me. I should be thanking you. You've been saving my butt here all day with your help."

"Well, you do have a nice butt that wouldn't be worth it to the world to risk." She is the glowing light around. A modern-day Aurora, except he's Sleeping Beauty, and she's snapping him out of the haze he has been locked in.

"You're pretty fucking beautiful too." She leans into him and puts her head on his shoulder while they walk. He kisses the top of her head and he feels like he has done this in a million other lifetimes. Whatever path the course of his life went down, he ends up here with her every time whether it's Brussels or Paris or London or Sheffield or the damn Moon. She's there.

His arm wraps around her shoulder and she guides the way with ease like she built these streets for them to walk down. She knows every curve and never leads them down the wrong way. She stops him from nearly getting hit by a bike and laughs at the little scream he lets out. Despite the gravity of where they are headed, she's smiling and joking around with him (or maybe about him) and he can't help but love every second of it. He never wants it to let up.

"When I was a baby, I got sick, some infant kind of sickness, and I was a crying baby, especially with this cold. My maman was beyond exhausted and she still had my brother to care for and my dad was working. My bomma came and the day she arrived everything cleared up. I wasn't sick anymore and I barely cried. She joked that my mother had made the whole thing up to get a visit out of her but my maman always says that I could feel the comfort of my bomma coming and I wanted to be on my best behavior. That's the relationship we always had."

Alex gazes down at her. Her eyes steady ahead but glance up at him with every passing sentence. He brushes his thumb back and forth on her head enclosed in his. "That's a great story."

"Yeah." She smiles in remembrance.

"You were very close?"

She nods. "Emotionally. Belgium wasn't too far but we always had distance and as she got older we had to travel to see her, which was mainly during holidays. Every time it was like a hug. The kind that is so warm you want to lie in their arms forever."

The cemetery is filled with trees, spring blooming in the distance. Their walk through the yard is silent. She lets go of his hand and stands before a small headstone, pulling a flower she picked from the park down on top of the stone. "When I was 5 or something, my bompa died. I don't remember much of him. He was a quiet man, especially compared to bomma. He was cremated and wanted to be tossed into this lake he fished at and we are going there and my bomma has his ashes in the little urn and she goes to pour them and the urn is empty. She keeps shaking it even though nothing is in there and she turns back to all of us, shrugs, and says, 'I knew he'd run out on me eventually.'"

She giggles so he feels permission to laugh. "What happened with his ashes?"

"Oh." Lottie laughs harder, which feels inappropriate for a cemetery but they are in a relatively secluded area. "She left it back at home. She brought the wrong urn to the funeral."

Alex chuckles and she grabs his hand. "We can go now if you'd like," she offers.

"We can stay however long you'd like." He doesn't want to rush her in any way. He can watch her stand in front of the grave and listen to her stories forever.

She shakes her head. "I'm good. I just wanted to think of her for a while. I'm ready for lunch. You need some mussels."

"Are you insulting my physique?" Alex jests, looking down at his triceps.

She laughs at him. "The food. Not the human variety."

Her feet clobber all over the street and his heart as she leads him to a restaurant. "I need to ask you something." They're going down that large hill now. It's easier than climbing it but now they have to worry about the fall.

"Yes?" She throws a smile back at him and he's losing his balance.

With his arm around her shoulder and her hand holding his hand, he asks her, "We've avoided the whole subject of boyfriends/girlfriends. You've got a fella waiting for you back home?"

She's smirking as if she could burst into laughter at any moment. "Would it change anything if I did?"

His eyebrows are raised but he's amused by her evasiveness, even if it concerns him. "Probably not. I've had my tongue down your throat."

"Ew." She squishes her nose up in this cute little wrinkled mess. It makes him want to kiss her, so he does. It's a wonder they don't trip over anything as he lays one on her. "To answer your question, no, not really."

"Not really?"

She twists out from under his arm like they're ballroom dancing. She walks backward sleekly down the hill, facing him. "I do this kind of thing in every country."

"Very funny." He chuckles but he wants an answer. "But seriously."

She returns to under his arm. "No, I haven't dated anyone since my porn-addicted boyfriend. That ended about 2 months ago and my therapist has been trying to get me back with him since then. You?"

He should have expected that, yet, he still feels that he has to let his guard down now. "That's kind of why I'm here."

"You're visiting your girlfriend?" Despite her joking about possible partners back in Paris, he feels her tense up at the idea of this.

Alex shakes his head. "No, kinda running away from it. I had a girlfriend for about a year or so and finally got to see her for an extended period since we've been long distance and right when I arrived, I got the feeling she wished it had stayed that way. She broke up with me about a week later. It's part of the reason why I'm here. Just need to have some time away from everything."

"The madness of everything?" Part of Alex thinks she knows who he is, but her eyes don't give that away. She just seems to understand what's going on in his mind.

"Yeah."

"Well," she sighs, "I'm sorry about the girlfriend."

Alex chuckles looking down on her face—looking up at him with a hidden grin. "No, you're not."

She giggles. "Duh." It's so adorable, sweet and teeth-rotting, he has to kiss her again. Teeth collide as she laughs away and they might nearly get hit by a car but it feels worth it.

Over a moules-frites and a beer each, she tells him, "I don't think I could do long distance."

Alex wipes away the remnants of beer lip. "Me and me girlfriend couldn't either. Clearly."

"I don't know why people feel such a pressure to make things work, you know. I had this boyfriend who went for a semester abroad in America and when he was there, he got an American girlfriend but still felt this need to make our relationship work even after he told me about her. I don't see it as a big deal, especially at our age. Why do we feel such a need to make relationships work? It's unrealistic to be with the same person forever, let alone at this age."

Alex shrugs. "I think we either feel a need to be like our parents or make up for our parents."

She continues her rant and he intently listens. "Exactly. I don't think things are meant to last. The greatest things have ended. But yet with relationships, even when we make mistakes, we feel the need to make it work. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes you don't have to force it."

"You feel very passionate about this kind of thing." Alex wants to make it clear he isn't mocking her. "I like it."

She rolls her eyes. "Passion is the key. Why shouldn't we go for the things that make us feel the most? I don't understand this whole 'tough it out.' Why should I deal with my porn-addict boyfriend? Why can't I just date a boy who isn't addicted to porn?"

"I don't think I have a porno issue," Alex adds.

"My therapist would not like you."

Alex tells her, "I think you should tough things out when they feel worth it. The struggle is sometimes what makes the outcome so good. When I've struggled with writing a song and then it's done, it's the accomplishment that keeps me going."

She's grinning at him. "You write songs?"

Alex is flushed red and trying to hide his head in his chest like a turtle. "Yeah, but we're not going to talk about that."

"Why not?" She's eager, he can tell, and if she really wanted to hear one, he'd play her something, but right now he wants to shield all that behind him.

"Because I don't want to tough that out." He uses her words against her. "I think the hard stuff can be worth it. That's all."

"You have a good point. I'm not getting back with my porno boyfriend though."

"Please don't." He doesn't want to sound like he's begging but he might be.

She explains further, "The impertinence of things is what makes them so wonderful in the first place, you know."

"Like some Hanging Gardens of Babylon shit?" His mouth is full of fries and he feels like he needs a kids' menu or something.

"So beautiful but we aren't even sure if it ever existed, right?"

He nods and finally swallows his chewing. "Partially. I don't think they ever found any physical evidence but they know the King of Babylon had these gardens built for his wife, who was a Persian princess or something. It was to help with her homesickness for the green forests of her home."

She chuckles. "You study this or something?"

"Read a book about it." It was actually a short article but a book sounds more impressive.

Her smile twists up and it twists his guts too. She lowers her eyes over him like she's examining him. "You're an impressive surprise."

"You don't expect me to read books?" He questions.

She shakes her head at him in disbelief. "Not about the Hanging Gardens of Babylon."

