#why in the hell would you put another person there all night with me that i Have to interact with

[crowsofdarkness]

Pennywise follows you into the house of mirrors, giving you the opportunity to live out your secret fantasy.

words: 2,326.

18+ CW's below the cut( masturbation with use of a dildo, monster fucking, stalking, unprotected p in v, drool kink, clown kink, oral with female receiving, and slight breath play)

a/n: this is a wild one, i will admit it. but blame it on the dark romance books i've read.

This was so fucked up. 

I shouldn’t be here at the carnival, especially with the rumors of a killer clown being on the loose but that was exactly why I was here. For weeks, people have gone missing without a trace. Anytime the cops questioned witnesses, they all said the same thing: a clown with a red balloon was seen. 

The same clown I’ve seen standing outside of my window and slowly following me in the distance anywhere I went. At first, I thought he was coming to kill me but after the third night in a row of seeing him watch me from my bedroom window as I dressed from the shower, it was clear Pennywise’s intentions were something other than death. 

Fear filled me when I first saw him but very quickly, that feeling changed to curiosity then arousal. The other night when I knew he was watching in the shadows outside my house, I left my bedroom window open for a clear view to my bed where I lay spread wide. My bare cunt on display as I worked my vibrating dildo in and out of it, slowly at first so I could get adjusted to it. It was a new, thicker one, and all I could imagine was a certain clown's cock. When I awoke the next morning from my post orgasm slumber, I found a red balloon tied to the footboard of my bed with a flyer for the local carnival. Something even more peculiar was that the dildo I used the night before was missing. I’d washed it and let it sit out on my nightstand to dry out and when I woke up, it was gone. 

Another thing that was missing? My copy of Haunting Adeline which was bookmarked at the house of mirrors scene. I was certain I had it on the bed next to me but I couldn’t find it. I wasn’t too sure what a murderous clown needed with a dark romance book and a dildo but I tried not to think of it too much because I needed to get ready.

Surely if I had any sense I wouldn’t be coming to the carnival after being invited by a killer clown but the idea of finding him in the shadows had me showing up. 

Like I said, this whole entire thing was so fucked up. I blame it on all of the dark romance books I’ve read. 

The crowds of the carnival were nearly as thick as the fog that danced around me as I pushed my way through. It was a warm summer night in Derry and the breeze blew the bottom of my red dress. I wasn’t much of a person that liked to go on the rides but there was one particular attraction I had my heart set on. Hells Mouth also known as the house of mirrors. Something deep in my gut told me to head straight there. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” I murmured, pushing past a couple who were busy making out in front of the hot dog stand. 

I came to a brief opening of the crowd, breathing in a somewhat clean breath of air and looked around. I wasn’t too sure where Hells Mouth was located so for a second I was afraid I was nowhere near it. But then, off in the distance, I noticed a familiar pair of bright, glowing eyes belonging to a figure that was waving. For a moment, I stood frozen on an intake of breath as the trance he put me under began to grow stronger with each passing second. 

“Such a pretty girl,” Pennywise’s voice spoke in my mind. 

Suddenly, his form was gone and in its place was the opening for Hells Mouth so I followed the path with quick strides, knowing he was waiting for me. If I had any last reservations on what I was about to do, now would have been the perfect time to turn around and run the other way. Instead, I put more of a pep in my step as I came up to the end of the line, only six people in front of me.

While I waited, I hummed a soft tune to myself and felt the excitement fester low in my gut knowing what was about to happen. Well, I may not have known exactly what Pennywise’s plans were for me in the house of mirrors but something told me it wasn’t death. 

By the time I entered Hells Mouth, I was alone since no one else was waiting in line for my group but honestly, I preferred it that way. Almost instantly, my senses were thrown off by the red lights, the loud music, and the amount of mirrors that were showing my reflection every which way. I stood in the middle of six mirrors creating an optical illusion that made me dizzy. Just over my shoulder in my reflection, a single red balloon slowly drifted closer to me and my heart rate picked up, hands shaking at my sides. 

This is it. I was eithergoing to die or get fucked in the house of mirrors by a killer clown. 

I’m so fucked up for hoping it was the second one. 

The balloon made a loud popping noise causing me to jump with a slight yell just as a new face materialized in the mirror behind me. White painted face with red lips, bright orange eyes, and even brighter hair. He broke out into a large, creepy smile, drool pooling off of his bottom lip and a warmth spread between my legs causing me to bite back a moan. He stood frozen behind me, not moving an inch or speaking, completely still and silent. His white and red clown outfit was askew a bit, the bottom of it damp. The faintest smell of earth and water lingered in the air. 

“Say my name,” his voice finally spoke in my mind but he remained still. 

My voice caught in my throat, unable to speak, because suddenly this was very real. If I spoke his name, what we were about to do would be something I couldn’t return from. 

Fuck it. 

“Pennywise,” I choked on a whisper. 

That seemed to finally break him from his state because he was on me with such speed, I fell against the mirror with my cheek pressed up against it. My breath hitched as his warm breath fanned over the back of my neck. 

“Did you wear this pretty dress for me?” He asked with a gravelly voice I’d never heard before. 

I nodded with a whimpered yes. 

“Good girl,” his lips nibbled on the shell of my ear. “On your knees.”

Very quickly, I obeyed his command by getting on my knees with the mirrors surrounding us. Pennywise stood tall as he roughly cupped my cheek to force my gaze up at him. 

“Are you real?” I asked. 

Along with the rumors of a killer clown on the loose in Derry, people were saying it was a figment of people's imaginations. Pennywise didn’t actually exist, he was only what people imagined. That’s how he killed his victims. 

“Is this real enough for you?” Pennywise questioned, stuffing a gloved finger deep inside of my mouth causing me to nearly gag on it. 

I expected him to remove it but instead he made me suck on it for a few more beats, my moans muffled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my reflection in the mirror and mentally chastised myself for becoming so turned on at the sight of me on my knees for a clown while I sucked on his finger. 

“You’re afraid of me,” Pennywise wore a slight frown. 

I did my best to shake my head while not stopping sucking on his finger but he could see right through me. Yes, I was extremely turned on by him but there was that lingering feeling of fear, of not knowing what his true intentions with me were. 

Bending his face towards me, he gave me a crooked smile now as drool dripped from his lip. I wanted nothing more than to have him drool like this all over me. 

“I will feast on your flesh as I feed on your fear,” he said, putting emphasis on feed. 

A loud pop echoed in the small space and soon, Pennywise was kneeling behind me, forcing me on all fours. He quickly made work of pushing up my dress to my stomach, exposing my red lace thong to him. I knew he saw the wet spot because he made a sickening laugh; one that brought chills to my body. 

“You’ve been such a tease every night. Making me watch you touch this pretty cunt while I couldn’t do anything about it,” Pennywise groaned, his face between my legs from behind. 

I pushed myself towards him, desperate to feel his mouth and tongue against me. I kept my eyes on the mirror to my left since that was the one that showed me everything. Pennywise was on his knees, face so close to my cunt but not quite touching it, and I saw him grip my panties to rip them away from me. The fabric fluttered to the ground and he took a deep breath with that signature smile as he smelled me. 

“Please,” I begged, thrusting myself closer to him again. 

He cocked his head to the side so eerily it brought goosebumps to my skin.  

“What does my pretty girl want?” 

I swallowed thickly while letting my head fall to my arm that was perching me up on the ground. 

“I think I need to be asking you that question,” I said. “What do you want from me?”

A thick silence filled the air for three solid beats before Pennywise wore that far away look again, muttering two words. 

“Your soul.”

Not having more than half a second to prepare, Pennywise wide mouth was on me, his tongue devouring my cunt. I felt sharp teeth graze over my cunt followed by the smoothness of his tongue. I bucked my hips into his mouth, desperate to feel more of him when he stated fucking me with his tounge. It was as if he was starved and the only thing that could fill his hunger was me. 

“Oh,” I moaned with fluttering eyes. 

It felt so good. Never had a human partner ever pleased me this way. 

Turning my head more towards the side, I looked in the mirror to see Pennywise’s face buried deep between my legs, my bare ass in the air. All too quickly, the familiar burn of an orgasm flickered at the base of my spine and I nearly cried because I didn’t want this to end. I needed this to go on forever. 

As if sensing it, Pennywise pulled away from my cunt just before I came and made quick work of freeing his cock from the tights of his costume. My eyes nearly bulged out of my head when I took in the size of it and suddenly worried if it would hurt. I cried out in pleasure when he finally entered me, filling me to the brim. He yanked my head up with a tight grip in my hair so he could force me to watch us in the mirror. The entire scene was sinful. A clown fucking me from behind, my breasts nearly spilling out from the top of my dress from how hard he was thrusting into me, and the blissed out look on my face. 

“Your fear is strong,” Pennywise said through gritted teeth, his grip on my hair and the other on my hip bruising. “It lingers on your skin and I can smell it.”

He sniffed the crook of my neck when he leaned over me, his tongue lapping up the sweat that gathered there. I couldn’t speak, too paralyzed by the orgasm that was about to rip through me. Pennywise removed the grip from my hair to wrap his hand around my throat, nearly cutting off my airway with how strong it was. Stars danced at the edge of my vision when I felt my consciousness slowly slip through his fingers. I was ready to succumb to the darkness, letting it swallow me whole, but before I could, Pennywise removed his grip from around my throat to grip my other hip, now fucking me down to the floor. The sound of skin on skin echoed loudly against the glass of the mirrors along with our shared groans.

I writhed against the dirty carpet, the friction somehow feeling like heaven against my skin, and his cock still inside of me for a very long moment. I expected to feel his warm cum shoot inside of me but there was nothing. I looked at our reflection once more and nearly gasped. No longer was there a clown behind me but a gorgeous human with bright blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. Brown hair soft as feathers fell into his eyes but he made no movement to brush it away. 

“Gonna fill you up,” the human version of Pennywise muttered under his breath, a soft finger pressing circles against my clit.

Neither of us lasted much longer, both sharing our releases together, and I felt his cum leak down my inner thigh onto the ground beneath us. Breathless, I fell completely spent and let my eyes shut for a second to gather myself. Even though I couldn’t see him, I felt Pennywise’s presence loom over me in the red lit room. 

“Open your eyes for me, pretty girl,” his voice spoke in my mind. 

Barley opening them, I saw his clown form in the mirror pocketing my panties before lifting my head up to gaze at him. 

“We will soon take our long rest together,” he wheezed, brushing his lips over mine in a barely there kiss. 

Before I could return it, he was gone, leaving me alone in Hells Mouth. 

[goozeghost]

art block a bitch so here's a shiddy traditional doodle of a certain construct while i try to remember how to draw 😔💔😓

got some new lining pens tho so art block fears me. 🤞

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a beautiful little lie. [chapter 1] l Harry Castillo

Summary:  you are the personal assistant of Harry Castillo, a wealthy entrepreneur who asks you to go with him to his friend's wedding. there you meet your ex-boyfriend and things get out of hand

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, friends to lovers (maybe?), one pregnant woman, some alcohol, two broken hearts, one lie

A/N: I'm not sure if I should have posted this. But I couldn't help myself because this story has been in my head for two days and if I don't get it out I'm going to go crazy. Let me know what you think and if I should continue. Thanks to the people who put up with my doubtful ranting. please be gentle with me.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist][Harry Castillo masterlist] [a beautiful little lie- series masterlist]

"I told you that you should put up a signpost or sprinkle crumbs on the floor."

There was a sigh on the other end of the phone, and you smiled to yourself. You drove Harry Castillo to the brink of madness. “You’ve been to my apartment so many times, so why haven’t you learned the layout yet? You know where my office is.”

"I don't know." you replied, pouting your lip. "Maybe because it's a real maze?"

"Where are you?"

“I’m standing in front of some weird sculpture.” You looked at this piece of art, which was probably worth a few thousand dollars, for five minutes, Harry probably thought you were wandering around his penthouse.

Another sigh. He was already close to breaking down, but he tried to sound calm. His low, warm voice resonated in your receiver again. "How weird is this sculpture?"

"Weird enough."

You could barely contain your laughter when you heard a muffled "Jesus Christ." You adjusted the folders you were holding in your arms, looking around the spacious hallway. The conclusion appeared in your head that Harry would soon start looking for you himself, so you spoke up.

"I see the kitchen on the right."

"Great. So go left." He rubbed his eyes with his hand and leaned back in the chair. He could hear your footsteps in the receiver. "You should pass three rooms on the left, then turn right and..."

"Oh!"

A strange shiver ran down his spine. "What's that 'oh' supposed to mean?"

You cleared your throat. "Harry, this room is weird. I didn't expect that from you..."

"W-What? What are you talking about..."

"These whips, the leather... Jesus. And this?" There was silence for a moment. Harry thought it would take forever. "How is that supposed to fit in there? It won't fit. Or maybe..."

“What the hell?!” he shot up in his chair. “Where are you?” but out of the corner of his eye he noticed the door to his office open.

His assistant stood there, clutching a folder of documents to her chest and the most disarming smile on her face. He rolled his eyes, unsure whether he should fire her or kill her.

"Gotcha!" You chuckled and entered the office with a determined step "I brought what you asked for."

Harry Castillo, CEO of a large multi-million dollar company, watched as his assistant placed a folder of documents and Chinese takeout in front of him. It was supposed to be another Friday night, where you try to plan the coming week instead of trying your luck at bars or watching TV on the couch.

You had worked for him for almost a year, and your relationship had quickly changed from formal to friendly. Although you still called him Mr. Castillo at work, you were both more casual outside of that setting.

The job was very fulfilling, but your personal life was a complete mess. Apart from a few friends at work, there wasn't much going on there. But the pay was decent, and your boss was a really nice guy, so...

"Mark said he'd send the report tonight. That email you were waiting for also arrived." you said, sitting down on the comfortable chair in front of his desk and quickly scrolling through your phone "Mrs. Smith asked to contact you after the weekend. She has a few questions about the contract."

It wasn't until you tore your gaze away from the screen that you noticed Harry watching you intently from behind the desk, his dark eyes fixed on you. The white T-shirt hugged his broad, strong shoulders nicely, and a smile played on his lips.

"Is something wrong?" you asked uncertainly.

"I need you." Harry replied. Now a strange shiver ran down your spine and you gripped your phone tighter.

"What do you mean?"

He tilted his head without taking his gaze off you. "I need a woman."

He watched with delight as your eyes widened and your mouth parted in silent surprise. It took a lot of effort not to burst out laughing at the sight.

"A w-women?" you finally repeated in a choked voice "In what sense? To what? No! Don't tell me!"

You squeezed your eyes shut, raising your hands as if you wanted to stop him, although Harry was still sitting at his desk and still just staring at you.

Finally he decided to take pity on you. “A good friend of mine is getting married on Saturday. I want you to go with me.”

You opened one eye, then the other, and burst out laughing. “No, no, no!” you shook your head. “Good joke. I go with you to client meetings, not to your friends’ weddings. You have many friends, beautiful women, why don’t you invite any of them?”

Harry leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He was a handsome man, and you were sure there were plenty of women who would love to go to a party like this with him.

"Maybe I've already asked them and you're the only one left, darling?"

“Ouch, that hurt.” you mumbled, squinting. “I’ll have to say no too. I don’t have…”

"I'll buy you a dress tomorrow, no problem. The wedding is in the afternoon, so we'll make it." He smiled at you as if the decision had already been made and you had no other choice.

“Harry…” You sighed. “That’s not the point. You know, I… I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” He frowned, so you tried to explain. “These people, your friends, aren’t my world. They’re always so beautiful and dazzling, and I…”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Do you think I'm some kind of higher class or something? A better species of human?”

"Can I be honest? On the Titanic you would definitely have first class. I would have been below deck."

“Jesus!” he laughed and shook his head. “I assure you, honey, you will be the most interesting person at this wedding. I know what I mean. Besides, you will be with me. If this ship sinks, you can take the door, I won’t argue with you about it.”

You shook your head, smiling slightly and not believing that you had given in to him.

The place looked like it was cut out of a wedding magazine. Your eyes moved from the crystal chandelier, to the tables covered with snow-white tablecloths, to the vases with beautiful bouquets of flowers. Soft music flowed from the corner of the room where a band made up of several professional musicians stood.

You almost jumped when someone placed a hand on your back. "Harry, don't do that." You said, feeling your heart speed up.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" he asked, smiling friendly. He looked stunning in a well-tailored suit and styled hair. When you nodded, he led you to your table.

He could see that you were stressed. Although you looked stunning in your dress, which beautifully emphasized your curves, and many eyes were looking after you, you kept smiling nervously and were rather silent. It wasn't like you so Harry did everything to cheer you up, and he was great at it. 

He didn't leave you alone with people you didn't know for long, his arm always served as your support and he made you laugh whenever he had the chance. That evening would have passed pleasantly if not for the fact that when you were coming back from the bathroom you heard a familiar voice that froze you. Someone said your name and when you turned around you saw him.

"Daniel! What a surprise! What are you doing here?" you smiled even though you had the impression that someone had just squeezed your insides with a vice.

A tall and slim brunette approached you smiling, the suit he was wearing looked really impressive. "It's my friend's wedding. And what are you doing here? Are you a friend?"

"I'm accompanying someone." you replied.

Daniel nodded in appreciation. "I came with my wife. Do you remember Beth?"

Oh, you remembered Beth. Very well to be honest. It was for her that he left you three years ago. You followed your gaze to the place he indicated and saw a beautiful blonde with a nicely rounded belly. Something sharp must have pierced your heart, but you bravely smiled.

"Still looking for a job?" Daniel leaned slightly towards you. "A friend of mine is looking for a secretary. He runs a construction company, I can give you his number."

"Thank you, but I'm not looking for a job right now. I'm happy with what I have."

Daniel shrugged. "You've never needed much, have you?"

The words got stuck in your throat. For a few moments you didn't know what to answer, and at the same time you were afraid that whatever left your lips would be immediately turned against you. Daniel was a master at this.

Suddenly, someone said your name again and in the back of the room you noticed Harry, who was walking away from a group of elegant-looking men and heading towards you.

"It's Harry Castillo." Daniel mumbled, straightening up. "I didn't know he was here."

"Yeah, it's his good friend's wedding. We came together and..."

"You're with Harry Castillo?"

It was too easy. You knew perfectly well that you shouldn't do it, but your lips moved before your brain had time to react properly. "Yes, we're here together."

It wasn't a lie. Not completely.

"I was worried about you." Harry said, walking over to you and smiling politely at Daniel. He quickly extended his hand in greeting.

"Daniel Stevens." He introduced himself. "I'm a lawyer."

"Nice to meet you." Harry looked at you expectantly.

"Daniel and I, we've known each other for a while. And this is his wife, Beth."

A pretty blonde walked up to you and Daniel put his arm around her, straightening up proudly. A woman like her was definitely the crowning achievement of his career. You weren't cut out for this. 

Even though you kept a smile on your lips, the whole conversation felt like a speeding bus was heading towards you. Harry was as polite as ever and didn't even bat an eyelid when Daniel mentioned "She said that you are together. It must be something new, because nothing has spread around town yet."

"We want to keep it private. You understand, Daniel." Harry replied smoothly and without hesitation, placing his hand on the small of your back and looking at you fondly. "A woman like that is a treasure, I want to enjoy her before we show ourselves to the world."

Daniel nodded as if he understood what Harry meant, and Beth let out a fond sigh. After a few moments, you said goodbye and Harry led you towards the door.

“Do you want to tell me more?” he asked quietly, more amused than angry.

You shook your head. "Just throw me under the car." you muttered "Damn! I knew I shouldn't have come here."

Harry immediately sensed that something was wrong. You seemed more tense and withdrawn during the whole conversation. "Who was that?" he asked.

You took a deep breath. "My ex-boyfriend. And Beth... That's the woman he left me for. And as you can see, she's pregnant now. Wonderful, right?" you tried to laugh, but it came out so fake that you quickly fell silent.

"So that's why you told him that you and I... That we're together?"

You stopped. You looked so pathetic that his heart almost broke.

"I didn't lie to him. Not really." you finally said. "I told him that we were here together. Daniel took it differently."

“So maybe I should explain it to him?” Harry made a move as if to go back to the party and find Daniel, but you quickly grabbed his arm.

"No, please!" you groaned. "Don't make me feel even worse. This whole situation is already embarrassing enough. Daniel will forget about it by tomorrow."

"If you say so." Harry sighed and put his arm around you. "Come on, I'll take you home. It's been a long day."

You were quiet as you climbed into the backseat of his car, your gaze barely leaving the window as the driver drove you through the dark city. Harry didn't say a word either, respecting your silence. But this wasn't how he expected the evening to end.

It wasn’t until you were standing in front of your apartment that he heard your quiet voice. “Thank you, Harry. And I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

He smiled, and at the same time, a small smile appeared on your lips. He reached for your hand and squeezed it lightly. “You always have me by your side. And you can always count on me.”

"I know. Thank you."

He watched you for a moment longer, then you said goodbye to him and the driver and got out, leaving him alone.

Harry Castillo had almost everything a man his age could ever want. A thriving company that was making millions, a penthouse in the heart of New York City, and an expensive car. But the expensive suits he wore and the clothes made of the best materials couldn't hide what he really lacked. Closeness.

Although he was surrounded by many people, when the door to his 12 million apartment closed behind him, he felt really lonely. Harry was slowly approaching fifty and was starting to wonder if it wasn't a bit too late for him. Maybe he had missed a moment in his life?

Yes, he had met many beautiful women, had gone on dates, but it was never long-term, and that was exactly what he was looking for. He wanted someone who could be just his, who would love him and ask how his day was. Someone he could watch stupid movies with on the couch, go on vacation, or just be bored. Was he asking for too much?

"Do we really have to do this today? Everyone has gone home." The door to his office slammed shut, and then he heard a dull thud as you plopped down on the couch. Harry smiled to himself and turned away from the huge window that overlooked the city at night.

"We'll get this over with in a minute and then I'll drop you home. Is that okay with you?" he asked, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling up the sleeves.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. "I'm not sure. I could have snuck out with the others."

"My personal assistant tells me things like that?" he frowned, but at the same time smiled and sat down next to you. "It's just some folders to look through. It'll take us an hour at most. Would you like a drink?"

You shook your head and lifted the mug of tea you had brought with you. You grabbed the first folder and flipped through it. "You have a sponsors' party this week. I've cleared the evening and morning for you."

"Thank you."

For a moment, you were both focused on your work. You were putting the next reviewed documents on the empty chair, and the room was filled with your quiet typing on the laptop keyboard. Harry took a sip of whiskey and glanced in your direction.

You were so focused that you completely ignored him. A small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows as your eyes ran over the next lines of text.

“Would you like to go to this party with me?” he asked, breaking the silence, and when you looked at him, he added, ��We’ve been having quite a bit of fun together lately.”

“Do you really think so?” you were surprised, remembering Daniel and the situation that had taken place at the wedding. “Can’t you bring one of your friends with you? You were dating Jean recently, right? What about her?”

Harry shook his head and smacked his lips. “It’s over. I don’t know if it’s even started, though.” He shrugged, and you felt sorry for him. Harry was a really great guy, even though he was your boss. Handsome, tall, well-mannered, he always made the people around him feel seen.

“Can I be honest?” you asked, putting your work aside for a moment, and Harry’s brown eyes landed on you expectantly. “I feel like you’ve jumped headfirst into a pool without even knowing how much water there is. I mean, when you meet someone and you just go for it. Expensive restaurants, gifts, flowers, weekends together… You fulfill all their dreams and whims, and yet you don’t want anything in return. I wonder where you are in all of this.”

