#it’s okay to hate a design or a fabric!!

[theshatteredsilhouette]

Every time I see that viral “costuming quality has decreased over the years” post I get so angry because a) the comparisons they use are not at all equal in terms of genre and what goals the costumes and the films/tv have, and b) shitting on Rings of Power costumes just because you don’t personally like them and don’t understand costume design or construction is not a valid critique.

I will keep screaming from the rooftops, as a professional costumer and as someone who knows folks who worked directly on the costumes, the Rings of Power costume team is PHENOMENAL. These costumes up close are works of art; they have teams of incredibly skilled artisans doing immaculate and extremely thought-out work and just because they don’t look like the PJ films (and serve a different purpose a lot of the time!!) does not mean they are a “downgrade”.

[skeletalheartattack]

theres another member of zarbons species in the moro arc of dragon ball super! he transforms into a differentmonster form than zarbon

Yuzun! i know him! or well, i kinda know him. i'm not really caught up or invested in anything Dragon Ball related beyond Buu Saga, but i've learned somewhat about him.

i think he's pretty neat! and i'm really happy they expanded Zarbons race just a little bit with Yuzun. though you hate to hear how he went out... there's no peace for my mans race. i hate this solar system. fuuuck.

[varjopeura]

.

[silkentine]

Me when they are the sisters ever: 😭😭😭 They came out soooo freaking well. I won’t lie, they took me a thousand years to finish but through the constant support from all of my buds (and my latent bisexuality), we made it 😤

Hopefully you guys know the deal by now: design choices, easter eggs, and (NEW!) closeup shots below the read more. ⬇️

I wanted Ace to have a very down-to-earth vibe and looked at Aussie beach-girls, coastal cowgirls, and vaqueras for reference. (IDK, I’ve just always envisioned Ace as part-Australian🌺 and Mexican 🏴‍☠️) Her clothing choices are mostly natural or utilitarian materials like the painted wooden beads on her top, her woven fabric and leather belts, and her denim jumpsuit. I gave her bikini top a zen-garden kind of feel because I read the first Ace’s Story Novel and I loved how idyllic and peaceful they made Sixis Island sound so I wanted to invoke that in some way.

Speaking of her painted wooden beads, they hang off the back of her top and represent her connection to Sabo and Luffy. They watch her back once she sets sail. She only wears one red glass bead earring because the other one got ripped out of her ear when a child, leaving her earlobe torn (don’t think about it too much 😢). Also, YES! she does wear a hibiscus flower just like Rouge (because I hate you and I want to make you cry, muhwahahahaha).

Also, I really wanted her to have super textured curly hair that licks behind her like flames. I am always considering whether or not a character should have long hair or not because I don’t want it to be a hindrance if they’re in a fight (or if they ARE a fighter with long hair, how to they avoid an enemy making use of that?). Ace is, of course, a Logia-type Devil Fruit User so I think she wouldn’t have trouble with people grabbing it LOL I get the feeling that she doesn’t take very good care of it even though it looks amazing. Like you’d think it would be soft and bouncy just by looking at it but if you ever get the chance to run your fingers through it, it’s a total rat’s nest and there’s sand and food all up in it. She still falls asleep while eating 😂 but she tries her best to only do it around people she can trust (woman moment 😔).

Honestly, her design is not that different from Ace’s canon look. It feels really vital to Ace’s character to have a lot of skin showing. And he’s always hanging all over himself with his hips all cocked like the weight of the world is too much to stand up straight. It is certainly not my OWN preference to make her an absolute smoke show. That’s just the character, okay? (I’m partially lying and the proof is that I turned the emblem on Ace’s hat strap into a sternum tattoo for no other reason than that it is sexy af.)

Here are some closeups of Ace:

Now for Sabo, I’ve made her very girly. I tried putting her in pants or something more militant but she told me that she’d wear the big poofy sleeves and hiked-up ruffled skirt. I think Sabo has always had a strong grasp on his fashion sense and individual flair and I truly believe that his personal style is one of the major influences for the rest of the Revolutionary Army resulting in the very flashy, queer, steampunk aesthetic (aside from Dragon’s plain-ass cloak). So of course I had to implement her nonconformist look when reimagining her as a woman and dress her up to the nines.

I’ve given her very ornate jewelry that is there to tell a story, even if she herself doesn’t know it. I like to think she picks up stuff from her travels that resonate with her, such as a damaged set of earrings with one stone missing or red cup-shaped shells featuring three nestled pearls. Another accessory that cannot go unmentioned is her dragon claw hat pin that keeps her top hat resting on top of her hair (and is definitely used as a weapon when the situation simply doesn’t call for trusty metal pipe). She also has a veil that obscures her prominent facial scar. I imagine she’s not very keen on the reminder of the incident from her childhood that took away her memories. I also kept her chipped toothed because 1) it’s fucking adorable and 2) is a visual reminder that she no longer aligns herself with the nobility who would have gotten such a thing fixed. She is so poised in almost every outward facet of her life from her dignified role as the Chief of Staff to the elegant materials in her clothing that it can be easy to forget she was also a rough and tumble forest dweller. Every time Koala remembers this, he lets out the biggest sigh.

Her hair is inspired by Gibson Girls and Elizabeth Swann from the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I wanted it to be fussy and tidy but fall apart when she’s in moments of distress. For example, when she remembers her sisters, her hair starts to look like Ace’s flaming mane. I’m so in love with her, I think she looks like an adorable little porcelain doll that would fuck you up. I made an effort to keep her eyes a little bit manic. I get lost in her steely black orbs (and also Ace’s warm brown ones, but we’re talking about Sabo rn).

Here are her close-ups:

Plot notes for this AU:

For this series of character designs, I wanted the expressions and outfits to be aligned with the canon plot but I don’t know if I have the heart to kill fem!Ace in my AU. I’m too attached and ASL has suffered enough!!!!! But Ace’s death is also a major defining moment for Luffy so it feels disingenuous to completely avoid it. Also a huge aspect of Sabo’s character is carrying on Ace’s will and I have so many thoughts about how the Dressrosa Colosseum scene would play out if they were all women. Oh well, I’ll cross that tragic bridge when I get to it. I’m definitely going to draw some Modern AU Girl Piece ASL though. They deserve to hang out with no stakes 😭 They are sisters!!!

Check out the tag “girl piece” on my blog for my other One Piece genderbends! 🥰

[hoshifighting]

rival fashion designer!minghao

— synopsis: where minghao flexes his fashion awards whenever your brand competes against him during fashion week. — WC: 3k — WARNINGS: explicit language, smut, reader uses a transparent clothing (just like rihanna in oscar x swarovski), oral (f. receiving) ENORMOUS DICK!MINGHAO, slight face slap, mentions of choking on a cock, penetrative sex—or trying to.

look, you weren’t trying to start beef with minghao. you don’t even know why the dude hates you so much. okay, maybe you said one thing about his fall line looking like it got snatched off the clearance rack at an IKEA. but that was a year ago. and also? you were drunk and kinda bitter ‘cause your show got bumped for his stupid avant-garde puff-sleeve renaissance clowncore shit.

but now, every fashion week is like a personal vendetta for him to humble you. you’ll be vibin’, sipping your overpriced latte in the designer lounge, and this man will just stroll in, decked out in some vintage runway piece that costs more than your annual budget, flashing that “i won best emerging designer again” smirk like it’s a fucking weapon. and then he’ll throw some casual shit like:

“oh, y/n, is that your collection over there? i thought they were setting up for the kid’s line showcase.”

[...]

so this year, you swore you wouldn’t let him get in your head. you’d play it cool, professional, unbothered. except you walk into your studio late one night, the day before your big runway debut, and this man is just there. sitting on your worktable. wearing a pearl-studded harness and leather pants so tight it should be a crime.

you freeze, halfway through the door, holding the iced coffee you begged your intern to grab five minutes before starbucks closed. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

minghao barely glances up from his phone. “your assistant let me in.”

traitor.

“why?” you slam the coffee on the counter, praying your voice doesn’t shake. the audacity of him just existing in your space is enough to make your blood boil.

he stands, slow as hell, like he’s got all the time in the world. he’s tall—annoyingly tall—so when he steps close, you’re immediately at a disadvantage. but you refuse to back down.

“just wanted to check out the competition,” he says, eyes flicking lazily over the chaos of fabric swatches and half-finished sketches strewn across the room. “cute line. very... simple.”

“fuck you, hao,” you snap, crossing your arms. “it’s called ‘minimalism.’ not that you’d know anything about taste.”

he laughs, soft and low, the kind of sound that creeps under your skin and lingers there. “oh, i have plenty of taste. i just don’t need to keep it basic to get attention.”

and here’s the thing: you hate how much he gets to you. he’s a smug asshole with an overinflated ego, but he’s also stupidly talented, and you can’t ignore the fact that his lines always sell out in under a day. or how his press coverage makes yours look like a local craft fair feature.

but what really gets you is how hot he looks right now, with his ridiculous cheekbones and the glint of that tiny silver chain peeking out from under his collar. it’s disgusting. you hate it.

you’re about to throw a cutting remark his way, something about how he’s overcompensating with all that jewelry, but he beats you to it.

“you know,” he murmurs, stepping even closer, “you’d look good in my designs.”

your brain short-circuits. “excuse me?”

“if you ever want to elevate your style...” he trails off, dragging his gaze down the length of your body like it’s a runway.

“you are so full of shit,” you hiss, but there’s no heat behind it, because your stupid traitorous brain is suddenly imagining what it’d feel like to have his hands on you.

he smirks, all teeth and danger, leaning in so close you can smell his expensive cologne. “maybe. but you’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

you don’t answer.

[...]

the next morning, you’re running on zero sleep, fueled by pure spite and caffeine, but your runway show? flawless. models everywhere, hair spray choking the air, seamstresses practically sewing on skin ‘cause the deadlines were that tight. and you were doing a thousand fucking things at once.

fixing a hemline here, shouting at a makeup artist there—“no, not clean girl aesthetic, we’re going full grunge today, wake up!”—all while struggling to get yourself into the swarovskied transparent gown you planned to wear for the night.

no bra, because tits were the least controversial thing in fashion. and the way the crystals draped over your skin looking likew pure art. nipples out and proud, paired with modern curls swirled to perfection and makeup that screamed chaos-but-make-it-glam.

by the time your collection hit the runway, your nerves were shredded. but watching the models strut, each piece shining under the lights... fucking worth it.

and then, the finale: your dress sweeping dramatically across the stage as you closed the parade. you bowed to the crowd, letting the cameras and whispers soak in every inch of you, and as you turned to leave, you felt it.

minghao’s sharp eyes.

you caught his eyes just as they traveled the length of you—from the swirl of your hair, to the unapologetic sharpness of your nipples under the crystals, to the shimmer of your dress, down to the towering heels on your feet.

you just smirked to yourself as you headed backstage, knowing full well your collection didn’t just crawl under his skin this time. it slithered under his flesh, wrapped tight around his ribs, and squeezed.

[...]

minghao’s models stormed the runway like it was their goddamn birthright. and of course, you watched. no designer worth their silk ignored the competition, and minghao wasn’t just competition, he was a walking masterclass in making everyone feel like second place.

he closed his show with his usual flare, stepping out like he already knew the applause was his. fast-forward two designers later, and the nominations for the fashion academy awards started rolling in. you didn’t have to look to know minghao had already claimed half the early awards.

you watched him backstage through narrowed eyes as he balanced four trophies—two tucked in his arms, two in his hands—posing for a picture with that smug-ass smile. you knew that pic was already blowing up on his Instagram. your jaw clenched, nails digging into your palm as the last nominations were announced.

and then, plot twist of the year:

your name came up five times.

designer of the year: you.

new vision in fashion: you.

collection of the year: your brand.

runway innovation: your brand.

showstopper of the year: your brand.

walking out with those five heavy-ass awards in your arms? victory tasted better than champagne. your models and team practically swarmed you, hyping you up ‘cause they knew how much blood, sweat, and tears went into this collection.

but what you really wanted... minghao. definitely minghao. minghao, in your line of sight. because after all the times he flaunted his wins like a smug bastard, you wanted him to feel this.

and lucky for you, fate delivered.

you spotted him in the back hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. clearly, he hadn’t heard the last nominees. his head snapped up when your heels echoed through the space.

“oh, hey, hao,” you called out, voice sweet as honey but sharp as glass. you stopped just short of him, shifting the five trophies in your arms so they pressed against your chest. the weight of them pushed your tits up just enough to catch his eyes.

“looks like I’ve got... a plus one on you this year.” you smirked, shaking the awards a little for good measure, the motion making the crystals on your dress catch the dim hallway light.

his eyes flicked down—brief, subtle, but not subtle enough—and then back up, his expression neutral, but you could feel the shift in his ego.

“congrats,” he said, the word clipped like it physically hurt him.

“thanks, babe,” you purred, turning on your heel with a sway of your hips. “see you next season. maybe.”

and with that, you left, letting the click of your heels carry the weight of your victory.

[...]

days later, you were lounging in minghao’s big leather chair, legs crossed up on his table, showing the expensive ass high heels you always wore. his assistant had let you in with barely a question, and you weren’t one to waste an opportunity.

when he finally walked in, his eyes narrowed immediately. “what the hell are you doing here?”

“relax,” you drawled, leaning back like his office was a spa. “your assistant said I could wait. guess they like me more than you.”

he folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “didn’t think you’d show your face here after the other night. thought you’d be busy polishing all those trophies.”

you grinned, slow and smug. “oh, i polished them. just thought i’d stop by to see how you’re doing. must be hard, you know—losing.”

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. instead, he stepped closer, looming over you. “you done?”

“not even close,” you said, standing up to match his energy. you stopped just shy of his chest, tipping your chin up. “but don’t worry, hao. i’ll let you borrow a trophy sometime if you really need the validation.” you patted his shoulder.

he scoffed, his lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “you know, i like your attitude.”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah? you must, considering how much you stalk me every season.”

“maybe that’s why we should work together.”

you laughed, loud and sharp, tossing your head back. “oh, that’s rich. you? work with me? what, so you can take credit for my ideas and call it a ‘collaboration’?”

he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “i’m serious. we’d be unstoppable.”

for a second, you almost believed him. “unstoppable, huh? what makes you think i’d even want to work with you?”

“because you like the challenge... admit it. you love it when i push you.”

“you’re intolerable.”

“and yet,” he murmured, stepping so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, “you haven’t left yet.”

your laugh came out breathy this time, your pulse quickening as his hand grazed the curve of your hip. “you think I’m staying here for you? please. your assistant let me in, remember?”

“sure,” he said. his thumb traced slow circles against your side, almost lazy. “but you’re still here.”

you were about to snap back with something cutting, something to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but then he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his gaze locked on yours like a predator sizing up prey.

“stop thinking,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for your lips to almost touch. “you might actually enjoy yourself.”

his lips were soft and plump, moving against yours so fucking good that felt unfair. his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped.

your hands found his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm under your fingertips as you pushed him slightly, breaking the kiss with a smirk. “you’re bold, i’ll give you that.”

“you’re still thinking,” he teased, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back.

your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping just enough to feel the flex of his muscles. you threatened to sit on his table.

his eyes widened slighty, his hands immediately grabbing your ass to lift you up, making you yelp. “don’t!”

“what? scared i’ll break it?” you teased, wrapping your legs around his waist.

he places the needles that were spread lazily on the table, inside of a box. he turned, his grip firm as he carried you a few steps and sat you on a nearby armchair.

“there were needles on that table, genius,” he scolded, his tone sulky but his fingers tracing slow lines along your thighs. “you’d be bleeding before I even got started.”

“aww,” you cooed, dragging your nails down his neck. “you worried about me, hao?”

“no,” he muttered, kneeling, dipping his head to kiss along your jawline, his teeth grazing just enough to make you arch towards him. “just don’t want to ruin my night with a trip to the hospital.”

your laugh turned into a soft moan as his lips found the spot just below your ear. “guess you’re not as heartless as you act.”

he pulled back slightly, his smirk sharper than ever. “you talk too much.”

you pulled him in for another kiss, your tongues colliding this time. when you tried to take control, tilting your head for a deeper angle, he pulled back just enough to make you chase him.

minghao’s hands were firm on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin like he wasn’t about to wreck you in the middle of his office. his eyes dragged down, lingering on the way your skirt was pushed up, the space between your legs bare and unapologetic.

he clicked his tongue, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “no panties, huh?” he said. “came here like this?”