The sun has begun to set by the time they've left the restaurant, but their conversation of impertinence rings in his ears. After everything back home, he can't help but agree with her, but he can't help but panic about saying goodbye to her. He's holding tight and in no rush to let go.

They're walking slowly this time, in no rush to explore the city, instead focusing on knowing the way around one another. "Would you ever get married?" She asks him.

"You proposing?" The rush it brings to his chest is alarming.

She leans his head on his shoulder and wraps her arms around his chest. He hugs her close to him, fitting into one another completely. "Seriously. I've thought about this and I'm still not sure. I don't like the idea of marriage but I could imagine it for myself. It's a romantic idea and as much as I might not project that I'm a romantic person."

Alex points out, "You've been walking around with a complete stranger all day. That sounds like something a romantic would do."

"You're not a stranger to me anymore." It's the kiss that follows this sentence that seals it for him.

"I think I could marry someone if it felt right. I'd only want to do it once. If it didn't work out I don't think I'd give it another try," Alex confesses.

"Why not?"

"I failed at it once with someone I thought I could make it with. I wouldn't want to put that on another person again."

"What if it wasn't your fault? Like the other person did something unforgivable."

"Then, I never really knew that person. I think that's a little bit on me if I mistake a person for something they're not. That shite doesn't usually come out of nowhere."

She hums. "You're very intelligent, Alex."

He chuckles, slightly confused by the compliment. "Thanks."

"Emotionally. You don't find many men like that. At our age. Even at my parents' age." He doesn't feel like a man. So close to childish kooks and still having his mum do his laundry but she's earnestly saying it so he doesn't vocally disagree.

"I have a ticking clock in me. You can have kids at any age."

"I don't exactly have the passion to be a 70-year-old father."

She shrugs. "I don't even think I want children. They're too sticky."

A half hour or so later, they enter a sticky bar where she squeals about how cool it looks, which, in her defense, she's right. It's through this long hallway that looks like you're entering a church with stained glass windows before you enter a room that looks like Ozzy Osbourne pissed all over the place.

Gathered around a table in the corner with two drinks between them, they make out. It's not some impassioned tongue-down-each-other's-throats kind of kissing where you think the couple is about to have sex right in the middle of the bar. They're in a hidden, dark corner and it's the first time today when they haven't been in broad daylight. And, yeah, it is probably a bit sleazy looking but it feels overwhelmingly necessary for both of them to do.

"People are going to start throwing money at us," she says.

"What?"

"Like at a gentlemen's club or something," she explains.

Alex laughs and he unintentionally rubs his nose against hers and she wrinkles it up, all freckled and fucking cute. She separates them and sips her cocktail, prompting him to sip his bourbon. "Maybe I'll do that."

He snorts and the bourbon nearly drips out of his nose. "Be a stripper?"

She giggles at his reaction. "From nanny to stripper. No, I feel lost is all."

"Sometimes the best things come from being lost." Alex feels his mouth being forced to smile and he can't hide anything from her. "I was lost when I found you."

She blushes and, fuck, he's screwed. Her cheeks are pink and she's cherubic but at the same time talking about being a stripper and he wants to glue himself to this seat and watch her blush forever.

She leans forward placing her head on hand. She looks like Juliet standing on a balcony and, he supposes that makes him Romeo or at least Paris, which means he's going to die for her either way and he almost slaps himself because this isn't some Shakespearean tragedy and she's sitting right in front of him breathing, reaching her hand out for his, which he kisses the back of, which is very Shakespearean, so this might kill him.

"You make me flustered," she confesses.

It blows him away because he's 100% been the fool this whole time to this dream girl. "Seriously?"

She drops her hand from his and leans back, sipping away, keeping her glass in her hand. "Yeah, you're always saying these things and I'm stuck talking about being a stripper and rambling about my lack of direction and ex-boyfriend."

Alex wraps his arm around her shoulder and leans over to whisper in her ear. The bar is loud but he also just wants to be closer to her. "Can I tell you something?"

She motions for him to continue.

"I feel like the biggest fucking idiot talking to you. I basically feel like I'm gonna shit myself every time I open my mouth. You're very intimidating, Charlotte."

She gags at the sound of her full name. "How can I be intimidating?"

"Have you seen yourself? You're like some angel. I'm convinced there is a halo hidden under that head of hair."

She rolls her eyes and pulls away from him to face him more. "See there you go again being only Mr. Cool Guy. You do this kind of thing all the time. You know exactly how to make the girls swoon for you."

"I'm kind of interested in making only one girl swoon."

"Stop talking! It's like you're trying to kill me."

"How do you think I feel? I'm the idiot begging this beautiful French girl to help me after I stared at her the whole train ride."

She smirks. "You stared at me the whole train ride?"

He throws his head back and pinches his nose. He groans and she's laughing at him and how can you not feel like the fool when she's making him do shit like this? "I'm a major creep but I swear I'm not going to murder you."

She huffs. "Oh, how promising. Next, you're going to take me down a dark alley and I'll mysteriously disappear."

Alex hunches over the table and rubs his face. "You're making me feel worse."

She grabs both her shoulders and squeezes them. "Don't get in your head about it. It's a labyrinth in there. I'm here and you're here and I think we both know how we feel so no pressure. We don't have to ever see each other again if we find out things about the other we don't like. I don't think you're going to kill me and you shouldn't worry much about a girl who couldn't even win a thumb wrestle if her life depended on it."

Alex doesn't want to think about never seeing her again but he's done keeping his guard up and he's going to make the most of this day, even if it's the only one they spend together. "You want to thumb wrestle?"

She pulls back with a gasp. "You just want to feel like a winner. Piece of shit."

"Fine," he chuckles, "tell me a secret. What have you been hiding from me?" He hit his shoulder with hers before wrapping his arm back around her.

She toys with the ends of her hair. "Euh," she says, eyes cast away from him, and roughly bites her lip, "I left my book on the train on purpose."

Alex stares at her and suddenly everything shifts. He isn't the only fool. "Is that a technique you use? Pick up men through book leaving methods."

She giggles and finally meets his eyes, sparkling. "No, no. I had finished the book on the train and I, well, I could tell you were watching me. I'm sorry I acted like I couldn't but it made me seem like less of a sap if I didn't know. I figured if you were watching me, you'd return it, and if not I would lose the book. I'm glad I wasn't wrong."

He gazes. The entire day reframed in his mind. "You..." He isn't sure what to say. He's yielded completely but trapped thoroughly. "I can't believe it."

She smirks. "Worked out pretty good too."

"Holy shit" is all he can utter. His mouth gapes open and shut multiple times before he can even think of a thing to say. "And here I thought I was the sap."

She tilts her head back. "I'm a total maple."

"Maple?"

She explains by saying, "Maple sap."

Alex is overcome with laughter and completely dazed by her. "Can I steal that?"

She inches close to him and plays with his hand on the arm that is around her. "What's your secret?"

Alex admits he walked into that one. The unavoidable shielding he's been doing ever since he got on the train to Brussels. It's not that he's full of himself thinking she'll know him or know the band but the whole purpose, or part of it, was to get away from that part. After a year that most people wouldn't experience in a lifetime, he needed to escape himself.

"I'm sort of running away from that," he tells her.

"What? Did you kill someone?"

He awkwardly laughs. He's frazzled. Back against the wall and he sighs, it shouldn't be this big of a deal. "No, I've had this big year with me band and we're doing our second album now which is the first break we've had in a long time but it's not really a break since we're making this album. I love doing it but after the whole thing with me girlfriend, I just sort of feel like I'm not even meself anymore."

"So you went to somewhere where no one would know you," Lottie guesses.

Alex nods. "Sometimes I think the person I need to escape is me." He's been sucked into the black hole of himself. A constant loop of overthinking and ever since things ended with Johanna, he's been thinking that all he does is suck the life out of everyone else, including himself. He knows it isn't true. At least, not completely. The band is great and the guys are great but he's losing touch with everything he'd ever known. He doesn't talk about it much, not even with the guys, but he feels flipped on his head, drowned, and unable to come up for air, and the tide is only getting higher.

