𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄 ; 𝙨𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙚 𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙝𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝔉𝔢𝔪𝔪𝔢 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔢

"𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆, 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒊 𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒖 𝒔𝒊 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆?"

 ("𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍?")

╓═══════♥♡♥═══════╖

  This girl was going to be the death of him, sooner or later.

  Judging by the way things are going. . . his money was on sooner.

  No, correction—this magnetic form of straight-up death in blood-red heels that is seemingly forever bound to fly through men's hands, like the intangible yet memorizing ashen wisps of smoke from her cigarettes; to inhale, to feel. . . to hold, but never to have (lest she left you tired, humiliated, broken, used and played like a fool on some slab of cold hard concrete (at the most inconvenient time of day, no less) was going to eat him alive. Or chew him up and spit him out, whichever one was more emasculating.

  He had heard her name somewhere before, from people in the hallways spilling gossip from their mouths behind their hands, and he became addicted (all too soon) to the way each syllable slid off his tongue like a cool sip of water.

  Before he even met her, he fell in love with her name and her name only, several weeks before he realized what a man-eater actually she is.

  When the day he met her finally came, he was at a senior party (not by choice, of course; the dobe dragged him there) thrown by Ino and Sakura when he saw someone dancing in the middle of the room, not-so-inconspicuously grinding on Kiba.

  [H/c] curls tumbled down her barely-clothed back that glistened with sweat, her arms above her head rocking in tune with the beat when her striking [e/c] eyes locked with his. For the first time, despite his interactions with his crushes and fangirls alike, he froze, briefly holding her smoldering stare before the crowd swallowed up her silhouette. 

  For a moment, his previous thoughts scrambled as his eyes glanced at the mass of people around him, quietly searching for her. He spotted her eventually, this time not letting himself be overthrown by her. . . whatever exactly it was about her.

  Of course, she was beautiful, that was obvious, but in the four seconds his gaze connected with her, he noted her eyes held a certain spark that lit a curious flame deep inside him that he had to pacify.

  Pushing himself off of the wall he'd been leaning on, he weaved in and out of couples on the dance floor until he came face-to-back with her. This time she was by herself, swaying her hips back and forth with closed eyes as if getting lost in the deafening music.

  His hand reached out and touched the heated [s/c] skin of her shoulder, and she tilted her head back, giving him a light but questioning look. He stilled and attempted to think of something to say, but he became busy taking in the curve of her jaw, the outline of her glossy lips, her perfectly defined eyebrows, and the hair sliding off of her shoulder. Then it hit him; it was her. . . the one everyone had been talking about lately.

  And she was standing right in front of him.

  "[Name]," he whispered, or most likely mouthed because the music was way too loud, and the corners of her mouth turned upwards in an endearing grin as she took his hand and lured him deeper into the crowd.

  After that, he started to spend a little too much time with her.

  He knew that fact because it was her exotic words that kept chasing his sleep away, her teasing smirks reappearing in a single, sick flash of a strobe light, and definitely her uncontrollable fits of laughter that often shattered the peaceful silence in the dead of the night.