Harry analyzed your words for a moment, until he finally spoke. "So you think I should..."

"You should really get to know someone first. And then they should get to know you too. Because you have a lot to offer, and I don't mean money or anything like that. But the real you..."

Silence fell after your words. You stared at Harry's profile, his prominent nose, the fine lines around his eyes, you noticed a few grey hairs at his temple. He was really handsome and you were surprised that you had to explain such things to him.

Finally, he moved his gaze to your face again. "How is it possible that you are still single?"

You smiled sadly. "I am a lot to handle."

"Not true. Who told you that?"

But you didn’t answer that question. Harry could tell you were sad, though you tried to hide it by looking back at your computer screen. “I think we should get back to work.” You finally said. “We don’t have much left.”

For a moment his attentive gaze rested on you, analyzing your words.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[sheeezu]

Emergency shift, tonight.

Another step by step guide, but this time it's mainly focused on how to shift when you'd do anything rather than stay in this wicked reality, perfect for permashifters or anyone frustrated with their current living situation in general.

OK, so I made this method in my WR, since I can't possibly "shift" here (I can switch realities on command by intending, so shifting isn't an activity for me anymore, I don't need to do methods), so last night i went to my WR, with as much skills I had before my first shift, I had an infinite time to figure out the perfect I need to get the hell out of here shifting method.

:)

Step 1, Morning: (divide this into four parts, morning, afternoon, evening and night)

Yes, you woke back in your CR, but don't think about that, get into the mindset that you're happy and you'll shift tonight.

First of all, drop all tasks from the CR, stop, don't do assignments or anything, don't focus on your CR.

Afterwards, what you need to do now is relax yourself, go ahead and pick something to do that you enjoy, so you can divert yourself from overthinking about shifting (personal recommendation, Sims 1 :) listens to subliminals in the background, don't worry about them if you think you have a strong enough mindset.

Don't completely abandon your CR body, don't just become a robot, eat, talk with your family (don't if you're not a fan of them). Avoid shifting forums as much as you can, mainly because there is always something irrational on there which could possibly discourage you.

Quick tldr for this step: relax, calm yourself down, listen to subliminals.

Step 2, Afternoon:

If you're developing a headache or feeling light-headedness due to the excessive subliminal listening then that's good, it means your brain is absorbing the affirmations.

Now, trick your human brain by listening to subliminal boosters, but only those ones which repeat playlists by million, billion, trillion, or zillion or something, it won't matter how effective the subliminal is, as long as you believe the title to be truth, then trust me, it'll work like promised.

After you're finished with your subliminal run, top it off with one of wrath's seal and you're good to go, you're now mentally prepared to shift, and you are in a perfect mindset. (wrath, the subliminal creator, in my opinion their subliminals, especially the boosters are the strongest; search wrath's second seal, in my opinion it's the strongest one in the series).

._.

Now you have eye strain or something, get up, go sit outside for a moment, stare at the trees, birds, skies, and start daydreaming-!

(Don't worry, I didn't tell you to touch grass, you can stay indoors, but, daydream :)

Daydream about your sweet sweet DR, if you're going to your WR, just imagine all the fun things you'll get to do there, or visualize your WR (or script; meaning revise how you made your WR to be like)

OK, back to the DR part, daydreaming can be done in many ways, perhaps you'd like to zone out and fall into deep contemplation about your actions in your DR, kind of like a case study (for me, bringing up old events from my teenage years or something, specific memories arise which didn't make sense; like me ignoring someone I like, and try to figure out why I did it, this all strengthens your bond with your DR)

Or you could simply rewind your memories in your DR, or what you've planned for the upcoming days, what you were doing before shifting, my recommendation would be to kind of add lots of "too much information" like, where did you place the honey after you had finished baking that cake? Didn't you had to put a new bar of soap in the bathroom? Didn't you broke the button of your favorite coat yesterday?

Or If you're good at visualising, you can simply live an entire day in your DR (perhaps not an entire day, just visualise your morning routine)

Another good one, if you can't visualise or don't feel like it, open Pinterest, scroll through your home feed, and try to relate the pins you see to your DR (I was just about to buy that shirt; I swear I saw that exact same house somewhere; that cat looks exactly like my sister's cat)

Feel like your DR self now? If not you're definitely getting excited and prepared by now.

Step 3, Evening:

Now it's time to attach yourself firmly to your DR self.

Consume media which remind you of your DR self, try your luck with Character ai, maybe it'll make sense for once (make your own bots, add a little description of your DR self within the character details, the bot will remember your details, ask ill share a template :) your spotify playlist + pinterest, remind yourself, your DR is very much real, if it's possible, close your eyes periodically for a few minutes, imagine making decisions like your DR self, and facing the consequences right after; or you can have a small conversation with your loved ones, keep it related to your DR.

Eventually, you'll be led to nightfall, it's time to go home.

Step 4, Night:

Listen to the subliminals you've listened to during the day, again, for an hour at least, if you're doubting yourself, or feeling like you won't be able to do it, try to distract yourself by a memory from your DR or something, or simply, already get into you're DR self's mindset, say "affirmations" like these:

"What the heck is going on in my mind? Why am I thinking about shifting, I've already got so much work to do." (That was an example, get creative :)

If you're ready to start shifting, lay down in a comfortable position (or sit up but lean back on comfy pillows if you're in fear of falling asleep) take a few deep breaths, if you like meditation then do so, but it's not at all necessary, just relax.

....

Now shift (just kidding, use my method which I've explained thoroughly in my first post, follow it and no doubt you'll shift, you're invincible.)

...

I am very self assured in my method btw. Also I'll try not to be lazy and answer the questions in my inbox dw.

I'll also upload my script, since for once I've finally stopped crying about permashifting in every post.

Good luck, you'll shift tonight, no doubt.

Remember to look at shrimp colors at least once in your waiting room.

[chuluoyi]

only if you are up for a challenge. Naoya Zenin x f!reader in which he got her pregnant, then she left out of fear and he found her again and won't let her go :)))

when you loved me

- zen'in naoya x reader

you loved him... but you have had enough of the shit you've experienced—his arrogance, horrible family and another woman—and decided to leave him for the sake of yourself and your child

genre/warnings: angst to comfort, implied cheating, most likely ooc, honestly i almost made it a vs naoya fic with no consolation, happy ending aka naoya is decent

note: this ask... has been collecting dust in my askbox for about SIX MONTHS HAHAH, so sorry anon. i'll just leave it here and let it burn however just bc i don’t want to delete what i’ve written :’)

general masterlist

"How... how could you?"

Once, you thought, you were in love with Zen'in Naoya.

Well, you couldn't deny that he had personality flaws, but deep down, at one point in your life, you still believed that he too loved you.

You stared at him through tears brimming in your eyes, and he was just there, looking at the little being in your arms with a mix of shock and... something else you couldn't name. Dismay? Disappointment? Black rage?

"Go away, Naoya," you declared through your gritted teeth, pulling the baby in your arms even closer to you, as though fearing he might do something drastic. No way in hell would you let him after what he made you go through.

His eyes twitched as he tried to hold himself back from losing it. He took a few deep breathes in order to stay composed.

“Y/N, answer me,” he growled, still with the same condescending tone you remembered nine months ago, when you resolutely decided to leave him. “Is that baby mine?”

This was absolute madness. You had driven him insane. Naoya was certain he would go feral on you after you boldly left him without a trace, and when he found you, you were cradling this baby in your arms—which he was absolutely sure, enough to bet on his life, that the little thing was also his.

The woman he loves has given birth to his child.

You had imagined all sort of scenarios in which this very event would occur. This was one of them actually.

“No,” you firmly replied, gaze hardening. “Not yours. So kindly let yourself out of my house, Naoya.”

“Absolute bullshit!” he shouted and you flinched. His sudden rise of voice also woke the poor baby in your arms.

His heart hammered inside his chest. There were many things that made a mess of his head. You running away from him. The nights of madness he went through, wondering where you were and if you were alright. And now, the fact you had his baby without him ever knowing.

“Where were you? Why did you leave— you were having my—”

Fuck, he didn’t even know if he had a son or daughter.

You tried to console your child, now tears also streaming down your cheeks too. But it was more of frustration and anger rather than fear. “Can you blame me? Zen’in Naoya, you have made my life hell!”

“Hell?” It felt like an total insult to his pride. “How—!”

“You!” you screamed at his face. “I’ve had enough of your shit! And not to mention your father—that horrible drunkard who always looks down on me and treats me as if I were some gold digger! And also the whole of your goddamn, entitled clan—they always harass me right in front of my face!”

All of this stunned him on this place. Truth to be told, he knew a little to nothing at all about what his kin had done to you.

“I don’t need your family’s wealth! I can live on my own just fine even with your bastard!” Your tirade still hadn’t ended, but you had to put your baby on her cot first and dismiss her ever growing cries because you were tired of all of this. This life. This absolute nightmare that was caused by one fatal mistake of falling in love with Zen’in Naoya.

“But what the fuck? You’re asking why I left? How dare you ask me that after what you did!”

“What did I even do?!” His denial made a blood vessel about to burst inside your brain. “You never fucking told me what my father did! If only you did, I would have—”

“Look, you don’t even acknowledge it!” You were so tired of this. You wished you could die and just end all of this mental suffering. Why did this have to happen to you out of a billion people out there?

And yet, still, ultimately, you were happy with him. Those memories of the two of you together, just idyllically spending time together, or sometimes even playfully clashing opinions— to you, they were irreplaceable.

So, that's why...

Your heart shattered at the screeching cries of your baby. But you had to slam this in Naoya’s face.

“That was the last straw—seeing you with that fucking woman, you insufferable, demented, cheating bastard!”

That string of profanities you screamed at his face made Naoya finally lost it, as he gripped you tightly and his eyes flared with pure white-hot anger. “Say that again—say that again, you—!”

A toe-curling scream ripped out of your baby and you wrenched yourself out of his grasp through sheer will. Naoya was left reeling as he watched your horrified expression, as you plucked the baby into your arms again.

“Shh, shh,” you shushed your child amidst your own quivering lips. “Mama is here… Don’t cry…”

Right at that moment, it was as if something had pierced his chest and left a gaping hole. He really had a living baby. That baby was crying because of him.

The sting of the anger was still there, but now guilt started to overpower it as he regained his cool somewhat. “Is that a—” his breath hitched. He had to know. At the very, very least he had to know.

You didn’t immediately answer. You were still absolutely heartbroken by how it all turned out. But above all else, you could no longer deny him of his own child.

“A girl,” you sniffled.

A daughter. A daughter— in the one split second after knowing that, Naoya made the quickest decision of his life.

“Come back. Live with me,” he said, resolute. “You’re the mother of my child—I won’t let anyone lay their hand on you again. You have my word.”

Women are pain in the ass. That was what he used to think. Until you. Not when it's you. It astounded even himself how the sight of you like this was enough to drive knives into his chest.

“Look, that’s not it,” your tears were now falling free and fast, unable to hold it back longer. “How can you ask me that—when you went behind my back with another woman? Naoya, I love you—loved you. But isn’t this too cruel? How can you do this to me?”

“What woman are you talking about?” He tried to compose himself, but your accusation of him with someone whose existence he didn’t even know was getting in his nerves. “I have never been unfaithful to you! I know we don't always agree to things, but do you really think that low of me?”

“Evidently, I saw you with her. Your father made it a point that she’s your next plaything—or possibly even, fiancée!”

There was a memory that sprung into his head when you mentioned that. He recalled that vain, stupid woman, and he definitely remembered telling his father that he refused her. It wasn’t long before you disappeared.

Now everything clicked.

“Listen to me,” Naoya started, jaw clenching. “Whatever my father told you—those are all lies. I turned her down right there and then. I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that. You should have known that.”

Sobs wrecked your body and soul at this point. You knew where your place was. Zen’in Naoya was a man outside your league, his family made it so clear to you that you were nothing but dirt in their eyes. And perhaps that was why, back then, you chose to protect yourself and left him, believing he was capable of that too.

And now before you, you could see the man you loved once again.

“Come back to me.” His gaze burned you. “This time, for sure, I won’t let anyone touch you— I won’t let them even say a word about you! I will marry you, and we will raise our daughter together.”

“I… I don’t want to live there, Naoya…” you sobbed. You hated that place. Like hell would you have your pride stomped and deceived again.

“Alright, if that’s what you want. We won’t live there. You won’t have to see any of their faces again.”

Gazing into your face, marked by trails of tears, he finally, finally felt his heart break. And he thought, that in front of him now was the only woman who could upturn his whole trajectory.

“Just… come back. To me. I will take care of you. I swear it.”

[kooyabooya]

FREUDIAN

rosé x m reader

24k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?”

“We can’t cancel it.”

“Too late for us to do that, no?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rosé-” 

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

“Okay, you win.” 

“Good.” 

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By this, you mean-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s that.) 

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

“You-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

But here’s the thing. 

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

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

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

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

So, you make that leap.

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

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

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

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

–

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

First time for everything, remember?”)

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, go on ahead.” 

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll manage. Thanks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

- 

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

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

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

Click. 

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

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

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

There’s no fucking way. 

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

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

“I think I’ve heard enough from you.” 

“Babe, if you just let me explain-” 

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

I thought you were different. 

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

You were supposed to be different.

–

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

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

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

In hindsight, it just really fucking sucks. 

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

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

“No. Dingus.” 

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

Rosé. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.” 

“But-” 

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My god, this woman- 

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

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

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

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

“Look. Rosé, we really shouldn't-” 

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

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

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

“Mmmmm.” 

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

“Oh, oh fuck-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Hangovers. They’re the worst. 

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

Although this would be the exception- 

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

“Here’s the thing: I’m not you.” 

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?” 

“I know you are. Slightly.” 

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

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

Your head twists back towards her. “Hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” 

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

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

“Are you sure?” 

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

“Okay,” you murmur, massaging your temple. 

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the matcha order gets called up, perfect timing. 

–

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

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

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

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

“Right. I’ll do exactly that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

“Now why would I?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-you-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tempting.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

“Not a soul. Promise.”)

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Corny.” 

“And?” 

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

“First of all, ouch.” 

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

“That’s-” 

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

jen: can you please call me? 

jen: i’ll explain everything 

jen: i’m worried sick 

jen: pls just come home

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

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

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

She’s in the middle of the walkway now. 

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

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

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

You’re back following her in a heartbeat. 

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saying that I went too far?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

And that’s when you see her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw. So thoughtful.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I will.” 

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

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

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

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

“Ros-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, yes- fuck-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, the fucking mess. Rosé-” 

And the sigh is just heavenly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you rasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You land your lips on hers to ease her mind. “In your nose, Rosie. Like so. There we go. Leave your pussy to me. You’re so good, you’re so so good.” 

Rosé’s head knocks into yours; a fierce wail pierces your ears. You can feel the clench a little tighter when you bottom yourself out; her stomach is moving in a concerning motion. Her gaze on you is almost a mix of shock, tears welling up in her eyes. 

You’re kissing her again, swallowing her cry. “Shhhh.” you comfort her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” you hush, wrapping your arm to her lower back so she can stay close. “You can cum again baby, I won’t hold you back.” 

Her head goes sideways, the first domino to fall. You can see her mouth shape into something coherent - probably a dragged-out wheeze, okay, fuck, just, yes. 

“More, please, give me more,” she says. “Your cock, its- fuck, baby- I-” 

“I know sweetheart,” you croon, impaling your cock deep in her cunt. “I’m working with you here. You’ll let me use your pretty little pussy whatever way you like, huh?” 

It’ll be seconds before Rosé cums again, the wear and tear your minds and bodies are having are reaching its peak. The other times of fucking were just a competition of who can get off the other first. This time it was different; now it was getting someone over the edge first over the other - no telling how far this has gone on the scales of fucked up. 

She mouths a ‘yeah’, and the situation has never been more clear. You have to fuck her. You can’t help yourself. The nodding is only prompting you to keep going, her voice completely shattered. “Just- use me.” 

Right in the clamp of her melting cunt. In the tightening of her legs. 

“Fucking-” she’s sobbing at this point; you’ve got yourself in the prime position to where your cockhead hits the deepest spot of her cunt. “s-so good. That’s so fucking good, you’re pounding me so well-” 

She shrieks when you’ve pushed her past that brink. You’re entirely certain that it was your doing. 

This was the swan song you’ve sought out to hear. A hymn played in a time of reflection - collecting your thoughts and offering them to Rosé, hoping that she can accept your blessings and absolve you of your crimes, ordaining yourself to all good actions from this point moving forward. You’ll take this liturgy for as long as you’d like; worshiping her body and listening to all the psalms that are coming out of her mouth, holding her close as she rides out the lasting remnants of her orgasm - your name as a saint’s prayer and one that she’ll keep on speaking in tongues with over and over and over until she believes it to be true. You confess, through these harsh thrusts into her cunt with your cock, choking on the vice with a vicious finesse at the angle. 

(You’d wish you stayed at the cathedral a little longer than you did that day; confessing your sins was always going to be easier than pouring a heart out for someone who ripped it right out of you.) 

“Amazing,” you praise, and Rosé does this mix of a smile and a wince when you’re wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Her hands guide yours down to the crease of her hips, enabling you to rock her cunt down like the lovely woman that she is. 

Her voice is rattled, helpless. Like she’s been chopped up, the cracks clear as day where the faults formed. “Want- want it- I want your cum, so fucking bad, please-” 

You grin when she grins, finally reaping the reward when you tug yourself up and splatter your cum all over her body. Her chest does this circular motion, arms digging deep into the mattress beneath her, wanting her skin to be soaked so well with your release. She can’t stop moaning. She doesn’t want to stop moaning. 

“Finally,” she sighs, whimpering, mouth twisting to a satisfied smile at the corners. “God, it’s so fucking much.” 

Her hand picks up the mess spread across her waist, wraps it around your cock in no time flat. The laugh she lets out when you groan is just sinister. 

Two can play that game.

She freezes when you slide your cum-soaked cock back into her dripping cunt; listen closely at the mere gush as you slide in once more. 

“Babe-” 

You push. 

“Think I can give more, just for good measure,” reassuring, and you hold her down so hard that the next load you give is caught deep inside her cunt. 

Pushing it all back in, where it stays. 

Her eyes pinch - and there’s no voice to be heard. All that’s shown is her slacked jaw, the air in her lungs passing through, soon filled with the shape of your lips pressed against hers. 

"It's so- it's so fucking warm inside me, baby-"

"Yeah?"

Rosé sniffles again as her body tries to shudder out the cum leaking from her slit. You don't let it happen though.

You keep breathing her in; she brackets your hips with what little strength she has left. It doesn’t take much, and you know. 

Because Rosé’s got you right where she wants, to the point where your bodies are so well molded into one where each heartbeat and thought are the same, feeling the suction of her pussy wrapped around your cock like it’s the missing piece. Half of ones together make a whole. Your cock fits so well. Above the soreness and debauchery. Once the mess is finally made. Where you’ll want to keep your cock warm and settled until you or her have finally had enough. She’s speaking nonsense still; and you just- keep- fucking going. Fucking into her cunt like it's the only thing you know how to do. Even when the throbbing subsides. 

Until you decide to fully embrace her. 

The heat’s still present where it stays; you don’t even make a move to clean yourself up - it’s too early for that. Instead, the sheets are pulled over you and her, take her fingers in your hands, and hold them right as they are. 

You look at the clock on the nightstand; a little before midnight. “We’re showering together, right?” Rosé pouts her lips, burrowing her head into the space of your collarbone, hand held up and over scratching your hair. 

“Yeah,” she says, nestling her head further up against your chest. “A few minutes here, please. With me. Stay with me.” The disarm is already in effect, and you wonder if you’re at the right place and at the right time; where your heart should be, it’s a brief period of pensiveness. 

–

You blacked out. When your vision comes to, there’s nothing much for your eyes to see except the endless void of darkness that stretches over the room until the glow from the streetlights below breaks through the window. Each blink you do makes you wonder how much time has passed - along with the countless questions of what’s to come next. The thrum of your heart pounds heavy against your ears, but you’re breathing, and alive. You also notice that the space on your right side is a lot lighter compared to earlier, the quick rush of anxiety plaguing your mind. 

That all changes when you look out the window again, specks of white floating down gracefully. 

It’s snowing again. 

“Oh, you’re up,” Rosé’s voice instantly reels you, towel wrapped around her neck and in some comfortable clothes. “I was just about to wake you.” She crawls back on the bed to your side and kisses your cheek. The moment alone holding your heart in limbo. “Sorry, I thought I’d get ahead and use the shower first. You looked so peaceful sleeping.” 

Only she would be the one to blame for that. 

“Why are you dressed up?” You ask, fixing your posture and leaning into Rosé’s face for another quick kiss. She draws away playfully, wagging her head a ‘no’ that makes you lean back as a result. “We would’ve saved water if we went together.” 

“It’s fine,” Rosé tuts, ruffling your hair. “Go shower and get dressed. I wanna go for a walk.” 

“Really? Why? Right now? It’s late.” 

“But it’s also Christmas,” Rosé adds, walking away while you’re finally sitting on the edge of the bed. “We won’t be out for long. And besides, what’s wrong with a little more cardio?” 

You give her a smirk at the end in agreement. Her feet are cemented in place until you reach forward with an arm, pulling her in. Once reeled she tilts her head in surrendering because she knows that you'd be clingy without explicitly saying it.

She's back on your lap. She's yours. She can be yours again. A wish that you want to make true.

"Gonna let me go?" Rosé asks, giggling, and you kiss her.

"Maybe," you answer, leaning up for another peck since it's not hurting anybody. "Just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas."

–

When the snowflakes hit your skin, part of you on the inside is jumping for joy. It’s even better as your ears are filled with Rosé’s contagious laughter, running up the sidewalk and picking up clumps of snow in her hand. 

You make sure to be right behind her, for as much as you can.

–

“This whole thing has been a blast,” she says, slowing her pace when you and she are on the edge of a bridge. In the late hours in the city, where anyone could get away with anything, it’s just you and her - five feet apart from each other, walking along, wandering wherever your feet go. “An absolute dream come true for me. For us.”

The snow starts to land on your head along with your shoulders. 

“Part of me makes me wonder,” Rosé continues, hands wrapped around her long scarf, keeping her neck warm, nodding her head side to side when her eyes eventually land on the sea of locks put on the fencing of the bridge. She knows exactly where she is. You know exactly where she took you. “Would any of this be different if we didn’t go our separate ways?” 

“It’s a pretty good thought,” you tell her. Your exhale shows your warm breath dissipating into the cold air, causing you to bunch up your shoulders to your ears to make the heat stay. “Makes me wonder if you’d put it in your old diary back in middle school.” 

“Hey. Fuck you.” 

You shrug your shoulders with a smirk and walk closer to her. “I know you. You would.” 

Her feet stop at a random padlock just underneath the railing. She slides it into her palm, examining it. It’s not anybody she knows in particular - just the fact that what stood out to her was the neat handwriting of the initials drawn up in a Sharpie. You feel her gaze on you when you approach her side, taking a closer look at what’s in her hand, slotting your palm underneath. 

She keeps staring at the lock, leaning your face into your chest. You bury your nose in her hair, thoughts trailing to someplace where you don’t want to think about anything else. 