“what can I say?” you shot back, shifting slightly so his hands pressed harder against your skin. “i had a feeling you’d end up on your knees.”

his smirk deepened, his fingers tightening slightly as he leaned in, close enough for you to feel his breath. he pressed your legs further onto the armrests, spreading you wider, his hands splayed like he wanted to leave imprints.

his tongue flicked out, close enough to make you tense—but he didn’t touch you. instead, he pulled back, his eyes locking with yours as a smirk tugged at his lips.

he leaned in again, his tongue brushing so close you could feel the warmth from his breath, but once again, he pulled back just as you tilted your hips forward.

“hao..” you warned.

“what?” he teased, his lips hovering over your folds.

your hands gripped the armrests as you glared down at him. “if you don’t stop playing, i swear—”

he cut you off with a broad, strong lick, dragging his tongue from your entrance, through your folds, and up to your clit in one unbroken suck. your head fell back as a gasp tore from your lips.

“that shut you up,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he dipped lower, his tongue swirling around your entrance before moving back up. “needy much?”

“shut up and do it again,” you shot back, your voice sharper than the way your thighs trembled under his grip.

and he did the same. your clit throbbing at the rough skin of his tongue, making you melt on his armchair, he smiled at the sight, he knew how a good head felt after months dealing with needles and sparkly cloths.

his lips latched onto your folds, sucking them into his mouth before he pulls back just slightly, his tongue flicking against your clit in quick, teasing strokes. you let out a pornographic moan, before your clap a hand on your mouth, remembering the team outside the office. he chuckled darkly, his hands tightening on your thighs to hold you still. his lips wrapping around your clit again. this time, he sucked it fully into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it as his eyes flicked up to yours.

“you’re so good at this, hmm—fuuuck!” you said, your nails drowning in the leather of the armchair. “you must’ve practiced on a lot of other girls, huh?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, and his teeth grazed your clit just enough to make you wwhimper. “jealous?” he asked, his voice smug, though he didn’t stop the relentless motion of his tongue.

“please,” you shot back, though the way your breath hitched betrayed you as he did a zig-zag on your bud with the tip of his otngue. “you’re better when you’re silent.”

he smirked against you, his lips curving as he pulled back just enough to speak. “then shut me up.”

your fingers tangled in minghao’s hair, tugging him closer, harder, until his face was buried against your pussy. his groan vibrated through you, desperate, and his hands clamped down on your thighs to steady himself as you rolled your hips against his mouth.

“that’s it... mhmm, just like that...”

he obeyed, his head bobbing as his tongue slid against you in broad, wet strokes, his lips sealing around your clit every few seconds to suck, deep and rhythmic. the wet, obscene sounds filled the room, and your nails scraped lightly against his scalp as you held him there, guiding him exactly how you wanted.

the heat in your core coiled tighter, and you barely had time to register your orgasm hit.

your back arched, your mouth falling open as moans spilled out shamelessly. your hips rolled against his face as you came, and minghao didn’t stop—not for a second. he worked you through it, sucking and licking as though he felt your climax before you did.

he only pulled back when you began to squirm, your breath coming in sharp gasps as overstimulation took hold. his lips and chin were slick as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes glinting as he looked up at you.

“had fun?” he asked, sarcastically.

you gave a breathless laugh, your chest heaving as you leaned back in the chair. “you talk too much for someone who just spent five minutes swallowing my pussy.”

his smirk widened, and he stood, his hands braced on the armrests as he leaned down, his face inches from yours. “and you talk too much for someone who’s about to beg me to fuck her.”

your gaze flicked to his lips, and then lower—to the bulge straining against his pants. “big words,” you said. “let’s see if you can back them up.”

his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he walked you back toward the desk—no needles this time. you didn't even had time to register what was happening before your skirt was pushed higher, his fingers brushing over your thighs as he settled you on the edge.

his hand worked his belt, the clink of the buckle making you clench around nothing.

“this isn’t gonna be quick,” he said as he freed himself, the sheer size of him making your breath catch. it was big both in length and girth.

you swallowed hard.

“relax... mhmm”

he teased your entrance with the tip, sliding it slowly against you, and the stretch was immediate, even as he slightly pressed in. your breath hitched, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as he pushed forward, achingly slow, giving you time to adjust.

“ngh—fuck!” you gasped, your voice breaking as he filled you inch by hard inch.

“breathe,” he murmured, his tone gentle despite the tension in his body. mouth glued on yours to make sure he feels your puffs of air.

“trying”

he paused, his hands tightening on your hips as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re okay,” he whispered. “just breathe for me.”

you hiccuped, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as your body struggled to adjust.

“there you go,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as he waited “good girl. just like that.”

you exhaled slowly, your body relaxing slightly helping him to slid in further, the fullness stealing the air from your lungs.

your hands gripped his arms, your nails digging into his skin as he finally bottomed out, his body pressed flush against yours.

“fuck,” he muttered, his voice tight as he buried his face in your neck. “you’re—so fucking tight.”

you swallowed hard, your head tilting back as you tried to catch your breath. “you’re—so fucking big.”

he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours as a smirk tugged at his lips. “think you can take it?”

your breath hitched, and you nodded, your hands sliding to his back as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “try me.”

minghao hips pulls back just an inch before thrusting forward experimentally. the sound that left your lips was somewhere between a moan and a strangled gasp, your nails biting into his shoulders as your body clenched around him.

he paused, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he tilted his head to the side, his eyes flicking over your face. “yeah, knew that’d happen.”

“don’t—” your breath hitched as he moved just slightly, a tiny shift that made you clutch at him even harder. “don’t fucking smile like that.”

his laugh was quiet, he leaned down, his forehead brushing against yours. “why not? you’re almost cummin already.”

“i’m not—” the words caught in your throat as he slid just a little deeper, your body trying desperately to adjust to his size.

“not what?” he asked, his tone playful as he stilled again, waiting for you to catch your breath.

“not—cumming” you managed, though your voice shook with the effort of speaking.

“hmm.” his thumb grazed your clit, circling it trying to soothe your nerves. “then why are you holding on to me likethat?”

you glared at him, though the effect was probably ruined by the way your mouth fell open with a gasp as his thumb pressed down just slightly harder.

your body tensed as he began to move again, sliding in slowly, each inch dragging against you in a way that made your head fall back. the wet squelch of your body adjusting to his girth filled the room, obscenelly.

“shit,” he muttered, his voice tight as he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you steady. “you’re so—tight. feels like you’re trying to squeeze me out.”

“maybe i am.”

he laughed softly “you’re all talk,” he murmured, his thumb still circling your clit. “that pussy is begging for me.”

“hao,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his arms as your legs tightened around his waist. “i—fuck, i can’t—”

“you can,” he said softly, his lips moving against your neck. “breathe for me, baby. you’ve got this.”

you exhaled shakily, your chest rising and falling against his as you tried to relax, tried to let the tension in your body melt away. his thumb pressed a little harder against your clit, insistent, coaxing pleasure to override the discomfort.

“that’s it,” he murmured, his voice soft as his arm tightened around your waist. “just like that. let me in.”

your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut as he finally slid deeper, his hips pressing flush against yours. the sensation stole the breath from your lungs, and your fingers dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor you.

“you okay?”

you nodded weakly, your hands sliding up to grip his hair as you whispered, “move.”

he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “not yet.”

your eyes snapped open, frustration bubbling in your chest as you glared at him. “hao—”

“relax,” he murmured, his thumb circling your clit again, making you cry out slyly. “i’m not gonna ruin you all at once. gotta make sure you can take it.”

“i can,”

“we’ll see,” he said, his tone smug as he finally, finally pulled back, his cock dragging against you.

“hao, just—fuck me already.”

his laugh was quiet. “you’re not ready for that yet, look—” he roll his hips, making you hiccup again. “but don’t worry—I’ll get you there.”

“how about you?” you ask, feeling your orgasm building up as he circled the thumb faster, your hips rolling slightly, weak, like the cock inside you was to heavy to make you roll them freely.

“i can get off just by looking at this pretty face...” he slaps your cheek weakly, twice, making you squeeze around him. “listen to what i'm telling you… you're still going to model for my brand.” he chuckles.

“i’d rather choke to death than work with your brand.”

“why don’t you choke on something else, then?”

[pomefioredove]

ok let's see

can I have a sugar cookie #16 with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle?

mwah ofc!

order #16, sugar with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ I could do worse

summary: an arranged marriage with someone who hates you... or, who he thinks you are tropes: royalty au (but not really), exes to lovers (but not really) characters: leona additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

Okay, now you've really done it.

"You're... er, shorter than I expected," the royal tailor mutters. "Your measurements indicate height, but you..." he gives you another incredulous look. Like you're some stray cat they picked off the street.

...Which, well, isn't actually that wrong!

"I'm not that short," you mutter, though the palace guards that had dragged you in here certainly dwarfed you.

The tailor rolls his eyes. "Well, we'll make do. Only the best for Prince Leona,"

When Leona had pity-invited you to a royal wedding, you hadn't (you couldn't have) known it'd be your own.

Well... not exactly. Leona's, and...

What had the tailor said? A duke or duchess or... some other gaudy title that's surely not yours.

You hadn't even changed out of your tuna-stained scrubs from Ramshackle.

"Here, here... oh, these measurements are all wrong. You'll have to fire whoever is in charge of your wardrobe," the tailor tsks. "Not that it matters now. You must be excited- married at last!"

At last? You don't ask. "Uh, sure,"

"And the prince... well... he'll come to tolerate it,"

Oh, right. Leona. You hadn't seen him since he left you and your friends at the hotel. Does he know that he's marrying you in a few minutes? Does he know that he's getting married at all?

"...I'm sure he will,"

The tailor pins some sash over your shoulder and takes a step back. "Ah, here, perfect! Just needed a few tweaks... maybe a different pair of shoes, and-"

The doors on the other side of the room slam against the walls, sending flocks of guards, maids, cooks, florists, bakers, designers, and caterers into a flurry.

"ALRIGHT, everyone OUT!"

You're the only one unaffected. Has no one here heard Leona shout?

He stomps around the room, terrorizing the attendants. "Throw those damn flowers out," he demands. "And that cake! There's not gonna be a wedding, for the last damn time, I am NOT marrying that uptight, snobby, egotistical royal PAIN IN MY- oh, it's you."

He's looking at you now, his tone steady as if he hadn't just been snarling and stalking the wait staff like a wild animal. "What're you doing here?"

You look down at the million-thaumark outfit. "Marrying you, I guess,"

Leona makes a face. It's not a nice one.

"I'd say my brother has a funny sense of humor, but he doesn't have one at all, so I'm gonna guess you got lost,"

"Please don't tell Ace,"

He smirks, the last of the maids scampering out of the room. "Yeah, yeah. My lips are sealed,"

Leona's hands find your shoulders, helping you out of the elegant wedding arrangement, careful not to welt or wound the fabric. "How'd you end up here, anyway?"

"Was waiting for you with the others," you sigh. "Grim smelled cake and ran off. I went after him, and someone thought..."

"Of all the people," he smirks, undoing the ribbon around your waist with a deceivingly delicate touch. "Well, now I feel like a jackass. If I'd know it was you and not my dearly ex-betrothed, I wouldn't have made such a big deal out of it."

You raise an eyebrow. "Huh?"

Leona's hands close around your wrists, sliding off the beaded bracelets that had been put there by a maid with a much colder touch.

"I'm just saying," he says. "I could do worse."

"...Gee, thanks,"

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," he smiles, his hands resting on your forearms. His touch is warm.

"...But I guess you really dodged a bullet, huh?" he steps away and starts walking to the door. "Who'd wanna be married to a jerk like me?"

Your eyes widen and you follow, fumbling over your words AND the train of your wedding outfit. "I didn't say I wouldn't marry you," you say. "I'm wearing all this, aren't I?"

Leona raises an eyebrow, and then smiles. "...Hm. Y'know, I'm almost tempted to say the wedding's back on and hold you to that.

...But I think I'll save that for another day."

[xoxochb]

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“a rabbit.”

“gods no.”

you huff, breath fanning percy’s neck. “seahorse? turtle? oooo, a fawn!”

“are those legal as pets?”

you shrug. “I’m not sure. but they’re cute.”

two hours. for two hours you had attempted to name every pet-worthy animal under the sun. once you move out of camp, you’d no longer to see your beloved penny everyday per usual, so you had asked percy about getting a pet of your own.

so far, he had said yes to a dog, maybe to a cat, yes to fish, and no to everything else. though it’s most likely you’ll just end up deciding on a puppy after all.

percy’s fingers skim your spine in a soothing up and down motion while you press, what you hope are seducing enough to get him to agree, kisses to his neck.

“I think our best bet is a dog.”

you groan and melodramatically drape your arms around his neck. “I want something exotic!”

“I’m pretty sure you’re exotic enough for this entire planet, sweet girl.”

“okay— fuck you, perseus.”

he laughs and kisses the top of your head. “are you creating a to-do list?”

“yeah. and the first task is to beat the shit out of you.”

“and how do you know I won’t like that?”

you sigh and close your eyes, calming yourself with pecks to his jawline. “then I’ll do something you’ll hate.”

“which would be…?” his voice trails in question.

you have to think for a moment before your response. a lightbulb illuminates in your brain. “be right back!”

you quickly jump out of percy’s arms, tucking your hair behind your ears as you rush to your dresser. you open your designated drawer and take out one of his old shirts, slipping it on over your head before jumping back to bed.

“so, where were we?”

percy pouts like a child after being told he can’t have candy. “this is foul play, sweet girl.” he takes the edge of the shirt between his fingers, glaring at the fabric like it insulted him.

“if you want it off, you’ll have to earn it.”

his gaze returns to your eyes. “how? I’ll give you two-hundred dollars right now if you strip tease for me.”

you slap his head. “you’re not earning it that way!”

“okay…” he takes your wrist, kissing your palm and each fingertip. “then how do I earn it? you gotta give me something here, sweet girl.”

“not with money.” you shake your head and place your free hand over his heart. it beats calmly. “with this.”

“my… naked self?”

you take your hand back defensively. “no, dipshit! your feelings!”

“oh!” percy sits up as fast as possible. “I’ve waited my whole life for this moment—” he clears his throat. “‘it’s not gonna be easy. it’s going to be really hard; we’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, every day’—”

“why the fuck are you quoting the notebook at me right now?”

“because it’s the most romantic movie ever,” percy says in a matter-of-fact voice.

“try that again.” you make a circle movement with your index.

he holds up his index before reciting with perfect rhythm, “‘I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. the one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend.’”

you sit, gaping. percy looks to proud of himself and it almost makes you want to keep teasing. “you have that memorized?”

he nods casually. “it took me three hours to actually read it… then rereading it took another hour, but yeah.”

you pout happily and tug him into a tight hug. “why?”

“because I can recite that way sexier than that blond dude. and I know you love him. and I love you, so full circle!”

you kiss the top of his head. you might regret saying this later however, “so, a strip tease you requested?”

[satorusugurugurl]

JJK Men: Sleeping Beauty

Summary: You give the JJK Men permission to use you wen you’re sleeping 💤

Characters: Gojo Satoru + Geto Suguru, Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU), Nanami Kento, AFAB!Reader

Warning: somno (with consent), language, smut, unprotected sex, cream pies, multific!

Word Count:4.3k

AN: Kinktober Day Twenty Four! Somno 😴 I’m not the biggest fan of Somno, but I might be after writing Sukuna’s 🥴

SatoSugu:

Satoru and Suguru had been gone for two weeks. Two weeks where they weren’t near you and they were constantly busy, not having enough time to stop, but they were doing to contact you. But that didn’t stop you from messaging them and telling them how you missed them. Both were excited to get home and spend some time with you. Their flight got delayed.

Suguru could still hear the disappointment in your voice when he gave you the bad news. You stared at the ceiling before adjusting the robe that you had on. Both men were apologetic for their delay, but just give them your best smile before sharing that everything would be okay and that there would be plenty of time for y’all to connect.

“But don’t forget about our agreement. If you guys come home and you’re still feeling pent up, feel free to wake up in any way you see fit.”

Your words were like a constant echo in the back of their minds. From the airport to the ride back to your house, you were like a beacon calling them Home. Despite the aches in their bones and the exhaustion that had settled in, coursing through the nerves of their bodies, the thought of seeing you eased that pain just a little bit. They half expected to find you asleep on the couch when they got home. You’re still up waiting for them. But they were pleasantly surprised when they entered the house, which was lit by the night lights around the house to illuminate the floor.

“I hate that we got home late.” Satoru sighed, rubbing at his stiff neck. “I was looking forward to spoiling her.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I feel like I am this round-up coiled that just needs to be unleashed.” The men continued to converse as they walked through the hall towards your shared bedroom. But she's probably asleep by now.”