"It makes sense," she tells him. He looks down and she's looking back at him with those drowning blues and suddenly he's breathing again. The ocean is in her eyes and not suffocating him anymore. "The person you spend the most time with is yourself. I think I'm a horrible person most of the time but you do your best to find people who don't make you feel that way. If you're really lucky you found people that make you actually feel like a good person."

Alex pulls her closer and leans down, placing his lips close to hers, but not touching them. "You make me feel that way," he whispers.

He can see her smile, teeth like pearls in an oyster, allowing him to be whoever he wants. "You do too. For me." He kisses her. It's soft and serene and he's eager and she's eager, both tugging at one another. Her mouth tastes like cherries and he holds her face and she tugs on her lower lip. He's not going to force her to do anything more with him but he thinks she's thinking what he's thinking like they have the same mind and are joined in the ideas of one another.

She's heavy when they pull back. Red cheeks and out of breath talking. "Do you want to walk around more?"

Alex will follow wherever Lottie leads. He pays their tab and grabs her hand to walk the stone roads once more. The sky has grown dark and a light flickers outside the bar where a group of people stand smoking. The street is relatively empty, besides a few stragglers who are returning from work or couples reaching the end of dates.

He wonders if people think they are a couple. It would be an understandable assumption. They stand with their hands intertwined. Her other hand is wrapped around his elbow and her head lays on the corner of his shoulder. She seems sleepy whether from exhaustion or her drink.

They walk lazily down the street with no direction in mind, no need to end up anywhere. "I like Brussels at night," Lottie quietly says.

The night is placid and her body is warm. "Me too."

She stops them on a street corner and lifts her head. "Where were you planning on sleeping tonight?"

He's not trying to get his hopes up. Maybe this is goodbye. He doesn't think it, prays it isn't, but isn't sure of anything, except the way he feels. "I was going to look for a vacancy somewhere. You?"

Lottie tries to hide her smile. It's one of the most adorable things he's ever seen, like a child trying to hide a cookie they've stolen from the jar behind their back. "I wasn't planning on staying the night. I was supposed to go back to Paris about an hour ago."

Alex tries his best not to use wishful thinking but come on. "Are you going to go back tonight?"

She shakes her head.

"Do you want to—"

"Yeah."

He's not a horny person. He's not a porno addict, he's not obsessive with women's bodies, he's not thinking of sex, boobs, or ass every minute of the day but, fuck, does the blood rush south quickly.

She resumes their walking and, again, he's not trying to rush her but it takes everything in him not to bolt directly to the nearest visible hotel even if it looks like a place where sex rings are located. He holds his pace but then he feels her step quicken and he tries to not hold his breath but he's already out of it.

"Does this look fine?" She points somewhere.

"Yeah." It could be a bench. He doesn't fucking care.

It's a Hilton. Nice, clean, generic. It doesn't matter as long as it has a bed.

Lottie talks to the women at the front desk in French. He doesn't understand any of it. She hands Lottie a set of keycards and tells her, "Vous êtes dans la chambre cinq cent cinq."

Suddenly, they're heading off toward the elevators. "Did you pay for it? You didn't have to pay for it. I'm the one making you stay the night here."

Lottie presses the down button. "You're not forcing me to be here against my will."

"At least, let me pay for half," he insists.

"You can write me a check." They walk in the elevator and she presses the 5 button.

He taps his foot. He can't touch her. If he touches her right now, he'll fuck her. She's giving him bedroom eyes and a heartache and he thinks she might eat him alive and he thinks he might let her, if she's the kind of food that gives her salvation. He'll be the victim if she's the vampire.

She unlocks the door and turns on the lights. The room is basic and the sight of the one lone bed confirms everything he needs to know in his mind.

Then she turns around and says, "I'm not having sex with you."

Alex tries his best to not look disappointed and he thinks he does a decent job besides the quiver of a smile on Lottie's lips. "That's alright. I can sleep on the floor if you'd like."

A smile overwhelms her face. She's dipping into a fit of giggles before she throws her bag into the lone chair in the corner of the room. "I presume you have a condom. All men seem to have a condom in their wallet during these situations."

Alex scratches the back of his head. He tries to answer simply, "Uh, yeah." But she just told him they weren't having sex so the condom that sits in the hidden pouch of his wallet doesn't seem as useful.

"When I lost my virginity, the guy I lost it to pulled out a whole string of Trojans and threw them on my bed." She tells the story through laughter, recalling the details best as her traumatized mind will allow. "He had to have had at least 20 as if he even lasted long enough to count the first time as sex. He fell asleep about 2 minutes after."

Her giggles prompted him to tell her, "The girl I lost mine to provided the condoms because I was too nervous to buy them."

She claps her hands in delight. She's sitting on the edge of the bed. He keeps his distance, unsure of what she wants him to do. He leans against the wall, knee propped up, hands in his pockets.

"My porno boyfriend wasn't too good at sex, which is extra annoying because you'd think he'd know how to do it based on the amount he was watching."

Alex laughs and shrugs. "Isn't most porn kind of made for men anyway? It's just a woman writhing around at the slightest touches."

Her eyebrow is raised and the left side of her mouth smirks. "Have you read The Second Sex?"

"Is that some smutty novel?"

She bursts out laughing and he figures he made himself sound like an idiot. "You read romance novels?"

Alex recalls, "My friend, Matt—he's the drummer in the band—read one to us once. It talked about throbbing members a lot."

"Does your member ever throb?"

He isn't sure what she is asking him. "Have I ever gotten hard before?" He tries his best to decipher.

She ignores his question and asks, "How many girlfriends have you had?"

Alex answers, "Uh, 3, I guess. None of them really long-term until my last." She nods like she's studying him. She might as well be holding a pen and notepad in her hand and taking notes on him. "What about you?"

She avoids the question and becomes snarky. "I haven't had any girlfriends."

"Good one," he approves. "You should be a journalist. You’re very nosy."

She bends down and undoes her shoes with a smile pointed at him. "Sex is weird," she voices. "The idea of putting yourself in someone else or having someone else inside you and it being pleasurable is one of the funniest ideas I've ever heard."

He shrugs. "Why? I think being with someone, feeling so close to them, you want to be the closest you can possibly be, and that concept brings pleasure. It makes sense. I don't think sex is completely about that. The pleasure part."

"What do you think it's about?"

"The vulnerability of it. I mean, being comfortable enough with a person to be naked in front of them, let alone, allowing them to be a part of that nakedness, take part in your body. The goal is to give this other person relief. To bring them this immeasurable ecstasy." He looks down at his shoes. If he looks at her, he'll probably bust a nut. "I think it's one of the last untouchable things. I suppose until we're having sex with robots and all that."

He sighs and meets her eyes. She's blinking at him, slow and carefully, as if she's in a daze. He thinks he went on for too long and weirded her out with talks of being naked, ecstasy, and sex robots. Probably thinks he's trying to force her into something. Then, she bends down and unties her shoes. "I decided I was going to have sex with you when you said I looked like Anne-Marie Crowet. The rest has just been foreplay."

She leaves him speechless again. He isn't sure if that's the go-ahead or if she's just informing him until she stands up and takes off her dress and he's pretty sure his heart is in need of a defibrillator.

Her back is to him and the blue of her underwear is imprinted in his mind. She looks over her shoulder and teases, "Do I have to do the whole thing myself?"

He swallows a chuckle and tries his best to stand up straight. He pulls off his dirty trainers and makes his way over to her. His arms wrap around her and it's like the first time he's touching her all over again. The delicate movements he makes as if he might burn himself at the slightest touch of her.