You point at another fancy lock decorated with gems. She points out an old-fashioned one next to you. 

‘Hey,” she says once more, looking up. The lift in your eyebrows serves as the appropriate response. Silence starts to grow between you two, the gust of wind blowing through your bodies. 

Rosé tries to read into your expression: stoic and mysterious. She knows that you’re not one to vocalize your thoughts out loud - instead, you stay quiet and listen obediently, waiting for your turn to speak when it’s the right time. A soft smirk spreads across her lips, knowing exactly what’s going on in that brain or yours. 

You wrap your arms around her and rest your chin on top of her forehead. “I think you have a general idea of what I’m thinking about right now.” 

She’s laughing into your chest, unable to look up. You look down to see what was taking her so long, only to realize that she’s hiding her tears away from the world. 

Somehow, like before, you know exactly how to comfort her when the emotions are starting to boil within her. “Rosie.” You’re saying her name softly, clutching her tighter now, the grasp of your fingers reaching to where you wish for them to stay. 

“I just wished that maybe-” and her voice breaks. Composure is starting to weigh down on your shoulders; heart rate rising in uncertainty. “Maybe if weren’t such idiots back then, we-” and the sentence doesn’t even get finished there. She’s trying so hard to put her thoughts into words, “like maybe in another life we weren’t like- well, this.” 

Her face is back in your hands, the tears building and spilling all at once. You give her a look of sorrowfulness - hopelessly, desperately, longing to make her realization a reality. 

“Memories, Rosé,” you’re telling her, “they’re all just memories. We don’t need the memories. Depreciating yourself isn’t gonna make anything better because we both grew.”

The tears well up in your eyes, too. You may be broken, but she’s also the same.

"I hope you can forgive me for a lot of things; for cutting you off and leaving you in the dark," she tells you, jaw twitching - unable to make eye contact, linking her fingers with yours, "but if there's one thing you choose to never forgive me on, my dear, is the fact that I wasted all your precious years."

(I know, you’re saying to her, in tandem with a verse that you’ll recite as penance once you and her part ways. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care about any of that. I just want the both of us to be there for each other, no matter what happens in between.) 

–

As of now, you’re mentally checked out from all the logistics once everything’s been checked in at the airport, waiting to board. Rosé’s dozed off on your arm. She thought that it was a good idea to get less than the usual six hours of sleep and her current state serves to be the consequence. The scarf draped around her shoulders was yours, adamant in wanting to save another keepsake from you; she claims that it looked better on her. (Which is a bit of an insult, you think. Though it’ll do the job of covering up the bruises along her neck just fine.) 

But, things are played out differently in the final act of the return trip. 

You hear her flight announce the boarding phase and tap her shoulder to wake her up. She shoots up instantly, blinking. Everything else falls into place: gathering her belongings, rolling up her luggage to where she can grab and go, fixing up her appearance with that one pair of sunglasses that she likes so much, but doesn’t wear just yet. You walk with her to the main walkway of the gates, getting all of the last looks you’ll possibly have in these last few moments. 

The familiarity with distance affects the healthy human mind to think of it as some sort of curse rather than a luxury - depending on the situation, you’ll take it with a grain of salt. 

Her arms are folded with her handbag and jacket, staring at you so eagerly. “So, you just gonna stay quiet this whole time or-” 

You scoff, because it’s the truth - and so like you. “Uh- well, I was just wondering,” you say, scratching your head shamelessly. “Are you sure you want go forward with this?” 

Rosé bobs her head for yes. The decision’s already been made; no point in changing it. “Unless you want to create a shit storm with our friends when we get back, then by all means go for it.” 

“Right.” you deadpan. “Just for accountability.” 

“If things do go south, you know where my flight’s headed. And given the present situation that you’re in, I’m in no position to make that choice for you,” she says, looking over to the tv board to see where her boarding gate was at. “Guess this is it, " she declares, sighing, "any last things or words you want to do or say?” 

You say something. And you do something. You pull her in for a hug, get the last whiffs of her coconut scented shampoo in her hair; she kisses you. You kiss her forehead as her eyes flutter shut; you hold her a bit too long for your liking, but tells you that she doesn’t mind. Don’t be far away, okay? At least let me catch up for once. 

She tells you: never. It’s a running inside joke. The classic game of cat and mouse, an old fabled goose chase; you’ll keep going after her even when you don’t expect it to happen. She’ll lure you back in so easily that all it doesn’t sound terrible as it seems. 

–

When you do settle on the plane, you have your moment of getting the window seat. Your eyes are getting familiar with the arraignment, how cramped the leg room is, the assortment of movies you know that you’ll sleep through. There’s a lot of things circilng around your head; either one at a time or all at once. This fever dream is coming to and end, and you’re left torn to not tell the tale. 

You check your phone and turn off do not disturb, taking in all the notifications that you missed the past few days. The work messages, fill-ins with coworkers and friends; then there’s Jennie’s messages. 

“I’m so fucked.” You manage, muttering under your breath. Tongue tip to your teeth to mentally prepare youself for what’s to come. 

–

(You keep thinking about that night on the bridge, holding Rosé in your arms - in midst of the cold weather hitting you. She tells you that this getaway was everything to her, and it’s the simplicity in the delivery that makes you want to share those snap-shot moments with her even more. Nothing else mattered to you: managing to fall in love with her all over again. 

We can try, you’re saying, we can always try again, and she smiles through the tears. You and me. Together. Properly.

“I’ve always loved the idea of starting over. It’s exciting. All of these things. All of these moments we spent together, it just felt right,” and her gaze goes crestfallen. “Never really thought that I’d come back to you, and I couldn’t be more proud.” 

And once you’re way up in the sky, it does feel like some sort of whirlpool back into the reality of life, the final fade to black shot - you look out the window and ponder: a choice can be made still. All of the stars have to align at just the right time for it to happen. It can happen. You could alter the course of the story if you just made the right calls. Maybe you will. 

Your gaze falls down to the ocean below - and maybe it’s a long shot, winding into a pipe dream. 

You’ll never realize what you can do unless you take the chance.) 

[tojissidewhore]

gojo isn’t the type of person to flaunt about how much money he has.

sure he’s wealthy, and boy he knows it. but why would that be of any concern to anybody else.

i definitely think his love language is gift giving, so he buys you a lot of expensive shit pretty much any chance he gets. weather it’s some expensive jewelry or something that reminded him of you.

point is, you know he has money, but exactly how much is uncertain to you. both of you never really talked about money, it all kind of sorted itself out naturally.

you tried to bring it up once, when you moved in together. you moved into gojos apartment so you had offered to help out with rent, but he shushed you pretty quickly, telling you not to worry about it and that it was no way near an inconvenience for him.

so instead you did more things around the house, it was your way of paying him back.

you had been dating for five years and living together for about two, when you found out just how rich your boyfriend actually was.

it was your five year anniversary and satoru wanted to make it special. so he had taken you out for dinner to a nice fancy restaurant.

"how was your food?" he asked, arms tucked underneath his chin looking at you as you finished your plate.

"good" you answered with a smile. yes your food was good, and yes the restaurant was nice. but after 3 hours of sitting there, watching the waiters put on a show and what not, you were ready to go home and have your man all to yourself.

a grin formed his face reading your thoughts exactly. when the waitress came to get your plates gojo made sure to ask for the bill, and 3 minutes later she was back with the check.

he fumbled through his wallet searching for his credit card. he paused for a second looking up at you, then back down to his wallet pulling out a card you didn’t recognize.

this credit card was black, while the one that you knew was a basic gold one. of course you knew the significance of the card he had just retrieved from his wallet (and the waitress very obviously as well, by the way her face changed at the sight of it) but you didn’t know that your boyfriend possessed such a card. he hadn’t mentioned it once.

“so, how is it that i did not know about your black amex card?” you asked discreetly. you weren’t trying to pry on him but you were genuinely curious about it.

“I guess because I almost never use it?” he said, looking at you without turning his head. “why?” he asked pulling your body closer, a small smirk forming.

“just curious” you answered cuddling into him.

“you sure?" he asked raising concerned brow.

"yea, i just didn’t know you had two cards."

"actually," he paused grinning. “i have three, or rather two and a half."

you pulled back confused. satoru lifted himself up a little bit, enough to reach over to the night stand to grab his wallet. he took out another card which you did not recognize.

"here," he said handing you over the card. “i set up a dual account for us. i know you have your account and you’re good, but you know. just in case." he smiled happily.

"i can’t accept this satoru. how the hell can you manage three accounts?"

"it’s fine baby, it’s yours as well as mine. you don’t have to feel bad about it. presides i don’t ever use my black card, i don’t need it. i just forgot mine at home earlier."

you knew the requirements or reasons to get to own a card like that, yet he rarely used it? what kind of things did he buy with this card? okay, yea. this boy had money.

later that week, after getting all of the account information from satoru, you decided to register with your phone just to have a view of the account. and god let me tell you, you almost dropped your phone.

[lulunothulu]

Always Second Choice

A/N: I’ve been in such a fluffy mood omg. Please enjoy a fantasy I’ve been thinking about all day.

TW: PURE FLUFF, some alcohol use, sad boi hours, sappiness, BUT HAPPY ENDING 💗

“Why can’t I be someone that a person loves first?”

You’d had a wild night of drinking with Phoenix after running into your ex. Seeing him always made you want to go all out, mainly because you wanted to forget about him and what he did to you. It’d been a year since you caught him in bed with another woman and you still freak out whenever you run into him at the grocery store.

Tonight wasn’t an exception. You had called Natasha to come drink with you—who called Bradley and Jake—because you desperately needed to take shots of tequila after you saw your ex with the girl he cheated on you with. She was pregnant.

“Why couldn’t he have loved me?” You had cried after three shots. “Why wasn’t I the one he chose? Why am I always someone’s second choice?”

After another three and a half shots, Jake told you to call it night.

That was the thing about Jake, he was one of the best friends you could ever ask for. No matter what—or who— he was doing, he dropped everything to make sure you were okay and safe. It’s part of the reason why you fell for him, and hard. He was the first person you’d fully loved with your whole heart. But given that you both worked together and he saw you strictly as a friend, you knew it wouldn’t have worked. And then there was his man-whore ways. He wouldn’t give that up to be with someone—let alone you.

You had drunkenly told an extremely inebriated Nat and Bradley a sloppy goodbye before Jake scooped you up and over his shoulder and gentle walked and placed you in his truck.

He’s carried you up the stairs of your shared two bedroom house and gently laid you on your bed. Even helping you undress and put on an oversized t-shirt with some basketball shorts.

“I’ll be right here if you need me,” he told you before kissing your forehead and smoothing your hair.

“You promise?” You asked.

“I promise, darling.”

You had woken up with a startle and began to panic before realizing you were home and in your bed. Flashes of the night popped into your mind and you groaned before remembering that Jake was on the floor of your room.

“Jake,” you whisper. You knew he’d still be there. He promised he would.

“Yeah?” He groggily whispers back. He must’ve been asleep.

“Why did you bring me home? Don’t you have people to see?”

“Kinda,” he groans as he sits up from the carpeted floor and turns to look at you with squinted eyes. “And I brought you home because you were babbling at the bar.”

“Oh, why are you still here? I thought you were on a date?” You ask.

“You remember that?” He chuckled. “You had nearly seven shots.”

“It’s all kinda popping into my mind,” you admit. “I’m sorry I kept you from her, whoever she was.”

“It’s fine. I was gonna cancel our hookup anyway.”

“Why?” You dared to ask.

“I had better things to be doing,” he says, turning those green eyes on you with so much kindness, you felt like you were melting.

You turn away abruptly and nod, feeling your hair fall around your face. You feel Jake’s fingers brush against your forehead before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a smile.

“Now what did you mean at the bar?” Jake asks. “You know, about being someone second choice?”

You hesitate. As much as you loved Jake, you damn sure were not going to be telling him this...at least not now.

"Nothing, I was drunk as hell," you say instead.

Jake lifts a brow before sighing and standing from the floor, looking down at you from the side of the bed. "Scoot over, the floor is hard as fuck."

You laugh but scoot over, allowing Jake to climb into bed with you with a loud sigh. His arm brushes next to your arm before settling on top, his hand squeezing yours.

"You're my first choice," he whispers.

Your heart flutters at the thought of being his first choice but then stops when you realize he probably means it in a platonic way.

"Thanks," you mutter. "At least I'm someone's first choice."

Jake shuffles to face you, a frown forming on his brow. "I mean it, Y/N. You're my first and only choice."

"Okay, Jake." You're not convinced but at least the heart was in the statement.

"Y/N," he starts, cupping your face. "Why do you think I cancelled my date?"

"To take care of my drunk ass," you chuckle.

"No," he smiles. "Because I'd hate to know Bradley's hands were the ones drying your tears, dressing you. I hate the thought of having anyone other than me taking care of you. You're my girl."

"Your girl?"

"My number one," he starts. "My day one. My ride or die. My love. Don't think I haven't noticed how annoyed you get when I'd pick up girls at Hard Deck."

Your heart was pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe Jake was telling you this, that he noticed your annoyance.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask.

He caresses your cheek before whispering, "You know why."

"No, I don't," you whisper back.

"Then let me show you."

Before you can react, Jake is sitting up and pressing his lips onto your forehead. He peppers kisses down your cheeks and nose before hovering over your lips. He’s panting softly, smiling down at you before he fully leans in.

His soft lips brush against yours and tentatively peck at them. Only when you wrap an arm around his neck does he deepen the kiss, smothering you in the best way imaginable.

His lips are wander and explore yours like an archeologist would an Egyptian tomb. His tongue pushes past your lips, wrestling with your own the taste of alcohol mixed with something sweet lingering.

Jake snakes his hand to the back of your neck, cradling your head in his hand.

“Oh, Y/N.” He moans into your mouth. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you.”

See to him, you’ve been the girl he’s been dreaming about. The one he thinks of before he goes to bed. The one he needed to distract himself from because he didn’t feel like you had feelings for him. He’s loved you from the very moment you walked onto the tarmac and chewed his ass out for flying recklessly. He’s loved you every day, every minute, every second.

Only now, when he saw you crying about being chosen second, did he think to make his move.

To hell with the friendship. He wanted more.

“Jake,” you breathlessly reply when he kisses down your neck. “You can’t mean that. It’s the alcohol talking.”

He stops kissing you, looking deep into your eyes and turning serious.

“Y/N, when I tell you I’ve been waiting to kiss you, I mean it. From the moment you walked onto the tarmac two years ago, to now. Now god damnit, let me kiss you.”

So you did.

[yanderedrabbles]

Helloooo! I just loved the old west gang. Traumatized? Yes. Curious? Yes. But specifically the Lakota wrangler caught my attention, and oooh this part:

"""Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation." He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again.

"I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you? ""

VAL, TELL ME WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WHAT'S HIS STORY? WHAT'S HIS DEBT?

OH MY GOD HIS PART IS SO 💕💕💕💕

TELL US THEIR BACKGROUND PLEASE 🥹🥹🥹

Yandere Outlaws - The Wrangler's Past + the gang hearing about you for the first time

I think the wrangler probably has one of the most interesting backgrounds. We all know that the Wild West era was no fun at all for Native American tribes. Manifest Destiny and all the terrible things done in it's name saw Native tribes being confined to smaller and smaller reservations, with stricter and stricter rules. Bison were disappearing, the railroads were cutting across hunting lands, and permanent settlers were coming west in droves.

I think in the face of all that, the wrangler felt like he had to adapt or die. Set out on his own and try and make it in the white man's world.

I reckon he falls in with the boss after a nasty bar fight. Him against some cowboys who feel like a Lakota on "their" turf is blasphemy.

Things don't look good at all. He's a strong fighter but numbers almost always trumps skill. He's going to end up dead in the mud and no one will give a damn.

Well, until the boss arrives. Maybe the boss is an old quick draw and when the smoke settles the cowboys are down for good. Or maybe the boss just has that look to him, that keen eyed glare that makes dumb cowhands think better of their bravado.

Either way, he hauls the wrangler out of the mud and offers him a job.

"Need a man for my horses. I'll pay you good to stick with us for coupla weeks."

The wrangler agrees. Because hell, what else is there to do? And if the older man looks hard edged and hard eyed, how much does that really matter? This is the West. You either get tough or get buried.

I think one way or another, the boss earns his loyalty. He gives him a sense of belonging he hasn't felt since he set out on his own. Gives him a purpose. And well, robbing banks and derailing trains and sticking it to old Uncle Sam is about the best he can do to make up for what his tribe has been through. Just one more outlaw pricking Washington in the thumb.

And as for you, sweet thing that you are, oh, you're what he's waited for all his life.

A girl to call his own. Soft and kind, to keep the cold away. Looking in your eyes makes it so easy to forget all the shit he's been through, all the shit he's done. He's been through his share of trouble and then some. He deserves a place to rest his head, a person to call home.

So what if you aren't willing? The world has gone out of its way to take what should have been his by right. The bison, the land, the open sky and flowing water. All of it divvied up and fenced off. He's not letting anyone get in the way of the one good thing he can finally call his own.

I think the thing that initially attracts him to you is the story of you and the second in command. The second is Chinese and he hasn't had it easy either. He could either work the railroads or die in a ditch. Not the best options, but just about the only ones open to an immigrant's son.

If you were anyone else, you'd have screamed your head off when you found him bleeding in your barn.

You didn't. Instead, you put him back together and kept him safe from your pa.

When he first heard the story, it was a cold night out on the planes. They'd just pulled off a job and were sleeping rough, trying to throw the law dogs off their trail.

The second kept looking out to the west. Maybe he was keeping an eye out for pursuit, but they'd pulled their job off back east. Marshals would be coming from that direction, if at all.

Finally, he gave in to his curiosity and asked the man what the hell he was looking for.

"My girl," he said simply. "My girl stays out that way."

The outlaws grew quiet around the fire.

"I didn't know you had one," the boss said, elbows on his knees as he sharpened his boot knife. "Is that where you go off to when we're in town?"

"Mm-hmm. I like to check in on her."

The gunslingers leaned forward then, as in sync as coyotes.

"She must be one hell of a girl, if she can put up with your ugly mug."

"Is she pretty? Got those nice eyes that look up at you all sweet?"

He ignored them and went back to looking west, like he could somehow see over all those miles.

"Do you love her?" the wrangler asked suddenly. He didn't know why he asked that, just that it seemed important.

"More than I thought possible. Every time I see her it's like my heart is breaking. If I can't have her, I think I'll go mad."

The boss looked up for a second, blue eyes catching the firelight. "You gonna marry her then?"

The second laughed, uncharacteristically nervous. "She doesn't even know I exist."

The boss stopped sharpening his knife. "How do you know you love her, if you ain't never talked to her?"

"She saved my life. That's how I know."

The wrangler looked up at the sky and wondered who would go out of their way to save an outlaw.

The boss stuck his knife in his boot. "Tell us the story."

Maybe if anyone else asked, the second would have refused. You were his girl. He didn't want to share even the memory of you with other men.

But you don't say no to the boss.

When he was done telling it, the outlaws were quiet. Lost in their own thoughts. All of them thinking how sweet it would be to have a girl like that. Feeling for a second what he felt every time he thought of you.

It was the wrangler who broke the silence, only half aware he was speaking. "I'd do anything to have a girl like that. Someone so kind..."

The dark skinned outlaw leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "She sounds too good for either of you."

"And you're any better?"

He didn't get to answer. The green eyed gunslinger cut in, his voice low and mean.

"She sounds real innocent. Kind of girl who'll cry when you fuck her for the first time."

The second in command stood with a snarl, already reaching for his rifle.

"Don't."

The boss, quiet but no less dangerous for being so.

"We're all men here. We're all gonna think somethin' like that when you tell us 'bout a girl so...untouched."

The second sat back down stiffly, his jaw clenched tight.

The boss continued, "Ain't like we're gonna steal your girl from you. Let it go."

The wrangler didn't let it go though. Not even when they were back in their hideout, a whole lot richer than they were a week ago.

He stopped the second in command when he was saddling up his mustang.

"Take me with you. I want to see this girl of yours."

If it was anyone else, he'd have said no on the spot. But the wrangler had a quiet gentleness about him that made the second agree.

They watched you from a hill overlooking your father's ranch. Just two shadows against the setting sun.

One of your horses had taken sick and you were walking it around the corral. Stopping every little while to stroke its neck or rub its nose, whispering encouragement. You were patient, gentle. The hem of your skirt tucked into your belt and showing off a sliver of thigh as you moved.

The wrangler sighed and stroked his horse's neck.

"I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"Why you keep looking for her, even if you're a hundred miles away."

As they rode home, he found himself doing the same thing. Looking over his shoulder like he could somehow see you one last time.

And the first time he saw you up close? Backed up against the kitchen table, corned like a vixen at the hunt? That's when he realised exactly what you were.

You were his reward.

The one good thing he'd struggled all his life to find. You were going to be his peace. His home.

And the first time he had you? On your knees, kissing his cock, your eyelashes still wet with tears? That's when he decided he'd keep you, no matter how cruel it was. No matter that doing it would strip him of any claim to goodness. A good man wouldn't get hard seeing you cry. A good man wouldn't fuck you when all you wanted was to go home.

But then again, how could he stay a good man in a world that hated him? That wanted him dead and gone?

When he kissed you, he signed away his last bit of honour. It doesn't matter that he holds you so gently, that he touches you like a lover.

He'll never let you go. And ain't that just a bitch?

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝓃𝒶𝒸𝓀𝒶𝓇𝑜𝑜 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: The rules were simple—no strings, no expectations, just something to pass the time. Hyugo was easy enough to toy with, with all wide eyes and eager hands, a sweet little distraction when boredom or stress crept in.

A fleeting indulgence. Nothing more. But somewhere between stolen kisses and quiet confessions, between the way he shivered under your touch and the way he lingered just a little too long, the lines started to blur.  

Now, the game feels different, the weight of unspoken words pressing closer. So tell me—when did it stop being just fun? And more importantly… 

who’s going to admit it first?

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

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: This one’s for the amazing @midnightminddz—your request totally caught my eye! I figured, why not dip my toes into writing this baby boy Hyugo first from the request? Plus, let’s be real here—there’s a criminal lack of Hyugo smut out there. I mean, I went looking myself, and guess what?

There are only eight. EIGHT. Like, what the actual hell? That’s practically a desert out there. So, consider this my contribution to feeding the starving masses.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: hyugo x afab!Reader, smut, friends with benefits, emotional intimacy, slow burn??, dom/sub undertones, praise kink, gentle dominance, romantic tension, sexual tension, vulnerability, emotional connection

It started off simple—just an arrangement.

A deal struck between two people who knew better than to complicate things. You had your own lives, your own ambitions, and absolutely no time for distractions.

Friday nights were reserved for him. 

Without fail, Hyugo would show up at your door, sometimes grinning, sometimes looking at you with that playful, knowing smirk that made your stomach twist, acting like this was just another casual hookup. And for a while, it was. Without a word, without hesitation, you’d be on him—kissing, touching, taking whatever he was willing to give.

It felt loving in those quiet moments between dusk and dawn, when the world outside didn’t exist and the only thing that mattered was the way his body fit against yours, the way his lips parted under your touch like he was made for it.

He was always so easy like this—so eager, so willing.

Your personal snack you can say. 

Because once the morning rolled around, when the golden light seeped through the blinds, spilling honeyed warmth across tangled sheets, the illusion cracked. His sweater vet—well-worn, almost tightly fit your frame—clung to the lingering heat of last night.  And he was there beside you, shirtless, sprawled out, arm tucked behind his head. Watching you.

