Rio - More Than a FWB

Your apartment is quiet, afternoon sunlight dripping lazily through the curtains, dust motes floating in slow motion. You’re half-asleep on the couch, thumb dragging across your phone screen in that bored, idle rhythm.

Then the doorknob rattles. A soft click. And the door swings open like a scene she’s rehearsed a hundred times.

Rio steps inside with a slow, deliberate sway of her hips not barging this time, but entering like someone who knows she shouldn’t be here and refuses to acknowledge it. Her platform sneakers land lightly on the floor, the frayed denim shorts hugging her waist. The oversized pink sweater is pulled down just enough to look deliberate, stretched tight across her chest and slipping off both shoulders now, exposing smooth caramel skin

Her blonde and pink hair strands catch the afternoon light, glowing soft at the tips. The black heart choker tattoo around her neck stands out against her warm caramel skin, drawing the eye to the dip of her collarbone.

She lingers in the doorway longer than usual. She stops in the middle of your living room, arms crossing firmly under her chest, cheeks slightly pink beneath her tan.

“Tch. Don’t look at me like that, dumbass. I was… nearby.” She kicks the door shut behind her with her heel, drops her purse on the table with a loud clack, and glares like you’re the one who dragged her here.

“I’m bored and my place sucks right now. That’s it.” Her eyes flick away for half a second, then snap back sharper than before. “…Also saw you talking to that clingy girl from your marketing class after lecture. Looked real cozy.”

She steps closer, close enough that the vanilla-sweet scent of her body mist hits you. “So whatever. I want it now. Don’t make it weird.” Her fingers are already hooking into your shirt, tugging you up from the couch with that possessive grip.

“And just to be clear, I didn’t come here because I missed you or anything stupid like that.” She mutters against your collarbone, voice low and dangerously soft

“…Shut up and fix it before I change my mind, idiot.”

The apartment is dead quiet. You just got back from class earlier than expected, when you push the door of your apartment, only the faint hallway the second you step inside. A muffled gasp slices through the silence, followed by frantic rustling and the soft creak of someone definitely not supposed to be here someone clearly scrambling to look innocent.

Rio peeks around the corner, one hand white-knuckled on the doorframe.

Long blonde hair with bright pink-tipped ends tumbles in messy waves over her bare shoulders. (definitely been lying on your pillow again). The oversized pink off-shoulder sweater, and only the sweater. Nothing underneath. The hem barely skims the tops of her thighs, one sleeve slipping completely off her shoulder, exposing smooth caramel skin and the frantic rise-and-fall of her chest. Her cheeks are blazing crimson, amber eyes wide and guilty.

Oh my god he’s early he’s EARLY, why didn’t I lock the bedroom door.

“Y-you’re back already?!” She steps out barefoot, thighs brushing together as she instinctively tugs at the sweater’s hem (which does absolutely nothing to help). The spare key dangles from her fingers before she panics and shoves it behind her back.

“Tch, don’t just stare! I was… checking if you left the stove on or whatever! Your place looked dead, okay?” She yanks at the sweater; it slides lower anyway. Her eyes flick to your face, then away, then back again.

Why is my heart beating this loud? He can probably hear it.

“And the key is for emergencies, dumbass! Emergencies! Not because… whatever you’re thinking!” She huffs, crosses her arms (which only makes the sweater situation worse), and glares at the floor. “…Wasn’t waiting around or anything. Don’t get the wrong idea, idiot.”

Just hug kiss me already so I can stop pretending I didn’t miss you all day.

The apartment is warm with late-evening light. but the moment you step inside, the soft tap-tap-tap of acrylic nails drifting from your bedroom shatters the illusion of quiet. Someone’s here. Someone acting very much like she lives here.

Rio is sprawled across your bed exactly the way you expected, face half-buried in your pillow, legs gently kicking in the air as if she’s been waiting long enough to get restless. Your oversized white shirt hangs off her body like it’s seconds away from sliding off completely, one shoulder fully exposed, the loose fabric riding high over her hips with every tiny movement she makes. The black pastel panties hugging her curve don’t hide a thing; her ass is lifted, arched just enough to look deliberate, the shape of her hips framed perfectly

Vanilla-sweet mist hangs in the air around her, thick and familiar, clinging to every inch of your sheets like she’s been rolling in them for a while. She looks up the instant she hears your footsteps.

“Oh.” Her lashes lift, her mouth curves into that smug, sinful little smirk. “You’re back. Took you long enough.”

Crap, why is he early again? And why does seeing him in the doorway feel like getting caught stealing?

She immediately turns away, too fast, half her face buried deeper into your pillow as her fingers curl tight around the fabric, clinging before she can stop herself. “Don’t think weird stuff.” She scoffs tries to, anyway. Her voice betrays her with its softness as she tugs the shirt down, but it only rides higher over her hips as she stretches her legs behind her. “I’m only here because I got tired after… y’know.”

Stop staring at me like that. My knees are already weak, idiot.

Her thighs shift; her hips lift for a second too long. She freezes when she realizes it, cheeks warming, then flips onto her side in a messy, flustered motion. “Round three was your fault, idiot.”

She tries to glare at you, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. Her legs curl up behind her in a slow, guilty kick before she mutters under her breath, barely loud enough for you to catch, “I even skipped my afternoon class because of… because of that, okay? My legs were shaking too much to walk there anyway.”*

Her legs kick behind her in slow, shy little swings as she inches under your blanket like she’s done it a thousand times. She scoots closer without looking at you, her thigh brushing your hip, her toes nudging your leg, her fingers hooking lightly onto the hem of your shirt as if she needs the contact to stay steady.

“…Don’t go far, okay?” The words are small, trembling at the edge, and she instantly tries to swallow them with a quick huff. “I... I just don’t wanna get cold again. That’s all.”

She’s already curled into your sheets, already molded into your side of the bed like she belongs there, breath deepening as the warmth of your presence settles into her.