#everyone just moved on and evolved and grew up

[radioactive-cloud]

there's a certain pattern that almost every time i put on makeup to meet with my friend i end up removing half of it with my tears later

[inkskinned]

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

[scarlet-bitch]

You'd Have to Stop the World...

11.5k words, FWB Eddie X afab!reader, 18+ Explicit Content - MDNI, use of "baby" as a nickname, no use of y/n, little to no description of reader, set in Hawkins 1990 so everyone's aged up accordingly, no mention of upside down - could sorta be canon if you pretend vecna was defeated and eddie never got attacked by the bats but reader wouldn't know it ever existed. * fair amount of smut in this especially the beginning - it's a fwb plot so... but yes, there is plot. lots of angst and some fluff*

a/n: most of my ideas are usually inspired by a song - the concept for this came entirely through a playlist I made, so l added the track list! Feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading and as always, I hope you enjoy! xo, scarlet 💋

Struggling through a dry spell, an ideas comes to you when your attractive friend Eddie vents about his recent disappointing hookups. What starts as casual fun gradually complicates as physical and emotional boundaries begin to blur.

“I keep recalling things we never did / Messy top lip kiss / How I long for our trysts / Without ever touching his skin / How can I be guilty as sin?”

A few years ago, you met Eddie Munson, thanks to an introduction from your then coworkers, Robin and Steve. What began as a casual acquaintance in a larger group quickly evolved into a genuine friendship.

But as with many great friendships, a new romance - this time with Matt - changed the dynamics. As your relationship with Matt grew, so did the distance between you and Eddie. Matt didn’t like him, his dislike fueled by a few key grievances: he accused Eddie of overcharging for weed, could barely tolerate Eddie’s metal music - and was visibly irritated by the number of times you dragged him to Eddie’s shows. Yet, beneath it all, Matt’s discomfort had a more personal edge. He was convinced there was something more to your friendship, despite your insistence on its platonic nature.

“Okay, sure, whatever you say,” Matt insisted, his tone dripping with frustration. “But I’m telling you, he definitely wants to fuck you.”

Matt’s reasoning included:

• “He never makes you pay for weed.” 

⁃ Ah, the classic move of the charming drug dealer - Robin and Steve are also lucky recipients of Eddie's personal stash. Generosity? Sure. A sign of deeper feelings? Unlikely. 

• “He flirts with you.”

⁃ Eddie flirts with everyone. This isn’t a private act of seduction - it’s his default setting. And sure, before you dated Matt maybe you’d indulge in Eddie’s flirty nature but it was just all in good fun. 

• "He call's you - Baby." 

⁃ The nickname was not some romantic gesture, Eddie's just a menace. It all started after a shift at Family Video, you and Robin went back to Steve's house. Eddie made an entrance, a blunt was passed, and you started rambling about the ridiculousness of the name "Baby" in Dirty Dancing. "You know, it's funny you hate it because 'Baby' suits you perfectly," Eddie quipped. You shot him a look of annoyance, but Eddie, with that trademark grin, decided it was a keeper and has called you it ever since. 

• “The way he fucking looks at you.” 

⁃ This is where the plot thickens. While the other signs are easily explained, you didn't quite see what Matt was ever referring to. 

Yet, every time Matt voiced his theories, your mind couldn’t help but drift to thoughts of Eddie in bed. He had quite the reputation as a good fuck and it was undeniable that he was incredibly attractive. But the guilt of entertaining these thoughts, especially while with Matt, was crushing. So, you shoved them aside.

In December of '89, Matt accepted a job that meant relocating out of state. By then, your relationship had lost its spark, of course, except for the one area where it still managed to flicker - the bedroom. You both knew it was time to let go, the idea of a long distance romance wasn't practical when the only thing holding you together required physical proximity you would no longer share.

Despite it being the obvious choice - the end of nearly two years together was tough, but as the saying goes, when one door closes, another opens. With Matt no longer in the picture, your calendar quickly filled with late nights and laughter, surrounded by Robin, Steve, Eddie, and your ever expanding social circle. It was the start of a new era, as you entered the new decade. 

"These fatal fantasies / Giving way to labored breath / Taking all of me / We've already done it in my head / If it's make believe / Why does it feel like a vow / We'll both uphold somehow?"