Like Suguru had thought, you were asleep on top of the comforter in the prettiest lilac and light blue lingerie boys had ever seen. It was a lingerie dress split down the skids. An intricate design of lacey flowers, purples, and blues covered your breasts and dried the trimmings of the gown. It hugged the curves of your body just right, looked amazing against your pretty skin, and had both of them feeling extremely hard.

You hummed, turning onto your side, exposing the curve of your ass. Suguru was torn. He wanted to give you time to sleep, not to wake you up. Satoru, on the other hand, felt a hunger deep inside of his soul that radiated straight into his cock. He moved, silently getting on the bed and laying behind you. His long fingers teased your skin under the thin fabric of the lingerie. Tiny goosebumps raised against your flesh as he tailed his hand up higher, fingers grazing over the same flimsy panties you were wearing. His middle finger gently grazes over your clit with precise movements.

You arched against him, moaning softly in your sleep as your eyebrows twitched. “Satoru.” Suguru’s voice was stern and soft as he made his way around the other side of the bed to watch both of us lovers. “What are you doing?” Violet eyes watch his best friend and boyfriend’s hand move underneath the sheer fabric that was barely covering your body.

“You heard her.” Satoru’s fingers moved harder against your sensitive bud. “She said that if we were feeling pinned up, we could wake her up however we want.” He hummed, kissing, watching as your legs pressed together under the ministrations of his movements. “She’s always told us that if we get horny in the middle of the night, we could wake her up like this.”

“But—” The flimsy fabric that was barely covering your pussy, was tucked to the side, exposing your wet, slick folds to the dark-haired man. “—fuck.”

“Our Sweetheart wants this as much as we do.” Long fingers ran up and down your slick folds over your slit before slowly pressing inside of you. “So get your ass over here and play with her tits for me?”

Suguru’s body wouldn’t move on its own. He had never done anything like this before. And while he knew that he had your consent, it still left him feeling strange, touching you while you were asleep. “Toru—mmm.” Your soft little cry of pleasure had Suguru jerking his head in your attention. “Sugu~” Hearing you moan out both of their names while your legs pressed together with furrowed eyebrows was all the tempting that Suguru needed.

Pleased to see his best friend finally moving forward, the mattress dipping under the added weight, Satoru began trailing kisses along your shoulder. Both pursed their lips together, holding back groans of pleasure so as not to wake you up. Suguru lay on the bed right in front of you, his large, strong hands cupping your breasts. His thumbs moved over the floral lace, rubbing your nipples until they were hard, standing at attention under his caress.

They moved in sync with each other, fingers pumping into you, hands on your breasts, squeezing and rubbing them. With each careful, calculated caress of your skin, the men could find you drawing closer and closer to the edge of sweet release. Suguru pinched at your nipples, tugging them out just as Satoru curled his fingers upward, pressing into your g-spot. Your eyes shot open wide as you gushed all over Satoru’s fingers.

“Nngh!” you cried out, shedding your eyes tight as wave after wave of pleasure rocked into you like waves in a storm. “Fuck! Fuck!” you cried out, reaching forward, grasping onto Suguru’s shirt.

“Heh~ see, I told you she was just as pent up as we were.” Satoru cooed, kissing and nipping at your ear, his tongue darting over the shell of it.

“Hi Princess, we’re ba—”

Suguru’s words were cut off as you reached forward, grabbed him by the shirt, and pressed your lips against his. “Fuck me.” Your voice was hot and full of desperation. “I need you both so bad!” The boys exchanged a look with each other before they were quickly stripping.

“Fuck we missed you.” Suguru groaned, lifting your lingerie and exposing your beautiful skin to him.

You whimpered in agreement with Suguru before seizing up as Satoru rubbed his fingers over your pussy. “Oh, I need you both.” Your grip tightened on Subaru's shoulders as they both lay behind and in front of you, completely bare naked. “My toys weren't helping me out anymore! Please, I need you both.” The desperation in your voice had them moving, rubbing both of their cocks over your slick folds, lubing them up.

“Oh fuck.” Satoru ground out as he pushed inside of you. “So fucking tight!”

Suguru knotted an agreement before he focused his attention on you. “Are you okay?” He asked as both his and Satoru’s cock stretched out your pussy, filling you to the absolute broom with both of them. “Do you need a second?” You shook your head, wiggling your hips to force them further inside of you.

“N-No, I just need you.” Both men continued to push as far as they possibly could, and when they went as deep as they could, they paused not only for their benefit but for yours. You were shaking and shivering. “S-So full—oh fuck I missed you both.”

“We missed you too,” they said in unison as they began fucking into you as fast and hard as they possibly could. You screamed out in pleasure as their cocks pounded into you. They fucked you working through two weeks’ worth of up pressure and aggression in their movements. They made you feel good. So fucking good that tears began to form in your eyes.

And they then grabbed you, holding onto you and rocking against you. They painted and kissed and bit you. They were making up for their lost time while on their mission. Fingers and teeth dug into your skin, pushing you closer to the edge as they screamed your name and moaned so loud it made your head spin and your heart swell with happiness. They were both finally home, where they belonged! And they gave you the welcome home gift when you never left.

Satoru nipped at your neck, tugging on your nipples as Suguru reached down, toying with your clit. “Are you going to cum for us?” Suguru asked, feeling your walls hug his cock that pressed up against Satoru with every thrust.

“Yes! Oooh fuck yes!!”

“Yeah, baby~ make a mess for us, okay? Nnngh fuck! That way, we can clean you up.” Satoru’s sultry voice in your ear as he jackhammered his cock along with Suguru’s into you. “Come on, pretty girl~ pick a mess for us. Be a good girl and cum for us.”

Their words, their thrusts, and the fact that they were at home and in your arms were the last push you needed. You screamed, arching against both of your lovers as the waves of your orgasm pulsated through you. The intensity of your contractions and the convulsing of your pussy had both of the men grunting and growling as their hips stilled for the briefest of moments before they continued fucking into spurts of hot white cum coating your insides as you all came together.

The three of you lay in bed, panting heavily as sweat coats your skin, leaving you chilly in the cool autumn air. Your boyfriends seem to relax, melting into the mattress, almost as they clean to you, holding you flush against their bodies. You hum happily, reaching behind to cradle the back of Satoru’s head while pushing your forehead against Suguru’s with a pleased, happy hum.

“Welcome home, boys.” Your breath, whisper, and warmth from your body had them snuggling in closer to you. It was good to be home.

Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU):

Sukuna sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face as he ventured up the stairs to his apartment. Exhaustion settled in his bones as he glanced at his watch before digging his keys out of his pocket. He was so tired. His last appointment of the day, full sleeves, had taken up most of the evening, cutting into his time with you.

Sukuna, you still see the slight twinge of disappointment on your face when he told you he would be home late. You had planned to stay in and make a nice dinner before watching some shitty, scary movies. But Sukuna knew there wouldn’t be much watching with all the setting the two of you had been doing throughout the day. Your boyfriend had just frowned, whispering a slight apology before you gave him a gentle smile.

“Kuna, it’s OK. You can wake me up when you get home if you want.”

“You need your sleep.” your boyfriend had said with a frown.

“No, I need you.”

The slightly sultry tone of your voice had your boyfriend looking up from his iPad, where he had been finalizing details on his client's tattoo. “What do you mean, Kitten?” all you gave him was a smirk before you shrugged his shoulder.

“Exactly what I said. Even if I’m sleeping, I want you. You have my full consent.”

This was something new for the two of you. Something Sukuna had never really thought about or considered. Taking you when you were sleeping. It seemed like some kind of fantasy. But he would be lying to himself if he said it hadn’t been a fantasy; he was suddenly in it.

Thinking about you, the way you smelt felt, and your words from earlier had his cock so hard since he had started driving home. Ever since that day at Gojo’s house where you both had met, he craved you. You were everything he thought about. All this originated from that round of Seven Minutes in Heaven that had changed his life for the better. You had enchanted him from that moment, and he was utterly smitten and addicted to you.

And his desire had been like a starved beast fueled by gluttony. Sukuna needed you, so while he was reluctant, he was also eager to be near and inside you. That eagerness hit him straight forward, fueled by frustration from his day and the need to be with you.

So he made it to his apartment in record-breaking time. He pushed the door open and went about locking it up and ensuring the house was secure before heading into the bedroom. He was hoping that maybe you would still be awake, but he wasn't disappointed either when he walked into the bedroom and found you fast asleep. You were under the sheets and chest, moving and falling slowly as you slept soundly.

You looked so cute and peaceful as you slept. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do to you. You looked like an angel, but he was about to awaken the little sex demon he knew you were. He stripped out of his clothes before grabbing the sheets, pulling them gently off your body so as not to wake you up right away.

The absence of the sheets allowed him to get a good look at your body. And he growled. Suddenly, the thoughts of keeping quiet and not alerting you that he was home went out the third-story window as his crimson eyes roamed over your body. You were in a tight-fitted red corset lingerie set. The lace see-through allows him to see your perky nipples that rose at the attention of the absence of the blanket.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Sukuna whispered as he reached into the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube. “Fuck you're so beautiful.” he rubbed slick all over his cock before getting on his knees, pushing himself between your slightly open thighs. “So fucking pretty.”

His tattooed hands gently pushed your thighs apart, reaching for your pussy to pull your laundry and lingerie set to the side of the allowing access to you. He found you on full display only when your legs were spread wide enough. Your lingerie had crotch panties. Pink tufts of hair fell against Sukuna’s forehead as his eyes darkened with need.

Your pussy was wet, twitching, and needy as your hands gently grabbed at the sheets. Sukuna took notice of that and the slight movements of your body. He scoffed before positioning himself entirely between your legs, your hips brushing against each other as the head of his cock caught against the tight entrance to your opening. Sukuna down on his lip, hissing as he began pushing inside of your tight wood walls, welcoming him as he started slowly thrusting in and out of you.

You were so tight, and the walls around your head turned to the side, soft moans emanating from your pursed lips. His pierced cock felt so good dragging in and out against your inner walls. It's good you want to scream as his nails dug into your hips, holding them down flush into the mattress as he began thrusting a little bit faster and harder.

“Fuck Kitten.” He growled, watching as that same hand gripped the sheets tighter, your eyebrows furrowed. “Ya’ feel so good.”

You whimpered in response. “Mmm,” Sukuna smirked, angling his hips up slightly so that the head of his cock slammed right against your cervix, allowing louder cries of pleasure to rise out of your throat as your knuckles turned white from how hard you were gripping the sheets.

Sukuna huffed, leaning down closer to your ear. “Nngh fuck baby.” he hissed against you were sensitive earlobe, his teeth nipping at it, tugging it gently, drawing out loud moans from you. “Hey, guess what?” You didn’t respond, but you didn’t have to because Sukuna knew you. “I know you’re awake, so open your eyes and look at me when I fuck my cum into you!”

His words helped, and your eyes opened at his command. The second you're pretty eyes met him, Sukuna snarled as he lost his composure and calm. He bucked into you fucking you as if he was like a wild beast in heat. His cheeks puffed out as he focused his attention on staring into your eyes as he grunted and groaned, his thumb finding your clit and flicking at it.

“K-Kuna!” You cried out, hands reaching up, grabbing him by the broad shoulders. “Oh fu—fuuuck!”

Sukuna shuddered, feeling your walls convulse around him as your orgasm came. But he didn’t stop. He continued fucking you through the waves of pleasure until his hips finally spilled as he pressed himself as deep as he could within your pussy before he filled you to the brim with cum. He shuddered back, slightly arched, as he kept himself deep inside of you, not wanting to pull out. He wanted you to save every second of him being inside of you.

It wasn't until his cock began to with a slight dull pain from oversensitivity that he finally pulled out. He for your legs apart as his white comes out of your little pussy. It clung to the lingerie before polling on the sheets underneath you. Be wad so entranced by the sight of your combined cum, that he barely registered the fact that you were sitting up, pressing your hands against his pectoral muscles before shoving him back against the mattress.

“How did you know I was awake?” You asked, trailing kisses down his abs as your tongue flicked over his tattoos.

“Nngh~ fuck Kitten.” he lifted his head slightly, watching as your nose grazed over the pink hairs of his happy trail. “I-I saw you gripping the sheets.”

“Awe, And here I thought I was being a good actress.”

Sukuna laughed, but That was suddenly cut off by a choked sound deep in his throat as your tongue gently ran around the base of his cock. “F-Fuck— I think it would be simple enough. To pretend that you’re sleeping.” You cockd eyebrow up at him.

“Wanna bet?” He took his bottom lip between his teeth as he nodded his head. “Pretend you’re sleeping, and I’m going to suck your cock.” He signed heavily, flexing his fingers to prepare himself. “Then we’ll see who’s the better actor.”

Spoiler alert: Sukuna lasted a whole ten seconds before his fingers were fisting in your hair, and his cock was being forced deep down your throat. It’s safe to say you won that bet; your consolation prize was sitting on his face. But Sukuna would argue that he was the real winner as he ate you out as if he had won the gold medal.

Nanami Kento:

Autumn was one of your favorite times of the year. You Nanami were always baking together, cooking, and going out for coffee. But some of your most favorite things to do this time of the year was to stay in and watch movies. But it, unfortunately, was also one of the busiest times of year for Nanami, being a sorcerer.

The onset of seasonal depression meant more curse spirits were roaming around. That called for more Jujutsu Sorcerers to be called in to destroy the spirits. Which sometimes cuts into your evenings together.

Because of this, Nanami always felt terrible when he came home, and you had already slept on the couch or in bed. The TV played in the background, or you had a book sprawled against your chest. He hated being away from you, especially when he wanted to do nothing more than spend the day naked in bed with you, enjoying your joint, shared time off.

These thoughts, the raw, primal need, had Nanami Confessing this to you. “I hate to be so vulgar. But I would much rather be in bed and be inside you than out here and somewhere in the warehouse.” You gasped overdramatically, and Nanami could see the face you were making, and that made him smile.

“Oh my god, so vulgar that you Confess that you want to have sex with your wife!” Nanami shook his head with a chuckle. He took his glasses off, eyes focusing on the pavement before him.

“You know what I mean. By The time I get home, you’re gonna be fast asleep. And I hate to ask you to stay away for my sake.”

“You can just use me when I'm sleeping, you know.”

Your words had him blinking in shock as he tried to replay what you had just said. “I’m sorry, love. I think I misheard that. I must have a bad sign—” Your laughter was like music to his ears.

“No, you heard me. When you get home and you're feeling horny, just use me! You have my permission.”

Those words hung in the air as Nanami made it home. He had been contemplating if you genuinely wanted to go through with what you had said. He was the type of man who got pleasure from you being pleasured. So, for him to just take what he wanted and not return the favor or make you feel good, he wasn’t sure if that was something he was capable of doing. This was probably something that the two of you could discuss later.

He needed a second as he walked into the house, where you would be fast asleep, and it was one of your two favorite spots.

When he entered the living room, he found you. But he saw you in a way he had never done so before. Your T-shirt and sweats had been discarded somewhere else and replaced with a navy blue sheer babydoll lingerie dress.

The sight of you in that dress had all his reservations gone. Seeing you in such a tight-fitting dress. He had his cock standing at attention. He groaned, groping himself through his pants as he tried desperately to keep his composure. God, he was so pent-up. Between the busy days at work and not spending as much time with you, Nanami was contemplating what he wanted and needed to do.

You had said it was okay. You had given him your permission, so it should be okay. At this point, it would have to be okay because he needed you so fucking bad.

He crawled on the couch, his hands ghosting over your bare skin. He grinned, watching how your body squirmed underneath his touch. His lips gently peppered over your skin as he pulled his cock out of his pants and boxers, coating it with his spit. It was only when it was slick with spit that he pressed into your tight, wet heat with a groan.

He would never get used to how tight you felt. It was a sweet, comforting feeling as he began fucking you slowly. He grunted, eyes fluttering shut as he worked himself in and out of you, savoring the soft whimpers that rose from your throat with each stroke of his dick.

Between his sweet, slow thrusts and the kisses that ghosted over your skin, you slowly woke up. Your soft whines echoed through the living room as you opened your eyes, coming face to face with your husband. When he realized you were awake, Kento groaned, slamming his lips against yours in a feverish kiss that left your toes curling.

“Mhmm~ welcome home, baby~” you mumbled against his lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “How was work—”

His lips pressed firmly against yours again, making your eyes go wide with the pure ferocity behind it. “Shh, I don't want to talk about work. I just want to savor being inside of you.”