Lottie helps him out and leans forward touching her boobs to his chest. She fiddles with the bottom of his shirt and he nods for her to pull it off of him. The lace of her bra imprints itself on his skin and he thinks it'll leave a tattoo. The roughness of the material combined with the feeling of her nipples poking into him makes the blood rush with such speed he thinks he becomes lightheaded. She's got this hungry look that kind of drives him a little crazy.

Then, her mouth is on his. It's red hot, hot and heavy, rough, but the way his hand lands on her cheeks brings a sweetness to it neither can endure thinking about for long when trains leave the station all the time and people never return.

He kisses her neck. It's right there, a stretch of soft skin begging to be touched. They stumble blindly toward the bed. The mattress bounces as they fall onto it and a squeal emits from her lips that breaks any remaining tension and makes both of them laugh, teeth clashing, both too hungry for it to pull away to breathe fully.

She sits up enough for him to undo her bra. It's thrown back, scattered with the other clothes. She urges him to remove his jeans, "It's only fair. Equal opportunity."

"I'll show you equal opportunity." He's kissing her neck then mouthing her left breasts, kissing everywhere. Every expanse of skin. She's warm, warming up every inch of him. He tries not to rub against her too much for fear he might implode as he grows harder by the millisecond. He's dizzy, drunk off her skin, drunk off her boobs, drunk off the giggle she lets out when he kisses her belly button, drunk off her.

Alex nudges her legs apart as he trails his mouth down her stomach. He kisses her clit over the fabric of those blue panties. She groans and he's in deep. His hands edge the line of the underwear but he looks up to know for sure. She gives a head nod and he drags them down her legs slowly. He wants her to feel what he's felt. This waiting, the wanting, while she's called the shots. He wants her under his thumb now.

He feels the crevices of her. Slowly, he moves his hands inward down the lines that connect her legs to the rest of her body. He touches his nose to the area above her clit, teases her, wants to please her but wants her to need it. Suddenly, her hands are in his hair, threaded through his strands, not pushing him down but urging him. He gives in then.

She tightens her hold on the strands of hair and if she were to pull any harder she might rip a few out. She lets out this noise halfway between a whine and a moan, and he feels addicted. Desperate to hear it again. She's some fucked-up form of heroin, the water after the desert, the tang of the lime after the tequila, the first flower after the kind of winter that cracks your skin.

He dives in heavier, sucks her clit, and it makes her gasp and makes him restless but he isn't going to let up. He stops and kisses her inner thigh, which only angers her as she drags his head back to her center. He laughs into her pussy and it makes her push his head down heavier. "Please."

"Please what?" He lifts his head and he thinks she might slap him.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck me?"

"Fuck me," she begs and he grins, scruffy and desperate himself. He puts his fingers in her and you'd think he fed her a 3-course meal after months of only eating a shitty bag of petrol station crisps. He never considered himself to be too great at this kind of thing but she's shaking and he thinks he might be too but he's too focused on her to notice. She's crying out, coming, shaking, and breathless.

Alex wipes his mouth on his arm and kisses his way back up her body. Lottie leans up to capture his lips in a hungry, rabid kind of way, pushing him down on the bed. She snaps his waistband and he lets out a little scream, which makes her giggle, and it's a form of tit for tat. "You're annoying." She straddles him and he thumbs her hips.

"I don't know what you're referring to."

She crosses her arms. "Fine. You can sleep on the floor now."

"Only if you join me."

He leans up and kisses her and any teasing seems to have been forgotten because she reaches down and pushes off his boxers. Her fingers fumble before stroking him as if he isn't hard enough. "You've got quite the throbbing member." It's these tiny things that leave him rough and reeling and pushing any thought of never seeing her again out of his mind.

Alex pushes her over so she's on her back. He kisses her and says, "I need to get my wallet." She lets out a laugh as he goes to retrieve it. She sits up and watches him tear the packet with his teeth. Keeps watching him while he rolls it on, biting down on her lips, she pulls him close again, and touches him over it. Alex kisses her, long and good, trying to say everything he can't say out loud.

Everything becomes hazy. A mess as he enters her slowly before urgency takes over and she hooks her left leg over his hip and pushes him deep. A string of incoherent syllables fall from her lips and her brows draw together so tightly he sticks his thumb out to smooth it out. She catches his hand and kisses his palm. He hits this spot in her that forces this hitched gasp out of her and he swears he nearly cums from just that. She holds him tight, nails digging into his back. She could be drawing blood but he doesn't care. It feels good, everything feels good, electrifying, and killing. It's hard and rough and a real fuck if he's ever had one.

But it's more than that too because she keeps catching his gaze and holding it. Her arms are around his neck insisting he keeps his eyes on her, not that he'd look away, he doesn't have a choice but to take her in. She moans his name and Alex forgets for a moment that they are two bodies. He doesn't think his body belongs to him anymore. Its only purpose is to fulfill her.

He hits that spot again and she falls over the edge with a caught breath, nails digging deeper into his shoulder blades as he fucks her through it. For a moment, he's completely detached from himself, it's only her, nothing else, only her. Then, it's too much, and he's releasing into the condom and his body is on top of hers in a heaping pile of sweat-slick limbs and trembling bodies. His face is buried into the crook of her neck and he might suffocate himself.

Her arms are tight around him as if he might fly away into the night sky with a puff of smoke. He can feel her pulse race and the thought that he did that to her makes him want to already do it again. He presses his lips in the hollow of her neck and lifts his head. She brushes his hair back, all a mess in his eyes and he probably needs a haircut but who the fuck cares when her hands are running through it. "Is it always that good for you?" She whispers.

He's still out of breath as he shakes his head. "Fuck no." He doesn't want to remove himself from her but he disposes of the condom and she pees but they meet back in the middle.

The room is hot, even with the AC, it was cool when they entered but they've stunk it up with sex. She lies on top of his chest and his arms wrap around her and he has never had a girl fit so perfectly into that curve of him. As if they are curved for one another. "Best song to have sex to? Go."

He chuckles, still spent from what just happened but thinks. "I don't know like Marvin Gaye or something."

"Good answer," she approves.

"What's yours?"

"You know that Crazy Frog song." He doesn't think he's ever laughed harder in his life.

They run into an issue about a makeout session later. You see, Alex only had the one condom but is currently nursing a throbbing member, and Lottie isn't exactly cold either. "You think they sell them at the front desk?" She asks.

He throws his head back on the pillow. He can't keep making out with her because he can't go down in the hotel lobby with a raging erection. "I can't ask that poor lady at the front desk."

She bites her thumbnail in contemplation. "There's probably a store open down the street."

"Okay." He stands up and swiftly pulls on his boxers. "You can take a shower." She complained about being too hot and sweaty for about the last 20 minutes. "I'll get enough condoms to put virginity guy to shame."

She opens her mouth dramatically. "What are you planning on doing to me, Alexander?"

And, yeah, he nearly trips trying to get his jeans on after that. "I'll be back in 10 minutes tops. Do you want anything?"

She stands up on her knees on the mattress, the sheet is wrapped around her, and it's like she's trying to tempt him into a bad idea. "Oh, oh, oh!" She says excitedly. "You know those Lindt chocolates?" He nods, amused by her enthusiasm. "Get those but not the assorted kind, just the milk chocolate."

So, there he is at some grocery store, scared to buy condoms and chocolate for fear they'll talk to him in French. But the cashier is busy talking to his friend and doesn't so much as glance down at Alex or what he is scanning.

On the walk back (he thinks about running but that would probably be too dorky), Alex starts to spiral a little. Mainly at what has occurred in the past hours and the impending following hours. After their night together, what's next? A goodbye. If that's what she wants, he'll do it, but he doesn't want it that way. But is he really ready for a relationship? Let alone doing long distance again? He should probably be on his own for a while. Maybe they could be friends. Maybe this is a fond memory he'll look back at in his old age and remember the blonde angel who took hold of his hand and he never wanted to drop it. Suddenly, he thinks he'll be a single lone loser who doesn't find anything or anyone better than what he has and is forced to reminisce on a lost time. Or worse, he'll be with someone, but constantly thinking about what could have been.