Four months into being single, and the dry spell was becoming a cruel joke. Every date you'd been on had left much to be desired, as none of them ever ended with you on your back. Ultimately a waste of your time. 

It was an added frustration to be out with Eddie and watch him glide from one partner to the next with such ease. You even found yourself feeling a bit envious of his conquests, because the more time you began spending with him, the more you understood why Matt had his suspicions. 

On quite a few occasions, you caught Eddie's gaze lingering on you. The stolen glances and charged looks sent your heart racing. Gone were the days of pushing these thoughts away. Now, you found yourself indulging in them, late at night, hand between your thighs, wondering if the fantasies might ever become reality. 

“Don’t play dumb, I know you fantasize. You could have me on my back every night.”

One night, after having your friends over for dinner, Eddie decided to stay and chill after Robin and Steve had left. He sprawled on your couch, legs draped over the coffee table, grumbling about the monotony of his recent casual encounters and the lack of sexual chemistry he'd been experiencing.

Eddie looked at you, cutting himself off mid rant, his fingers deftly rolling a blunt. "It's cool if I smoke in here, right? Or d'ya want me to go on the balcony?" 

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I don't usually love it, but why not for tonight?"

With a grin, Eddie continued on his ranting as he finished rolling. Lighting the blunt and taking a long drag when he finished his complaint. 

"Okay, but bad sex is more often than not, still enjoyable," you said, in response to his last comment. 

Eddie held out the blunt offering you to take a hit and while normally you’re pretty weary to cross fade, you were feeling adventurous as you grabbed it from his fingers taking a hit. 

"I get what you're saying, but nothing's been like, mind-blowing. I was getting head the other day, and I was literally counting the minutes until it was over. I think it would've been more enjoyable if I'd just taken care of myself." 

You let out a laugh, the smoke escaping in a light cloud. "You think counting maybe prolonged the experience a bit, bud?" Passing the blunt back to Eddie. 

"No, baby, the counting's what got me there." He smirked before taking another hit. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, but his words sparked thoughts of your own dissatisfaction.

The two of you sat there listening to the soft sounds of The Cure album you had on, as you took turns with the blunt. Eddie's gaze didn't leave you, his eyes focused on your lips - the movements of your mouth. The subtle way your lips parted and closed around the blunt had him entranced. 

You were too lost in your own thoughts to notice his staring. "I think this is one of those grass is greener situations. l'd take the bad sex. There's only so much I can satisfy myself, and sometimes I- well, I just want to get railed." The words slipped out before you could fully think them through but as soon as they did, you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks.

Eddie's eyes widened slightly, a blush of his own creeping onto his face as he exhaled smoke. "Oh sure." You'd always been open about discussing sex, but this was a new level of candor for you and it caught him by surprise. It also made his cock twitch.  

You weren't sure what it was - the alcohol, the pot, the adrenaline from your embarrassment, - but Eddie's complaints mixed with your own dissatisfaction sparked an idea. You set your wine glass down, turned to face him, and criss-crossed your legs on the couch.

Passing what was left of the blunt back, you asked the question that's been on your mind for weeks.

”Eddie… are you attracted to me?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

"What?" He asked as he put the blunt out.

"Eddie," you pressed. 

He chuckled, the sound a bit shaky. "Everyone thinks you're pretty, you know that."

"That's not what I asked," you countered. "I'm asking if you think I'm like, hot - not just pretty."

A smirk played on Eddie's lips as his eyes scanned over your figure, nodding. “Yeah, you’re hot,” he said, taking a sip of his beer and letting his eyes linger on how the soft fabric of your clothes hugged your chest. Truth be told, he thought you were fucking heaven sent. 

"So why haven't you made a move? I've been single for months." 

"You know me, baby. No attachments. Couldn't have you falling in love with me."

You scoffed. "Really, that's your excuse?"

His gaze met yours, a touch of defensiveness in his eyes. "It's not an excuse. It's just how I am. I don't hook up with friends, it can get messy." 

"Got it," you replied, considering letting it go, but curiosity had taken hold. "Do you ever fantasize about them, though?”

A wry smile appeared on his lips. "Depends on the friend, I guess.”

"Cut the shit, Munson.”

His smile grew. "Alright, yeah. A lot more than I probably should have.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "If it's any consolation, I've fantasized about you a fair bit too.”