Always watching you.

His expression was unreadable, his gaze trailing over you like he was memorizing the sight as if he didn’t know when he’d get to have you like this again. Hyugo—your closest friend. The one who had spent the night pulling you apart and putting you back together again. 

It was easy. Convenient. A perfect escape from the weight of everything else. Whenever things started to spiral, whenever stress curled too tightly in your chest, you called him. His name sat at the top of your contacts list, an unspoken promise that relief was just one message away.  

Hyugo was okay with it.

It all started at a bar—one of those last-minute events you decided to throw together, a reckless, spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. The kind where cheap liquor flowed freely, and bad decisions were practically encouraged. You’d had one too many shots, the warmth of liquor burning at the back of your throat, pooling like liquid heat in the pit of your stomach.  

You felt bold—maybe a little too bold, if you were being honest. 

The kind of reckless bravery that only came from the perfect mix of alcohol and impulse. You knocked back another shot, your seventh by now before your gaze landed on him—Hyugo. 

He was standing off to the side, caught in a halfhearted conversation with a few of his friends. But you knew just by looking at him—by the distant way his eyes drifted over the scene—that he was bored out of his mind. 

Parties weren’t really his thing. 

He was only here because certain someone, named Sol had dragged him along as emotional support as he wanted to his shot at his so-called crush, and now he was stuck pretending to care about a conversation he clearly wanted no part of. 

You didn’t know what came over you, but one second you were leaning against the bar, and the next, you were pushing off it with a smirk tugging at your lips, striding straight toward him with the confidence of someone who had no business being that self-assured.  

By the time you reached him, the small group had already started to disperse, leaving him standing alone. His gaze flicked up, meeting yours, and then—he smiled. A small thing, easy and familiar, like the two of you weren’t just casual friends who crossed paths every so often.  

“Hey,” he greeted smoothly, taking your hand and pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it. A friendly gesture, nothing more. But the way his lips brushed against your skin—it sent a shiver rolling down your spine that was anything but friendly.  

“Hyugo~” you breathed, his name soft on your lips, the alcohol swirling in your system making everything feel just a little bit hazy.  

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before narrowing slightly, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the slightly unsteady sway in your stance. “You all right?” he asked, a steady hand finding the small of your back, firm but careful, just enough to keep you from tipping over.  

“I’m doin’ just fine,” you replied, drawing out the words, looking up at him through lidded eyes. And then—laughter. Sudden, bright, bubbling from your throat before you even knew what was so funny.  

Hyugo's expression shifted the playful glint in his eyes dimming with something closer to concern. “Okay, yeah,” he murmured, his grip tightening just slightly. “How about I take you back to your place?” You blinked up at him, considering it for a moment before nodding. 

Maybe… maybe that would be for the best.

The ride back to your place was quiet. The world outside the car window blurred past in streaks of neon and moonlight, the alcohol in your system making everything feel just a little softer, a little less real. Hyugo’s presence was steady beside you, his hands gripping the wheel, his eyes flicking to you every so often—watching, making sure you were okay.  

By the time you reached your apartment, the night air had sobered you just enough to feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in, but something else burned just beneath your skin—something desperate, something restless.  

The door barely clicked shut behind you before you turned, hands reaching up to cup Hyugo’s face, fingers pressing into the warmth of his skin. You didn’t hesitate. 

You didn’t think. 

You just pulled him down into a kiss—hungry, deep, pressed against the wall as if you could melt into him entirely. His body went rigid for half a second, his breath hitching as your lips moved against his. But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, hands finding your waist to put some space between you. His eyes, wide and unreadable, searched yours before his brows knitted together.  

“Holy shit,” His voice was soft, careful, but firm. “You’re a little under the influence… You’re not making clear decisions.”  

The words hit like a sudden drop in temperature, dousing you in the reality of the situation.  

You blinked up at him, lips still parted, fingers still tingling from the heat of his skin. “I—” Your breath shuddered as you exhaled. Shame curled in your stomach, replacing the warmth that had been there just moments ago. “I’m sorry.”  

Hyugo’s expression softened instantly as he watched you deflate. Before he could say anything, your shoulders sagged, and you stumbled forward slightly, right into his arms. He caught you without hesitation, his hands steady as they hovered at your waist, unsure whether to hold you close or give you space.  

You let out a shaky laugh, but it wasn’t really amused—more tired, more resigned. “I just…” You swallowed thickly, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. “I’ve been stressed, y’know? Thought drinking would help take the edge off, help me forget all the shit piling up.” 

A breath. A pause. “But it didn’t.”  

Hyugo didn’t say anything right away, but he didn’t pull away either. He was warm—so damn warm, grounding in a way that made you feel like maybe you weren’t completely unraveling.  

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “That was stupid.”  

Hyugo exhaled sharply through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite. His fingers twitched where they rested against you as if he was deciding something. And then, before you could process it—his hands curled around your waist, tugging you closer. 

His head dipped, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was just as sudden as yours had been—but this time, there was no hesitation, no stopping. It was slow, deep, lingering. Like he was trying to tell you something without saying a word. Like he wanted you to understand.  

He practically rips his clothes off His hands feel the exposed skin of your back now slowly guiding him into your bedroom. You just want him naked and his bare body on top of yours with his hands touching any part of you that it can. 

Everything makes you feel like you are drowning, it’s like you can’t get enough oxygen as he practically kisses the life from your being before moving down your neck leaving marks.

Hyugo below you, his breath warm against your skin, lips stealing kisses like he had a right to them. His hands, firm and knowing, holding you steady as you rocked yourself on top of him, each motion slow—teasing, torturous. Your name fell from his lips in a half-broken moan, a sound so desperate it sent shivers down your spine.

Your fingers curled under his chin, tilting his face up to yours, and for a second, he hesitated—just a flicker of something in those soft baby blue, knowing eyes before you dragged his lips back to yours. A soft laugh swallowed between kisses. 

A sharp nip to his lower lip, your way of keeping him in check. His quiet hiss was almost a purr, hands tightening around your hips in response, the warmth of his palms branding against your skin. And then, Saturday mornings rolled around as per usual.

You had rules set. Three simple rules meant to keep things clean, meant to keep this from turning into something it was never supposed to be.

1. No staying over.

2. No unnecessary texting.

3. No catching feelings.

So why did one—or two—of those rules always end up broken?

Looking back, the signs had been there for a while. Subtle at first, easy to ignore. Like the way, he lingered too long on Saturday mornings.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to get up, get dressed, and leave before the day truly started—before things could settle into something too domestic, too comfortable. 

And yet, more often than not, Hyugo would stretch out beside you, arms tucked behind his head, watching you with lazy eyes, making no move to go.

“Five more minutes,” he’d say, voice still a little rough from sleep. “S’too early to get up anyway.” And then came the breakfast offers. “Y’know, I could cook for us?” he’d mention casually, already making his way to your kitchen, raiding your fridge like it was his own. He was good at it too, always making sure to ask what you wanted next time.

You told yourself it was harmless. But rule number one was broken.

Then there was the texting. Unnecessary texting was meant to be avoided—no random check-ins, no conversations outside of planning when and where to meet. Simple, clean, detached. So why did Hyugo contact you so often? 

Why did he text you throughout the day—stupid things, like “Look at this cat I saw on the train” or “Sol was being an idiot today”—as if he couldn’t help but pull you into his everyday life?

You remember one night. You had an exam coming up, so you shut off your phone, buried yourself in assignments, and blocked out the world for a few hours. It wasn’t until you were done that you finally checked your messages.

Hyugo’s name flooded your screen.

Missed calls. Unread messages. Even one from Sol, checking in because “Hyugo’s being annoying as hell and won’t shut up about you.” And before you could even think to respond, there was a knock at your door.

There he was, standing outside your apartment, a bag of snacks in one hand, your favorite drink in the other. His usual playful grin was missing, replaced by something quieter, something uncertain. “You weren’t answering.” His voice was casual, but there was a tension in his shoulders. “Figured I’d just check.”

Hyugo had always been caring. And that should’ve been fine. That should’ve been normal.

But it wasn’t. Because rule number two was broken.

And if you were being honest—really, painfully honest—you had a sinking feeling rule number three was already slipping through your fingers. Why?Well...

One afternoon, you were lost in your thoughts during your Art classes, the kind of space where your mind often wandered between lectures. Sol was sitting next to you, and of course, Hyugo was supposed to be his project partner, but—well, Hyugo had a habit of disappearing or skipping out on things, especially classes.  

You hadn’t even noticed it at first. It was a subtle comment, something so offhand that it almost didn’t register. But then, in the middle of your chaotic thoughts, you heard Sol’s voice break through.  

"You and Hyugo sure act like a couple."

It was the kind of comment you could laugh off. So you did. You laughed. 

You brushed it off like it was nothing. But later, when you were lying in bed, wrapped in the warmth of fresh sheets and freshly showered skin, those words crept into your mind like something that refused to leave.  

You thought about Hyugo. You thought about how he always seemed to know when you were having a bad day, even before you said a word. 

He had this uncanny ability to be there for you in a way no one else ever had. You thought about the way he’d look at you sometimes—like he was holding a secret like there was an inside joke only he understood.  

And then came the real problem.

You tried to imagine what would happen if you ended the arrangement. If you finally said it, broke the silent rule: "This is over." If you told him you didn’t need him anymore. You should’ve felt relief. Should’ve felt lighter, as if some weight had been lifted off your chest.  

But instead, there was this heavy emptiness that crept in, something wrong in your stomach. A feeling that shouldn’t be there.  

You sighed. "Ugh…"

You rolled your eyes at yourself, but the weight of the thought lingered, nagging at the back of your mind. It was hard to ignore, harder to push away. You rolled to your side, pulling your phone out from underneath you. And before you could talk yourself out of it, your thumb hovered over his name. 

It wasn’t Friday, but...  

You pressed send anyway.

A casual text, inviting him over. Nothing too different than the usual, just a random offer to come over and watch one of those detective movies he loved to talk about during aftercare. 

You could justify it, right? You could tell yourself it wasn’t anything serious. It was just a way to unwind, a way to relieve the stress from the week, from everything else weighing on your mind.  

He’d be there. That’s how it worked.

And maybe that was the real problem. You’d let yourself believe it was just that simple.

It wasn’t long until Hyugo showed up right on time, a bag of snacks in one hand, a six-pack of your favorite drink in the other. He grinned when you opened the door, his usual playful smile stretched wide across his face, lighting up his eyes like he was genuinely happy to see you.

He didn’t waste any time, stepping in without waiting for an invitation, his eyes already scanning the room for the usual movie night setup. He was used to this, used to the rhythm of your arrangements—so used to it that he immediately dropped the snacks onto the counter and pulled out his phone. You made a mental note to pay attention to how casual he was like this was just another night. 

But the reality felt slightly different, didn’t it?

You didn’t have time to dwell on it as you suddenly heard Sol’s voice on  Hyugo’s phone. “Yeah, dude, they took their shirt off, and I went—”

You blinked, half-amused and half-cringing, while Sol’s words trailed off into something less than PG-rated. You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall as you waited for whatever came next.

Sol kept talking, but then his words caught up to him, and you saw that flash of awkwardness that was too human for the cocky, Hyugo you usually saw. 

“Like, I actually had—like—my body had a reaction, what the hell, those—” Sol said, voice low and unsure, but still clearly flushed with the remnants of embarrassment.

You could see Hyugo’s eyes roll in the camera, “Dude, I don't need to know about that. Keep that to yourself. Anyway, gotta go." Hyugo let out a low sigh, dropping his head back for a moment, and you caught his tried look as he ended the call. He turned his attention back to you with a smirk, but there was something more in his gaze now. 

Something questioning, probing.

“All right, what’s up with the sudden movie night request? You didn’t text me unless something was going on. Something you wanna tell me?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice teasing but still edged with concern, like he knew better than to think everything was as casual as it seemed.

You narrowed your eyes at him for a moment, but your breath caught in your throat. What were you even supposed to say to that? It wasn’t like you could admit how weirdly you’d been feeling—how the idea of ending your arrangement was something you weren’t ready for, but maybe also feared?

Instead, you just sighed, shifting your weight before turning to grab the TV remote, your back to him. “I just wanted to, all right? Nothing’s up.”

He gave you a long look, his gaze lingering on your form as you moved, and you swore you felt the weight of it even with your back turned. 

You spun around and gave him a light pat on the head, an attempt to brush the awkwardness off, to pretend like you were unaffected. “Besides,” you muttered, “You’re here now. Let’s just enjoy the movie.”

For a second, Hyugo didn’t move, just staring at you as if weighing the sincerity of your words. Then, without missing a beat, he shook his head, a low chuckle slipping from his lips.

“Aww you’re so mean” he teased, his voice soft and easy but still holding that edge of curiosity. “But fine. Movie night it is.” You watched him settle on the couch, trying your best to ignore the weird sense of something lingering in your chest. 

You clicked play on the movie, the soft hum of the opening credits filling the room, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight felt a little different. 

Something you still couldn’t quite place.

Maybe it was the way he kept glancing at you or the casual way he stretched out beside you, shifting closer and closer as if he was already comfortable in a way he wasn’t supposed to be. His arm brushed against yours, and before you knew it, he was leaning his head on your shoulder, an almost childlike innocence in the way he did it. You could tell he was trying to be subtle, but it was becoming obvious.

You stiffened, biting your lip, but you didn’t say anything right away. He wasn’t supposed to get this close. Not tonight. You had rules for a reason, after all. 

And that means no cuddling unless it was Friday.

You shifted slightly, but he followed your movement, pressing his side against yours, his body heat seeping into yours. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and you could feel him smiling, the faintest touch of his breath against your skin.

"You know," he started, voice muffled by your shirt, "I’m pretty sure it’s still a movie night, which means we’re allowed to, you know, do our thing.” His hand found its way to your leg, brushing against it like he was just testing the waters.

You let out a sigh, half amused, half irritated by how well he knew your boundaries. You had told him before—it was only on Fridays. That was the arrangement. You didn’t do the clingy thing on any other night. “Hyugo…” You hesitated, trying to pull yourself together. “It’s not Friday. You know the rules.”

He looked up at you then, his baby-blue eyes gleaming with that usual mischief and something deeper. His lips parted, but you could tell he was just about to give you that pouty look—the one you couldn’t ever resist.

“I don’t care about the rules tonight,” he whined, sounding almost pitiful, though you knew he was playing it up. He was like that—charming in the way he asked for things. “Please. Just this once, hug me? You can’t say no to me. You never can.”

You could feel the weight of his words, his voice practically begging for something he knew you were weak for. His eyes were locked on yours, and his hands, one still resting on your leg, slowly crept up to your waist, fingers brushing against your skin. You wanted to tell him to back off. You wanted to stick to the rules. 

You really did. 

But something in the way he looked at you, something in the way his touch was gentle and familiar, made it so damn hard to say no. 

"Hyugo…" you started again, your voice weaker this time, “This isn’t what we agreed on.” But even as you said it, you already knew the inevitable was coming. He gave you that smile, that look that made your chest tighten, and you found yourself caving in, just like always. You were starting to think that maybe he didn’t need to break the rules—he had this power over you just by existing.

You sighed and leaned into him, your resolve shattering as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. He immediately relaxed into your embrace, his head finding its place on your chest as he breathed a contented sigh.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled as he burrowed in closer. His body melted against yours like he had been waiting for this moment all along. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You let out a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were trying so hard not to admit how good it felt to have him so close to you. To feel his warmth and his weight on you, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours. You couldn’t deny it. “I’m not sure who’s the one who can’t resist,” you muttered, your fingers threading through his hair, almost absently. “You’re the one who’s always clinging to me.”

He grinned against your chest, his arms tightening around you as he relaxed even more. "What can I say? You're just too irresistible."

You felt your heartbeat in your throat, a quiet, unspoken tension building in the space between you, but the movie continued in the background, and neither of you moved. The silence hung thick, but there was a comfort in it too, even if you knew this wasn’t part of the plan. 

Again, this is supposed to be an arrangement. 

But in moments like these, with Hyugo nestled into your side, everything felt too natural. Too close.

As the movie played on, the air between you and Hyugo grew more comfortable, almost too comfortable for your liking. He shifted, his body pressing closer to yours as he reached for the box of snacks he’d brought with him—something he always did, a part of his little routine that never changed. You couldn’t help but smile at how predictable he was, how him he was, down to the snacks he chose. It was always something he’d drop-ship from somewhere, usually imported and overpriced. 

"You're really dedicated to these, huh?" you teased, raising an eyebrow as he expertly opened the box of snacks.

Hyugo glanced up at you with that signature mischievous grin, the one that always made you suspect he knew exactly how much he was getting away with. "What can I say? I have refined taste," he responded, with a dramatic flourish as he pulled out a handful of Pocky sticks. "Plus, they're actually real. Unlike that cheap stuff, they make in the city."

You rolled your eyes, snatching the box from his hands before he could hide it. "Yeah, I know, you've mentioned how much you hate the stuff they make here." You paused, eyeing the Pocky sticks like they were some rare, prized possession. “Can I have some?”

Hyugo smirked, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. "You always ask for some, and you know they’re my favorite. I’m not sure I can share them with you now.” He leaned back against the couch, clearly trying to be casual about it, but you could tell by the glint in his eyes he was planning something.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You’re going to be like that?”

With a playful grin, Hyugo picked up one of the Pocky sticks, holding it between his fingers, then slowly and deliberately brought it to his lips. His eyes locked onto yours as the stick hovered just over his mouth, resting there teasingly. "I think I’m generous enough to share one with you… but only if you're lucky."

You narrowed your eyes, trying to act nonchalant. You knew exactly what game he was playing. He wasn’t going to make it easy for you. You reached for the box, but he was quicker—his hand darted in front of yours, pulling the box out of reach. 

“You want it that badly?” Hyugo teased, his voice low and playful. “Well, come and get it.” 

He pointed at the Pocky stick still balanced on his lips. "I’ll let you have it if you can grab it."

For a moment, you stared at him, both amused and slightly irritated by his antics. You were determined not to let him get away with this. Without thinking, you lunged for the stick, but he dodged—leaning back with a laugh that echoed through the room. You both tumbled into each other as you reached again, this time managing to grab onto his wrist. 

"Hyugo, stop being ridiculous," you said through gritted teeth, but you were laughing despite yourself. 

He smirked, clearly enjoying the chase. “I think you like it when I’m ridiculous.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally reached for the stick again, your fingers brushing against his lips. The movement was slow, deliberate until you were close enough to steal it from him—finally. You pulled back triumphantly, but just as you were about to break off a piece, Hyugo grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward him.

“Hey, I was sharing it!” he protested with mock seriousness, but the mischievous glint in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t actually upset.

“Uh-huh,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “Sure, you were.”

With a dramatic sigh, he let go of your wrist and leaned back, clearly satisfied with the playful game he'd dragged you into. "You're lucky I'm generous," he said, reaching into the box to grab another Pocky stick for himself. "But I’m not that generous."

You took the opportunity to finally break off a piece, popping it in your mouth and giving him a smug look. "Thanks for sharing," you said sweetly, before winking. "Next time, though, I’m taking what I want."

Hyugo just laughed, shaking his head. "You can try, but you'll have to catch me first," he teased, throwing his feet up on the couch and sinking into the cushions with a satisfied grin.

It was like this—comfortably ridiculous, lighthearted, with the two of you playing off each other’s energy like you always did. The snacks were just an excuse for a good laugh, but that didn't mean you couldn't keep pushing things a little further.

Hyugo, clearly not ready to let the game go, leaned forward, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievousness. He grabbed another Pocky stick, this time holding it out toward you with a little smirk. “You know, we could make this more interesting,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “The Pocky Stick Game. Ever heard of it?”

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion, though the hint of a smile was already tugging at your lips. “Pocky Stick Game?” you asked, trying to sound as unimpressed as possible, but you both knew you were intrigued.

Hyugo grinned like he’d just found the perfect way to get under your skin. “It’s simple,” he said, pulling a second stick from the box. “We each take one end, and we eat it toward each other. The goal is to get to the middle without breaking the stick or moving your mouth away.”

You stared at the Pocky stick for a moment, a little skeptical. “And what happens if we get to the middle?” you asked, knowing damn well what kind of ridiculousness was probably going to ensue.

Hyugo gave you an exaggerated shrug, his grin widening. “Well, you could always see where things go,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

The idea of this silly game seemed too ridiculous to resist, so you leaned forward, grabbing one end of the stick and narrowing your eyes at him. “I hope you’re ready to lose,” you teased, trying to play it cool even though your heart was beating a little faster than it should have been.

With a dramatic flourish, Hyugo grabbed the other end of the stick, locking eyes with you. His lips curled into that signature smirk, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other, the tension building in the air.

Then, slowly, he began to lean in, taking a delicate bite of the stick, moving toward you. You mirrored him, taking your own bite, the distance between your lips closing with each second. 

The game became something else entirely now. More intimate. As you both continued, the stick grew shorter, your mouths drawing closer.

It was ridiculous. Silly. But also... a little bit fun? 

You could feel the heat of his breath against your lips as you leaned in, trying to maintain that careful balance—neither of you wanting to be the first to pull away.

You could see his eyes flicker between your gaze and your lips. You were aware of the closeness now, the tension hanging in the air. Neither of you dared to move back. It was the kind of situation that always had the potential to get a little... well, weird.

And yet, despite it all, you couldn't deny that your heart was racing, your breath shallow. His lips were so close now that you could practically feel the warmth of them against yours. It was like something you couldn’t escape, something that dared you to take that final step.

Hyugo, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, paused for just a second, as if he were weighing his options. And then, without warning, he closed the gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss.

It was over before you could even fully process it, but your body stayed frozen, your eyes wide as you both pulled away. 

The Pocky stick? Gone. 

The game? Completely forgotten.

Hyugo's grin was a mixture of smug satisfaction and something else—something unreadable. "Guess you weren't expecting that, huh?"

You blinked a few times, trying to find words to make sense of what just happened. “You cheated,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness. 

There was something oddly vulnerable about the way he’d kissed you—like he was testing the waters, not sure what he was really hoping for, but willing to try anyway.

“Wasn’t cheating,” Hyugo replied with a casual shrug, clearly relishing the way you were looking at him. “Just went for the win.” His voice dropped a little lower as he added, “And maybe I wanted to see how you'd react.”

You shook your head, but a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "You're so silly, you know that?"

He just winked, clearly pleased with himself. "Maybe. But you love it."

You sat there for a moment, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. You hadn’t expected it to get this complicated, and yet, here you were. Every touch, every playful moment, every laugh—it felt different now. What started off as a simple arrangement, a way to blow off steam, had somehow evolved into something more... personal. 

Are you and Hyugo a thing?

The thought made your head throb. You had made it clear that this was just about relieving stress, no strings attached. You needed it to stay that way. You couldn’t afford to get caught up in something more. You told yourself over and over that you didn’t need more. That you could keep things uncomplicated. 

But fuck, fuck, fuck, you were slipping. 

The signs were there—his lingering glances, the way he seemed to know exactly when you were upset, the way you looked forward to his presence, even when it wasn’t Friday. 

And that kiss just now? That wasn’t a ‘just friends’ kiss. 