He shakes the thoughts out of him and returns to the hotel. It's close to midnight and the lobby is empty except for the front desk which he gives a weak "Bonjour" to. The ride up the elevator is excruciating. Now that he is no longer spiraling, he's just thinking about her, naked. He fumbles putting the keycard through the slot and nearly drops the chocolates but he pops open the door.

And there she is. Naked, freshly showered with damp hair, lying on her side with her hands between her thighs. It's like she's shot him, he almost stumbles back, the sight is so holy, and he's so unworthy.

"Do you enjoy killing men?" He asks her. She smiles, giggles, and it pierces him completely. A force moving through him. She starts to sit up slowly and he quickly yells, "No, no, no, don't move!"

She lays back down pleased. "You bossing me around?"

The chocolates and condoms hanging at his side and his mouth almost hangs open. "Just want to take in the sight." And he tries his best to memorize every curve of her, the way her hand dances up her side, and how his heart is thumping away.

"At my museum, you're allowed to touch the art," she jokes.

Alex can't wait much longer anyway. He's fast. Rips open the box of condoms, takes a packet out, pulls his jeans and shirt off before toppling all over her. It's a laughing mess but soon their lips are connected and she's urging his boxers off of him. She ends up on her back, knees at his ribs, and his body braces above hers. Alex cradles the back of her head, pulling at her hair, and swallowing all her noises, those hitches, those gasps. He loves them, loves her, he's going to miss her like hell. He can't help fucking her as if he'll never get to do it again because he might not ever do it again (besides any later rounds they might have tonight). It has to be good, perfect, flawless.

She flips them over and moves down him, kissing every few inches. His hands thread through her hair. She's teasing him like he did to her and he could let her do it but he swears he'll lose it if she kisses her stomach again. He lifts her head off of him and she seems to get the message as he fists her hair into a makeshift ponytail. She takes him in her mouth, licks him like a lollipop up the sides, and he wants to be careful with her but he can't be gentle when he's dying for it. "Come on, don't make me beg."

She lifts her head with a raised eyebrow and he groans in discomfort. "Would you?"

He thumbs her lip and she kisses it faintly. "You know I would."

She takes him all the way in. She puts a quick, great effort into taking him completely in her mouth. Her nose brushes up against his hair before pulling back slowly. She begins to bob her head, working away at him that has him muttering, "Holy shit. Fuck." His eyes stay trained on her, even if he can't help but flutter. The sight itself is enough to make him shoot a load, let alone the actual feeling of her doing it.

Right as he's about to, she lifts her head up off of him and says, "You know, we could have done all this without the condoms right."

He's antsy, needs to grab onto something, he settles for fisting her hair. He laughs at her teasing but groans and bucks his hips up like come on, finish the job. She gets the message. Works away desperately. She wants him to cum almost as badly as he wants to. She takes him down all the way again and he goes then, right down her throat. She doesn't move, doesn't choke, swallows everything, and, fuck, he could cum again just from that.

He's panting, in dire need of air but never needing it again if she's doing things like that. She wipes her mouth and giggles at his reaction. Pleased with herself, the way she puffs her chest out shows that.

She takes the condom he's been holding this whole time out of his hand. "Did we really need this?"

Alex hooks his arm around her neck. "Yeah." He forces her onto his back, kissing her. It doesn't take much to work him up again and he brushes his fingers through her pussy and she's drenched and like that, he's ready to go again or he'll make himself ready to go again. He wraps himself up and rubs himself through her, has her writhing, has her moaning, has her clawing away at him.

When he enters her again, her voice gets raspy as he moans, "Alex." She kisses his neck and shoulder, and bites down in a vain effort to keep quiet before uttering, "Yes," and he's hungry for her to do it again. Snaps his hips into her quickly causing her eyes to flutter shut. His hand thumbs her clit and she pulls on him tighter. Her legs wrap around his hips and she tries to move closer to him as if it is humanly possible.

He flicks her clit again and he never considered himself to be amazing at sex but she makes him want to be the best and she's moaning like he might be. He tries to make it last, doesn't want it to end. He pulls out almost all the way before snapping his hips forward to get her moaning. Her fingers curl around the sheets, then around his hair. His hand grazes up her, memorizing. He's deep in her, both physically and emotionally. "Fuck," she groans. He tries to be slow, but she urges quickness before ordering, "Harder." He listens, bucking into her and she's melting away unable to focus on anything. His own pleasure is secondary. He hasn't even thought about his orgasm. He needs her to finish.

Their skin is coated with a sheen of sweat and he kisses away at hers. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into her tightly. It's enough to choke the light out of him but he doesn't mind because she's panting and unarticulately moaning before she's coming. Their pattern becomes messy before she sends him over the edge.

She tries to catch her breath and relinquishes her hold on Alex. "Holy shit," she whispers weakly.

Alex hums in concurrence. He runs his fingers down her sides to make her shiver—a quiver comes from her lips.

"Hi there," she says. Something in him swells. He pulls her by the waist and she yelps a little, surprised, and then bites down on a grin. Reaches up to push his hair from his face and she's cracked him open like an egg and now he's just spilling out. His eyes fall shut and he wraps her up in his arms, indolent from exertion, nuzzling her nose to his.

She sighs heavily and they're stuck in the post-sex silent glow. Absorbed with one another and nothing else. Much like the rest of the day. "Are you sick of me yet?" Alex jokingly asks her. He isn't sure of himself on many things but he's sure of this. She must be feeling everything he's feeling. She has to, right?

She sits atop his chest. "Never."

He pets his hand down her now unruly hair. It gives him intense pleasure to know he did that. She dances her fingers around his body, waist to shoulder. "What's sex in French?"

She smirks, returning to their old translation game. "Sex is sex. I mean, there's faire l'amour, which is make love."

"Faire l'amour," he repeats.

"There's se branler."

"Se branler."

"Which means to jerk off."

He pulls an offended face. "I just had sex with you. I'm not jerking anything off."

She giggles. "Fine, baise-moi," she offers.

"Baise-moi."

"Fuck me."

He laughs. "I'm not that quick."

"J'ai envie de toi," she says. "I want you." She curls into him. Her hair soft and arms tight.

The impending morning hangs over their heads like an anvil. "Are we ever going to see each other again?" He asks.

They aren't looking at each other anymore. She breaks eye contact with him to stare at the ceiling and his eyes soon follow to do the same. "I don't know. I have to be back tomorrow."

"Me too," Alex says. His thumb grazes back and forth on the corner of her shoulder.

"I don't want to do long distance," she confesses. "It always fades away. You know, two people say they'll keep in touch but that's never true. You send a few texts but then you're missing each other's calls and it's a mess. I don't want to do that with you."

"Me either," he agrees. He doesn't want to repeat history and he doesn't want to do that with someone like her. Someone who he's never felt this way before.

"If this was it, would you be okay with that?" She asks.

His head is screaming No, no I wouldn't be okay with that, screw those kids, stay with me. But he's not going to lose himself in fantasy so he nods. "If that's what you want."

She averts her eyes. She looks unsure of herself but doesn't say anything and tucks herself into him. "I don't know what I want."

He kisses the top of her head. "That's okay."

In the morning, those blinds they never closed allow the Sun to wake them up. Their limbs are thrown about around the other. Her eyes flutter and it's like a butterfly taking flight as she exposes those blues. She looks at him and starts laughing. Her hand drags across the side of his face. "You have lines all over your face."

He perks up at the sight of her and that laugh. "That means I had a good sleep."

She bites a grin. "I had a good sleep too." If you can call it that. They weren't paying the closest eye on time but he doesn't exactly feel like he slept for 8 hours straight. She leans up and kisses across his face and it's an eruption of giggles.

There's a feeling in the air that they might do it again but then her eyes catch something and she falls back. She bites her thumb, which he can tell is a habit when she doesn't want to say something. She exhales roughly. "I have to go now if I'm going make it back in time."