“Yes, Sir~”

He continued slamming into you with his cock, his thrusts becoming faster and less paced. He kissed you, caressed your breasts, and continued to whisper how much he loved you. He thanked you

Thank you for giving him the opportunity to make love to you tonight. His praise, his gratitude left you squirming, feeling hotter. In fact, everything in the room seemed to get hotter and more intense with every move you made. You were never expecting him to go through with this, but you were glad it did.

There was a familiar tightening in your lower abdomen, and you knew you were close to coming. You grabbed the short strands of Nanami’s hair as best as you could. “I’m so close, Ken, I’m so close to cumming.” He picked up the pace of his thrusts, pounding you so hard that the lamp beside the couch started to shake. “Oh my God, Kento! Fuck yes, baby--ah, just like that!”

“Oh yeah, Love! Cum all over my cock, darling.”

He reached down, rubbing your clit while he continued thrusting. Your legs began to tremble, your inner walls clamped down on his cock, and the coil inside of your abdomen finally burst. You kissed Nanami, smothering the cries that were escaping your lips. Nanami kissed back, moaning just as loud into the kiss as his body stiffened. Nanami remained standing, his hips jerking as he milked his orgasm out. You were clinging to him for dear life, afraid you were going to collapse after the intense sex session.

“Ooh, god.” You whispered, the familiar drowsiness washing over here. “S-See, that wasn’t so bad.” You purred in his ear, and Nanami hummed contently in response. “Anytime you want to use me like that, feel free to, Ken~” Your words were warm and thick like honey, leaving a trail of shivers down Nanami’s spine.

“You're sure about that?” He asked with a grin. “Anytime I want? I think you might regret that. Because I’m going to take full advantage of that offer.” He sat up slightly, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Oooh, Kento~” You cupped his face with a smile, your thumb pads brushing over his cheekbones. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918 @draculemon

Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[kxsagi]

Can i request reo with a reader who really dislikes spending so much money because she grew up in poverty and when reo spoils her she feels bad wondering how she'd repay him but reo reassures her he does it cuz he loves her

“𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬”

a/n: all my readers are deserving of being spoiled 🙂‍↕️

(art credits go to coa6186496501 on X)

reo’s arm is casually draped over your shoulders as the two of you walk through the luxurious shopping district. you’re still getting used to this – a place where glass storefronts gleam with designer logos and sales associates practically float over to you, all honeyed smiles and soft bows. it feels too surreal, too out of reach. but then again, so is the boy beside you. 

“what do you think?” reo asks, holding up a delicate necklace with a tiny diamond at the center. it sparkles under the warm lighting, almost as dazzling as the expectant look in his eyes. 

you glance at the price tag. and immediately, your stomach tightens. way too much. probably more than what your family spent on groceries in a month growing up. you quickly look away, forcing a smile. “it’s pretty,” you mumble, praying he doesn’t read the discomfort in your voice. 

but of course, he does. he always does. 

reo’s gaze softens, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in that way they do when he’s studying you like he’s trying to read between the lines. but instead of pressing you, he gently sets the necklace back down. he interlaces his fingers with yours and tugs you along. 

“c’mon, let’s keep looking.” 

you exhale in relief, but it doesn’t last long. fifteen minutes later, he’s slipping a velvet box into your hands, a pair of earrings you accidentally lingered on for too long. and when you start to protest, his voice is light, playful. “they’re cute, right? you deserve ‘em.” 

your throat constricts. you feel the familiar wave of guilt crash over you. you love him, you do. but being with him, a man who could probably buy a yacht on impulse, makes you feel so… unworthy. like you can’t possibly give him enough in return. 

the weight of it makes you quietly pull your hand away from his. and when you speak, your voice comes out smaller than you intend. “reo… you don’t have to keep spending money on me like this.” 

he frowns slightly, confused by the sudden shift. “i know i don’t. but i want to.” 

you shake your head. you can’t meet his eyes. “but i… i can’t pay you back for all of this,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. it’s humiliating. you hate how shaky you sound, how vulnerable it makes you feel. “i don’t want you to think i’m taking advantage of you.” 

the silence that follows makes your heart sink. you finally look up, bracing yourself for disappointment or maybe even frustration. but instead, you’re met with nothing but tenderness. 

reo’s expression softens immediately. he cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if you were something fragile. his voice drops, quiet but firm. “hey… love, look at me.” 

your eyes flicker to his. 

“you’re not taking advantage of me. not even close.” he smiles faintly, but there’s a certain seriousness behind it. “i buy you things because i want to. not because i expect you to repay me. not because i think you owe me. but because i love you. and seeing you happy? that’s worth more than anything i could ever buy.” 

your chest tightens. your lip trembles slightly before you can bite it down. you feel so silly, so silly for doubting him, but you can’t help the years of scarcity clinging to your skin like a bad habit. 

reo notices. he presses his forehead against yours, voice barely above a murmur now. “you don’t have to give me anything back, okay? just let me spoil you. let me love you. that’s more than enough.” 

and just like that, the dam breaks. you melt into him, burying your face into his chest. his arms are around you in seconds, warm and steady, holding you like he never intends to let go. 

“i love you,” you whisper into the fabric of his sweater, your voice cracking slightly from the lump in your throat. 

he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head, tightening his hold on you. “i love you more,” he murmurs. “and you can’t put a price on that.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[donatellawritings]

Hola babe!! Wondering how rafe would react to reader walking around with a short skirt/dress and no panties 🤭

-🍒

let’s be clear, this little habit of yours was only allowed within the confines of tannyhill. you rarely slept with panties on, usually a silk nightgown or one of rafe’s sufficed — unless you were feeling doll-like and wanted to put on a show for your doting boyfriend, then you’d be dressed in the finest array of lingerie while you walked around the estate. but, today you’d tried on the new pastel yellow crochet dress that you’d bought from a small boutique on the mainland, and you hated how your panty line disgustingly clashed the figure hugging fabric. you absolutely hated visible panty-lines — they ruined your pretty outfits.

so, with a small huff, you slid your panties down your legs, allowing the flimsy underwear to pool at your pedicured feet, before smiling at the vastly improved appearance of the dress. the yellow clashed beautiful with your sunkissed glow, your swollen breasts pushed up just right against the crochet fabric, due to the tie-up halter neckline. with a satisfied grin now expanding on your swollen, faded dusty rose lips, you smoothed your delicate hands over the soft fabric, before you slid your feet into your beige chanel sling back heels, cutely pouting your lips in the mirror as you gently ran your pearlescent acrylic nails through your freshly blown out hair.

in your biased mind, unless you looked uncomfortably close, the meticulously designed fabric of your dress covered everything it needed to, so you figured it would be okay for you to simply not tell rafe about your lack of underwear. if you played it cool, maybe he would too? either way, you were dead set on debuting this outfit as you went out for a lunch date with rafe. your slinky heels clicked and clacked against the hardwood floor as you made your way downstairs.

“papi, are you ready to go?” you sang, grabbing ahold of your chanel wristlet, making sure that it was filled with your emergency lipglosses and face powder, a sweet hum leaving your lips as rafe’s arm slid around your waist, “hi, baby — quieres un besito? i haven’t put on my lipgloss yet” you asked, running your hand down the side of rafe’s handsomely structured face, before running your hand through his buzzed hair as you turned to face him.

rafe was quick to swing his arm around the back of your neck, wordlessly pulling you into a purposely sloppy kiss, his tongue messily sliding against yours as you let out a muffled squeal into the kiss. you could hear a breathy chuckle leave rafe’s lips as he hastily pulled away from you, his lips shiny as you rolled your eyes, knowing that some of your makeup would be smeared. “raafe, i just did my makeup,” you whined, letting out an annoyed huff as rafe wiped his lips with an amused smirk, his ringed fingers swiping at the corners of his mouth as he adjusted the collar of white white linen button-up.

“you asked me if i wanted a kiss, mama,” rafe reminded you, his eyes falling on how the crocheted fabric stuck your your every curve. you mumbled something incoherently as you pressed a powder puff to your face, a displeased pout on your now smeared lips. rafe shamelessly ogled at you, his eyes hanging low as they watched how your plushy ass jiggled with every subtle move you made. his spit-coated lips now ran dry as you stood in direct sunglight, the silhouette of your inner thighs and unclothed pussy coming into view as you bent over to grab your tube of glittery hot pink lipgloss that fell to the floor.

with a sarcastic laugh, rafe clears his throat, “uh, princess, m’gonna ask you a question and i want you to tell me the truth, okay?” rafe sighed, his cocked to the side as he watched you freeze in place, the fabric of your dress stretched against the curve of your ass as you craned your neck to look at rafe from your bent position.

your doe eyes widened in fear as your wispy eyelashes blinked, you were quick to stand up straight, your chin up as you watched rafe take a breath, “are you wearing any panties?” he questioned, his eyebrows raised and pink lips parted as he awaited you answer. your boyfriend didn’t miss how you shifted your weight to lean on your hips, your swollen lips parting as you nodded your head, earning an amused laugh from rafe as he crossed his arms over his firm chest, “y’sure? m’not gonna ask you again,” he warned, his voice a bit raspy as he adjusted the band of his rolex to sit comfortably snug around his wrist.

“noo, but it’s because it made my dress look weird,” you whined, your smeared lips pulled into a pout as you approached rafe, your arms snaking around his waist as he rolled his eyes at your lame excuse. “i’m serious, it looked so fucking ugly,” you sighed, batting your doll lashes at rafe who couldn’t help but laugh at how dramatic you were being over a stupid panty.

mimicking your pout, rafe gently grabbed ahold of your cheeks, mushing them together, before pressing a chaste kiss to your mushed lips, “poor baby doesn’t wanna her panties, huh” he teased, mocking your whiny tone, earning a frustrated sigh from you. you could tell that he wasn’t sold on your reasoning and that in about ten seconds he was going to send you upstairs to change, “the thing is, i don’t wanna let your pretty pussy get all dirty, bein’ all out in the open like that,” he explained, his tone still disgustingly condescending as your doe eyes silently pleaded with him.

with an entitled roll of your eyes, you pulled away from rafe, childishly storming upstairs to your shared bedroom, leaving rafe to stand with his hands shoved in his pockets, “drop the fuckin’ attitude!” he called out, rolling his eyes as you wordlessly closed your bedroom door. “m’gonna fuck her up,” he mumbled to himself, letting out a strained sigh as he ran his large hands over his shaven face.

ꪆৎ

you were a spoiled little princess, eager to annoy rafe just because you didn’t get your way. you’d swapped your yellow dress for a crème colored mini knit dress, the swells of your cute tits on full display as you bent over to grab your purse that accidentally fallen on the ground, your lacy thong sucked in by the soft fat of your ass cheeks that were on full display as you stopped suddenly in front of rafe. with an annoyed grunt, rafe grabbed your arm, swiftly pulling you to stand straight as he reached down to grab your purse.

pulling down the hem of your ridiculously mini dress with his fingers, rafe shoved your purse into your small hand, before nudging your chin with the side of his ringed finger, “cut it the fuck out, y’being a fuckin’ brat,” he whispered into you ear as you shrugged carelessly, your glossed lips twisting into an annoyed frown as you exhaled sharply through your nose.

hastily pulling you closer to his chest, rafe pointed a finger at you, “i don’t know what the fuck is with you getting a fuckin’ attitude when you don’t get what you want, but you’re my girl, and m’not gonna have my fuckin’ girl walking around showing everything she’s got,” he scolded, his hand roughly squeezing your jaw as he forced you to keep your wandering gaze on him, “if y’don’t like that, then go be with one of those fucking pogues wouldn’t give a fuck about you and what happens to you,” he adds, the vein in his neck strained as your eyes welled with guilty tears.

“i don’t want them, i want you,” you blinked your tears away.

roughly releasing your jaw from his tight grip, rafe sends you a chilling look of warning, “then fuckin’ act like it,” he mutters, moving his sunglasses to cover his bright blues as he grabs your hand, leading you into the restaurant. his jaw tight as he walked aimlessly, eyes blown with frustration as you slowed down to a stop, tugging on your boyfriend’s arm. “what?” he snapped, his anger gradually dissipating as you rushed into his arms, your chin leaning into his heaving chest.

“i’m your girl, papi, only yours,” you batted your wispy lashes up at rafe, pushing yourself onto the tips of your toes. rafe forced himself to appear stoic as you kissed his lips, a troublesome smile pulling on your pouty lips, as you brought your mouth to his ear, “i think i just need you to fuck me, rafey,” you knowingly sighed, scratching your nails against rafe’s clothed abdomen, a giggle leaving your throat as he sighed in defeat.

that was all rafe needed to hear, before he began to pull you in the opposite direction of the restaurant, a yelp leaving your lips as he suddenly lifted you by your legs, hauling you over his shoulder as he eagerly made his way towards the backseat of his pickup truck.

you always knew how to get back in rafe’s good graces.

[lushleona]

── .✦ truth or dare with circus freak!mattheo

warnings: fem!reader, tension note: i’m so excited for this au, the trust between these two is crazy

“truth or dare?” mattheo’s voice cuts through the smoky haze of the tent, low and unbothered, like he already knows your answer. he’s sprawled across a crate, one arm draped over his knee, the other twirling the neck of an empty bottle between his fingers. his dark eyes find yours, locking on with a sharpness that makes your skin prickle.  

you hesitate, your pulse kicking up when the others in the circle glance at you expectantly. they’ve been welcoming enough since you joined, but there’s still that edge, that undercurrent of competition, like they’re waiting for you to slip. you’re not about to give them the satisfaction.  

“dare,” you say finally, voice steadier than you feel. backing down isn’t an option. not when you’re the newest, the outsider still proving she belongs here.

mattheo’s smirk is immediate, slow and dangerous, like a flame catching on dry kindling. he sets the bottle down with deliberate care, leaning forward just enough that the dim lantern light flickers against his sharp cheekbones.  

“walk the tightrope.”  

the air shifts, an audible murmur rippling through the circle. you glance toward the tightrope at the far end of the tent, swaying slightly in the draft. okay, that’s not bad.

“blindfolded,” mattheo adds, his tone almost bored, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes—challenge, curiosity, or maybe just cruelty.  

your stomach twists. “are you serious?”  

“a dare’s a dare,” he says with a shrug, his gaze never leaving yours. “unless you’re scared.”  

heat rises in your cheeks, shame and irritation blooming at the same time. “fine.”  

the others erupt in hoots and laughter, some cheering you on, others muttering bets under their breath. mattheo rises from his crate, unfolding himself like a predator stretching its limbs. he grabs a strip of black cloth from a nearby bench, tossing it to you with an infuriatingly casual flick of his wrist.  

“let’s see what you got.”  

your hands tremble as you squeeze the piece of fabric in your hands, walking towards the tightrope. 

you freeze at the base of the ladder, the iron rungs stretching upward into the dim, hazy light of the tent.

“you’re not scared, are you?” his voice cuts through the tension like a knife, designed to crawl under your skin.  

“of course not.”  

you swallow, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. you could back out, but you know how it will go if you do. the others will laugh. maybe they won’t say it, but they’ll see you as weak, a rookie who can’t handle the simplest challenges. it’s not like you have a choice anyway.

“good,” he drawls, leaning casually against a nearby post. “i’d hate to think the new girl didn’t have any guts.”  

the small crowd of performers gathered around murmurs in amusement, their eyes flicking between you and mattheo. a mixture of heat and anxiety twists in your chest. backing out isn’t an option now, not with all of them watching. not with him watching.  

you shoot him a glare before your fingers instinctively clutch the ladder’s edge.  

“easy,” mattheo’s voice echoes up at you as you begin to climb, one hand over the other. “it’s a long way up.”  

you hate how calm he sounds, like he’s enjoying this, like he knows exactly how hard your heart is pounding.  

the metal rungs bite into your palms as you ascend, the sound of your breath filling the silence. you pause when your foot hits the narrow wooden platform at the top, the rope stretching out in front of you like an unforgiving line between life and death.  

“alright,” his voice floats up, louder now. “you’re gonna take a few steps, yeah? just feel it under your feet. trust your balance.”  

trust your balance. trust him. you pull the blindfold over your eyes and the world plunges into darkness. you feel the rope with your toes, swallowing hard as you take your first step. the tension of the wire shifts under your weight, every muscle in your body screaming to stop.  

“don’t overthink it,” mattheo calls, his tone somewhere between teasing and reassuring. “you’ve got this.”  

the murmurs of the others fade into the background as you take another step, and another. the blindfold amplifies every sensation—the faint sway of the rope, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.  

then it happens. your foot slips.  

your breath catches as your body pitches forward, gravity yanking you into its grip. there’s a moment of weightlessness, a second where fear is all-consuming—  

and then arms, strong and steady, catch you mid-air.  

you gasp, the blindfold ripping away as you’re pressed against mattheo’s chest. his grip on you is firm, but his gaze is sharper, molten, piercing into yours as if daring you to look away.  