Hyugo leaned back against the couch, drumming his fingers against the box of Pocky. The movie played on, some detective unraveling a case in the background, but you couldn’t focus—not when Hyugo was still looking at you from the corner of his eye like he was trying to read you like he was waiting.  

Trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up, you forced a smirk, nudging his arm. “So, what? You wanna play fair now?”  

Hyugo let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe. Figure I owe you another round, since, y’know… somebody accused me of cheating.”  

You rolled your eyes but took the bait, reaching into the box for another Pocky stick. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” Holding the stick between your lips, you raised a brow at him. “Happy now?”  

His grin was back—playful, teasing, but there was something else beneath it, something quieter. He leaned in, biting down on the other end, and for a second, everything felt normal. Just you and Hyugo, playing some ridiculous game like always.  

But then—“Do you ever think about us?” His words came so softly, so unexpectedly, that your breath caught in your throat.  

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close he was—of the way his breath fanned across your skin, the way his lips were just inches away from yours. His eyes searched yours, waiting. Really waiting this time.  

The stick trembled slightly between your lips.  

“I…” You tried to find the words, but they felt too heavy on your tongue. What was he asking, exactly? What did he mean?  

Was this still a joke to him? Just another playful tease?  

Or was it something else?  

“Hyugo, I—”  

Before you could finish, Hyugo did what he always did—turned everything into a game. With a sly grin, he suddenly leaned in and snapped the last bite of the Pocky stick between his teeth, effectively winning again.

Your lips parted in disbelief as he chewed, looking way too pleased with himself.

“You—”

“Oops,” he said, voice dripping with fake innocence, licking the crumbs off his lips. “Guess I win. Again.”

The shift in tone was obvious—his usual teasing, playful demeanor sliding right back into place like armor. Like, Hyugo had caught you off guard—not just with the question, but with the way he asked it. The way his voice had softened, the way his usual easygoing mask had slipped just enough to make you wonder.

Did he really mean it?

Or was it just another offhand remark, a passing thought that would disappear like all the others?

You studied him for a moment, watching as he casually stretched, shifting to get more comfortable. But you weren’t fooled. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee, his shoulders just a little too stiff.

“Hyugo,” you started again, softer this time. 

He looked at you, head tilting slightly, expectant—but that teasing smirk was gone. And that was the worst part. 

Because, for once, you knew he wasn’t joking. You should’ve let it go. Should’ve just let a simple never mind slip through your lips like sand, ignored it, buried it beneath the comfort of routine. 

But you couldn’t.

Not with him.

“No, wait, what do you mean?” The question left you almost automatically, like an instinct you couldn’t suppress. 

Hyugo wasn’t looking at the movie anymore. His focus was entirely on you.

His face was inches away, the dim glow of the screen casting soft shadows over his features. His lips barely parted as he took in a slow, steady breath like he was weighing his next words.

"Us," he repeated quietly.

Your stomach flipped.

“Like… more than this.” His voice was softer now, lacking its usual playful edge. The teasing, the easygoing smirks—it was all stripped away, leaving something raw behind. Something real.

"Do you ever think about what happens after?" He hesitated, eyes flickering to where your legs brushed against each other, the warmth of his skin bleeding through. "When does the arrangement end? Or…" He trailed off, glancing down at the space between you, his expression unreadable for a moment.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You tried to laugh, brushing it off like it was nothing. "Hyugo, we're just… doing this, right? You know the rules. No feelings. Just fun."

But his gaze didn’t shift. He wasn’t smiling anymore, his usual playful demeanor gone.

"That’s not what I asked," he murmured, voice low, almost like he was speaking to himself. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested against your arm. "I asked if you ever think about what happens when this ends."

His thumb brushed gently across the inside of your wrist, tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. You felt the warmth of it, the softness, the weight of something unsaid.

Your heart skipped a beat. You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve told him no, of course not, because that was the rule, wasn’t it? But instead, you sat there, your pulse hammering against your ribs, the words stuck somewhere in your throat.

Because you had thought about it.

More than once.

You thought about the way he lingered in your bed on Saturday mornings, and how his laughter stayed with you even after he left.

You thought about the way he always knew when something was wrong—how he showed up, unannounced, arms full of your favorite snacks like he could sense when you needed him before you even realized it yourself.

And worst of all?

You thought about what it would feel like if he wasn’t there anymore. And… you didn’t like that.

Hyugo studied your face, his eyes searching for something—anything—that would tell him what you were thinking. 

Truth be told, you wanted to say something dismissive, wanted to put the distance back between you, to remind him that this was just a fling—something with no emotional attachment. But the sincerity in his voice, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between you, made it hard to ignore.  

"Hyugo, this was always just supposed to be—"

"Yeah, I know," he interrupted, his voice more serious now like he was reading your mind. He sat up slightly, his hand sliding from your back to your side, his touch lingering longer than usual.

"But I don’t think I’m the only one who’s not… quite so sure anymore."  

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed how things had changed—how his casual touches weren’t so casual anymore, how he stayed over longer than he should, how you found yourself thinking about him outside of those late-night moments. 

You were lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that something had shifted, even if you didn’t know exactly what that something was.  

Before you could respond, Hyugo moved, swift and conscious, pushing you back against the couch. His weight caged you in—not heavy, not forceful, but there. Unavoidable.

You let out a sharp breath, your hands instinctively gripping his hoodie as he hovered over you, his face dangerously close. His grin was back, playful, teasing—but there was something behind it this time, something almost challenging.

"You’re really gonna sit here and lie to me?" he mused, tilting his head, his fingers ghosting over your arm. "Act like you haven’t thought about it?"

You scoffed, masking the way your pulse stuttered. "Thought about what?" you shot back, feigning ignorance, hoping he’d drop it.

However, Hyugo had never been the type to back off when he wanted something. His hand found your wrist again, pinning it lightly beside your head. "You know what," he said, his voice dropping lower, taking on that infuriatingly smooth tone that always got under your skin. "I just wanna hear you say it."

Your jaw tightened. He was playing with fire. "Hyugo," you warned, trying to push him off, but he barely budged.

Instead, he leaned in closer, eyes narrowing with amusement. "You’re squirming," he observed, grinning. "That means I’m right."

Your patience snapped. "Oh, please," you sneered, throwing your head back against the cushion. "You think just because you look at me all soft and whisper some nonsense, I’ll suddenly fall into your arms? That’s cute, Hyugo. Real cute."

His smirk faltered, just for a second, but he recovered quickly, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly.

"See, there it is," he murmured, almost to himself. "You always do that."

"Do what?" you shot back, your glare unwavering.

"Act like you don’t care. Act like this is nothing." His free hand trailed up your side, slow, calculated.

"Like I’m nothing."

Your breath hitched, but you clenched your jaw, refusing to let it show.

"You are nothing," you said cruelly, knowing damn well it was a lie. "Just my Friday night guy, right?"

The moment the words left your lips, something flickered in his expression—something raw, something real. But instead of pulling away, he did the opposite.

Hyugo dipped his head, his nose brushing against your cheek, his breath warm against your ear.

"Say it again," he murmured.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, your body betraying you even as you glared up at him.

"Say it like you mean it."

You refused to give him the satisfaction. 

You refused to lose to the likes of him.

With a sharp inhale, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to look at you. But instead of a pained reaction, Hyugo let out a quiet groan—low and pleased, his eyes darkening as he licked his lips.

Your stomach dropped. Oh. Right. You were so used to topping him, you should’ve known. Of course, he liked it.

The realization made you falter just enough for him to strike. His hand tightened around your wrist again, his other arm bracing against the couch as he leaned back down, his face just inches from yours.

"You always do this," he murmured, voice a little breathless, but filled with something dangerously smug.

"Act all tough, pretend you're not affected, but—" He smirked, tilting his head, his hair still mussed from your grip.

"You’re still holding onto me."

You gritted your teeth, ready to push him off, to deny it all over again—

But then he shifted his weight, pressing closer, and your body reacted.

Damn it.

"You wanna know the truth?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, coaxing, coaxing, coaxing you into saying something you weren’t ready to admit. "Say it," he urged. "Or I’ll make you."

You clenched your jaw, glaring up at him, hating the way he got under your skin. "Fuck you," you muttered.

Hyugo only chuckled, his fingers brushing over your jaw, his nose ghosting against your cheek again. "You wish."

And then—before you could stop yourself—the words slipped out.

"I think about it, okay?"

The air left the room. Hyugo stilled, his teasing smile fading into something softer, something unreadable. You could feel his breath against your skin, feel the heat of him so close. "Say it again," he murmured.

You swallowed hard, your mind screaming at you to shut up, to fix this, to deny, deny, deny—but the truth was already out, and you couldn’t take it back. "...I think about us," you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Something in his expression shifted—something you didn’t have time to process before his mouth was on yours. It was sudden, almost desperate, his lips crashing against yours like he’d been waiting for this, starving for this.

You gasped against his mouth, your grip on his hair tightening as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing flush against yours.

Wait—wasn’t this supposed to be movie night?

How the hell did it turn into this? Not that you were stopping him.

Not when his hands were sliding up your waist, gripping you like he was afraid you’d disappear. Not when his mouth was moving against yours, hungry, like he was making up for all the times you hadn’t kissed like this. Not when every tilt of his head, every teasing nip of his lips, sent a heat curling deep in your stomach.

No, you weren’t stopping him at all.

Because right now, he wasn’t just your Friday night guy—he was yours.

Hyugo pulled back slightly, breathless, his forehead resting against yours. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your hip as he smirked. "So," he murmured, voice low and teasing, "does this mean you actually like me, or are you just making out with me out of pity?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though your face was burning. "Oh, shut up."

His grin widened. "That’s not a denial."

You sighed, glaring at him half-heartedly. "You really wanna know why I agreed to this whole arrangement in the first place?"

Hyugo arched a brow, a smirk playing at his lips, but there was curiosity in his eyes. "Obviously. Enlighten me."

You hesitated for a split second before deciding, fuck it, you were already in too deep. "You looked…" You dragged your fingers through his already messy hair, watching how his breath hitched slightly. "Lowkey fuckable."

His smirk widened, his ego practically inflating right in front of you. "Oh? That’s all?"

You hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. "I mean… yeah. You were kinda like a snackaroo to me."

His grin faltered. "A what?"

You fought the laugh bubbling in your throat. "A snackaroo. Y’know—a small meal you have between breakfast, lunch, and dinner. A little treat to tide me over." You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to something teasing. "Whenever I was bored. Stressed. You were my little snack."

Hyugo stared at you, blinking before he burst out laughing. "Oh, that’s messed up. I was just a quick fix for you?"

"At first," you admitted, lips quirking. "You were convenient, always there, always good—" Your fingers traced along his jaw, feeling the tension beneath your touch. "But then… you became something else."

His laughter faded, replaced by something quieter. "Something else?"

You swallowed, suddenly feeling too bare, too exposed. 

But this was Hyugo. 

The little short shit who always knew when to push and when to let you be.

“You balanced me all right,” you murmured, your thumb brushing gently over his cheek, the touch tender and lingering. “Made me laugh when I didn’t feel like it. Kept me in check when I got too stuck in my head. And somehow, without even trying, you became…” 

Your voice wavered, the weight of the words catching in your throat before you finally pushed them out. “More.”

Hyugo’s usual smirk faded, replaced by something softer, something genuine. His fingers slid along your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, but with a hint of awe. “You really got it bad for me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Shut up.”

But he only grinned wider, his hands tightening around you. “Nah, I like this. You like me. Admit it.”

“Nah, not anymore…” you sighed, feigning indifference, but the way your body leaned into his betrayed you.

Suddenly, his hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers skimming over your skin before finding your breasts. He froze for a moment, his breath hitching when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. A devilish smirk spread across his lips as his fingers immediately began toying with your nipples, pinching and twisting them between his thumb and index finger. 

“You’re such a liar,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “Look at you, baby. I haven’t even done anything, and your nipples are already hard!” He laughed, the sound low and warm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could snap back with a retort, his lips crashed into yours in a kiss that was slower this time—deeper, more deliberate. It wasn’t just playful or teasing anymore; there was a weight to it, a steady intent in every brush of his mouth against yours. 

His hands weren’t just roaming now; they were exploring, tracing the shape of your body like he was committing every curve to memory. Every touch, every press of his fingers against your skin, felt like he was marking you—not in a way that claimed ownership, but like he was engraving himself into your very being.

You caved, of course. How could you not?

His lips left yours, trailing down to your neck, where he latched on with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He sucked and bit at your soft skin, leaving hickeys and love bites scattered everywhere. 

Hyugo needed to mark you, needed everyone to know that you were his. 

Just the thought of owning you made his body thrum with anticipation, his desire evident in the way his hands gripped you tighter, the way his breath hitched against your skin.

You let out breathy whimpers, your body arching into his touch, and you felt his smirk against your neck. “Your sounds are so pretty,” he whispered huskily in your ear, his voice sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Need to hear more.”

Hyugo had waited so long for this, for you, in his own little way. 

You could feel it in how his movements were softer now, in the careful way he touched you, as if he was afraid to break something fragile. The little shit had waited for his turn—and now, here he was, taking it. 

He wasn’t just kissing you for the hell of it, or because you two were in some arrangement. He was kissing you like he wanted to make his mark like he was trying to show you that there was more to this than whatever casual thing you’d been doing.

And you let him. You let him because, deep down, you knew it too.

It wasn’t long before the two of you stumbled into the sanctuary of your bed, the cool sheets brushing against your bare skin as you lay back, sending a delicious shiver rippling down your spine. The room was bathed in a soft, intimate glow, the air thick with anticipation and something deeper—something that hadn’t been there before.

You hadn’t even noticed when or how your or his clothes had disappeared, scattered somewhere between the door and the bed, lost in the heat of the moment. All you knew was that Hyugo was there, his body hovering over yours, his presence both commanding and tender. 

His weight was perfectly balanced, careful not to press too hard, as if he was afraid of shattering the delicate, electric tension that crackled between you.

But this wasn’t the same Hyugo you’d known before. There was a reverence in the way he moved now, his hands braced beside you, his body steady but not overwhelming. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t treating this like just another fleeting encounter.

No, he was savoring every second, every breath, every touch, as if this moment—you—mattered to him in a way that went beyond the physical.

His eyes locked onto yours, soft and loving. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, his touch feather-light as if he was memorizing every detail of you. The way his breath hitched when your skin brushed against his, the way his chest rose and fell in time with yours—it all felt different. 

This wasn’t just another casual arrangement, another Friday night deal to blow off steam.

This was different now. And you were both falling into it, together.

"Are you sure about this?" His voice was low, barely above a whisper, his lips brushing against your cheek in a kiss that was soft but held a weight that made your heart race. 

His hands remained steady, braced against the bed to keep his body from fully pressing into yours, but the warmth of his chest against yours was undeniable. You could feel the heat rising between you, a burning, magnetic pull that only intensified with every second.

Your pulse raced as his question hung in the air, the vulnerability in his tone catching you off guard. 

Your lips parted, and the words were almost a confession. “Yes,” you whispered back, your voice betraying the uncertainty you were trying to mask. But you reached up, letting your hand trail along his neck, fingers tracing the curve of his Adam’s apple. 

You pressed gently, feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips. His eyes softened, something flickering in them, a mix of tenderness and desire. But before he could say anything, you gently pushed him back, just enough to create some space.

“How about I’ll be your snack tonight?” you purred, your voice softer than you intended, but laced with a quiet defiance that dared him to take the bait.

“Do whatever you pleases, I give you full say-so.”

The words slipped out before you could add on, and for a moment, you regretted how much you’d exposed yourself. You hadn’t meant to be so vulnerable, hadn’t meant to hand him the reins so completely—but the truth was undeniable.

You wanted him.

No, you craved him. 

You wanted him to ravish you, to use you, to take you apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but the two of you, tangled and breathless.

But before you could retreat, before you could pull back the words or the unspoken invitation that had slipped through your defenses, it was too late. Hyugo’s smirk returned, sharper and more deliberate than before, his eyes locking onto yours with a predatory focus that sent a shiver racing down your spine. 

He didn’t need another invitation. 

He didn’t need permission. 

He already knew what you wanted—what you needed—and he was more than ready to deliver.

His fingers brushed against your soaked pussy with a confidence that made your breath hitch. “Oh, so wet for me already?” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement. His chuckle reverberated through you, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. 

His fingers danced over your slick folds, gathering the evidence of your desire and spreading it over your sensitive bundle of nerves. He circled slowly, deliberately, his touch light but maddening, each stroke sending sparks shooting through your body.

You squirmed beneath him, your hips instinctively arching into his touch, but he held you steady, his other hand gripping your hip with a firmness that made your pulse race.

“So eager,” he murmured, his voice a mix of admiration and mischief. “But I’m not done playing yet.” He continued to tease you, his fingers exploring every inch of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge without letting you fall.

But then, his control snapped. 

“Fuck, baby, I can’t wait anymore,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “I need you. Now.” He was quick to close the distance, his body still on top of you, pressing against yours with an urgency that left no room for hesitation. His hands, his presence, his very being demanded your surrender. 

And then, with a boldness that stole your breath, he dove in, his cock sliding between your breasts with a rhythm that was rough and quick. 

The sensation was electric, a wild, crackling current that surged through you as his skin slid against yours, setting every nerve ablaze.

Your body responded with a hunger of its own, your breasts pressing together, soft yet firm, as if they were made to cradle him. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, not to hold back, but to amplify the pressure, to create a snug, velvety haven that enveloped him completely.

You didn’t need your hands—this was all about the intoxicating friction, the way your body seemed to know exactly how to hold him, how to tease and tempt without a single touch of your fingers. The air between you grew thick with gasps and moans, a symphony of desire that made time itself pause as if the universe was holding its breath just to watch.

Every thrust, every desperate grind, was a fiery declaration of the bond you shared—a raw, unspoken language of need and passion that neither of you could resist. And as he moved between your breasts, his breath hot and ragged above you.

Hyugo’s baby blue eyes locked onto yours, soft and smoldering with a mix of mischief and desire, as he watched you take control—only to surrender it right back to him.

The way you guided him, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips, sent a jolt of anticipation through him. His breath hitched, and a wicked grin spread across his face as he realized what you were offering.

“Oops,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with playful arrogance as if the idea had just dawned on him. But there was no hesitation in his movements. With a firm grip on the back of your head, he pushed forward, his cock sliding past your lips and into the warmth of your mouth. The sensation was overwhelming for both of you—his groan mingled with your muffled whimper, a symphony of pleasure and surrender.

He didn’t hold back, his hips moving with a rhythm that was both demanding and intoxicating. Each thrust was deliberate, a claim, a reminder of the power he now held over you. Yet, there was something tender in the way he watched you, his gaze never leaving yours, as if he was savoring every second of this intimate control.

Your hands found their way to his thighs, not to push him away, but to steady yourself, to anchor yourself in the storm of sensations. The taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, the way he filled your mouth completely—it was all-consuming. And as he fucked your mouth with a rhythm that left you breathless, you could feel the tension building, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch.

Hyugo’s breath came in ragged bursts, his voice a low growl as he murmured your name, a mix of praise and desperation. 

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you gently but firmly. “Take it all.”

The rhythm between you escalated, a feverish, unrelenting tempo that left no room for hesitation. Hyugo’s movements grew erratic, his control slipping as his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. And then it happened—his hips stuttered, his breath caught, and a low, guttural groan tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered. 

You felt it before you saw it: the sudden warmth of his release, the first pulse landing hot and heavy on your waiting tongue, while the rest painted your cheeks and chin in messy, glistening streaks.

He pulled back, his chest rising and falling in ragged waves, a faint blush creeping across his face as a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to—” he started, his voice trailing off, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. That sly, almost guilty glint, the way his words wavered just enough to betray the lie—it was all too obvious. 

He wasn’t sorry—not really. And neither were you.

You didn’t let him off the hook. A sighed as your tongue wiped at the corner of your mouth with a deliberate flick of your tongue, savoring the taste of him. “Didn’t mean to? Really, Hyugo?” Your tone was light, teasing but edged with a sharpness that made his grin falter, his confidence wavering under your gaze.

You huffed, averting your eyes as a muttered complaint slipped out, “So annoying…” 

A flicker of irritation crossed Hyugo’s features as he leaned in, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head with a grip that was just shy of too tight. 

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, though there was a hint of a pout in there somewhere. “You say this is my chance, but you’re always so mean to me.” He said it with an almost adorable whine—if he wasn’t currently manhandling you like a feral raccoon who’d just found a treasure trove of snacks.

Before you could retort, he pushed you back onto the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress like he was trying to imprint you into it. He spread your legs wide, positioning himself between them with a determination that was both impressive and slightly concerning.

And then—oh.

You gasped as he entered you in one swift, deep thrust, bottoming out inside you with a force that left you breathless. It was like he’d been launched out of a cannon, all pent-up energy and zero patience. His pace was frantic, almost comically so, like he was trying to win some kind of gremlin gold medal in the ‘Who Can Fuck the Fastest’ Olympics.

Now, it seemed like he was taking your comment personally. Pity.

“Hyugo—!” you managed to choke out, but he wasn’t listening. His eyes were sharp, and focused, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he drove into you again and again, each thrust harder and faster than the last. It was overwhelming, ridiculous, and somehow perfect.

“You’re so—” he started, his voice breaking as he struggled to form words between thrusts, “—so fucking mean, but I—ah—I can’t stop—”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up even as your body quivered under his relentless, almost punishing rhythm. “You’re such a gremlin,” you managed to tease, though the words came out fragmented, breathless, more of a gasp than anything coherent.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Your gremlin,” his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. And then, as if to drive the point home, he surged forward, his pace intensifying, each thrust deeper, harder, more deliberate—like he was determined to brand himself into your very being.

But then, just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the rhythm, he slowed. Painfully, excruciatingly slow, drawing out every movement until you were squirming beneath him, desperate for more. “Do you still think I’m annoying?” he giggled, his tone light and teasing, but his eyes glinted with mischief.

You glared up at him, your frustration evident. “Go faster,” you demanded, your voice strained.

He shook his head, that cheeky smile of his spreading wider. “Say please, and I will.”

You scoffed, your pride flaring. “Aww, In your dreams.”

His expression shifted, a playful frown tugging at his lips as he grabbed your face, his grip firm but not unkind. And then, without warning, he snapped his hips forward, his pace turning brutal, each stroke deep and unrelenting, punishing most deliciously. Your breath hitched, your body arching as a strangled cry escaped your lips.

“Wha—wait, wait—fuck,” you pleaded, your voice breaking under the onslaught.

“Nuh-uh,” he chided, his tone mock-stern. “I’m sick of you being so mean to me.”

“Hyugo, fuck, please—” your voice broke, trembling as the pleasure coiled tighter, threatening to snap. “Please, please—” you begged, your words spilling out in a desperate, breathless chant. Your resolve was crumbling, your body trembling beneath him as you teetered on the edge of something overwhelming, something you couldn’t control.

And then he smiled—that smile. 

A slow, satisfied, almost predatory grin spread across his lips as he watched you come undone. This was exactly where he wanted you: whimpering, pleading, completely at his mercy. It was a sight he’d fantasized about more times than he could count. Him, finally topping you? It was almost too good to be true.

His mind flashed back to all those nights when you were the one in control when you’d straddled his lap, teasing and taunting him with that perfect mix of cruelty and kindness. 

You’d shown him what it meant to be taken care of, and he’d loved every second of it—your dominance, your confidence, the way his breathy little whines had escaped despite his best efforts to stay composed. But now? Now the tables had turned, and he was the one driving you wild.