Alex can't say more than an "Okay."

She redressed and, soon after, he does too. There isn't much romance to the whole thing. Soon, they're making their way to the station. Not many words are spoken but halfway through the walk, she leans her head on his shoulder, and he thinks he might cry.

Her train leaves at 9:45, his at 10:15. It's 9:35. There are no words spoken but he follows her onto the platform in silent understanding. Her train is already there, taunting them.

She grabs both his hands and places them on her waist. She rubs her hands over his elbows. The station is full of noise but silence echoes. Then, she says, "I don't want to never see you again."

He lets out a breath, feeling air enter his lungs again. He leans his forehead down to hers. "I don't want that either."

She kisses him tight in a quick motion. She presses herself up against him completely and he holds her against him in the same manner, the finality of it rattling around them.

"Come to London," he wishes aloud.

She pauses any movement, breaths caught in her throat. She's stiff and unmoveable before shaking her head. "I can't do that."

He has to. He has to. He has to. "Yes, come on. You hate your job. You want to find a future. Find it in London."

"I like my life. I have friends—"

"You have friends in London," he recalls. "Come on, Lottie. Doesn't have to be forever." He's begging. He sounds pathetic, he must, but, my god, if she can get him to get on his train, then any begging is worth it.

Her eyes are filled with tears and the knife twists within him. She takes a deep breath. Then, perks up, and excitedly says, "What if—what if I visit in a couple of weeks? I'll sort everything out and then I'll visit."

He feels like someone punches him. "We'll be back on the road soon."

She deflates and her train is honking away. This can't be it. Both are thinking it.

Alex gets one last idea. "I'll be in Paris. In July. My band we're gonna be touring here. Come to the show."

She grabs a hold of him like he might float away. And he just might. "In July?"

"Yes," Alex confirms. "Arctic Monkeys is the name of the band. I'll reimburse you for the ticket and all that." He tries to end on a lighthearted note but the weight hangs heavy.

She smiles and kisses him. “Okay, I'll see you in July.”

Alex kisses her again. He has to savour it. Hold it completely in his hands, hold her, memorize the way she moves her lips against his. Last call for the train is shouted out and says, "See ya in July." He smiles hopefully and she returns it.

She goes to get on the train but turns back quickly. Kissing him tightly, hard, passionately, firework-erupting finale. "Have a good ride back and a good tour, Alex."

"You too, Lottie." It takes her laughing to realize his mistake. He slaps his forehead, which endears her completely as if she could be endeared anymore.

She squeezes his hand firmly. "I'll try my best." She steps aboard and gives him a final look before dropping his hand.

He lets it swing at his side. Watches her pick a window seat. Each party waves goodbye before the train pulls out of the station. Alex stands there for a moment. He can't think about it for too long. He'll be doing that the whole train ride. Every day until July. Every day after July. Until.

Alex catches his train back to London and he'll wait for her. And then wait some more.

[camisoledadparis]

saga: Soumission & Domination 361

Espagne 2015-3 : Jaime recrutement

Jaime

Donc Jaime a 18ans et rentre en 1ère année de fac de science. C'est un volleyeur (ça s'est vu sur la plage). 1m85, 80Kg de muscles sous une peau imberbe, bronzée et débarrassée de ses quelques poils hors pubis, noir de cheveux, monté 20 x 5 à 5,2 circoncis. Homo depuis sa première expérience sexuelle avec un de ses potes de sport, il a fait son coming-out et sort d'une histoire de près d'un an avec un mec de 20 ans. Il est actif et passif. Son père est médecin et sa mère l'assiste, mais dans le contexte économique actuel et 3 frères et soeurs plus petits, il cherche à participer au financement de ses études et c'est pour ça qui va faire le serveur au mois d'août.

Ernesto déballe son argumentaire. C'est la première fois que je l'entends. Il est bon dans l'exercice. Jaime n'est pas choqué par la proposition. Il faut dire qu'Ernesto amène comme un privilège le fait d'entendre celle-ci. D'ailleurs Jaime est flatté que ce soit lui et pas les autres qu'on ait choisi en premier.

J'insiste sur le côté " sécurité " du travail, suivi médical, pratiques SSR, clients conscient du " haut de gamme " de notre offre de service. Sans minimiser la partie sexuelle des prestations, Ernesto précise qu'il faut aussi être bon dans l'Escort proprement dit.

Là, notre futur collaborateur s'inquiète de son dressing. Peur balayée quand on lui dit que les vêtements spécifiques (costumes, smoking...) sont compris dans le contrat.

Le dernier détail qui pourrait clocher c'est la taille de bites à " héberger " dans son cul. Le XXL n'est pas naturel à tout un chacun.

Quand je l'ai sodomisé, j'étais confortable, mais bien serré aussi. Rires de l'intéressé, le mec qu'il vient de quitter était équipé d'un sexe de 20 x 6.5 et avec lui il n'était que passif.

J'en profite pour dire que nous gérerons la partie professionnelle de sa vie mais pas la partie privée. Le seul truc est de ne pas prendre de risque concernant sa santé, question de respect pour les clients.

Ernesto bat le fer tant qu'il est chaud et je comprends pourquoi quand il nous dit qu'un de nos clients n'est pas " couvert " pour ses vacances le mois prochain. Contrat type de 3 semaines, voyage compris, 1 semaine d'affaires dans la capitale et 2 semaines sur la côte d'azur, le tout pour un salaire net 40 fois supérieur à celui de serveur estival.

Il a un peu de mal à digérer l'information. J'appelle Romain qui lui confirme que c'est du réel. Lui aussi va taffer le mois prochain et qu'entre sa mise aux enchères, ses prestations hebdomadaires et le " travail " d'été, il se fera cette première année plus qu'un cadre supérieur moyen.

Je n'avais pas pensé que ce serait aussi sa première prestation dans la société. J'en parle à Ernesto qui avait lui aussi zappé le truc. Il corrige aussitôt la proposition et l'assure pouvoir obtenir plutôt du 80 à 100 fois. Il est scié.

Ernesto lui propose d'aller le lendemain à Barcelone à son bureau. Il accepte et nous retournons avec les autres. Ses potes essayent de lui tirer les vers du nez pour savoir ce qui nous avait retenu tous les trois, mais il se tait.

21h, nous dînons tous ensemble, nos visiteurs ayant accepté l'invitation. Nous aidons Paco pour le service. C'est surtout Jésus qui fait les aller et retour avec la cuisine. Allez savoir pourquoi ! Le rosé glacé est de mise et sans nous en apercevoir, nous sommes tous un peu " partis " à la fin du repas.

Jaime me prend à part et me demande si je veux qu'il plante son cul sur la mégabite de Paco pour nous montrer ses capacités. Je lui roule une pelle. Il est gentil le gamin. Je lui dis que je lui fais confiance et que s'il prend ses quartiers à la villa, ça arrivera bien assez tôt. Il me serre dans ses bras et me dit qu'il a trop de chance cette année. Il a eu son " Bac ", il a largué son mec et nous arrivons avec la solution à ses problèmes de financement. Il va même économiser le camping. Quand il me dit cela, il éclate de rire et me dit qu'il vient de se rendre compte que c'est rien maintenant. Et puis ses deux amis ont besoin de son cofinancement de l'emplacement de leur tente.

La soirée se prolonge. Entre cafés, papotages, caresses diverses mais encore softs et passages dans l'eau pour nous rafraichir, la nuit s'avance et nos amis acceptent de rester. Traverser une partie de la ville à moitié bourré, pour rejoindre les matelas durs de leur tente... Ça convient bien aux habitants de la villa qui espéraient bien une deuxième partie de sexe.

Je me fais les hollandais. Culs blanc mais fougue toute méditerranéenne. En alternance avec PH et Ernesto, nous saturons leurs trous de nos coups de bites impérieux. Quand nous les laissons pour tester d'autres " abris ", ils sont pris en charge par Ludovic et Hervé. Pas de temps morts !