“you don’t trust me yet,” he murmurs, his voice low. “that’ll change.”  

his hands linger a second too long before he sets you down, stepping back like nothing happened.  

you steady yourself, trying to mask the way your hands tremble, but his smirk tells you he’s noticed.  

“not bad for your first try,” he says, his tone infuriatingly casual.  

you glare at him, your pride still stinging. “you didn’t say anything about catching me.”  

“what, you think i’d let you hit the ground?” his dark eyes flicker with something unreadable. “like i said… that’ll change.”  

and with that, he turns, leaving you standing there, every nerve in your body on fire.

m.list

[w1w2]

Drinks or Coffee

Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 9k

Req by Anon

Notes: It's rushed af, and I'm not proud of it, BUT I couldn't do anything better with the time I had.. SORRY HBD to my number one girl 🫶🏻

Rosé - drinks or coffee "We're just friends, it's okay Kinda weird how my night changed"

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The party was nothing but noise and flashing lights. A swirl of expensive perfume, designer outfits, and clinking glasses filled the air, creating an atmosphere that was both dazzling and exhausting. Conversations overlapped, a constant murmur of pleasantries, forced laughter, and industry talk that held no real weight. Music pulsed through the venue, too loud to ignore but not quite loud enough to drown out the superficial exchanges happening around her.

Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other, balancing a half-empty glass of champagne between her fingers, pretending to be engaged in the conversation happening in front of her. A senior executive was speaking, something about an upcoming collaboration, or maybe a tour, but Y/N wasn’t really listening. She had perfected the art of nodding at the right moments, offering small smiles, and laughing politely even when she didn’t fully register the joke.

It wasn’t that she hated these events. She understood their importance, knew they were a necessary part of the industry, but tonight felt particularly draining. There was nothing here for her, no real excitement, no real connection. Just people trying to impress other people.

Her gaze flickered toward the exit. If she left now, she doubted anyone would notice. She could slip away, maybe go home and curl up with a book, or even just sit in the quiet of her dorm, free from the noise. It wasn’t like she was adding anything to the energy of the room.

She sighed, fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “One more hour,” she told herself. Just one more.

And then—

A laugh. Warm. Familiar. Effortless.

It cut through the noise like a melody she had memorized by heart.

Y/N’s body reacted before her mind even processed it. Her head turned instinctively, eyes scanning the crowd, drawn toward the sound as if it had called her by name.

And then, there she was.

Rosé.

Standing beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers, her head tilted back in laughter, eyes crinkling at something Jennie had just said. She was radiant in a way that made the rest of the room fade into the background. Y/N barely noticed the people around her anymore. It was just Rosé, effortlessly captivating, pulling her attention without even trying.

"Standing in the corner of a crowded place, this is boring 'til I heard your name."

Y/N exhaled, the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding slipping past her lips.

The party no longer felt so unbearable.

Rosé stood across the room, deep in conversation with Jennie, her expression alight with amusement. The golden glow of the chandeliers softened her features, casting a delicate shimmer along her cheekbones. Even in the dim, ambient lighting of the venue, she seemed to glow, as if the world had conspired to make her the brightest thing in the room.

Her hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made her look effortlessly elegant. A few strands had slipped out of place, yet instead of looking messy, they only added to her charm. She was dressed in something sleek and understated, nothing overly extravagant, but still stunning in the way it fit her, hugging her form in all the right ways. The fabric caught the light with every small movement, making it impossible not to notice her.

She wasn’t even trying.

She wasn’t standing under a spotlight, wasn’t performing, wasn’t singing with that breathtaking voice of hers. She was just… being herself. Laughing at something Jennie had said, head tilted back slightly, her eyes crinkling in delight.

And yet, Y/N couldn’t look away.

For a moment, she felt ridiculous. She had known Rosé for years. They had spent so many hours together, backstage at award shows, waiting in green rooms, sharing snacks in the hotel after long schedules. They had been each other’s company on quiet nights, texting about everything and nothing until one of them inevitably fell asleep mid-conversation.

Rosé had always been beautiful. That wasn’t new.

So why did it feel like Y/N was seeing her for the first time?

"Is it just me startin’ to see you in a different light?"

Y/N swallowed, a strange warmth creeping up her neck. She blinked, willing the thought away.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, Rosé’s gaze drifted through the sea of people and landed on her.

For a second, Y/N forgot how to breathe.

There was something in Rosé’s eyes, surprise, maybe or something quieter, something unspoken. The conversation she had been having with Jennie momentarily faded into the background. Y/N swore she saw the tiniest flicker of hesitation, as if Rosé wasn’t just looking at her but seeing her, in a way that mirrored exactly what Y/N was feeling.

Then, slowly, Rosé’s lips curled into a smile.

Soft. Familiar. The kind of smile Y/N had seen a thousand times, yet suddenly, it felt different.

Y/N’s heart stumbled over itself.

Rosé lifted a hand and waved, a small motion that somehow carried the weight of the entire evening.

She tilted her head slightly, an unspoken invitation in her gaze, and just like that, leaving was no longer an option.

Y/N found herself moving before she even decided to. It was as if her body knew something she hadn’t quite admitted to herself yet, an invisible pull, a force guiding her straight to Rosé without hesitation. The music and the crowd faded into the background, becoming nothing more than a blur of movement and sound.

The moment she stepped closer, Rosé turned to her with an easy smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Finally,” she said, crossing her arms. “I was wondering how long you were gonna sulk in the corner.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t sulking.”

“Sure,” Rosé teased, tilting her head slightly, her blonde hair slipping over one shoulder. “You looked like you were planning your escape.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but.. well, she had been planning her escape. So instead, she just shrugged. “The party’s boring.”

Rosé smirked, leaning in just a fraction closer. “Not anymore, right?”

There was something in her voice, light, playful, but beneath it, something else. Something expectant. The way she looked at Y/N made her stomach flip, like she was waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t asked out loud.

Before Y/N could analyze it too much, Jennie, who had been casually observing their interaction, cut in smoothly. “You two should just stick together. You’re the only people I’ve seen tonight who don’t look like they want something from someone.”

Rosé let out a soft laugh, the sound effortless and familiar. “Sounds like a plan.”

Jennie’s eyes flicked between them, like she was noticing something neither of them were ready to admit yet. But she just smirked knowingly before stepping away, leaving them in their own little space amidst the chaos of the party.

The conversation flowed easily after that, as it always did between them.

They talked about everything and nothing, complaining about their exhausting schedules, reminiscing about the funniest behind the scenes moments, making quiet jokes about the over the top fashion choices at the party. But underneath all of it, there was something different.

The space between them was less than it should have been.

Every time one of them shifted, the warmth of Rosé’s arm brushed against Y/N’s, sending tiny sparks of awareness up her skin. It wasn’t intentional, at least, Y/N didn’t think so, but neither of them moved away.

Then, without thinking, Y/N reached for a drink from a passing tray.

Her fingers unintentionally brushed against Rosé’s. It was barely a touch. A fleeting moment. But it was there.

Neither of them pulled away immediately.

Y/N swallowed, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She told herself it was nothing. Just a touch. Just a moment.

But then Rosé looked at her. Really looked at her.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t so sure it was nothing at all.

The warmth of Rosé’s fingers against Y/N’s lingered, even as the moment passed, even as they both slowly withdrew their hands and pretended like it hadn’t happened. The touch had been brief, fleeting, barely more than a brush of skin against skin. And yet, Y/N could still feel it, like an imprint left behind, delicate but all-consuming.

The air between them had changed.

The conversation continued, but Y/N found herself barely paying attention. She nodded at the right moments, let out small hums of acknowledgment when necessary, but her focus was elsewhere.

Because something was different now.

Rosé, standing impossibly close, her presence overwhelming in the best way. Rosé, whose perfume, light and floral with a hint of vanilla, was something Y/N could recognize anywhere. Rosé, who was quiet now, no longer filling the space with playful words, but instead watching Y/N in a way that sent something warm curling in her chest.

It wasn’t just her imagination.

She could feel it, this pull, this tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Rosé leaned in slightly, her voice just above a whisper, intimate despite the crowd around them. "Wanna get out of here?"

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

Before she could respond, Rosé tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"We could get drinks, or we could get coffee."

Rosé’s tone was casual, too casual, like she wasn’t fully acknowledging what she was asking. Like she was testing something, waiting for a reaction.

Y/N arched an eyebrow, smirking slightly, an attempt to keep her voice steady. “Since when do you drink this much, Rosie?”

Rosé shrugged, effortlessly cool, but Y/N caught the tiny flicker in her expression, the way her lips twitched like she was holding back something more. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to take you somewhere else.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

A second passed. Then another.

Neither of them moved.

Rosé was still looking at her, the same way she had been all night, like she was seeing something new, something she hadn’t fully allowed herself to acknowledge before.

And maybe Y/N was looking at her the same way. The weight of the moment balanced on a knife’s edge.

Then, as if making an unspoken agreement, Rosé reached for her clutch, her movements smooth, deliberate. Y/N followed suit, setting her barely touched drink on the nearest table.

They didn’t say anything else, there was no need to.

Without another word, they slipped through the crowd together, leaving the noise of the party behind.

The city air was crisp when they stepped outside, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the party. The cool breeze nipped at Y/N’s skin, carrying with it the distant scent of rain on pavement and something floral from a nearby storefront. She inhaled deeply, letting the quiet settle over her like a balm.

Neon lights flickered against the wet pavement, stretching into long, fractured reflections with each passing car. The city was still alive but softer now, distant laughter from groups of night owls mingling with the low hum of traffic. It was the kind of night that felt endless, like anything could happen.

Rosé didn’t say where they were going, and Y/N didn’t ask.

She simply fell into step beside her, their shoulders brushing with every few strides. Neither of them moved away.

A comfortable silence stretched between them as they wandered through the quieter streets of Seoul, where the flashing signs and bustling crowds gave way to cozier alleyways and familiar corners. It wasn’t the first time they had done this, sneaking away after long events, walking without a real destination, enjoying the rare moments of peace their schedules didn’t often allow. But tonight felt… different.

Eventually, they turned down a quieter street, and Rosé led them toward a small, tucked-away café. The warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk, the golden light inviting against the cool blue of the night.

Y/N smiled as recognition dawned. They’d been here before.

Hidden from the prying eyes of cameras and fans, this place had become something of an unspoken sanctuary, a little slice of normalcy in a life where normal didn’t exist.

But somehow, tonight, it felt different.

As Rosé pulled open the door, Y/N hesitated. "Are we really doing coffee at this hour?"

Rosé smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Since when do you care about time?”

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh, stepping inside after her.

The café was warm, the rich scent of roasted beans and vanilla hanging in the air. Soft music played from an old speaker near the counter, blending into the occasional clinking of ceramic cups and the quiet murmur of the few other late-night customers. It was nothing like the party, no flashing lights, no suffocating expectations, no noise that drowned out the thoughts in her head.

Just them.

As they settled into a corner booth, Rosé ran a hand through her hair, shaking off the slight chill from outside. Y/N watched as she glanced at the menu with mild disinterest before resting her chin on her hand, eyes flickering up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re stalling,” Y/N teased, placing her own menu down.

Rosé hummed, tapping her fingers against the table. “Maybe.” Then, after a beat, “What do you feel like?”

“Tea,” Y/N answered easily, lifting an eyebrow. “And I know you’re not about to order coffee. You hate drinking it late.”

Rosé’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Maybe I just like the company.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat at the effortless way Rosé said it.

They placed their orders, tea for Y/N, something herbal for Rosé, before settling into the quiet lull of the café.

The dim lighting cast soft shadows over Rosé’s face, highlighting the curve of her cheekbone, the slight downturn of her lips as she stared into her cup, stirring absentmindedly. Her fingers wrapped around the ceramic as if grounding herself, but there was a thoughtfulness in her expression, something unsaid resting at the tip of her tongue.

Y/N didn’t speak. She simply watched, taking in the way Rosé’s brows knitted together slightly, how the flickering candle on the table reflected in her eyes.

The café was quiet, not an empty kind of quiet, but the kind that felt safe. Unlike the party, there was no pressure to be anything but themselves here.

And yet, the air between them still carried a charge, an unspoken tension, something lingering just beneath the surface.

Y/N traced the rim of her cup absentmindedly, watching Rosé over the rising steam of her drink.

There was something mesmerizing about the way she carried herself, the effortless way she curled her fingers around the handle of her mug, the way her thumb absentmindedly smoothed over the ceramic surface as if lost in thought. She wasn’t fidgeting, not exactly, but there was a quiet kind of movement to her, a rhythm in the way she tapped a delicate pattern against the side of the cup, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

Y/N had seen Rosé like this before, deep in thought, lost in the quiet corners of her mind. But tonight, something about it felt different.

Maybe it was the lighting, casting warm shadows over the soft contours of her face.

Maybe it was the way her eyes flickered up to meet Y/N’s every so often, as if making sure she was still there.

Maybe it was the silence, charged, heavy with things unsaid, lingering between them like a question neither of them had dared to ask.

And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. "This night felt pointless until I saw you."

Rosé stilled.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her cup, her posture shifting just the smallest fraction. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but Y/N noticed.

Because Rosé always moved with a certain grace, always carried herself with an effortless fluidity, and yet… something about the way she froze in that moment told Y/N that she had caught her off guard.

The words hung between them, suspended in the air like something fragile, something that could shatter if handled too carelessly.

For a moment, Rosé didn’t respond. She just sat there, her lips parted slightly, eyes searching Y/N’s as if trying to find the meaning hidden beneath them.

Because they both knew those words meant more than they should.

"I know we can't say what we mean, but I'm happy that you're here tonight."

Rosé opened her mouth, as if to say something. Y/N could see it, the hesitation, the thoughts racing behind her eyes, the weight of a response she was unsure if she could give.

She stopped herself, instead, she simply smiled.

Not her usual bright, camera-ready smile. Not the charming, practiced expression she wore for flashing lights and adoring fans.

This was something else. Something smaller. Something softer. Something private.

As if Y/N’s words were something she wanted to keep.

After that night, something changes.

It isn’t sudden, there’s no grand moment of realization, no spoken confession that shifts the world around them. But it’s there. Subtle and persistent. A slow unraveling, threading itself into the fabric of their everyday lives, too quiet to name but impossible to ignore.

They start spending more time together.

More than before. More than what could be written off as coincidence or simple friendship.

It starts small.

Rosé starts texting first.

Not because she has a reason, not because there’s anything urgent to say, but just because. Because she wants to, because something about Y/N’s name lighting up her screen makes the dullest parts of her day feel lighter.

And Y/N texts back, always. Sometimes with teasing responses, sometimes with sleepy voice notes at ungodly hours, her voice groggy but affectionate.

And then there are the calls, ones that start as quick check-ins but stretch into hours, their voices growing softer, quieter, like neither of them want to be the one to say goodbye.

Then come the meet-ups, slipping away between schedules, finding hidden places where no one will bother them. There’s something different about those moments. The way Rosé’s fingers toy with the rim of her cup, the way Y/N’s gaze lingers just a little too long. The way neither of them rush to leave.

The nights stretch longer.

More late-night conversations, more laughter, more stolen moments in places that feel like they exist outside of time. Y/N finds herself memorizing the way Rosé’s eyes flicker when she’s talking about something she loves, how she bites her lip when she’s deep in thought, how her voice softens when she says her name.

And then there are the touches. Small at first.

Brushed fingers when reaching for something at the same time. Rosé’s hand on the small of Y/N’s back when guiding her through a crowd. The way Y/N’s fingers linger on Rosé’s wrist when she tugs her closer, like she’s waiting for something.

It’s brief. Fleeting, but it’s enough.

Enough to make Y/N’s breath hitch. Enough to make Rosé’s heart stutter.

Rosé tells herself it’s nothing. Except… It’s always something.

She catches herself staring when she shouldn’t.

During rehearsals, during interviews, in moments where she should be focused, but instead, she’s watching her. Watching the way Y/N moves, the way she laughs, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear absentmindedly.

And every single time Y/N looks back at her, catches her in the act, Rosé’s pulse races.

It’s fine, she tells herself. Completely normal.

But if that’s true… Then why does it feel like something she’s not ready to admit?

Why does she find herself searching for Y/N, even when she’s supposed to be focused on something else? Why does her chest tighten when Y/N walks into a room, why does the absence of her presence feel palpable in a way it never used to?