He felt your tight, warm walls clenching around him, and it was all he could do to keep himself together. His hips moved with a relentless rhythm, pressing you into the mattress as he claimed you in a way that left no doubt who was in charge now. His eyes rolled back, a shuddering moan tearing from his throat—a sound so raw, so scandalous, it made your cheeks burn. 

His fingers gripped the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him grounded, his mouth falling open as he panted above you, his sweet, innocent lips betraying just how much he was losing himself in you.

But even as he took control, even as he pinned you beneath him, he couldn’t seem to shake that needy, begging side of himself. 

“More—I need more of you,” he whined, his voice trembling, his hands roaming your body, gripping and squeezing your soft flesh as if he couldn’t get enough. His mouth sought yours in a clumsy, desperate kiss, his breath hot and ragged against your lips as he tried—and failed—to muffle the sounds escaping him.

From below, you watched him with a mix of awe and amusement, your brain short-circuiting as he moaned your name in that breathy, broken way of his. 

It was almost comical, the way Hyugo tried so hard to wear the mask of control, to play the part of the confident, commanding lover. But beneath that façade, he was unraveling, his voice trembling, his body quivering with need. 

Oh, no. No matter how much he tried to take charge, no matter how fiercely he gripped your hips or how deeply he thrust into you, he could never quite shake off that pleading, desperate side of himself. It was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to break free.

And maybe—just maybe—he needed a little help to let it out.

Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, tugging gently but firmly, forcing his gaze to meet yours. His eyes, dark and hazy with desire, locked onto you as you moaned, “Eyes on me, baby boy, come on.” He obeyed instantly, his breath hitching as he stared at you, completely captivated.

“Keep pushing, I know you can do it. You’re doing so well,” you murmured, your voice dripping with praise, each word a sweet caress that seemed to fuel him even more. 

A soft, needy moan escaped his lips, and he dipped his head down to suck at your breast, his tongue swirling in a way that made your back arch. But then he looked up at you, his eyes wide and pleading, like a lost puppy begging for guidance.

“Too much…” he whined, his voice barely above a whisper, his hips stuttering as they moved desperately against yours, chasing his release.

You couldn’t help but smile, your hands sliding down to his hips, stilling his movements just enough to tease him. 

“C’mon, you’re so close, I can feel it. You’re making me feel so good,” you cooed, your words a soft melody whispered into his ear. “Can you do that for me, baby? Can you give me everything you’ve got?”

He nodded frantically, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “Yes… yes, ma’am. Please— I love you. I love you,” he babbled, his voice breaking as he clung to you, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. 

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he promised, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with a mix of determination and adoration. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his body moving in sync with yours as you guided him back into rhythm. Your fingers dug into his skin, urging him deeper, harder, faster—every thrust was a testament to the raw, unbridled connection between you.

And then it happened. 

His control shattered, his body trembling as he finally let go, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he came undone. You felt every shudder, every pulse, every wave of his release, and a surge of triumph washed over you. 

This was your doing. 

You had unraveled him, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but pure, unfiltered ecstasy.

But then, as his breathing began to steady, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, and whispered something that made your eyes widen in disbelief. 

“I’ll be the first and last to give you the best fuck in your life.”

Wait, what now?

You blinked, your mind momentarily short-circuiting as his words sank in. A playful smirk tugged at your lips, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of light and teasing. “Oh, really?” you shot back, your tone dripping with mock skepticism. “Bold words for someone who just came apart like a house of cards.”

His cheeks flushed, but he didn’t back down, his grin turning cocky as he nipped at your neck. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good?” Hyugo’s voice was soft, almost innocent, but the glint in his pleading eyes told a different story. You barely had time to process his words before he was on you again, fucking you hard and deep, his fingers pinching and teasing your breast until a sharp moan tore from your lips.

“Shit, I-I do…” you mumbled, your voice trembling as you tried to catch your breath. “Baby boy, aren’t you going a little—“

“—so you’ll take more of me, right?” he interrupted, not giving you a chance to finish before he slammed himself back into your swollen, aching pussy. The force of it knocked the air out of your lungs, leaving you gasping dryly before your head fell back onto the pillow beneath you in defeated pleasure. 

Your fingers clutched at the soft sheets of the plushie, holding on for dear life as he took control.

Shit, what is this??? Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the whiplash. One moment, he was this sweet, submissive boy begging for your praise, and the next, he was flipping the script, dominating you with a confidence that left you reeling. 

This little short shit loved playing with your body, loved keeping you on edge, and you were both frustrated and turned on by it.

“F-fuck…” Hyugo let out a soft moan, his hand pressing against his stomach as if he could feel just how deep he was inside you. His thrusts were sloppy and wet, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. His heavy balls pressed against your soaked ass, a mix of sweat and cum making everything slick and overwhelming. 

The overstimulation was too much, your body betraying you as your pussy clenched and spasmed, cumming over and over against your will. It was just how he liked it—just how you liked it, even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“H-Hyugo, please… ca-can’t… I…” you mumbled, your head falling back as your body writhed beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“Shh, don’t ne-need you to do anything, okay..?” he stammered, his voice shaky but firm. “J-jusT take it… and it’ll all be over soon…”

God, he treats sex like a damn guessing game, your mind hazy with pleasure. You didn’t understand why he played these little power games, especially when he knew your body better than you did. He knew exactly how to make you squirm, how to make you beg, and how to flip the script just when you thought you had the upper hand.

His thrusts grew even sloppier, but he somehow managed to keep that same frantic, relentless pace. His moans became higher-pitched, more desperate, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. 

But you didn’t care—not when every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, not when his voice broke as he whispered your name like a prayer.

“F-fuck… you’re so… so good…” Hyugo panted, his voice breaking as his rhythm began to falter, his thrusts growing erratic and desperate. His body was coiled tight, every muscle trembling as he teetered on the edge of release. “J-just… a little more…” he begged, his words slurred and breathless, his hips stuttering as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

You could only nod weakly, your own body too overwhelmed, too lost in the haze of pleasure to do anything but take what he gave you. Your moans were shaky, your hips meeting his thrusts with a frantic urgency that told him you were close—so close.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum!” he whined, his head thrown back, his mouth wide open as he chased his release with reckless abandon. His smirk was fleeting, a flicker of smug satisfaction as he hovered over your quivering form, his lips peppering kisses along your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. 

His fingers found their way to your puffy, sensitive clit, his thumb pressing down and drawing fast, tight circles that sent electric shocks of pleasure shooting through you. He was determined to push you over the edge with him, to make you fall apart in his arms.

And fall apart you did.

The moment your climax hit, it was like a dam breaking—waves of pleasure crashing over you, your walls clenching around him, milking him for everything he was worth. He came almost instantly, hot ropes of thick cum shooting deep inside you, his moans loud and unrestrained, a symphony of whimpers and grunts that only made you more sensitive, more aware of every inch of him. 

“H-haa… please keep milking my cock… fuck just like that…” he groaned, his pace slowing to a sensual, deliberate rhythm, his hips rolling against yours as he rode out the last waves of your shared ecstasy.

When he finally pulled back, his smirk was replaced by a devilish grin, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he took in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, and utterly ruined. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss before pulling out, his hot, sticky seed already leaking from your well-used pussy.

But he wasn’t done yet. With a sly chuckle, he gathered the pearly remnants of your lovemaking on his fingers and pushed them back inside, his touch possessive, almost reverent. “Can’t let it go to waste,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

His grin widened as he leaned over you, his predatory gaze locking onto yours. “Wanna go to bed for round two, babe?” he asked, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable, his tone dripping with playful mischief.

Oh, no—he wasn’t letting you get away so easily this time. Not when he finally had you exactly where he’d always dreamed. Because at the end of the day, Hyugo wasn’t just a snackaroo anymore.

He was the whole damn meal. I’m so damn corny

[nanasrkives]

navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! the mha EP!

"SKINCARE NIGHT" ─ Bakugo Katsuki, Kirishima Eijiro, Kaminari Denki, Todoroki Shoto

was doing skincare while watching mha and i thought why the hell not :) content : fluff. crackfic. menace known as bakugo. multicharacter. 3.6k words.

BAKUGO KATSUKI

You were in the middle of your skincare routine when the door slams open without warning, the impact rattling the frame as Bakugo Katsuki bursts in your room like he owns the place.

"Oi ! Let's—" he starts, voice rough and demanding, but then he sees you. His words falter as he freezes. For a moment, there is nothing but silence. His red eyes snap open a fraction as he takes in the sight before him. You, cross-legged on your bed, a sheet mask pressed gently to your face, your fingers smoothing the edges of the mask as you settle into the feeling of the cool serum.

"The fuck is that !?" he snarls, his own voice shrill with wariness as he takes a step back as if you've just turned into a faceless demon. You blink slowly, raising an eyebrow. "A face mask ?" He gestures towards you, furrowing deep in suspicion, his voice gruff. "Why the hell do you look like that, woman?" You roll your eyes, while patting your cheeks to allow the product to penetrate. "It's skincare, Katsuki. It's literally just a mask." He doesn't appear to be convinced. His posture is still defensive, arms crossed over his chest tightly, as if coming any closer to you would somehow taint him. His scowl darkens. And then, as if catching himself looking ridiculous, his lips twist into a smug, annoyed smirk. "Tch. You look stupid as fuck."

You snort, struggling not to laugh. There it is. As soon as he gets off track, he reverts back to being an asshole. Classic Bakugo. "And yet…" You tilt your head, eyes glinting with trouble. "My skin's softer than yours." His eyes light up, the gauntlet thrown in his chest. "Bullshit. My skin's perfect." You hum thoughtfully, bending over to your nightstand and grabbing a fresh sheet mask from the pile. You lift it slowly, making a production out of what you're doing, and a grin pulls at your mouth. "Then show me." Bakugo's entire body stiffens, his position becoming rigid in surprise. "What?"

"If your skin is really that perfect," you say lightly, voice sweet and naive, "then you wouldn't be afraid to do a little skincare, right?" His eye darts, that old, competitive fire burning. You can practically see the moment he takes the bait, the moment the challenge gets into his head. "Who the hell said I was afraid, woman? You shrug indifferently, your voice laced with sarcasm. "You literally flinched when you saw me."

"I DIDN'T FUCKING FLINCH," he snaps, his annoyance evident in the rising tone. You fight off the smile, fingers closing hard around the packet in your hand. "So you're doing it, then?" Bakugo doesn't even hesitate. He swipes the packet out of your hand so fast you don't even have a chance to think. "Fine."

You watch with amusement as he rips the packaging apart as if it hurt him personally, then with a snarl, rips out the damp sheet mask from its packaging. He looks at it like it's something from another world or something, confusion crossing his face.

"How the fuck do you even—" You exhale in exasperation, crossing your legs to sit. "Fold it up and put it on already, genius." With a huff, Bakugo slaps the mask over his face, but the problem? It's completely off. One of the holes for his eyes is slightly off-center, his nose is partially obscured, and the edges are all creased up like he's trying to put on a badly fitting helmet.

You look at him, impassive. "Bakugo Katsuki. Fix it."

"The fuck? It's on!" he grumbles with a huff, clearly irritated. "You look like a serial killer," you quip, eyeballing the badly placed mask. He shoots you a glare even nastier but ungraciously shoves it—a tad too hard—into place until it's properly centered. His entire body is dripping with irritation, but the mask is on well, technically. Which is when you notice it. You pick up the pink and fluffy headband you'd eyed all evening. It is soft, stupid, and most importantly has cat ears hanging off the front. Before he can protest, you put the headband on his head, smoothing his messy blond hair back so it's sitting perfectly. The room is quiet for a crackling moment. Bakugo blinks once. Twice. Then, his eyes slowly drift to the mirror at the opposite end of the room. Face mask. Pink cat-ear headband. He stares at himself. You can almost imagine the gears cranking in his head as he processes the picture. It is so utterly, brutally off the mark that you almost feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

Almost. Finally, Bakugo's head swivels back towards you, his growl low and threatening as he utters a single word, "Woman." You struggle to suppress your laughter. You do, really. But the image of him, so angry and outraged, the cat ears sitting atop his head… it's just too much. You clench your lip, holding out for just another moment. "Yes babe?" He doesn't crack a smile. Doesn't even flinch. His voice is still icy, but you can sense the threat underlying. "You better fucking sleep with one eye open." And that's when you lose it. You double over, your laughter erupting in a loud, uncontrollable sound. Your hands are clutched over your stomach as you struggle to breathe, tears building up in your eyes. Bakugo stands before you, regarding you, the death glare still very much intact, but his shoulders are ever so slightly tense with embarrassment. "Aww, come on," you gasp, wiping away a tear from your eye. "You're cute." His eyes twitch. "Shut the hell up." But all the threats of death and the glares, and Bakugo still does not take off the mask. Doesn't even touch the thing. Crosses his arms tightly over his chest, still scowling, but now you see it. The corners of his mouth are just slightly softer. And if he just remains there for all ten minutes, arms crossed and still scowling but silently enjoying the cold against his skin? Well, that's a secret for you, him, and his perfect damn skin.

KIRISHIMA EIJIRO

Kirishima Eijiro was the type of guy who always go headfirst, and tonight was no different. You had just mentioned to him about having a skincare night, and now he was literally bouncing off the walls with excitement. "Alright y/n, tell me the first step! Let's do this!" he babbled on his heels with his trademark grin.

You laughed, handing him the exfoliating scrub and a sheet mask. "Start with this scrub. It will exfoliate your skin before we put on the hydrating mask."

"Ex-fo-liate?" Kirishima stared at the tub in his hands like it was an alien relic. "What the hell is exfoliate?

You smiled, trying to stifle your giggles. "It's just a bougie way of saying 'removing dead skin cells.' It'll make your skin smooth."

His brow furrowed in thought, then he shrugged it off. "Okay, so it's like fighting bad guys, but for my face?"

You nodded, slightly more seriously than you intended. "Yes, exactly."

With that, Kirishima jumped in, scrubbing with intense focus. He wasn't particularly gentle—his face was scrunched up, and he scrubbed a little too hard in places—but you couldn't help but smile at how persistantly he was scrubbing.

You winced a little when he scrubbed a little too hard. "Uh, Eijiro ? You don't need to press so hard babe."

"Huh?" He stopped, gaping up in a confused manner. "But I thought I had to exfoliate and remove the dead skin cells! Gotta break 'em!" You smiled and shook your head. "More like be gentle."

"Be gentle, okay!" Kirishima repeated back, nodding before continuing with lighter fingers. "This makes complete sense now."

Once he washed it off, he turned his attention to the sheet mask you had given him. "Alright, now what are we doing ?"

"Face Mask !" You said as you gave him the sheet mask, and he just looked at it for a second, not really knowing how to go about doing it.

"Uh. I don't know how to—" he said, his tone hesitant, but only briefly.

"Just unfold it delicately," you instructed. "And see how you can make it stay on your face right."

He nodded gravely, although the mask was plainly giving him a bit of difficulty. With two fumbling pulls, he eventually slapped the mask over his face, although the fit was hardly ideal—one side off-center, and the mask creased where it met the jawline.

He stared at his reflection, as if debating some deep philosophical conundrum. "Well, I look pretty good, right?" he said, adjusting the mask once more.

You looked at him and couldn't help but smile. Although the mask was a bit crooked, Kirishima's persistent confidence still shone through. He looked like a warrior—firm and ready to take on anything, even if that was battling a face mask.

"You're glowing," you teased, clearly enjoying his misery so desperately struggling.

He grinned back, clearly pleased. "Hell yeah, I'm glowing. I knew I'd kill this."

You two talked and laughed the next few minutes away, Kirishima never losing his optimism. Despite having no idea what he was doing sometimes, he was truly enjoying himself. He just kept going on about how great the cooling feeling was on his face, and how "manly" skincare was.

"Man, this cooling thing is amazing y/n," he breathed softly, running his finger over his face tenderly, his eyes wide with disbelief that he liked it so much. "I never thought skincare could be this great. This definitely is going into my routine."

You smiled, struck by the level to which he was captivated by it. "Yeah? I'll have to get you more some time."

"Hell yeah! I'm so in!" Kirishima said excitedly. "Next week?"

When the timer beeped, signaling that it was time to remove the mask, Kirishima removed it hastily and washed his face. His face did look a little brighter, and he looked pleasantly surprised at the result.

"Whoa," he said, his eyes wide as he touched his skin. "My face feels so much better. I didn't think it'd work."

You gathered up the used sheet mask and bottles of lotion, chuckling at the amount of satisfaction Kirishima had derived from it despite being such a seemingly ordinary process.

Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Kirishima leaned forward and burried you in a large, bear hug, pulling you into his chest as he began peppering kisses all over your face. You could feel his face still a little sticky from the mask, but he didn't even realize it.

"Thanks for doing this with me," he whispered, his face pressed against your shoulder. "This was incredible. Can we do this every week?"

You laughed, holding him close. "Of course baby, I'd love that."

He pulled back slightly, still grinning from ear to ear. "Next time, I'm bringing my own masks. I'm gonna be a skincare master in no time."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. “You’re already well on your way, Eijiro.”

And despite the fact that his face was still sticky with mask remnants, Kirishima looked completely content. He wasn’t just embracing the fun of skincare, but he was also genuinely proud of how seriously he took it.

KAMINARI DENKI

It had been an exhausting day, but you were looking forward to your skincare night—just you, your face mask, and a little bit of relaxation. That is, until your boyfriend, Kaminari Denki, decided he'd be a part of the fun. He came barging into your room, without knocking as always, with this huge grin on his face.

"Yo babe, what's going on in here?"

You were sitting on the bed, getting ready to put on your mask, and you raised an eyebrow at him. "I was going to do my skincare. Why?"

"Skincare, huh?" Denki's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I've seen this stuff on TikTok. People get all dewy and radiant and talk about hydration and glowy skin. I wanna see what all the hype is about."

You sighed, already aware of where this was going. "You're really gonna ruin my skincare night for this?"

Denki gave you a playful smile and seated himself next to you on the bed. "Hell yeah I'm down ! I'm ready to get glowing too. We're in this together, right?"

You gave him an incredulous look. "It's not some kind of competition, Denki. You have to do the steps."

He waved you off. "I've got this. I've been watching TikTok. How difficult can it be?"

You handed him the cleanser first, eyeing him warily as he took it from your hand. He uncapped it and sniffed. "What is this? You look like you're going to perform a science experiment, not skincare."

"Just wash your face with it," you said, trying not to laugh. "It's not that complicated."

He grinned. "Easy enough!"

He started putting the cleanser on his face, but instead of gently massaging it in, Denki was essentially scrubbing his face raw, rubbing his hands around in aggressive circles. It was like he was trying to scrub off a whole layer of skin.

"Uh, not like that…" you tried to tell him, but he didn't seem to listen.

As he rinsed his face, he faced you with a wide grin. "Alright! Step one, done! I already feel refreshed!"

You stifled your smile. "You're definitely… something. Let's just get to the mask."

You handed him the sheet mask, which he looked at with a mix of suspicion and expectation.

"Okay, okay, I got this," he muttered, looking at the package like it was a treasure map. He tried to open the mask, but it was like attempting to watch a car crash in slow motion—he just couldn't quite manage to do it right.

"I saw this on TikTok, you just—" Denki tried to put it on, but the mask was too big for his face, and it looked like it was going to slip off at any second. His lips were covered, but so were his eyes, and the whole thing was just askew.

You couldn't help it. "Denks, what the hell are you doing?"

Denki’s eyes were wide behind the mask, and he tried to adjust it, making matters worse. “What?! It’s like skincare armor. I’m doing it right.”

He stepped back and admired himself in the mirror, hands on his hips, clearly proud of his “work.” “Look at me babe. This is perfect, right?”

You snickered. “You look like a glazed donut.”

"What? No way! I'm glowing, aren't I?" Denki asked, clearly not seeing the absurdity of it all. He tugged at the mask, trying to get it straight, but it continued to slip, and you couldn't help it anymore, the laughter just escaped.

"Okay, okay, okay, got it!" Denki cried, turning to face you again, clearly amused by himself. "You're only jealous of my glowing skin. I can feel the aura coming off of me already."

You shook your head, trying to stop yourself from laughing. "I don't think it's your skin that's glowing right now, Denki. It's the ridiculousness of your whole experience."

He paused, stared at you for a bit, then broke into a wide grin. "Hey, as long as my skin's moisturized, I'm game."

After about ten minutes of Denki trying not to move—unsuccessfully, of course—he took off the mask and promptly touched his face. "Whoa. This is awesome, y/n! I could totally get used to this. My skin is so soft now. I'm basically a skincare expert."

You couldn't help but grin at him. "It's not a competition, Denki. But, okay, we'll say you're a skincare guru."

Denki was practically glowing now—not only from the mask, but from being so proud of himself.

"You're the best, babe," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pink headband you had to put on him to keep his hair out of his face. "I'm so doing this again next week. You ready?"

You couldn't help giggling. "Yeah, next week, Denki. But maybe no more TikTok tutorials."

TODOROKI SHOTO

Todoroki Shoto didn't have any idea what he was getting himself into when he said he would hang out with you. He had spent the whole day training and just needed a bit of relaxation, so he thought some peace and quiet in your room would be the best way to unwind. But as soon as his eyes landed on the array of skincare products on your shelf, he should have known things were about to take a turn. You were seated cross-legged on the bed with a jar of face scrub and a sheet mask in each of your hands. You noticed that he glanced over at the products and grinned promptly. "Well hello boyfriend," you said with a sinister sparkle in your eye. "Why don't you join me for some skincare?" Shoto raised an eyebrow, looking surprised. "Skincare? Me? You nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I need a model for my routine. You're just the one for it."

He blinked slowly and for a moment, you feared he would say no, but he sighed, clearly too tired to protest. "Fine. Okay, I guess I'll do it. But no weird stuff, okay?" You grinned, already contemplating on how you would pamper him. "No jokes, I promise. Just lay back, chill out, and let me get my hands in." Shoto settled back into the pillows, eyes already beginning to shut as he prepared himself. He did not seem to mind too much when you started with the skincare. And why would he, anyway? How awful could it possibly be?

You worked with your cleanser first, carefully applying it after damping his face with a wet cotton pad. Shoto barely flinched, his face easing under your fingers. It was clear he was trying to relax, probably due to stress from the day, and his calm mood merely made your job easier. "See? Not that bad," you teased while rubbing the cleanser on his skin. Shoto hummed. His eyes were still closed, and you could sense his shoulders relax even further under your touch. It was like he was in his own little world now, relaxing totally under your hands. You moved on to the next step—a clay mask that would purify his skin. You stood there with the jar in front of you, smiling. "Now the good stuff." He barely even glanced at you. It was as if Shoto had given up altogether, allowing you to do what you wanted. With that, you began to apply the rich, creamy mask to his face, smoothing it out over his skin with delicacy. You paused, glancing at his expression. It was blank, a little serious even, as if he was contemplating something deep. “I’m not sure about this one,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. You laughed softly. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. You’ll look great.” There was silence. Shoto's stoic expression hadn't altered one bit. His calm face was as if he were meditating, completely focused on nothing. As you put the mask on his face, you noticed something amusing: he was so relaxed that he wasn't even tensing a muscle. He didn't even blink.