Alors que je cherche un plan, j'entends Jaime qui m'appelle. En levrette devant Paco, il se fait ramoner le conduit par ses 23cm épais. Au moins on ne pourra pas dire qu'il n'a pas de suite dans les idées. Je m'approche roule un patin rapide à Paco avant de lui demander ses impressions. Je n'arrive à lui tirer qu'un " bon, trop bon". Je m'aplatis, retrouve les lèvres et la langue de ma dernière conquête. Il arrive à me glisser un " t'as vu, je peux prendre lourd " entre deux brassages de langues. Je me coule entre ses bras et kpote sa bite que le limage de sa rondelle ne semble pas faire débander. Je me retourne et, sur le dos cette fois, je recule jusqu'à ce qu'il me plante. Dans cette position, on peut se rouler un patin tout en menant nos petites affaires et Paco aussi. Ce dernier devine que j'ai un peu de mal à garder mes reins suspendus sous Jaime. Il nous propose de migrer vers la table basse proche. C'est mieux. Je suis couchée dessus sur le dos, Jaime à genoux entre mes cuisses est juste à la bonne hauteur pour m'enculer et Paco, accroupi, les mains accrochées à ses épaules reprend son labourage en règle.

La bite de Jaime est très efficace. En fonction des coups de rein qu'il reçoit, il arrive à modifier ceux qu'ils m'envoient dans le cul. Sans que je lui en parle, il me dit que c'est ce genre de plan qui lui avait manqué avec Pedro (son ex).

Il arrive à me faire jouir sans que j'aie besoin de me branler. Les passages et chocs répétés de son gland sur ma prostate suffisent à déclencher mon orgasme. Quand, lors de chacune de mes éjaculations, je stoppe net sa progression, il monte en pression et, à son tour, jute mais dans sa kpote. Ricochet suivant, c'est Paco qui gueule en larguant sa sauce.

Il est 4h30 quand on s'endort.

J+2

Réveils à 11h. Je suis dans notre grand lit avec Ludovic, Ernesto, PH et Jaime. Il y a aussi João et Romain à l'autre bout.

J'enfile un maillot. Ça réveille Jaime qui se lève à son tour. Sans bruit nous allons à la cuisine. Les portes des chambres sont grandes ouvertes et on voit qui a dormis avec qui. Mon Marc a encore dans ses bras Baz alors qu'Hervé s'est endormi avec Rubén. Plus loin Arvid et Gaz ont l'air d'avoir fait plus que dormir dans les bras l'un de l'autre vu la pagaille des draps.

Quand on déboule dans la cuisine, le spectacle est revigorant. Pour au moins la deuxième fois, Jesus est planté par Paco. Torse sur la table de la cuisine, il pousse de tous petits gémissements pour ne pas réveiller toute la maison. Paco va pour se retirer et nous servir le café mais je le prends de vitesse et lui dis de finir son petit Jesus.

Avec Jaime, on sirote notre café en commentant leur baise. Enfin c'est surtout Jaime qui entreprend Jesus. Il rigole car ce dernier le traitait de fou quand il se faisait Pedro et sa grosse bite. Là, Jesus se prend bien plus gros et long et il voit bien que ça donne aussi du plaisir les grosses bites. On mate encore quelques instants. C'est intéressant ce qu'une grande différence de physique permet comme positions. Paco exhibe ses gros muscles avec des portés sur bite athlétiques. Jesus n'en peut plus de se faire ramoner. Il finit par jouir, les jambes serrées autour de la taille de Paco, accroché à son cou. On le voit mordre dans le deltoïde et y laisser la marque de ses dents pour ne pas hurler son plaisir alors que son jus coule de leurs abdos compressés.

On les laisse pour se mettre au soleil sur la terrasse. Lunette sur les yeux, nous synthétisons de la vitamine D.

Les autres occupants de la maison arrivent en ordre dispersé. Certains la tête dans le cul, d'autres quasiment frais et dispo !

Je profite que tout le monde soit là pour prévenir qu'avec Ernesto et Jaime nous allons en début d'après-midi à Barcelone. Arvid nous demande de l'emmener aussi. Les autres décident de rester. Nous embarquons donc dans une des trois voitures de location et traçons au nord. Ernesto conduit. Il dépose Arvid devant sa coloc avec la promesse de ce dernier de revenir nous voir (il a notre adresse et nos n° de téléphones) surtout que les grosses partouzes sont encore à venir.

Puis on file vers le bord de mer. Vers le Bario de Barceloneta où Ernesto vient d'acquérir pas trop cher, au nom de la société, un vieil immeuble de 2 étages où il a implanté les bureaux et son appartement. L'extérieur est encore à refaire mais l'intérieur est nickel. Jaime est impressionné par l'endroit. Comme au blockhaus, Ernesto a réalisé une frise avec les photos de ses Escorts en maillot Addicted (chez moi ils sont en Aussiebum). J'ai beau connaitre mes employés, les voir les uns à côté des autres, je remarque une plus grande disparité de physiques. Jaime a du mal à décrocher ses yeux. Il nous dit reconnaitre trois mecs. Il n'aurait jamais pensé que leur aisance financière venait de ce taf. Quelque part ça le rassure.

On monte son dossier. Ernesto lui donne l'adresse des boutiques dans lesquelles il devra aller s'habiller. Il téléphone au labo d'analyse pour les prévenir que nous passerions plus tard. Il en profite pour appeler son client. Alors que ça sonne, il pousse le dossier du mec devant Jaime. Je l'ouvre et on voit le mec en photo. Il est en maillot de bain. Dans les 45ans, bien fait, on voit que le contenu de son slip est lourd et pourtant il ne bande pas ! Je regarde Jaime, il me dit que ça va il avait craint un mec gras, chauve et repoussant.

Nous entendons la conversation téléphonique. Ernesto explique qu'il lui a trouvé un escort pour le mois d'août. Le mec est ravi, il lui explique aussi que c'est une nouvelle entrée dans la société donc il devine ce qu'il va lui demander. Réponse du client " je sais comment ça marche mais là tu ne vas pas me faire des enchères j'en ai besoin ".

Ernesto l'assure qu'il le lui réserve mais qu'il va falloir qu'il soit généreux tout seul. Le client comprend et annonce le chiffre d'un résultat d'enchères normales. C'est ce que lui fait remarquer Ernesto qui lui rappelle qu'il va avoir son gars 3 semaines en 7j/7 et 24h/24.

 A mes côtés, Jaime est sans voix. Je tempère en lui disant que le chiffre discuté est le salaire brut. Qu'il n'en aura que 55% net (le reste ce sont les charges 35% et la marge de la boite).

C'est limite s'il ne tombe pas dans les pommes quand le client propose 1 fois et demie sa première offre. J'opine de la tête et Ernesto confirme notre accord puis raccroche.

Jaime me roule un patin de la mort avant de faire pareil à Ernesto. Il est trop content. Son mois d'août qui s'annonçait sympa mais peu rémunérateur s'est transformé en vacances en France avec salaire de ouf.

Je lui demande si avec ses parents ça ne posera pas de problème. Ernesto annonce qu'officiellement, il émargera en tant que " secrétaire particulier ". Il dit que ce sera OK. Je pense aussi à la drogue, à Saint Tropez, ça ne doit pas manquer. Jaime me rassure que s'il avait dû tomber là-dedans, ce serait déjà fait vu la facilité pour trouver de la cocaïne aussi bien à Barcelone qu'à Sitgès. J'en profite pour souligner que nos escorts sont tous " propres " concernant les drogues et le tabac. Question de respect du client.

Quand on repart, on passe au labo. Le prélèvement dure 5mn et les résultats lui seront communiqués sous 48H comme en France. Nous sommes de retour à 18h. La villa est quasi vide. Marc et Hervé nous préviennent que les jeunes sont sur la plage et qu'eux attendent notre agent immobilier et son petit copain qui vont passer la soirée avec nous.