It follows her everywhere.

During rehearsals, during interviews, in moments where she should be fully present but instead finds her thoughts drifting, always back to her.

And now? Now they’re here again, another schedule, another long day in the industry’s endless cycle. But this time, Rosé doesn’t just feel Y/N’s presence.

She sees her.

The backstage room hummed with the familiar chaos of a live broadcast, producers adjusting earpieces, stylists making last-minute fixes, camera operators calling out to one another. The low murmur of voices, the shuffle of footsteps, the faint whir of a curling iron in the background, it all blended into a steady, predictable noise.

But Rosé barely noticed any of it.

She was seated on the worn leather couch, waiting for the next segment to begin, her body angled slightly toward Y/N without realizing it. The space between them was negligible, their legs nearly touching. Too close to be accidental. Too familiar to be deliberate.

Y/N was speaking, her voice low and warm, her words laced with something teasing. Rosé wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying anymore, something about the interview, or maybe a joke about how long the day had been, but all Rosé could focus on was the way her voice curled around the words. The way her lips twitched in amusement before she even finished speaking, like she already knew Rosé would laugh.

She should move. She should.

But she didn’t.

A staff member passed by, flipping through a clipboard, their voice cutting through the air with an amused lilt.

"You two are always together." The words landed too heavily.

It was casual, offhanded, thrown into the conversation without a second thought. A passing comment meant to fill the silence.

But Rosé felt it like a spark.

Y/N, as always, was quick to respond. She let out an easy laugh, one of those effortlessly charming ones, leaning back against the couch as if the statement meant nothing at all. "Guess she’s stuck with me."

The staff member chuckled and walked off, the moment already forgotten.

Rosé should have laughed, too. It was a joke. Just a joke, but her face burned.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have sent a sudden, unsteady rush of heat creeping up her neck, shouldn’t have left her fingers curling subtly against her lap, pressing into the fabric of her dress as if grounding herself.

But the thing about the joke was that it wasn’t really a joke at all.

They were always together.

She could feel Y/N’s gaze on her now, lingering in that way that made Rosé feel seen in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready for. It was subtle, a flicker of attention, a silent question in the way her eyes softened at the corners.

Rosé kept her own gaze forward, pretending to be focused on the ongoing conversation happening across the room. If she laughed too much, it would be obvious. If she didn’t laugh at all, it would be worse.

So she settled for something in between.

A quiet exhale. A half-smile. A sip of water that did nothing to cool the warmth still spreading through her chest.

The conversation moved on. The moment passed, but the thought stayed.

Later, after the interview was over, after the cameras had been turned off and the crew had started packing up, Rosé found herself walking down an empty hallway beside Y/N. The distant hum of voices and laughter from the other rooms faded as they stepped further away from the noise.

It was just them now.

No cameras. No audience. No need to pretend.

Rosé spoke without fully thinking, the words slipping out before she had the chance to swallow them down.

"Maybe they have a point."

Y/N, who had been mid-step, paused.

She turned slightly, just enough for Rosé to see the shift in her expression, the way her amusement dimmed into something quieter, something unreadable. She didn’t speak right away, didn’t offer another easy, teasing response. Instead, she just looked at Rosé, really looked at her, like she was searching for something in her face, waiting to see if Rosé would take the words back.

She didn’t.

Y/N tilted her head, considering. Her voice was softer when she finally spoke. "Do they?"

It wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing. It was a real question.

Rosé swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of her own words.

She could still hear the echo of the joke from earlier. Could still feel the heat of Y/N’s gaze lingering on her, waiting for an answer.

And she could lie. She could laugh it off like she always did, could throw back a simple of course not and pretend like her pulse wasn’t hammering in her throat.

But she didn’t.

She just stood there, staring at Y/N, feeling everything and saying nothing.

Because maybe... Maybe she already knew the answer, and that’s what scared her the most.

And yet, the weight of that unspoken truth didn’t fade with time. It followed her in the quiet moments, in the spaces between conversations, in the way Y/N’s absence felt too loud even when the world around her was filled with noise.

Days passed, then weeks, and still, Rosé found herself caught in the same loop—avoiding, pretending, wanting, running.

She told herself that the tension would dissolve, that if she kept her distance, whatever this thing between them would fade into something manageable. But the distance only made it worse.

So when the invitation arrived, just another industry gathering, just another night of routine smiles and polite small talk, Rosé didn’t expect anything different.

She certainly didn’t expect her.

A private gathering, tucked away from flashing cameras and the ever-watchful eyes of the public. The kind of night where the air is thick with laughter, where drinks are passed between friends, and where time feels just a little more forgiving. Music hums softly from a speaker in the corner, blending into the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of glasses.

Rosé isn’t drunk, not even close, but there’s a lightness in her limbs, a warmth curling in her chest that has nothing to do with the wine she’s been sipping. It’s the kind of night where everything feels easier, where reality seems softer at the edges, where thoughts she normally keeps locked away start to slip through the cracks.

Somewhere between conversation and quiet, between the flickering candlelight on the table and the sound of her own heartbeat, she feels her.

Y/N is close. Too close.

Rosé hadn’t even noticed when it happened, when the space between them had disappeared, but now? 

Now, she’s hyper-aware of everything. The warmth of Y/N’s body beside her, the way their legs brush beneath the table, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the evening air.

And then Y/N shifts, just slightly, and Rosé barely has time to react before she’s right there.

Her breath, soft, warm, ghosts against Rosé’s skin, impossibly near, and a shiver runs down her spine before she can stop it.

Her mind goes blank.

The conversation around them, the music, the laughter, it all fades into static, into something distant and insignificant.

There is only this. Only her.

Y/N’s voice, when she speaks, is barely more than a whisper. "If I kissed you right now, would it ruin everything?"

The words ignite something in Rosé, like a spark catching dry kindling, like something waiting to burn.

A slow inhale. A heartbeat too loud in her ears. A heat creeping up her throat that she doesn’t know what to do with.

She should say something. Do something, but she doesn’t.

She can’t.

Panic grips her chest before she even realizes it. A second stretches too long between them, thick with the weight of what’s been left unspoken for too long.

And Rosé? Rosé laughs.

Too quick. Too forced. As if that will erase the weight of what was just said.

"You’re just tipsy." It comes out light, dismissive, as if she can brush this off like nothing, like it’s not the most real thing she’s ever heard.

She shakes her head slightly, as if that will make it not real.

But Y/N isn’t tipsy. She isn’t swaying, isn’t slurring her words, isn’t drunk on anything except whatever this is between them.

And Rosé knows it. She knows it in the way Y/N’s expression flickers, just for a second. The way something flashes across her face, too quick to catch before she masks it.

But Rosé saw. She felt it.

The sharp sting of disappointment. The flicker of something wounded, something Y/N won’t let herself hold on to.

And Rosé’s chest tightens in a way that feels unbearable.

Because for the first time, she realizes that she doesn’t want Y/N to stop asking.

The morning after that night, Rosé wakes up with a sinking feeling in her chest.

For a moment, in the hazy stillness of her bedroom, she lets herself pretend everything is fine.

That nothing has changed. That her heart isn’t tangled in something she doesn’t know how to name.

But reality settles in too quickly.

She blinks up at the ceiling, the remnants of last night flickering behind her eyelids, the warmth of Y/N too close, the whisper of her breath against Rosé’s skin, the question that still lingers in the air between them like an unfinished song.

"If I kissed you right now, would it ruin everything?"

Rosé exhales sharply, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead.

She tells herself it’s exhaustion, that the weight pressing down on her chest is just from too many late nights and back-to-back schedules.

But she knows better.

She knows it has everything to do with the way Y/N had looked at her. The quiet expectation in her eyes, the way her voice had softened, like she was offering Rosé something fragile, something she had been holding onto for too long.

And the way Rosé had run.

From her, from the truth, from whatever this thing between them was turning into.

So she does the only thing she knows how to do. She avoids.

The first message comes in before noon.

She sees it, her screen lighting up with Y/N’s name, but she doesn’t open it.

An hour later, a second message follows.

Rosé glances at it briefly, long enough to see the words "Are we okay?" before she locks her phone and shoves it face-down onto the nightstand.

The third message arrives sometime in the afternoon.

It sits unread in her notifications for hours, a quiet reminder that Y/N is still waiting for something Rosé isn’t sure she can give.

When her phone vibrates with an incoming call, she doesn’t even let herself hesitate, she just lets it ring.

Following days she tells herself she’s busy. That their schedules don’t align, that she’s tired, that it’s better this way.

But when Jennie corners her in the practice room later one day, arms crossed, her gaze sharp in a way that says she already knows the answer, Rosé falters.

“You’ve been weird,” Jennie says, not bothering with subtlety. “What’s going on?”

Rosé doesn’t look up from where she’s absently scrolling through her playlist, pretending to search for a song she isn’t really paying attention to.

“Nothing.”

Jennie scoffs. “Right. So nothing is why you’ve barely said two words all day?”

Rosé forces a laugh, but even she can hear how hollow it sounds. “I’m just tired.”

Jennie studies her for a moment, expression unreadable. “Does this have anything to do with Y/N?”

The name alone is enough to make Rosé’s breath hitch, to make her fingers clench around her phone before she forces them to relax.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, too quickly, too stiffly.

Jennie doesn’t press. She just sighs, shaking her head slightly. “Whatever it is, you’re not handling it well.”

And Rosé knows that.

She knows it every time she catches herself opening Y/N’s chat in the dead of night, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, over the words "Are you okay?", over the words "I'm sorry."

But she never types them. Never sends them.

Because that would mean admitting that this, whatever this is, means something, and she’s not sure she’s ready for that.

So she keeps running.

And Y/N? Y/N pretends not to notice, because if Rosé is going to run, she won’t chase.

But ignoring something doesn’t make it disappear. Rosé learns that the hard way.

No matter how much distance she tries to put between them, no matter how many unanswered texts or avoided glances, she still feels Y/N, like gravity, like a pull she can’t escape.

So when another event comes around, another event with the same people in a different venue, another night of rehearsed smiles and carefully curated interactions, Rosé tells herself that this will be just like any other.

That this time, she won’t let herself look for her.

But the moment she steps inside, the moment the lights and laughter and music blur into the background, she does.

The room is a blur of movement, a dazzling display of expensive gowns and crisp suits, of practiced smiles and meaningless conversations spoken over the hum of music. Laughter rises and falls, champagne flutes clink together in rehearsed toasts, and somewhere in the distance, cameras flash, capturing moments that will be dissected by the media in the morning.

Rosé stands near the edge of the crowd, her fingers curled loosely around the delicate stem of a wine glass, the cool press of glass grounding her.

She tells herself she isn’t looking for Y/N. She tries not to, but it doesn’t matter, her eyes find her anyway.

Like they always do. Like they always will.

And when they do, something sharp twists in her stomach.

Y/N is across the room, wrapped in conversation, her body angled toward someone Rosé doesn’t recognize. She’s smiling, bright and effortless, the kind of smile that makes people lean in, makes them stay. She laughs at something they say, head tilting back slightly, the sound clear even over the noise of the party.

She’s good at this. She always has been. She knows exactly how to make someone feel like they’re the only person in the room, and Rosé hates it.

Because tonight, that person isn’t her.

A bitter taste lingers at the back of her throat, something that has nothing to do with the wine she hasn’t touched in minutes.

She grips the glass a little tighter, eyes locked on the way Y/N leans in just slightly, the way her fingers graze against the sleeve of the stranger's suit, light, fleeting, but there.

It’s nothing. It’s probably nothing, but it doesn’t feel like nothing.

Then, as if sensing something, Y/N’s gaze shifts.

Just for a moment. Just long enough for their eyes to meet across the room. Long enough for Rosé to wonder if it was intentional.

But before she can figure it out, before she can read whatever might be hidden in Y/N’s expression, Y/N looks away.

And Rosé feels something crack inside her.

"Feelin’ so good at a bad party."

She exhales, turning away sharply, lifting her glass to her lips in an attempt to distract herself. The wine is smooth, expensive, but it does nothing to ease the tightness in her chest.

Jennie’s voice, dry and amused. “You look like you’re about to shatter that glass.”

Rosé stiffens. She barely has time to fix her expression before Jennie steps beside her, moving slowly, deliberately, sipping her drink as she watches her carefully.

Rosé forces a small laugh, one that feels unnatural even to her. “I’m fine.”

Jennie hums, unimpressed. “Right. And I’m the newest member of TWICE.”

Rosé exhales through her nose, loosening her grip on the glass. “It’s nothing.”

Jennie doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she follows Rosé’s gaze across the room, to her.

Y/N, still laughing, still talking, still not looking at Rosé.

Something shifts in Jennie’s expression.

Then, without missing a beat, she turns back, raising an eyebrow. “If you don’t want her to move on,” she says, voice softer now, words deliberate, “do something about it.”

Rosé swallows. Her throat is dry. She doesn’t respond.

Because she doesn’t know how.

The party is still alive beyond the walls of the bathroom, laughter spilling over the bass-heavy music, muffled conversations buzzing like static. The distant hum of it all presses against the thick wooden door, but in here, there is nothing but silence.

And them.

Rosé barely has time to react before the door swings shut with a soft click. She grips the edge of the marble sink, fingers tightening until her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t have to.

She knows who it is.

The energy in the room shifts, the air thick with something suffocating, something heavy, something inevitable. The bathroom lights cast a dim glow against the mirror, reflecting back the face of someone who looks far too composed for how fast her heart is beating.

Behind her, Y/N stands motionless, but Rosé can feel the weight of her gaze, pressing against her back like a question waiting to be answered.

"Why are you acting like I don’t exist?" The words are quiet, but they land like a punch, knocking the air from Rosé’s lungs.

She inhales sharply, but it doesn’t steady her. She wasn’t ready for this.

She thought she had been avoiding a conversation, but the truth is, she was delaying it, and now, there’s nowhere left to run.

Her stomach twists violently. For a fleeting second, she thinks about lying. Thinks about brushing past Y/N, making up an excuse, slipping back into the party like none of this is happening.

But she can’t.

Slowly, she turns to face her.

Y/N is standing a few feet away, arms crossed, not in defiance, but in frustration, in hurt. She looks exhausted, like she’s been carrying the weight of this conversation for far too long.

Rosé swallows, her throat dry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Y/N scoffs. Not in amusement. Not in mockery. It’s a sound of disbelief.

Of disappointment.

“Don’t do that,” Y/N murmurs, shaking her head. Her voice is softer now, but it’s laced with something tired. “Don’t stand there and pretend like you haven’t been ignoring me.”

Rosé looks away, but it doesn’t help.

Because the silence that follows confirms it.

She has been ignoring her. She’s been avoiding her, dodging texts, letting calls ring unanswered, keeping her distance like it would somehow fix this, like it would make everything that happened between them disappear.

But it hasn’t.

And now, the distance feels more suffocating than the closeness ever did.

The silence stretches, growing heavier.

"We can’t be like this." The words slip out before she can stop them.

They hang in the air, raw and exposed, before Rosé even fully understands what she’s just said.

Y/N flinches.

It’s slight, barely noticeable, the way her lips part slightly, like she wasn’t expecting it, like, even after everything, some small, stubborn part of her still hoped Rosé wouldn’t say it.

She exhales, running a hand through her hair, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“Right,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Of course we can’t.”

Rosé clenches her fists, nails digging into the skin of her palm, hating the way her chest aches at the sound of Y/N’s voice.

She should say something else, something softer, something that doesn’t sound so final.

But she doesn’t.

Y/N looks at her, and suddenly, Rosé feels like she’s standing at the edge of something dangerous.

A precipice she isn’t sure she wants to step away from.

"Then stop looking at me like you want me." The words come out sharp, cutting through the thick silence between them like a blade.

Rosé flinches. Because Y/N isn’t wrong.

And the worst part? She doesn’t even try to deny it.

She just stands there, silent, frozen, drowning in the weight of everything she hasn’t said.

And that, Y/N realizes, is answer enough.

The silence stretches between them, heavier than anything Rosé has ever carried. She watches as Y/N exhales, her expression shifting—not angry, not bitter, just... tired. Like she’s finally reached the end of something she never wanted to let go of.

And Rosé hates it.

She wants to reach out, to say something, to fix whatever this is before it slips through her fingers completely. But no words come, and when Y/N finally steps back, putting space between them, Rosé doesn’t move.

She watches as Y/N walks away, disappearing into the noise of the party.

And Rosé doesn’t chase her.

They stop talking, not gradually, not in the way friendships sometimes fade over time.