You'd finished donning the mask and, with minimal commotion, you were back to lying next to him. Shoto remained stretched out, completely still, and his face was covered in a thick layer of clay mask. His hair, of course, was beautifully styled, and the headband you'd initially given him to keep his bangs away from his eyes still sat securely there. You remained there for a couple of minutes, just sitting in silence. The timer on your phone counted down, reminding you that it was almost time to remove the mask, but when you looked at Shoto's face once more, you noticed something: he was sleeping. You blinked a few times, caught off guard. Did he just really fall asleep right here in the middle of this? You leaned forward and gently poked his cheek. "Shoto?" you whispered, but he didn't move. His breathing was light and even, his face smooth as it had been since he first lay down. You couldn't help but smile at how cute he was. Here he was, one of the strongest in your class and now he was on your bed, his face covered in a mask, and completely out cold. "Well, I guess that means I did a good job," you told yourself, your lips curving into a fond smile. You didn't want to wake him, but you couldn't resist taking a selfie either. Taking one last look at his peaceful face, you reached over and grabbed your phone from the bedside table and snapped a quick pic.

You staged him with a peace sign and ensured you got the whole ridiculous look—the clay mask, the cute headband, and most of all, his completely clueless face. You smiled softly at the photo. "Perfect," you sighed, putting down your phone and gazing over at your handiwork. Todoroki Shoto, your boyfriend, now your own personal skincare test subject. You slowly took a towel to remove the mask from his face. The time was up, so you gently wiped away the clay from his skin, making sure that his skin was clean before continuing to clean up the products. Once he was all scrubbed up, you replaced everything on the shelf and gave him one last look. He was still asleep, the cutest little smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. As you rose quietly to put your products back in their place, you couldn't help but be a little dazed. Shoto was always so mysterious all the time, but times like these made him a little less so, a little more of yours. Smiling softly, you turned out the lights, leaving him sleeping peacefully in his ridiculous yet adorable skincare mask.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN) @cherrysurf @arwawawa2

[disneyprincemuke]

best dress * fem!driver

when pictures circulate on instagram of her on a night out in her best dress, the guys start to get curious who she’s out and about with on a saturday night

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, george russell x fem!driver, lando norris x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver

warnings: none

notes: i may have gotten carried away with this one… and this might have played out a LOT funnier in my head than it does written down

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

-> the aftermath

she pushes the door open and steps out of her racing home. she looks left and right cautiously, careful not to catch her colleagues’ attentions. there’s many nights she’d appreciate their companionship but tonight is not that night.

she can only step one down before her worst nightmare comes to life.

“hey, where are you going?” she turns her head, mouth agape as she meets lando’s curious eyes. his eyes scan her body and his head tilts. “and why are you all dressed up?”

she straightens her body and pats her dress down. she flicks her hair behind her shoulder, trying to ignore the awkward tension in the air.

“um,” she trails off, glancing at the group of engineers walking past them without another thought. “i’m going out tonight.”

lando’s smile drops. “oh,” he slouches, “i was here to ask you if you wanted to grab drinks with us at the bar tonight.”

“hey lando, did you f- what are you wearing?” oscar’s jaw drops, nose scrunched up as he points at her in what can only be described as disgust. “where are you even going?”

“out,” she answers with gritted teeth, glancing at the gantries of the paddocks. it’s so close yet so far away. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay? i’ve really got to go.”

“but you never turn down post-quali drinks at the bar,” lando frowns. he presses his palm against his chest and throws his head back. “i can’t believe you’d betray me like that.”

oscar looks her up and down, eyebrow raising as it gets to the heels she’s put on. “why are you wearing heels? seriously, where the hell are you going?”

“exploring the city!”

“exploring the c– we’re here year after year. we know the best spots!” lando defends. “come on! we’re going to have so much fun!”

“you’re exploring the city in heels?”

she narrows her eyes down into a mean glare. of course this is the one time that oscar decides to remember she doesn’t wear high heels for exploration purposes. “yeah.”

“you know you want to come with us.” lando shimmies his shoulders, face hopeful that the driver would change her mind. but she still shakes her head and his smile immediately drops. “fine. be that way.”

“i’m sorry, i already arranged my plans even before we flew to miami,” she laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “if you guys are going out tomorrow, i’m free to join.”

lando intertwines his fingers. “okay. but if you cancel again, i’m crashing into you the next race.”

“okay,” she chuckles, readjusting the strap of her purse. “i’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”

oscar rolls his eyes, but a smile still stretches his lips. “don’t get lost. it’s a big city, (y/n).”

“yeah, penelope’s doing amazing,” max nods, his arm resting on the back of lando’s chair. one of his legs over the other, he takes a swig of his beer. “she just started school recently.”

“oh, i s-“

“hold up!” lando holds his arm out to max’s chest, his scream startling everyone seated around the table. the light from his phone illuminates his face as everyone turns to him with a puzzled stare. “oh, my god!”

“what?” max answers just as enthusiastically, smacking lando’s thigh to get his attention. lando lifts the phone up into his face, squinting as he tries to make out the person in the picture.

“yeah, don’t cut me off,” george scoffs as he folds his arms over his chest. “i was just asking if-“

“(y/n)’s out on a date!” lando yells, smacking max’s chest. he pushes himself off the chair and throws the phone into george’s lap. “dude, i knew it! i knew there was a reason she’s all dressed up!”

“seriously!” george screams towards his fellow brit.

“a date?” oscar scoffs, in absolute disbelief that his best friend could even have the ability to attract a man. “there’s no way.”

max grins sheepishly, handing the phone over to the australian. “i’m afraid so. someone saw her in a restaurant with a guy,” max states, “it’s all over instagram.”

oscar snorts, slowly analysing the grainy picture of the girl in a restaurant with somebody. sure, it’s similar to the dress she wore when they caught her sneaking out of the paddocks, but how sure can they be that it’s her?

“we should go and find her!” max suggests, his face lighting up and cheeks flushed from all the alcohol. he jumps in his seat and smacks george’s thigh lightly. “dude, let’s find her!”

“are you crazy?” george grabs max’s hand and throws it back at his body. “her date’s none of our business!”

though, lando disagrees with his friend. he clasps his hands together with a loud sound. “let’s go, gentlemen. we’re crashing (y/n)’s date.”

but only max stands up, hands on his hips and chest puffed out. “i’m ready. i’ve got my brave face on.”

“you look absolutely ridiculous,” george raises an eyebrow, “i don’t believe you used to scare off victoria’s suitors when you were younger.”

“me neither, but it somehow worked,” max nods proudly, turning slightly to look at george. “come on! this is practice for when it’s penelope’s turn! i have to make it believable this time.”

“you’re so drunk, mate,” george sighs. yet he still gets off his seat. “but i kinda want to see this with my own eyes.”

lando turns to oscar, still planted in his seat. lando doesn’t get to say a word before oscar starts shaking his head vigorously.

lando slouches. “why not?”

“i absolutely don’t believe that (y/n) is strong enough to take me in a normal fight,” oscar shakes his head, “but i’ve learned my lesson squeezing myself into a scenario that involves her dating life.”

george tilts his head. “what?”

oscar looks up, eyes scanning the three older men towering over him. “she gave me a really bad bruise one time when i scared off this guy that hit on her in the mall.”

“so?” max yanks oscar off his seat. “i’ll protect you. come on, i’ve got to see who’s sweeping (y/n) off her feet.”

“okay, but remember to tell her i tried to stop you,” oscar mutters, letting max push him towards the door.

after many dms sent on instagram, phone calls made, and struggles to find a taxi, the four have finally arrived at the restaurant. it’s a quiet establishment in the further end of the city, heads turning as passersby recognise the huddled men by the entrance.

“are you sure it’s this one?” oscar looks up at the sign. it’s a lot fancier than he expected. “doesn’t really seem like (y/n)’s gig.”

“if i were taking the grid’s princess out on a date, i’d take her to a fancy restaurant too,” max shrugs, following oscar’s stare.

the amount of time it took them to connect the puzzle pieces really sobered him up.

george taps his foot on the ground, craning his neck for a better look through the window. “are you sure it’s here? i don’t see her.”

“the girl that posted it said she was here when snapped the picture,” lando confirms, looking between his phone screen and the sign of the restaurant. “what if (y/n) tricked us knowing we’d come running?”

once the server comes back out, guiding them to their table, each of them does their own part to pick the girl from the crowd.

“i don’t see her,” max sighs, taking one last look at the restaurant’s tables and picking up the menu. “there’s no way we ditched the bar for a wild goose chase.”

“because she’s in the far corner over there,” oscar says nonchalantly, head flicking towards the other end of the restaurant where it’s slightly darker than normal. “i noticed her when we were outside the restaurant.”

george slowly turns his head to oscar. “while we were busting our asses looking for her?”

oscar shrugs, eyes boring into the menu for a snack to fill himself with. “i told you — i’m not getting another bruise for meddling with her love life.”

“nice! there’s a table closer to her!” max suddenly says, already on his feet to follow the waiter. he turns around and beckons his friends to follow him. “come on!”

they keep their heads low as the face of the familiar girl comes into sight. oscar even covers with his face with the menu, having learned his lesson from all those years ago.

they’re a table diagonal from her, menus up to cover their faces from her. “dude, who is she with?”

“i don’t know, i can’t get a look at his face without revealing mine,” george mutters, peeking slightly above his menu. he darts back down and rolls his eyes. “max, your turn.”

“don’t make it look obvious,” lando mutters, nudging max’s elbow with his. “look like you’re looking for a waiter.”

max swiftly turns in his seat, completely twisting his torso to get a look. but the man is faced away, the driver comfortably sitting in the booth seat as she giggles at something he said.

“dude, i can’t,” max shrugs, shying away behind his menu once more.

to the table next to them, a menu drops and reveals sebastian. “what are you idiots doing here?”

george’s jaw drops, pointing a finger at the older man. “we could ask you the same.”

“we saw her getting in a random ass car outside the paddocks.” the other menu across sebastian lowers, revealing logan with his hood covering his head. “we followed her here.”

“so you know who she’s with?” max asks in a hushed whisper, leaning towards their table. he looks down at the empty table. “you haven’t ordered anything?”

“it took us a while to get a table,” logan shrugs, pulling his hood further down to cover his face. “food’s in the kitchen.”

“oh, what did you get?” max asks, now looking back at the menu for something to order.

“mate!” george scolds, rolling his eyes before facing the other table. “who is she with?”

“according to blythe, it’s jacob elordi,” sebastian says, then shrugs with the roll of his eyes. “whoever that is.”

“oh, i’ve heard of him,” max nods, pressing his lips together. “he was in euphoria, wasn’t he?”

the table falls silent, heads turning to look at the dutchman as his confession falls from his lips. max notices their stares and he simply shrugs. “kelly and i like to watch shows over the break.”

“still not a show i expected you to be watching,” lando scoffs, turning slightly to get a glimpse of the girl once more. “isn’t he a bit too old for her?”

max straightens up, stiffly turning to look at lando. his head tilts as an unimpressed expression lands on his face. “dude. easy on the age gap.”

“yours doesn’t count,” lando sighs, “she’s practically a baby!”

oscar clicks his tongue. “but i mean… jacob elordi isn’t ugly, yes? an upgrade from her only boyfriend, right, max?”

max shrugs. “i guess.”

sebastian nods towards the table, his eyes suddenly widening at the empty booth seat. “where did she go? did she ditch him?”

“no, she caught you.” a low feminine voice makes all their heads turn to the end of the table. she looks down and pulls the hood off of logan’s head and shoves him forward slightly. “why are you here? you’re better than this!”

logan shrugs, chuckling slightly. “you were being secretive! i was just curious!”

“this is the last time i’m going on a date from the paddocks,” she grunts, stomping her heel into the ground. “go home, you guys! we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

sebastian hisses as the waiter stops behind her, dishes resting on top of the tray in his hands. “we already got some food.”

she narrows her eyes down, locking eyes with max. “you’re here too?”

max nods. “i suggested this,” his eyes go around the table, “team bonding activity.”

“i just wanted to see what would happen,” george admits. he points at max seated opposite him, “he said he wanted to scare off whoever your date is.”

“it’s true, i heard him say it,” lando nods, a small and guilty smile flashes at her. “we were just concerned about you.”

sebastian grabs her wrist gently, shaking her arm. “don’t be mad anymore. come on…”

“and you!” she points a finger at the australian sitting quietly between logan and george. his head snaps up at the yelp, wide and guilty eyes meeting hers. “i told you to stop meddling with my love life!”

“what?” oscar screams back, dropping his menu. “i was dragged here against my will!”

“i don’t believe you!”

“max!” oscar looks at max, then points at the furious girl as he awaits his explanation.

max stares at him for a second too long, and a giggle erupts from his throat. “right! right… we forced him here. he did not want another bruise, he said.”

“good,” she scolds, turning on her heel. “we’re leaving.”

“but we just got here!” lando squeaks. he cowers into his seat when she turns back around to glare at him, giving him flashbacks to a time when his mother would use it on him. “i mean, enjoy your time and don’t get too tired. it’s race day tomorrow.”

oscar doesn’t bother looking at her again. “see you tomorrow, loser.”

“where are you going?” george asks, a mischevious grin on his face to challenge her. “back to the hotel for some fun time?”

“a walk,” she sighs, dropping her head. she leans on the table. “my heels are killing me.”

“oh, i’ve got you,” sebastian mutters, disappearing underneath the table. out of his bag is a pair of doll shoes, the ones that she keeps in the garage when her time in the race car is over. “i saw these lying around aimlessly and thought i should keep them for you before it gets too dirty.”

she glares at him, hesitantly taking the shoes into her hand. “you took these from my room, didn’t you?”

sebastian shrugs. “you don’t wear heels very often, kid.”

“give me recommendations for date places,” logan smiles. “maybe next time i’ll have a girl out here with me. like you with jacob elordi.”

her mood changes back to what it was before: a mixture of irritation and not one of amusement. “i will kill you guys tomorrow. my date is waiting for me outside.”

oscar waves her towards the door. “i trust you’ll text logan and i about this later.”

“hey, i want in!” lando adds on, completely ignoring the girl walking away to the door.

“dude, this is seriously none of our business.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife

[aperrywilliams]

Ocean (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

------------------ 

Author Masterlist

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer has shut you out for months, and you don’t know how to get to him. A new argument endures, and you think this might be your last chance to make him understand how deep your love for him is.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst/hurt/comfort. Spencer doesn't want to see reasons. Reader and Spencer cry. Mention to Spencer’s time in Milburn.

A/N: It’s just another self-indulgent fic to tell our boy how great he is.

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

"Are you going to say something?"

Your voice is clipped, and you feel a whole storm bubbling inside of you. Spencer's silence doesn't help to ease your desperation—a last call for some hope in your already damaged relationship.

As he sits on the couch, his eyes are lost in the window of your shared apartment, tranced by the distant bustling of the streets below. It seems everything is better than looking at you right now.

‘How can someone stand so damn close

And feel like they're a world away?

I can see your sad story eyes

So how do you have no words to say?’

“Please, say something. Anything."

Your insistence sharply contrasts with the demanding tone with which you initiated this conversation—or fight, as Spencer accused you earlier.

Still standing in front of him, you only want him to look at you, to see in his eyes what he really wants.

“Do you want me to leave? That's it?”

You don't know what else to do or say. After bickering for a solid forty-five minutes, Spencer decided he didn't want to respond to your questions/accusations anymore. Coincidence? Hell no. He went silent just after you touched a nerve mentioning the tabu, the only thing Spencer decided must remain unspoken: the three months he was locked in Milbum.

You understood his reluctance at first. Of course you did. Putting in words the nightmare of his days there can’t be easy for anyone, and to Spencer, you bet your ass it was tougher. To lose control, to engage in a world he only knew from afar. Exposed. Vulnerable.

You understood why he didn't want you to visit him there. His pride and self were wounded. However, you would never resent him for it. You said it to him but respected his wishes so as not to put more pressure on his shoulders.

It didn't hurt less, but you were willing to take it.

Weeks followed, and the only news you had about your boyfriend were the messages and phone calls from his coworker, Penelope, and his boss, Emily.

The day he was released must have been the most chaotic you had in your life. And for Spencer, sure, it was worse: His mom was kidnapped by another psychopath, threatening her life.

As Spencer hugged Diana at the BAU, you stayed back, looking from afar, not wanting to disturb such an important moment.

Penelope hugged him after, and then JJ and Tara. The whole team welcomed him before you had the chance to.

When your time came, your eyes locked for the first time in months, and you knew. That man wasn’t the same Spencer you saw the night before he went to Mexico. And you were far from expecting he was, but something felt different with you compared to the reaction he had with the rest of the people there.

Not saying a word, Spencer enveloped you in a tight embrace. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck, he couldn't articulate anything to say. You were the one who reassured him, mumbling encouraging words.

‘Everything is going to be okay. You’re safe now.’

And you believed every word, even knowing the road would be hard. Knowing there would be bad days and not-so-bad ones. But you were determined to make it work because you loved Spencer, and he didn't deserve less from you.

All I want is to fall in deeper than I've ever been

Why won't you let me?

I can handle your heart, so help me.

But Spencer didn't open up to you the next day, nor the week that followed, or the month after. You were patient. You didn't take personally the prolonged silences, the avoidance, the eagerness he showed to go back to work.

At some point, you start to wonder what you have been doing wrong because there is definitely something wrong.

Waiting for him to confide you was the only thing you decided to do. He would come to you eventually. Instead of pushing him, you offered your solace and a safe space for him to be peaceful.

But after three months, things didn't get better; they were quite the opposite. Spencer frequently showed signs of irritability at home and started to snap at almost anything.

And that's when the arguments started. You were getting exhausted by his behavior and the null display of trust from him.

Today has been no different. After coming back from a case, Spencer barely acknowledged your presence, opting for lounging on the couch, too invested in a book to tell you he almost got hurt in the field, and you find it out from Penelope calling you to know how he was doing.

“Spencer-”

“You can leave if you want,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.

“That's not what I asked. I asked if you want me to leave.”

There is a lump in your throat, but it doesn't stop you from voicing your thoughts.

“And for once, be honest with me. Do you want to be alone? Do you want to sulk yourself for God knows how much time?”

There is a brief silence where you think Spencer is truly contemplating his response.

“Yes.”

He says it without looking at you, but his voice is firm enough for you to wonder if he’s lying or not. It hurts. But it hurts you more because he’s hurting and not for the pain he’s inflicting you with his words - or lack of.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

You get his attention this time. He wasn’t expecting you to ask him that.

“Why do you want to be alone?”

You can’t understand why he’s so determined to shut you out. Or maybe you do, but you’re not ready to accept it. Not when you love him more than anything in this world. Not when you are sure your love must count to something for him. Yeah, maybe you can’t ‘fix him,’ but you’re sure as hell you can help him to heal.

Spencer huffs in frustration. What can he say? The truth? It's too simple and yet too complicated to voice.

“I realized it’s better that way. There is no reason for you to stay.”

Is he turning his motives into altruistic ones? It's like he doesn't know you at all.

“There isn’t? You are not reason enough for me to stay?”

Spencer stands from his spot, running his hands through his hair.

“You don't get it? Do you?! Do you want me to throw the words on your face? Uh? I thought you were smart enough to realize by now I can’t love you anymore!”

It's the first time he has yelled that way to you in months. Years, maybe? All the last arguments you both had recently were more like ‘snappy-sassy Spencer’ and a ‘sassier you.’

He just said, ‘I can’t love you anymore,’ and not ‘I don’t love you anymore.’ You don’t miss the wording, and you’re praying right now not to be reading this wrong.

Maybe this is the crack you were waiting for to get to him. Carefully, you look at Spencer, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't.

“Okay,” you mumble, sitting again on the couch, your feet planted on the floor and hands on your knees. Spencer raises an eyebrow, confused by your posture and response.

“Okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. You can’t love me anymore. I accept it. And I’m not happy with that, but okay. I can’t obligate you to feel in a certain way if you don’t.”

“But you should be hating me,” he refutes. “I failed you, and now I’m ending things.”

You take in his words. Spencer assumes he’s the one to hate, and even if you want to, you know you can’t.

With pursed lips and soft eyes, you gesture to the spot beside you on the couch, inviting him to sit. Spencer understands and, after a second of contemplation, slowly moves to sit there, curious about what you are thinking right now.

“Can I tell you something?” you start. “It's humanly impossible for me to hate you. And yeah, maybe I should, but I can’t. Maybe you can’t love me, and thank you for doing it at some point, by the way. But it doesn't mean I’ll stop caring about you. It doesn't mean I don't want to see you happy because, despite all the awful things you think about yourself, oh, flash news, you deserve to be happy.”

“Don’t-” he wants to refute, as always he does, but you have to make a point.

“Spence, please, let me say it.” Spencer stops and concedes at your request, even if he thinks it useless and that you shouldn’t put that effort into him.

“I know you think you disappointed people for what happened. You haven’t told me that much, but I know. And I can understand you are scared and that maybe I’m not the one you want to confide in. I respect it, really. But please, if at least a fraction of what I think matters to you, believe me, I have never doubted whatever you did in there; you did it to survive. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

It's a hard pill to swallow for Spencer. He never wanted to tell you what really happened when he was in jail. Granted, you are not a profiler, but you know him enough to see through him.

Here you are, next to me

So much beauty at my feet

All I wanna do is swim, but the waves keep crashin' in

No, I'm not afraid to drown

Take me out, take me down

I'm so tired of the shore

Let me in, baby

You're an ocean, beautiful and blue

I wanna swim in you

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. And I’ll leave if it's what you think I should do, but not before telling you how I see you. God, Spencer. You have no idea how great a human being you are. You always prefer to sell yourself short instead, but I know you. If the time we have known each other taught me something, it's how compassionate, understanding, and loving you are. Believe me when I tell you that to love you has been the best thing I have done in my life. And I would do anything for you, even if that means walking away from you.”

You don't know when the tears started to fall, but now you can feel them running down your cheeks and landing in your hands resting on your lap.

Spencer’s glassy eyes tell you he has heard everything you said, and you hope he believes you. At least you have tried pouring your heart into words. It isn’t easy for you to do. That’s something you have in common with Spencer. Your love language is acts of service more than words of affirmation, but you know this time, you need the words.

A tear makes his journey from Spencer’s eyes down his jaw. But he can’t say anything. He thinks if he says something, everything in him will crumble.

You wait, not so sure what, but wait. As Spencer keeps his silence, you think you have nothing more to do, so you break eye contact.

“Okay. That's what I needed to say. I guess that’s it.”

A shaky breath anticipates you getting up from the couch. You stroll to the bedroom to grab your go-bag.

Approaching the door and grabbing your keys from the bowl, you bit your lower lip because you don’t want to cry in front of him anymore.

Like a lighthouse, I've been shinin' bright

Through the dark for both of us

And I've done it outta love is not enough

But God, how I wish it was

And I don't wanna find out

How much lonely I can take before you lose me

Baby, look at me and swear you won't lose me

Determined to leave, you open the door, and before you cross the threshold, a heartbreaking sob paralyzes you in place. Then, a wail and Spencer's broken voice.

“Please, don’t leave!”

It is heartbreaking and comes to you like a prayer from the depths of his being. You stop in your tracks but refuse to look back at him.

“I know I don't deserve you, but please, I can’t - I can’t lose you.”

Wiping away his tears, Spencer gets up from the couch and quickly reaches the door. You still have the bag in one hand and the keys in the other, with your back to him.

“I love you more than you can imagine, and I was determined to let you go. I thought I had hurt you enough.”