On enfile nos maillots, un short par-dessus. On prend la voiture et descendons à la plage.

Facilement on retrouve le petit groupe qui squatte un filet de volley. Les deux potes de Jaime l'assaillent de question. Il coupe court en leur disant qu'il avait profité du fait qu'Ernesto et moi dévions aller à Barcelone pour aller voir ses parents.

On entre dans le jeu. Une partie décousue mais acharnée, un plongeons dans la mer et on discute de la soirée. Les deux hollandais ont entendu parler d'une teuf et comptent y aller tout comme Rubén. La triplette souhaiterait les accompagner. Je demande plus de renseignement sur qui organise quoi. J'ai pas confiance et Ludovic non plus.

Après 5mn à nous faire la tête, ils admettent que nous ne sommes que le troisième jour d'un séjour de 21, donc ils ont le temps.

João me prend à part et me dit que si je veux, il pourra " encadrer " les petits au besoin.

En attendant nous remontons à la villa sans les " fêtards ". Dans la voiture où nous sommes tous entassés (10 !! y'en a 2 dans le coffre du C4 Picasso) Jaime console les jeunes en leur assurant que cette fête c'était plutôt souleries et défonce que baises et plaisirs. Il avait été à la précédente organisée par le même mec et s'était barré tôt avec Arvid qu'il avait rencontré là-bas pour la première fois.

Jardinier

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[nebuvoid]

You know what always baffled me the most about XY? It's not Lysandre's reasoning or the questionable implementation of 4 underdeveloped rivals/friends or even the stupid genderlocked customization options.

No, it's that Team Flare calls itself fashionable and all about beauty, and yet they all look like this

Like I get it, orange because of Lysandre's hair. But the colour is so jarring and if anything I would expect fashionable french villains to be be based on Paris Haute Couture. These just feel like vaguely futuristic outfits that I'd expect from Team Galactic. And what's with the little ghost spirit shapes on the grunts heads...

So I do hope whoever our LZA villains turn out to be, the designs turn out better than this. To me this is XY's greatest flaw. It may seem less relevant than other points but it made me gag during every team fight.

[t4taletyler]

Noah(TDI) and Queer characters in media.

In 2007 Teletoon premiered Total Drama Island, Apart from that cast was Noah. Noah quickly became a fan favorite along with Cody in the episode 'The Big Sleep' where Noah is shown to be kissing Cody's ear in his sleep, The two wake up and freak out. They quickly run away from each other.

This becomes a running gag of sorts, As in the episode 'Haute camp-ture' We see all the characters who got voted off this far in the show at the resort Playa Des Losers.

We see Noah featured in some of these scenes in the episode, As Noah is describing his experience on Total Drama Island he says he's gotten nothing out of it and that it was completely uneventful to him. We see Izzy pop in and say, "He kissed a guy!" The two bicker back and forth about whether it happened or not, Trent rebuttals Noah's no's with "He totally did" and then shows a flashback to Noah and Cody kissing with Noah saying he has no comment. We see this gag again in Total Drama Action in the Aftermath show, We are introduced to the people who didn't end up making it on TDA. In Noah's introduction, we are shown a clip of him kissing Cody AGAIN. They are also shown sitting with each other in a lot of the TDA aftermath segments.

One question I have is why is this gag shown over and over again? In the episode where it came from it didn't move the plot along, it was just a few-second gag. I feel as if this was hinting at Noah being gay, Freshtv who was producing the series has made gay characters before in their other show 6teen. I firmly believe that Noah is queer-coded at the very least. When Justin is introduced to us in episode one of Total Drama Island we see Noah, Owen and Trent all swoon over him much like the girls

In the Total Drama flash game 'Oh No U Di'n't' we see Noah say this about Cody

Though this saying can be said by any of the characters in the Flash game about Cody it sounds the most like Noah, especially with his sarcastic voice. Noah's personality is also a gay stereotype, at least in the first three seasons. In the 2000s typically gay men were depicted as feminine, sassy, and sarcastic. We can see this in TV shows such as Sex in the City and the movie The Devil Wears Prada. Noah emulates a lot of these traits with his sarcastic personality and how sassy he is. He is also depicted as skinny and having a 'girly' scream, shown in the special Total Drama Drama Drama Drama Island.

A lot of these scenes are played as a joke as LGBTQ+ representation was very hard to find that wasn't played as a "haha funny" moment.

In Celebrity Manhunt we see Cody and Noah parallel two straight pairings in this scene. We don't see Noah actually smile a lot but the times he does we see him with men such as Cody,Alejandro and Owen

(aftermath show)

(Newf kids on the Rock)

(I see London..)

On FreshTV's now-deactivated Tumblr blog, they said in response to an ask about Noah

This along with the existence of Nemma (Noah x Emma from rr) has always confused me, Why would Fresh TV go back on their character and suddenly change him to be less sarcastic and sassy? I think if they addressed Noah's queerness they would get backlash because he is A stereotype of a gay man BUT! I think the way they did it was actually more harmful to the queer TDI community. It made a lot of Noco,Alenoah and Nowen shippers face backlash till this day. Now with the TDI reboot we finally have two canon queer characters that are dating which is exciting and I'm glad they fought so hard to keep them but i think this was a way to pay their respects to characters they couldn't make queer like Noah and Owen.

Final Notes/TLDR;

Noah is a queercoded character that wasn't allowed to be queer which still hasn't been answered to this day. I hope with future seasons of total drama we will get more queer rep!

[ghostlylicious]

the witcher swapped roles au and their personalities are the same as before somewhat . do we like it (apologies that i didn't go through w dandelion's glitter hair 💔)

(press for better quality, and additional contexts/yapping under the cut)

crazy how i tied up jaskier's hair just to also give him bangs that obstruct his view 😭 in all fairness it is a trait he has which is in my hcs for him for this au:

yapping abt witcher!julian:

he still styles his hair to battle and it comes out okay even when he's covered in blood legolas style

he tends to wear knight-like armor-- ones that are very shiny, and sometimes they have purely decorative engravings. that part where geralt bought a new jacket but in this au dandelion bought a new nearly complete armor set that makes you question its practicality with what it looks like

he'd be sooo annoying as an actual hero i'm serious😭😭😭 this book series would NOT be popular ong (but perhaps bard!geralt will save it)

glittery hair after his full mutation was a joke but what if it was real for a second-

yapping about bard!geralt:

okay i'm gonna be honest i did not fucking mean for geralt to look like a red amazon macaw. I JS THOUGHT RED LOOKED GOOD ON HIM ESP W HIS BLACK HAIR then i was like hmm green and blue contrast well w the red and- oh fuck. but it's growing on me tbh.... i can redesign him w black n white but then he and dandelion's color palletes wouldn't contrast well and i'd also have to redesign dandelion's armor and i do NOT like designing/drawing armor😭 but let's see!

he probably said to his stylist "idgaf just make me look good" and the stylist had the same thought process as i did and boom here you go now you're a parrot mf

also yes since he never became a witcher in this au he's got his original hair color- or what i hc his og hair color would be. (i initially tried brown hair but he ended up looking like white jesus 💀💀💀😭😭 it's bc of the beard but i decided then that black hair would js fit his character more

he's actually geralt roger eric du haute-bellegarde

okau dont ask me for more details abt their names and backgrounds bc i have no idea!!!!!! i MIGHT write abt them but... i'm 1 of the laziest fucking artists ever so it's unlikely . also decided to have their scars like that bc of their occupations and the situations they'd get into bc of that

their love interests (which i hate calling them that but in a meta way it's true😭) are switched roles as well: bard!yennefer and sorceress!priscilla . for the child of destiny tho????? 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️ idk . honestly contemplating for ciri to just be ciri that'd be kinda funny