No, this is different. It’s sharp and immediate, like a door slammed shut, like something breaking just beneath the surface but never making a sound. Like a final breath before drowning.

Y/N tells herself she’s done waiting. She tells herself that if Rosé wants to pretend nothing happened, if she wants to ignore her, to act like Y/N doesn’t exist, then fine.

She won’t chase her. She won’t sit around hoping Rosé will finally stop running.

But it still hurts. More than she thought it would.

It hurts when she catches herself glancing at her phone, expecting a message that never comes. The stupid reflex of checking her notifications first thing in the morning, only to be met with silence.

It hurts when she hears Rosé’s voice in an interview, that familiar, melodic tone, speaking casually, laughing like nothing is wrong. Like she isn’t tearing Y/N apart in the quiet spaces between moments.

It hurts when she sees her across a room, standing with the same effortless grace, her fingers curled around a glass, her posture poised and unreadable.

Like they never meant anything at all.

Y/N tells herself she doesn’t care.

She throws herself into her work. Rehearsals, performances, interviews. She smiles when she’s supposed to. Laughs at the right moments. Flirts just enough to keep up the illusion that she’s fine.

That she isn’t falling apart. And for a while, it works.

Because when she’s on stage, when the lights are bright, when the music is loud, she can forget.

She can ignore the quiet ache in her chest, the way her thoughts always seem to drift back to Rosé when she isn’t paying attention.

But then the nights come.

And suddenly, there’s nothing to distract her. No flashing lights, no cameras, no endless noise to drown out the thoughts she doesn’t want to have.

She comes home to an empty room, kicks off her shoes, stares at the ceiling, and wonders if Rosé is doing the same thing. If she’s lying in bed somewhere, wide awake, thinking about Y/N the way Y/N is thinking about her.

She should let it go. She should.

She wants to.

But then, on a night where the loneliness is unbearable, when the silence feels too loud, when the weight in her chest feels too heavy, she reaches for her phone.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitation settling in her bones.

She shouldn’t. She knows, but before she can stop herself, before she can talk herself out of it. She types out a message.

"Drinks or coffee?"

The words stare back at her, small and simple, but somehow carrying everything.

She doesn’t expect an answer.

She tells herself she’s just doing it for closure, for something final. A message sent into the void, never to be answered.

She leaves the screen on anyway.

Watching.

Waiting.

Rosé is half-asleep when the message comes in.

Her phone vibrates softly on the nightstand, barely enough to stir her from the fog of sleep, but somehow, somehow, she feels it before she even registers the sound.

With a sigh, she shifts under the covers, eyes fluttering open just enough to see the dim glow of the screen casting a faint light across the room. The brightness stings, blurring her vision as she squints at the notification.

She almost ignores it. Until she sees the name.

Y/N.

Her breath catches, sleep vanishing instantly.

Fingers trembling slightly, she swipes at the screen, blinking hard as the words come into focus.

Her stomach drops.

For a long, paralyzing moment, all she can do is stare.

Y/N’s name on her screen feels like a ghost, like something she hasn’t let herself think about in weeks, like something she’s spent too much time trying to bury.

She thought she was doing the right thing. She thought if she pulled away, if she ignored the way her heart ached every time she saw Y/N, it would go away. That the distance would make it easier.

But it didn’t. It never did.

Every single day without her felt like walking through a world that had lost its color.

She felt it in the quiet moments, the ones where she reached for her phone, fingers hovering over Y/N’s contact, only to talk herself out of it at the last second.

She felt it in the laughter that didn’t reach her eyes anymore, in the way the world seemed too quiet without Y/N’s voice filling the spaces in between.

She felt it in every song she sang, in every lyric that hit too close, in every interview where she forced a smile and pretended like she hadn’t been unraveling piece by piece.

She missed her.

More than she wanted to admit, more than she could admit.

And now, here Y/N was.

Reaching out. Giving her a choice.

Drinks or coffee? It wasn’t just a question. It was an offering. A last chance. A lifeline.

A way of saying, "Are you going to keep running, or are you finally going to face this?"

Her heart slams against her ribs.

She could ignore it, she could keep pretending, she could let the silence stretch on forever, let the distance between them turn permanent.

And maybe Y/N would finally get tired of waiting. Maybe she would move on. Maybe, one day, Rosé would see her across a room, laughing with someone else, looking at them the way she used to look at Rosé.

The thought makes her stomach twist violently.

The air in the room feels suffocating, thick with the weight of everything she’s refused to say.

Her fingers tighten around her phone.

And then, before she can stop herself, before she can talk herself out of it.

She moves.

Rosé throws off her blankets, the chill of the room hitting her skin, but she barely feels it. Her body moves on instinct, faster than her thoughts can keep up, like some part of her already knows what she has to do.

Her hands shake as she grabs a jacket, as she shoves her feet into her shoes, as she pushes open the door and steps into the night.

The cold air bites at her, sharp against her skin, but it doesn’t matter.

Because all she knows is this.

The rush in her chest, the certainty settling into her bones, the desperate, aching need to move.

Suddenly, the thought of losing Y/N feels unbearable.

The café is nearly empty when Rosé arrives, its golden glow spilling onto the dark, rain-slicked pavement, a quiet sanctuary tucked away from the noise of the world outside. The soft chime of the bell above the door rings out into the stillness as she steps inside, breathless from the cold, her lungs burning as if she’s been running for miles instead of the short, frantic sprint from the station.

Her pulse is hammering, each beat echoing in her ears, but she forces herself to move forward, to look.

And then, she sees her.

Y/N is exactly where Rosé knew she would be, sitting in the farthest corner of the café, curled into the same spot she always claims whenever they come here. The table in front of her holds a half-empty cup, long forgotten, her fingers wrapped loosely around the ceramic as if the warmth of it is the only thing keeping her tethered to the moment. Her gaze is unfocused, staring out of the window into nothing, lost in thoughts Rosé can’t begin to guess.

There is something different about her.

Something about the way her shoulders are set, the way the usual spark in her eyes is missing, the way her lips are pressed into something softer, something unsure.

She looks lost, and the sight of it nearly destroys Rosé.

She swallows against the tightness in her throat, her steps hesitant as she moves toward the table. Her entire body feels too warm, too unsteady, as if the moment she speaks, the fragile thing between them will shatter completely.

Y/N doesn’t look up right away.

She only notices when Rosé finally slides into the seat across from her, exhaling shakily, the weight of weeks of silence settling between them like something heavy, something unspoken.

For a long, stretched moment, neither of them say a word.

The quiet hum of the café surrounds them, the occasional clink of porcelain, the low murmur of an old jazz song playing through the speakers, the hushed voices of the only other patrons lingering near the entrance.

But at their table, there is only silence.

Rosé stares down at her hands, clenched into fists against her lap, trying to steady herself, trying to gather the courage to say what she knows she needs to say.

"It’s not just you," she whispers, the words tumbling from her lips before she can stop them, before she can convince herself to stay silent for just a little longer.

Y/N’s brow furrows slightly, the smallest crease forming between them, as if she isn’t sure she heard her correctly. Her fingers twitch around her cup, but she doesn’t speak.

Rosé inhales sharply, then exhales just as quickly, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, the way her heart seems to ache with the weight of what she is about to admit.

"I’ve been thinking about you every day." Her voice is quiet but steady, and once the words start, she doesn’t want to stop. She can’t stop. "Yesterday, today, and tomorrow."

She forces herself to meet Y/N’s gaze, forces herself to let the words exist, no longer hidden in the safety of silence.

"Is it so wrong I’ve been thinking ‘bout you all day?"

The air between them shifts.

A moment ago, it had been heavy with uncertainty, thick with all the things they had been too afraid to say, but now? Now, it feels different.

Y/N stills, her fingers flexing around the ceramic mug, her breath catching ever so slightly, her lips parting like she wants to say something but can’t quite bring herself to speak yet.

For a second, a terrible, agonizing second, Rosé wonders if she’s too late.

If she’s already ruined this beyond repair. If Y/N has moved on.

But unexpectedly, Y/N smiles. 

Soft. Knowing. Like she understands, like she’s been waiting for this, like she’s been waiting for her.

She leans forward just slightly, her eyes searching Rosé’s, voice gentle but firm when she finally speaks. "Then stop running from me."

The breath Rosé has been holding finally escapes, her chest rising and falling as something inside her, something that has been knotted up for so long, finally breaks loose.

And this time? She won’t run.

The morning light spills through the sheer curtains, casting golden ribbons of warmth across the duvet, illuminating the soft folds of fabric as Rosé stirs beneath it. The world feels quieter in this moment, gentler, as if the universe itself has shifted ever so slightly overnight, tilting into something softer, something lighter. The weight she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying feels a little less suffocating, her breaths a little deeper, her chest no longer as tight.

She stretches lazily, the warmth of sleep still clinging to her limbs, fingers curling against the pillow as she blinks away the last remnants of dreams she can’t quite remember. There’s a peaceful stillness in the air, the kind that only exists in the early hours of the morning before reality fully settles in, before the demands of the day creep in to steal away these fleeting moments of tranquility.

Then, her phone buzzes against the nightstand.

The sound is quiet, almost insignificant against the hushed hum of the waking world, but it reaches her all the same, cutting through the fog of sleep.

With slow, clumsy movements, she reaches for it, fingers swiping blindly across the screen, still sluggish from sleep. The brightness of the display stings her eyes, and she squints against the glare as she reads the notification.

Y/N.

"Drinks or coffee? Just call me"

For a moment, Rosé just stares.

The words blur slightly in her vision, not because she’s still waking up, but because something inside her stirs, something deep and aching that she hasn’t fully allowed herself to feel until now.

A slow smile tugs at the corners of her lips before she even realizes it, the kind of smile that starts small but spreads, blooming into something uncontrollable, something real.

She reads the message once.

Then again.

And suddenly, she’s wide awake.

There’s no hesitation this time. No doubt creeping in to make her second-guess herself. No fear holding her back, telling her to stop, to run, to pretend like this doesn’t mean everything.

Just certainty. A kind of clarity she hasn’t felt in weeks.

She doesn’t waste time typing out a reply, doesn’t sit there searching for something witty or teasing to send back. Words aren’t enough. They never have been.

Instead, she presses the call button, the movement instinctive, as if her body already knows what her heart has only just allowed itself to accept.

The line rings once.

Twice.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Y/N’s voice comes through the receiver, warm and familiar, laced with the soft amusement of someone who already knows Rosé too well, who can probably picture her sitting there, tangled in her sheets, phone clutched tightly in her hands.

Rosé exhales, her smile widening, the last remnants of sleep disappearing entirely.

"Morning." Her voice is still hushed, still laced with the gentle rasp of sleep, but there’s something lighter there now, something unburdened.

Y/N hums on the other end, the sound threading through the quiet like a melody Rosé didn’t know she’d been waiting to hear. "So? Drinks or coffee?"

Rosé laughs softly, the warmth in her chest spilling over, impossible to contain. She’s already sitting up, already reaching for the first jacket she can find, already moving before she’s even fully aware of it.

"Neither."

There’s a pause, and she can almost hear the curiosity in Y/N’s silence before the response comes."Oh?"

"I just want to see you."

There’s another pause, longer this time. The kind that stretches, that means something. Rosé can hear Y/N shift slightly on the other end, can imagine the small smile forming on her lips, the tilt of her head, the way she’s probably biting back some teasing remark, drawing out the anticipation just to make Rosé wait.

"Then hurry up, Chipmunk."

Rosé laughs again, this time louder, freer. And for the first time in a long time, she knows exactly where she’s meant to be.

[alienatedbug]

Evil Tetro au !! Okazaki/Tsuno designs

Its kinda difficult to read my handwriting so plot and design choices under the cut :3

(Ignore my spelling mistakes.. mb)

Warnings: drugs and poorly written/explained points Design

I wanted Tsuno and Okazaki to parallel each other design wise and motive wise. Okazaki has brighter, more lighter values for them to stand out compared to Tsuno’s cooler tones, darker values.

Underneath Oka’s shawl, is a darker fabric to symbolise her less ‘heroic’ Robin Hood persona they put on. (I’m not a big fan of completely wiping a character’s personality in AUs so I still wanted Oka’s more villainess tendencies). The darker colours in their lower half is also emulate this. Okazaki has a feathers throughout her design bc it looked good, I don’t really have anything to say to add. Large feathers beneath Oka is to show her Kitsune motifs- as well as this, I thought it would be quite interesting the Kitsune/feathery tails could act as a ‘cat with nine lives’ esk thing. Okazaki in this AU is an attention seeker who strives for danger to stand out from others which causes them to get into near death experiences.

Tsuno time !

Okay, the design choices are mostly random icl. I wanted Tsuno to have a more stereotypical hero suit ig. It makes more sense if you read the story part. Tsuno has a more streamlined, simple silhouette (and sharper bc shape language) as in this AU she doesn’t realllly want to stand out as this could out her ‘nightly activities’ but does anyways. Her hair to suppose to look like a ghost since like ghosts aren’t seen..(I can’t word this part well). The reversed hair, specifically the black part, is too show her dark mindset. The symbol is a moon also to symbolise her ‘nightly activities’.

What is her nightly activities you may ask? Selling drugs to the poor, shown by the strap across her body. Inside the bottles are either drugs, to illegally sell or chemicals to throw as Okazaki lmao.

Not much else other than those main design choices so off to the plot we go !!

Plot

The characters are ooc and the story is not believable whatsoever but that was the look I was going for, so don’t come after me x

This AU is (ofc) inspires by that Von post as well as the DC franchise (specifically the Gotham area).

I wanted the story to focus on perspectives, which I’m a big fan of, most if not all of the characters believe themselves as ‘correct’ n stuff. So Okazaki, being the protag is an unreliable narrator constantly, exaggerating her feats and good achievements. They act as a Robin Hood/Dark Knight amalgamation. However, as the story continues the characters that follow Oka slowly realise that Oka isn’t all that she seems.

The main plot is as followed: Okazaki goes by the name of the ‘Phantom Thief’ they travel the country to fight evildoers, to rid the country of criminals and get more street cred. As Okazaki continues to travel Japan, she slowly recruits people to her cause (E.g. Watari and Tamba).

The main antagonists are: Sasaki and Tsuno (maybe one or two more). They both have the same motivations of taking over Japan and subsequently, the world they also most definitely hate each others guts.

Now how does Tsuno do this? Tsuno, like said previously, Tsuno sells drugs. Like the type of drugs (like Arcane) which makes the people who gets addicted extremely reliant to them- this means Tsuno is able to control them more easily and can act as her lackeys. Tsuno thinks drugs are the best thing to grace the planet, but she follows Walter White’s rule of never taking the herself to not get addicted herself.

How has Tsuno able to not get arrested? Two things, the police fucking suck and she basically runs the law. In this AU, Tsuno has a goodie-two-shoes superhero facade (like Homelander from the boys) making her OP in the sense of everyone thinks she can’t do any harm whatsoever. Which is why she wears a hood, to hide her face.

—

This was very fun to write and design evil tetro characters so I will be doing this again so if you want me to design/write of the the Tetro characters feel free to ask in my inbox but rq two since I’ll be doing it in batches of two x. Thanks so much for reading if you’ve read to the end i really appreciate it <33

[back2bluesidex]

One Last Contract - MYG, JHS, KNJ

2. Curiosity Killed: None Yet

Pairing: Contract husband!Yoongi X contract wife!Reader, ft. Keeper!Namjoon and Ex-fiancé!Hoseok  

Theme: Mystery, angst, smut, dark, morally grey characters, soft yandere (no non-con or dub-con)

Summary: 

As a professional wife, you have no choice but to say yes to marry Min Yoongi - a mysterious yet intriguing man. But as you start living with him you discover things that meant be secrets, and it may end up being your ruin. Will your keeper aka bodyguard Namjoon and your ex-fiancé Hoseok, who abandoned you without any explanation, be able to pull you out of grasp of the man who you are falling for?

Warnings: soft yandere, implied meds addiction, mentions of death and abuse (nothing triggering). NSFW!!

Inspired from The Trunk (K-drama)

Banner designed by the utterly talented, the kindest, the nicest soul on earth, the one and only @kingofbodyrolls, Lissa. 😘😘😘💜💜💜

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

A/N: So, I am back bitches. enough of moping around, now it's the time for some dark stuff. after contemplating for some time, I decided to post the series here. but the future still depends on the engagement that I receive.

Read the full series on Patreon

Min yoongi moves like a shadow in his own house. 

Sometimes you think his feet are padded like a cat’s, hence, those make no sound when in the move. 

Whenever your eyes meet his, a cryptic smile crawls up on that beautifully pale face of his, as if he knows what exactly you are thinking. 