“Did you were setting me free? From you?” you mumble, still not wanting to turn around, tears blurring your sight. Spencer sniffles.

“I thought it was the right thing to do. Why drag you to my shit once more? Fuck, you always have been there for me, and it is so unfair. How did I repay you?”

“Repay me?” You let the bag fall with a thud. This time, turning to face Spencer. “Do you think this is about repaying? Jesus, Spencer. I never had ask you that.”

“I know. I know,” he rushes to say. “But I feel like I’m not good enough. An ex-junk. An ex-convict. And a lot of baggage to carry.”

Your fingers fidget with the keys as you hear Spencer beating himself.

“Nothing of that has changed the way I see you. I’m not saying you have to be the same, nor do you have to keep still about it. I love you with all the scars you have and the ones that will come. And I want to help. You don't have to do this alone.”

“It's a lot. I don't even know where to start,” Spencer’s voice croaks, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“We can figure it out. Together. It won’t be easy, but I promise it will get better.”

Your soft eyes and hopeful words warm Spencer’s heart. He can’t conceive you are even real. He can’t fathom how you are still here in front of him after all. He can only conclude that your love is big enough to hold you two at this moment when his weakness consumes him.

Still sobbing, Spencer rushes to envelope you in a tight embrace. But unlike the hug you shared in the bullpen when he was released months ago, this time, he's the one telling you reassuring words.

“I love you. I couldn’t be more grateful for having you. I promise I’ll heal. I promise not to shut you out again. My love, my everything.”

As you cry with Spencer enveloped in his arms, your heart feels hopeful that you both will find a way to get through this. Together.

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

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

BEG!

Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, nocurse!au, misogynistic!gojo, college!au, reader puts him in his place, CRACK do not take this fic seriously, enemies to lovers, suggestive, mdni

Synopsis: Satoru is a stupid alpha bro who’s misogynistic and a play boy in a fraternity at your college. He learns that he can’t walk all over you, and that turns him on.

An: Thank you to everyone who commented on that post and encouraged me to write this! I didn’t think you guys would eat it up like you did 😅 I thought this would be a smutty one-off, but I actually wanted to try and make it into something a little more meaningful; hence why it took a bit longer to post. This is only part one :)

The party. |

His house screamed wealth and overconsumption at every corner. Money was obviously frivolously spent with building and furnishing the Gojo fraternity house. It was sleek, modern, but still a devastating bachelor’s pad.

The Gojo fraternity held parties every day of the weekend, including Sunday. Women got in for free, and men had to pay 5 dollars to get in. Not that Satoru needed the money — he was disgustingly wealthy and a trust fund baby. He merely charged guys money that way no one below his standard could just waltz into his frat house.

Of course, he truly believed every other man in the frat house was below him in some way. He had the full package: smart, funny, rich, handsome, a dick that should be registered as a legal weapon.

It was no wonder that women was never an issue for him. He found flirting with them to be like child’s play. It’s just too fucking easy…. pun intended. He and Suguru once had a challenge to see who could pick up the most women in a single night. Satoru ended his night after fucking 9 women in a single night, and one of those events was actually a foursome between him and three girls at once.

Honestly, he could be so much worse. With a witty personality and a mouth that just won’t shut up, he could talk his way into or out of anything.

It’s a Sunday night, which usually isn’t a big turn out for the party at his house since everyone has class the next morning. Plus, all homework is due at 11:59pm on Sundays. But this turn out was just embarrassing, there was merely 10 people all sat in his living room.

Suguru already had a girl in his lap. Everyone was giggling about something. Satoru felt like he had a chip on his shoulder, he wasn’t the center of attention right now, so he had to fix that.

Plus, there was a pretty girl in the room who he wanted to impress.

Sitting down in front of you, Satoru grins and hands you a cup undoubtedly of liquor. “Here you go, sweetness. Have one more.” He encourages, knowing that it’d be easier to chat you up if you’re a little buzzed.

“Oh, thanks.” You smile politely, and you fake taking a drink out of it. You’ve heard the stories about Satoru, and there’s just no way in hell you’re drinking something he gives you.

“What are you all talking about?” Satoru asks with a casual grin, and he takes a sip of his own drink.

“Oh, just how dumb Andrew Tate is.” A nobody responds from within the group.

“What? He’s not dumb…” Satoru nearly pouts as his favorite starboy was being harshly criticized by his friends.

“Oh god, don’t tell me you like him.” You say with disgusted look on your face as you eye Satoru. Now, you’re definitely not drinking whatever he just gave you.

Satoru’s face twists in defense as you so boldly speak up about his interests. It’s clear to you that he’s offended, but he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it.

“Why? What do you think is so bad about him?” He retorts as he cocks an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat to try to appear as confident and collected as possible.

“How about how he treats women like shit?” You ask, raising your own eyebrow. Satoru has another thing coming if he thinks you’re just going to bow down and not argue with him because he’s rich.

“He doesn’t treat women like shit-? Where are you getting your facts from?” Satoru argues, and his jaw tightens a minuscule amount. It’s bad enough that he’s being challenged, but he’s being challenged by a woman.

“His literal interviews, and the video of him literally beating a woman?”

“That video was just a sex act without any context.” He dismisses, rolling his eyes and not dispelling any claims about the interviews.

“Bitch, is that what sex sounds like to you? Because you must not be doing it right if she sounds like that.”The room erupts into laughter, and Satoru’s face only makes it better. His pale skin is becoming a little flushed. His eyebrow is twitching slightly with anger.

He takes a breath before quickly recovering. He hasn’t forgotten his objective tonight is to sleep with you. His signature smile returns to his face, and he leans in slightly. “I don’t know. Why don’t you come teach me how to do it right?”

“As if. I’d rather grind my pussy against a cheese grater than fuck an Andrew Tate fan.” More laughter breaks out amongst the small group of people.

Satoru’s jaw drops as he looks at you with disbelief. You’d rather… grate your cunt than sleep with him? “Oh yeah? So, what kind of guy piques your interest then, princess? You probably like those woke emasculated guys. Suguru might be more up your alley.”

“Hey, what the fuck?” Suguru laughs, chunking an empty beer can at Satoru’s head. The girl in Suguru’s lap continues to mindlessly giggle and play with his hair.

“No, I like men who are calm and capable. Maybe a guy who can lead but also knows when to take the backseat.” You explain, eyes wandering over Satoru’s stature. “I like them funny and kind.”

“See? I’m just what you need, princess. I can do all those things and so much more.”

“Yeah? You’re going to take the backseat sometimes?” You challenge with a knowing smile on your face. You already know what type of guy Satoru is based off of this sole interaction — plus all of the horror stories of how he’s a modern-day Casanova.

“Princess, the only time you’ll need me to take a backseat is when you’re riding that pretty pussy against my face.” His cerulean eyes gleam against the LEDs in the room. He’s fully confident that will win you over.

Your face stays completely flat. You don’t even crack a small pity smile for him. “Oh sorry, was this meant to be the part where you’re funny?”

Satoru looks at you, and you see a small twitch in his eye. He’s never had someone match his wit or his sass before. You were the perfect challenge for him — his perfect match up.

He tips his red solo cup up until his finishes the rest of his drink. Fuck sleeping with you. He wants to make you beg for him to fuck you while he just laughs in disinterest. You’re his mission now.

“You’re cute, princess.” He finally comments before getting comfortable in his chair again. “You don’t have to act like you don’t want me. ‘s okay. No one here will blame you.”

Your arms cross over your chest, and your lips curl into a frown. As much as you want to pretend to be unbothered, your face can help but show the irritation you feel from him. He’s unwavering, thinking that he will just argue and flirt his way to winning you over.

He needs to be humbled real quick, and you’ve got nothing else better to do.

“Oh really? Thank god. I’ve been dying to get on my knees and suck the most mediocre dick of my life.”

“You have the wrong guy, sweetness. I’m anything but mediocre.” He retorts without missing a beat.

By this time, most of everyone has stopped paying attention to you two — used to Satoru’s antics by now. This is just another Sunday night for him — chasing pussy as per usual.

“Yeah? Any guy who constantly boasts about how good they are in bed usually isn’t good at all.” You respond with a small eye roll.

Satoru’s strong arms cross over his chest. He’s wearing a simple white shirt with some black pants. It’s overwhelming plain, but it compliments him so well since his appearance is striking enough as it is. “I never boasted, princess. I simply stated that I wasn’t mediocre.”

You let out a small scoff and shake your head. It was honestly arguing with a brick wall. “Semantics. Either way, I don’t want to fuck you.” You dump your liquor out into a potted plant that’s next to the couch.

Wondering why you even decided to come to this stupid party, you stand up, and Satoru follows suit. “Hey now, darling. Come on. Don’t leave now. The night’s still young.” He tries to smooth things over as he takes puts his hands up in surrender. “I promise I won’t call out the obvious sexual tension between us for the rest of the night.”

“I have more sexual tension with your fake houseplant that I dumped my liquor into.” You deadpan, gathering your things as you decide that a cozy night in would be better than this mess.

Walking outside the house after everyone wishes you goodbye, you let out an audible sigh as you hear the door open and shut once more behind you. You spin on your heel to find Satoru jogging up behind you.

“Did I ruin your mood that much?” He asks with a small smile, shoving his hands into his pockets as he falls in step beside you.

“Well, following me home is certainly not giving you any bonus points.” You retort, tugging your jacket a little bit closer to your body. “Besides, that’s not really my scene.”

Satoru glances over at you as the two of you walk. He finds himself hypnotized in the way your skin glows in the moonlight. He would be lying if he tried to convince himself that you weren’t pretty because you are. Gorgeous — in fact.

“Really?” His voice is a shade softer now that he doesn’t have everyone’s eyes on him. “You seemed like a natural in there.”

You shrug your shoulders, not offering up any more information about yourself to him. He’s just another misguided frat boy with no intentions to change who’s looking to hit.

Satoru hates silence almost as much as he hates not being the center of attention. He hates how you’re not giving in even the slightest for him

“We should go out to dinner together sometime. I think you’d be surprised on how well I can fit in to any scene.” He offers, not quite giving up on hope just yet. He’s determined to get you in his bed, genuinely deluding himself that it would be a favor to you and him.

“No thanks.” Your voice is blunt as you step toward the entrance of a girls’ dormitories. Satoru’s technically not allowed inside at this late of an hour, but he’d be amused to see who would try and stop him. His family is the top donor of the university. He practically owns this place.

He stands there baffled for a moment as you turn down his date invitation. Rejecting his sexual advances is one thing, but you won’t even give him the time of day.

“So, when can I see you?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips curled into a small pout.

“You’ll unfortunately probably see me in class.” You respond, letting the door close behind you and checking to make sure it locked. Breathing a sigh of relief, you trudge your way up the steps to finally get away from that leech of a man.

Satoru stays at the door for a moment, contemplating following you inside — not for any nefarious reason. He just truly believes that you’d like him if you gave him the time of day. One of his many charming qualities is that he can talk anyone into enjoying his presence.

He had already made up his mind. You’re going to like him. You’re going to sleep with him too and like it, and he’s definitely not going to catch feelings for you so he can make you feel as embarrassed as he did tonight.

He’ll just have to set his plan in motion during class.

[runningthroughthegarden]

dumb young love

1.9k words, summary: when art leaves you in the dust for tashi, a part of you breaks. after an argument art realizes how desperately in love he is with you.

request from @fangirlinc :)

you had gone and done the one thing everyone had warned you not to do. you had fallen in love with your best friend. i mean how could you not? he was handsome, charming, talented, funny, everything you could want in a man and more. you both had such bright futures ahead of you and just loved being in each others company. which is why you never felt the need to profess your love to him. but lately you've been rethinking this choice. 

you obviously knew how close art and patrick were, i mean you guys all practically grew up with each other. this dynamic never really bothered you, why would it? that all changed once tashi came into the picture. 

you had been there, at the match where it all started. you had come to support them like you always had, but within those few days something had shifted and you had no idea why. suddenly the boys were ditching you to go to a party you didn't even know they cared about. 

they had come back to you the next day, raving about how amazing tashi was and the night they spent together. you noticed a glint in art’s eye that wasn't there before, and you tried your hardest to suppress the jealousy you were feeling. 

that day, when patrick won the match, you couldn't help but feel relieved that art would remain yours just for a little longer. what you didn't realize is that art didnt care if patrick was with tashi, because he was still head over heels for her.

 

“hey are we gonna have dinner tonight?” you ask, throwing another tennis ball over the net.

“yeah, just gotta get back to my room and shower” art replies, hitting back the ball with a distraught look on his face. 

“is it tashi?” you sigh.

“what? no-no. i'm just stressed about my next match” he replies, walking over to the bench. 

“you're art donaldson. you’re never stressed about a match. c'mon just tell me” you say as you walk over to him. 

“its just. patrick called and all he can fucking talk about is how amazing tashi is. and then i walk around campus and all i hear is how amazing tashi is. no matter what i do i can’t escape her.” he confesses, putting his head in his hands.

“i can’t imagine you ever wanting to escape her” you reply, letting out a forced laugh. 

“what?” 

“cmon art, from the day you lost that match it’s like your entire world changed or something. i mean all of a sudden your whole life revolves around this girl” you scoff. 

“y/n i really don’t need this shit from you, i’ll see you later” he scoffs, picking up his bag and leaving the court. 

“art!” you call out, only for him to leave you there alone.

standing there you think back to when everything was fine. how art would link his pinky with yours as you walked. the way he would call you everyday when he had to travel for matches. the nights you spent in his dorm trying to cram week's worth of studying into one night. the way he would so effortlessly plant kisses to your forehead. the moments you thought he might actually be in love with you. but now all you had were those memories. 

 

before you knew it, all art was doing was hanging out and helping tashi train. he had been your training partner first, so it hurt like hell to be left in the dust. you decided to try and let it go and focus on winning your matches. your most important match was coming up and you couldn't let your silly love life get in the way. the one person you had always dreamed of being coached by was going to be at your match. so you knew you had to train like crazy to get to work with them. 

a part of you was hoping maybe art would see how amazing your match would be, and finally start paying attention to you again. but you knew you were holding onto false hope. 

 

the day of your match had finally come, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared. this was such an important moment for your career and you couldn't shake those nerves. but you knew seeing art up in the stands would give you the boost of confidence you needed. 

the first set was about to start and you still didn’t see art in the stands. you felt your heart skip a beat at the thought that he might not show up. he would never do that to you. right? 

the first set had started and for a moment, the world around you started to fade. you may have hated tashi, but man was she right about tennis. you were performing flawlessly and you knew all the hard work was finally going to pay off. 

after winning your first set, you go back to your seat, taking a breather and still scanning the crowd for art. he was still nowhere to be found and you could feel your sadness turning into anger. deciding to use that as fuel, you prepare yourself for your next set. the rest of the game goes flawlessly and you know this is the best you have ever played. 

hitting the winning point, you stand in shock as cheers come from the stands. thanking your opponent you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face. that is until you spot art in the stands. you could feel all the anger and resentment you suppressed fighting to be released. this had been your best game yet, and there art was, to ruin it.

packing up your bag, you felt a presence behind you. all spectators and coaches were long gone so you knew exactly who was behind you. turning around to face art, you push past him not wanting to hear a word he has to say. 

“y/n please i-” art calls out, quickly catching up with you.

“you what art?!” you yell, turning around to face him.

“you forgot? you had homework? you lost track of time? oh better yet, maybe you were with tashi?” you continue, looking up at him. you could feel hot tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

he stays silent and thats all the answer you need. 

“oh my god you were” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“please just let me explain” art pleads, a look of desperation you’d never seen before. 

“today was the most important day to me. and i really thought that as my best friend you would at least care a little more. but i know where your priorities lay. and i'm done fighting for a spot i’ll never get” you say as tears quickly spill onto your cheeks. 

art’s hand reaches up to brush away your tears, but you step back. 

“stay the fuck away from me art” you choke out, quickly walking back to your room. 

 

the next few days were hell. spending each day crying in your bed, you had lost not only the love of your life but your best friend. you had gotten a call offering to be coached by someone you could only ever dream of working with. you should’ve felt happy, ecstatic even, but the last conversation you had with art was still ringing through your head. he had called you far too many times and texted you even more. but you had ignored every single one. the first day he came knocking on your door, but gave up after an hour of waiting. the apology flowers he had sent you sat on your desk. you had no idea what you were going to do. until, you got a text from patrick. 

patrick 

hi love, art told me about what happened im sorry. 

y/n

hi, you don’t have to apologize for him being stupid

patrick

do you want to hang out today? try to get your mind off of him

y/n 

actually i would love to

patrick 

meet me outside at 2

getting ready to see patrick was a highlight from these past few days. while you were enjoying your sulking you knew you had to get out at some point. going out to the courtyard, you see patrick sitting on a picnic blanket. your favorite foods and snacks were neatly laid next to him. you felt yourself genuinely smiling for the first time in a really long time. you spent the next hour eating your favorite meal and laughing at stupid shit with patrick. although your heart still hurt, you could feel your spirits rising. 

“thank you for this patrick, it’s all so lovely” you smile. 

“of course i’ll always be here for you” he gleams, pushing away the hair around your face and leaning in to kiss your forehead. 

“what the fuck?!” 

you would recognize that voice anywhere. 

“art what are you doing here?” patrick stands up to face him. 

“oh i dont know maybe i go to school here? what the fuck are you doing here patrick?!” he replies, getting closer to patrick. 

“seriously y/n? you run off to patrick?” he questions, obviously distraught but you can't seem to place why. 

“hey you don’t get to blame her for this” patrick replies. 

“oh fuck off patrick would you let her speak” 

grabbing arts hand, you quickly lead him away from the public spectacle this was all becoming. 

“what the hell is wrong with you art?” you yell, shutting your room door. 

“i mean, you completely forgot about me for some other girl and now you're mad at me? none of this makes sense, you broke my heart. you don't get to be angry.” you continue, feeling tears brim your eyes. 

he paces for a second, running his hands through the curls you missed so much. 

“im in love with you” he stops, looking down at you. 

it felt like you were dreaming, like you were imagining the words that just came out of his mouth. 

“i always have been. i've just been so stupid about it. when tashi came around i threw myself at her because i thought there was no way you would ever feel that way towards me. and i know i fucked up by doing that, i really really fucked up. but when i picture my life i see you, i've only ever seen you. and seeing you with patrick, i was scared i lost you. i'm sorry y/n, i really am. i would do anything to take it back.” he confesses. 

“you’re so stupid!” you yell, pushing his shoulders. 

“ive been in love with you for like, forever!” you look up at him, confused as to how he never realized. 

“really?” he asks, pure shock all over his face. 

“yes! i thought it was obvious” you frown. 

before you knew it he was holding your face in his hands, planting a kiss on your lips. in that moment everything felt right, like the stars had aligned. 

“y’know i'm still mad at you” you look up at him, placing your hands over his. 

“trust me, i will do everything to make it up to you. i'm just glad you're finally mine” he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face as he kissed you again. 

[astarion-approves]

More than sex.

Astarion x gn! Tav

"You’re telling me, that you.. would pass on a night of… meaningless, fantastic, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mind blowing sex… for love?”

“Yes.”

Rating: Mature (for the subject but no actual sex or smut in any way shape or form.) Tags: Demisexuality, demisexual Tav, Demisexual Reader, No Smut, gn! Reader, Slight spoilers, Act One spoilers, Developing Relationship, Developing Friendships, Drabble, short and sweet, Confessions

Ao3 or keep reading below:

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

“I’m just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun.”

Tav considered these words, anytime they saw Astarion having ‘fun’ was on the battlefield. Either stabbing his way through anything that stood before him, or sneaking up behind them and slitting their throat before they could even scream. “And what’s your idea of ‘a little fun?’”

Astarion smiled, taking a sip of his cheap wine before speaking, “By the hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion.” 

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. So, how about—“

“Shadowheart is free.” Tav looked over their shoulder to where she stood by her own tent where she fiddled with a bottle of wine attempting to open it with slow hands. 

“Wait, what—“ Astarion shifted to look past Tav to where she stood, the woman catching his gaze and glaring in return. 

“And she’s really pretty too,” Tav offered. 

“I’m not interested in hearing her praise her goddess tonight.” 

“Well, there’s also Lae’zel—“

Astarion shook his head. “I think she would rather behead me before she would ever bed me.”

“Halsin is available too—“ The Druid elf was handsome, and such a powerful one at that but before Tav could even finish, Astarion cut them off.

“Tempting, but not the one I’m interested in.” 

“Gale—“

“No.” 

Tav hummed, putting their hands on their hips as they scanned the rest of the camp. There were many others, but most were already too drunk to even remember their own names. “I can’t think of anyone else.” 

“There’s always you, darling.” 

“Me?” Tav snorted a laugh. Surely he must have been joking. Of all the people that Astarion could have… Tav would personally put themselves at the bottom of the list. 

“Yes, you. It’s not everyday someone like yourself would be propositioned by someone like me, and this may be your last opportunity—“

“No thank you.” 

“No?! What do you mean ‘no’?!” Astarion was shocked, his hands jumping to his chest as if Tav had stabbed him directly in the heart. 

Tav grimaced, the way that Astarion’s face dropped, the hurt that filled his eyes so quickly… “Look, I’m not… rejecting you—“

“Sure sounds like rejection to me—“

They shook their head. “I need to be in love first… before I can…” Tav lifted their hands, gesturing towards Astarion in a weak display of trying to find the words and failing. “Don’t get me wrong… you’re- you are breathtaking, Astarion. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on—“ 

“Yes, I know. But– you’re telling me, that you.. would pass on a night of… meaningless, fantastic, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mind blowing sex… for love?” 

“Yes.”

Astarion paused, taken aback. “Well, that’s actually quite admirable… But why?” 

“For me, I want it to mean something. Sex is an easily obtainable thing, but love… love you have to work for, to fight for, to earn and to cherish. Sex is great and all but… making love to the person who means the most to you in the world. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.” 

Astarion tapped his finger against his lips, thinking to himself before speaking again. “Hm. Sex and love, I never took you for such a sap,” he said with a light laugh. “Well, how do you feel about being friends then, hm? The kind of friends that protect one another, that is.” 

Tav chuckled. “I think it’s too late for that.” 

“Too late?! So what, now we can’t even be friends?!” Astarion threw his hands up, frustrated. “All I did was hit on you and now—“ 

“No, no,” Tav cut him off, reaching for Astarion’s hands and holding them gently. “What I mean… We can be friends but… I have developed some feelings for you. If you want to be friends, that’s fine. That’s great, actually. I just… well, I need to know if I should ignore those feelings—“  

Astatrion pulled his hands way, choosing to gesture towards Tav as he spoke. “So, let me get this straight. You have ‘some’ feelings for me?”

“Yes,” Tav replied with a nod. 

“But you don’t want to fuck me, tonight? Right now?” 

“Right.” They nodded again. 

“How very interesting… and even.. a little refreshing,” Astarion smiled, a smile that almost seemed shy… With his head turning away from Tav—and Tav swore they saw the smallest blush growing on his cheeks. 

“Refreshing?” Tav questioned, learning towards Astarion in an attempt to see that adorable blush— 

Astarion waved them off, the blush already gone and Astarion back to his usual self. “Never mind that, Tav. I guess we can see where this goes then?” He reached out, taking Tav’s hand into his own and giving it a light squeeze. “Whatever this is, anyway.” 

Tav smiled. “I’d like that.”