You have seen a ton of men in your lifetime but you have not seen another one like Yoongi. 

His father owns the biggest hotel chain of South Korea but he is a music producer. He produces music in his own small label that specializes in BGMs. 

Strange. 

Yes. Min Yoongi is quite strange but you find him intriguing and in a way similar to yourself. 

Just like Yoongi, you left your past behind and now you are running behind a future that’s as hazy as fog. You have no clarity but you don’t hate it at all. 

You don’t hate many things in life. 

You don’t love anything either. 

“What are you doing this afternoon?” Yoongi asks - his mouth is so close to your ears that you can smell the faint minty scent of his tooth paste. 

You don’t startle. 

“House chore.” you reply flatly. 

Things between you and Yoongi are rather flat and easy - unless you are fucking. 

“Ummm..” he moves away. From the beeping of the coffee machine you can tell he is ready to brew his morning coffee, “how about you come to my studio? The boys have been wanting to meet my new bride for some time.” 

Behind you, you can hear the coffee machine buzz. 

“How many people will be there?” you ask, cracking open an egg in a mid-sized clear glass bowl. 

“Four. five including me.” Yoongi replies. 

To any outsider, this scene will appear to be a sweet Wednesday morning with husband and wife going about their plans for the day, cooking together in the kitchen. Only if complications were visible - you are sure you would have a large storm cloud looming over your head. 

“Okay. I will be there. Text me the address.” you reply, pouring the egg in the pan. The sizzling sound blooms like music in your ears. 

Min Yoongi moves like a shadow in his own house. 

So, you don't realize when he nears you, wraps an arm around your waist and kisses you on the cheek. 

“Thanks Jagi.” he whispers in your ear again. 

A chill runs down your spine. 

Being a contract wife is still being a wife regardless of the arrangements. Thus, you get no relief from the house chore. And you like it this way. 

You like it when you have something to do. 

Having something to focus on means fighting less with your demons - remembering less what you left behind. 

You neatly fold all the clothes and smooth a hand over each of those. The fabric is soft and velvety. You wonder how much these costs. You wonder if Yoongi always wears materials like these. 

You wonder why you even care.

Your phone vibrates cutting through the chain of your thoughts. Kim Namjoon’s name appears on the screen. 

“Is everything alright?” the text reads.

Kim Namjoon is appointed by the company as your Keeper, in simpler words, your bodyguard. 

When the company got to know Yoongi’s “Undisclosed Reason” they decided to appoint their finest keeper as your personal security.

But if you are being honest, you feel more at ease with Yoongi than you have ever felt with Namjoon in your close proximity. 

After you witnessed him breaking the hand of a human being with no guilt, no remorse - you realized people often don’t look like what they actually are. 

With the build of a mountain and that fluffy golden blonde hair - Kim Namjoon appears to be godly. But deep down he pets a devil and lets it take him over when needed. 

“Yes.” you type and send your reply, then you recall you need to update him about your afternoon plans. 

“I am going to Min Yoongi’s workplace in an hour.” you type and send again. 

“Okay. I will be at the tail.” Namjoon replies in an instant. 

You have mastered the art of faking. 

Given the fact this is the most important skill for the job you do - you had to adhere to it and you did, that too, in record time. 

You look at the mirror, practice your smile - one, two and three times. 

As you look at your reflection, you find a single hair in your eyebrow that is slightly longer than the rest. 

Great. You have no tweezers with you. 

Leaving your room, you go to the master bathroom. You don’t expect to find any as Yoongi had lived alone in this house for a year after his ex-wife’s death. 

And just as you expect, you find no tweezer. 

Then you wander around Yoongi’s room - to his attached bathroom. 

As you open a cabinet that looks like a medicine container - you come across a dozen of white medicine bottles.

The labels read - Aripiprazole, Risperidone, Clozapine and Haloperidol. Turning one upside down you see a name written under the bottle. 

Ryu Seohyun. Yoongi’s ex-wife. 

You waste no time in pulling your phone out of your pocket, clicking pictures and sending those to Namjoon. 

“Can you find out what these are for?” you add a text. 

“Okay.” Namjoon replies after a minute. 

“This is Jeon Jeongguk, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Kim Seokjin Hyung.” Yoongi introduces one by one. 

You smile your practiced fake smile, everyone smiles back. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N-ssi.” Kim Seokjin says. 

“Nice to meet you all too.” you reply, setting down the cartoon of coffee that you bought for them, “please enjoy.” 

“That’s so nice of you.” Kim Taehyung chimes in. 

“Jagi, how about we take our coffee to my studio?” Yoongi proposes, just when you are about to sit down. 

“Ohh.. Yoongi hyung, territorial huh?” Park Jimin teases. 

“I have always been very possessive about the things that I like.” Yoongi replies, tugging a loose strand of your hair, behind your ear. 

Yoongi traps you between him and his desk. 

Your waist meets the cold wood, you shiver a little. 

“You look nice.” his eyes dips down from your eyes to your lips, to your collarbone, to your bust. 

“Thanks.” your heart expands in your chest. 

Yoongi hooks his face on the crook of your neck. At first he sniffs and then starts placing open mouthed kisses on your skin. 

“Are you under some kind of medication?” you place your question carefully. 

Yoongi sucks on a spot on your neck, “why?” 

“I found some medicines in your bathroom cabinet.” 

Your husband halts his actions. Detaching his face from your neck, he looks at you - no hint of smile visible on his face. 

His eyes are dark, unbelievably dark. 

He pushes you further against his desk, “have you heard that proverb? It goes something like curiosity killed the cat.” 

You don’t reply but suck in a deep breath. 

“Never enter my room without my permission, okay Jagi?” he presses his body on yours. 

Your hand that is placed on the desk, stretches with the impact. It knocks against the coffee cup and the liquid spills on the back of your palm. 

“Ah!” you groan in pain. The coffee was still so hot. Your skin reddens immediately. 

“Shit” Yoongi runs to retrieve some tissues, “we need to visit the hospital.” he says in haste. 

“It’s okay- I am fine-” 

“Y/N. We are visiting the hospital.” he shuts you completely. 

Just as you knew, it was nothing serious. 

The doctor wrapped it up, prescribed some meds and ointment and asked you to take care. 

As soon as you exit the hospital, with Yoongi beside you, Namjoon runs up. 

Your breath gets a little labored at the sight of him. 

“Y/N, did he do something?” He asks without any greetings or so. 

“No. it was an acc-”

“Who are you?” Yoongi cuts you off. You see him measuring Namjoon from head to toe. 

Even though Yoongi is a lot shorter than Namjoon - his mere presence challenges Namjoon’s authority. 

“I am her personal security.” Namjoon answers. 

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow and then smirks. 

“Why? Is your company afraid that I might do something to you?” He questions you. 

You look away. 

Namjoon steps closer to Yoongi, “You can’t do anything to her. Lay a finger and I will break your hand.”

At this Yoongi breaks into a loud laugh. Everyone around you stares at him. You close your eyes in frustration. 

“She’s my wife. I don’t need a manual to know what I should and shouldn’t do to her.” Yoongi attacks. 

“Your wife for a year. Only a year.” Namjoon’s words leave through his gritted teeth. 

“We will…” Yoongi turns towards you, laces his fingers through yours, “see about that.” 

Permanent Taglist:

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[neiptune]

inescapable

cw: 1.2k wc, female reader, nothing explicit but implied friends with benefits agreement, pillow talk, reader is trying sooo very hard to be nonchalant

“Can you stay?”, Shoyo looks at you through long, fluttering lashes. He looks beautiful like this, propped on one elbow, the moonlight faintly illuminating his features.

“Why?”, you deadpan.

Because there’s no actual reason for you to go. Because it’s late and he doesn’t entirely trust whatever cab has to drive you to the other side of the city. Because he likes you so much it’s making him a little insane.

“Because I want you to”.

“What about what I want?”.

He hesitates for a brief moment.

“You want to leave?”.

You sigh quietly and avoid his gaze, filled with sincere concern, to focus on the ceiling instead.

It makes your chest ache, the way Shoyo is so effortlessly honest about how he feels, what he wants. It’s been like this since day one: he was the first to admit he wanted to take you out, the first to voice how badly he wanted to kiss you, take you home, keep you there.

He’s still the one taking all the risks and you hate yourself for it. Especially because of how easily you give in, end up in his bed way too often for someone who is supposedly meant to keep her distance. The promise you made yourself is dangerously close to crumbling like a house of cards who didn’t stand a chance in the first place. Not in the inescapable hurricane that is Shoyo Hinata.

“You’re thinking too much again”, one finger lightly traces the bridge of your nose, the touch effectively pulling you away from your thoughts, “do you want to go?”.

This time, you decide to give him what he wants. Which, unfortunately, also happens to be what you want.

“No”, you say. Shoyo’s hand gently cradles your jaw, guides you to look at him instead of his ceiling.

“Good. Come closer, then”, something flashes in his eyes but you still feel like you don’t know him well enough to grasp every facet of him. The thought somehow produces both comfort and dread.

With a sigh that makes Shoyo bite back a smile, you comply and scoot closer, until you’re back in your designated place: his arms. He solidly wraps them around your frame and you hide your face in his shoulder, nose pressed to his neck. You’re wearing one of his shirts but he’s still naked and the warmth of his chest creeps into the fabric to then ooze under your skin, into your bones, like honey.

“I wish I was like you”, it’s barely a whisper but you know he hears it loud and clear in the stillness of his bedroom, “never afraid of anything”.

He chuckles.

“Is that what you think? That’s not me”.

“You just… make everything look so easy. You’re brave”.

“That’s not what it is. I just take risks, always have. Doesn’t mean I’m not afraid”.

You scoff.

“Okay. Tell me one thing that frightens you, then”.

Shoyo hums, seemingly lost in thought. That’s one thing you know: he never actually has to think too long about what he wants to share. It just comes naturally. The one thing he takes time to evaluate is whether sharing what’s on his mind is worth it or not.

“I’m afraid of scaring you off”.

You sigh heavily and he chuckles again, content with the advantage he has in a game you were never meant to win.

“See? That’s what I mean. You can just say stuff like that”.

“You can too, it’s really not that scary”.

“It’s only not scary if you’re you”.

Shoyo smiles, you hear it in his voice when he speaks again.

“Say something that scares you. Do it now. I’ll cover my ears if you want”.

You huff out half a laugh and pull back slightly to look at him.

“Really?”.

“Sure. If you don’t want me to hear it, I won’t listen. But it’ll prove how easy it actually is”.

You jokingly narrow your gaze when he props himself on one elbow again and presses his palms over his ears. Shoyo just offers a grin.

Head now resting on his pillow, you take a deep breath.

“I like you so much. Enough to wish you belonged to me and not to Brazil. Enough to keep you here forever, if I could”.

He blinks slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. Horrified, you grab his wrist to pull one of his hands down.

“You heard that!”.

“I absolutely didn’t-”

“Hinata!”.

“It’s not my fault the room is so quiet!”, he bursts into mirthful laughter when you groan into his pillow, mortified as you always get when the carefully crafted indifferent facade slips.

Shoyo doesn’t conceal the fondness in his gaze as he looks down at you, busy hiding your face in your hands.

“Can I say something too?”.

“No”.

“Not even if it’s scary and vulnerable and makes me a horrible person?”.

You peer up at him from in between your fingers.

“Fine. But it better make you absolutely execrable”.

A glimpse of his familiar smile is all you can catch before Shoyo wraps himself around you once more, only this time he’s resting his entire weight on you. You let out a playful oof as you hug him, a body that is all corded muscle, hard thighs and broad shoulders effectively sinking you further into the mattress. You can feel the swell of his biceps as he tightens his hold around your middle, soft wisps of unruly hair tickling your chin as Shoyo makes himself comfortable.

“I wish I could take you with me. I wish you belonged to me more than to your hometown, your job, your friends, maybe even your family. That’s how much I like you. That’s how much of a terrible person I am”.

A quiet laugh shakes you as one of your hands gently strokes his back.

“You couldn’t be a terrible person if you tried”.

“I mean it”.

“Good thing I’m here to do the right thing, then”.

“What’s the right thing?”.

“Accepting how selfish I can be and still not acting on it. Thinking about what’s best for you”.

Shoyo hums.

“I can decide what’s best for me. You know, as an adult”.

“Sure. And I hope you’ll soon find it”.

He tilts his head up, enough to press his lips to your jaw.

“I can belong to you and my career. I wouldn’t just drop everything and give up on my dream because of you. You don’t make me wish I didn’t have to leave, you just make me wish you trusted me, this, enough to try. To wait for me when I get back and have me wait for you when you come to me”.

Truth is, he wants to belong to you far more than he wants you to belong to him. He wishes to know you want him just as much, that the mere thought of him being with other people eats away at your sanity each time your brain conjures it. 

You shut your eyes when you feel tears pricking at the back of them.

“Was saying all that scary?”, Shoyo hears the way your voice trembles and nuzzles further into the crook of your neck.

“Yeah”, he whispers.

“Couldn’t be scarier than admitting I’m falling in love with you”.

He stills, a marble statue pliant under your touch. And then, slowly, Shoyo lifts himself up enough to meet your gaze. There’s something so tender about the way he’s looking at you, it makes you feel far more vulnerable than the times when his eyes are filled with lust or passion. It feels different. It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been.

“See? You’re getting really good at this”, he murmurs. It eases the ice cold tension clutching your chest, makes you able to offer a smile.

“I still think this isn’t entirely wise”.

“That’s fine”, Shoyo intentionally brushes his nose against yours before leaning further down, “I’ve always been great at turning predictions around”.

[sizzleissues]

Its May.

Okay so this is in the same AU I had last year its just changed and evolved while also being the exact same. Except now I have 15,000 words of it written, like 7,000 words of planning and lore and hours upon hours of research that I will be pointedly ignoring. Will be posting more stuff this month about the AU and my hopes and dreams for it

Also slight art improvement check? I’ll put their original mermaid designs below the cut.

It’s Marinette as a mermaid and … its not Adrien or Chat Noir but a third worse thing (Catwalker but in the purest manifestation of it being a curse and not who he wants to be) I will be making designs for mer!Ladybug, and mer!Adrien as its own thing later on.

Okay if you want to indulge me look below the cut

Old mermaid designs first. I am going to be talking about my design thoughts, thoughts and ramblings about this AU and what I’ve been up to. You have been warned

As you can see, some things have changed but neither design I hated, I just wanted to go further with it.

My brain is quite specific about mermaids and how I want them to generally look. I wanted to distinguish biological merfolk from transformed humans by having them being anatomically different. So Adrien has a vertical tail instead which is also way faster underwater. His transformation is quite distressing for him and very chaotic. Of course when he accepts it he’s not so raggedy.

Marinette similarly avoids her life as a mermaid by becoming human and I wanted her mermaid design to hint toward her fascination with humans. She wears a top she fashioned from human fabric she found in a sunken merchant vessel. In general all other merfolk either forgo clothes or wear things fashioned from materials available to them. There’s deep fear of humans and human things so even though human clothes are available to them (off dead bodies but…. Whatever) they choose to difference themselves as much as possible. The same taboos don’t exist for them and their bodies are already adapted from the temperature of their environment. Adrien has stray bits of netting and seaweed on him because he’s not exactly the best at controlling his speed and often crash’s through fishing nets and patches of seaweed resulting in stuff being caught on him.

A lot of their designs are still being worked but I’ve definitely pushed them the right direction!

On to the AU. You might have seem me cryptically talk about something I’m writing the past few weeks. This is because it’s been in my brain since last May and been on and off writing it since then. I decided I’d talk about it once May came back around but and then when I finished writing it, start posting sneak peaks and more spoilery art until it was fully edited and I felt confident in it to post with an aim for it to finish posting once May rolled around again. Oh god.

It’s set in the late 1700s in a fictional version of France that’s actually fragmented over a bunch of islands. I have done more fashion research than I ever thought I’d do and in the end we will still be taking creative license but know I do know what they actually wore! I ALSO did a butt tonne of research about sailing ships and turns out they are super complicated and now I know too much and yet too little still about them. It should be super fun and action packed if I can manage. Have some really good scenes already in my head I know you’ll love. We’re already three ships battle deep and I’ve only written four chapters. (It chills out for a bit after that)

This is entirely self-indulgent by the way. I’m writing this for me, you guys are just a bonus. I literally don’t care as long as it satiates my rabid need for the fic that only lives in my brain at the moment. Saying that, I do want to put my best foot forward.

The next thing I will be posting for this is their human forms and more blabblerings about that. For I am insane and all.