"Oh, yeah?" he breathed, his voice huskier than before.

"Mmm-hmm." You shook your head slowly, maintaining eye contact. You noticed the way Eddie's eyes darted down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. 

"What about?" he asked.

"I could tell you," you whispered, "or I could show you.”

Eddie's laughter was shaky as he looked away, running his hand through his hair. "Tempting," he whispered, leaning back and trying to create some distance. His arousal, however, was unmistakable. 

The room fell silent. You could see the inner conflict in his eyes: the struggle between desire and his self imposed boundaries. The sight of Eddie's hard cock straining against his jeans had your pulse quickening more than the conversation had. You felt yourself growing wet, the heat between your thighs demanding attention.

"So even though it's clear we both want this, you're willing to just let it go because of some vague principle?" you asked, frustration tinging your voice.

Eddie's expression grew serious. "I wouldn't want to complicate our friendship just to get off.”

"And if I promised you it wouldn't complicate anything, that nothing would have to change - it would just be a good time?”

His breath hitched at your words, his eyes soaking in your presence. "Then... maybe I’d rethink some things."

You sighed, acknowledging his hesitation but also feeling the urgency of your own desire whether Eddie joined you or not.

“Well, you think about that,” you said, standing up and heading toward your bedroom. “You’re welcome to join me if you decide you’re in. If you decide to leave, the spare key is by the door. Just lock up and I’ll get it next time.” You closed the door behind you

Eddie sat on the couch contemplating for all of 5 minutes before his decision was made. Of course he wasn't going to let this moment pass him by. He stood up, his mind racing as he walked toward your room.   

When Eddie opened the door, he found you lying in bed, bathed in the amber glow of your lamp, only in your panties. You were lost in your own pleasure, hand moving beneath the fabric, eyes closed tight as breathy moans escaped your lips. 

"Fuck," Eddie muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on the scene before him. He froze, taking in every detail. The gentle, desperate movements of your fingers, the soft sway of your breasts, and the way your lips formed an O with every soft whimper. He was mesmerized.

He moved closer, cautious not to disrupt the moment. You whispered his name, soft and needy. "Eddie..."

The sound of your voice, so vulnerable and inviting, was nearly enough to push him over the edge. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that came from the very core of his being. As he stood at the end of the bed, your eyes fluttered open, taking in his presence.

You kept your eyes locked on him, focusing on his face, the way his gaze was fixed on you.

Looking at you like this, made him feel as if he was witnessing the eighth wonder of the world. "What are you thinking of?" Eddie asked, needing to understand what was driving you.

"That this is your hand instead of mine, just like l've been imagining for weeks," you admitted, voice trembling slightly.

Eddie's breath hitched. "Can I see all of you?" he asked, desperation lacing his voice as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

You nodded, slowly sliding your panties down your legs and tossing them aside, revealing your glistening cunt. You returned your hand, teasing yourself gently. Eddie's eyes were fixed on you, the sight almost too much for him to bear, a low whimper escaping his lips.

"How would you touch me, if it were your fingers?" you asked, voice a seductive whisper.

Eddie slid up from his spot on the edge of the bed, closer to your side, as he began directing you on how he would pleasure you, eyes glued to your movements. "I'd start by gently tracing my fingers, just like you are now."

You whimpered as he continued his instructions, caught between the fantasy he was describing and the reality of your own touch. His guidance was driving you wild, but the need for his direct touch was growing unbearable. Breathlessly, you said, "Eddie, please."

“Tell me what you need,” he rasped, his eyes locked on yours. 

“Touch me,” you pleaded.

Eddie knew what you meant; you wanted him to replace your fingers - but he needed to kiss you and at the vague request for his touch he couldn't help but use that as his cue. He leaned in, his body hovering over yours, cupping your cheek and pulling you into a kiss. The kiss was rough, and raw as if years of restrained longing were unleashed in that heated moment. His lips were demanding, his tongue wrestled with yours, the taste of beer mixing with moscato. You bit his lip and Eddie’s groan was deep. 

His free hand found its way to your thigh, gripping it tightly, driving you further into your own touch. The intensity of his actions only heightened your pleasure. You gasped into his mouth as your climax hit. Eddie’s grip on your thigh never letting up as you clung to him, struggling to steady yourself through your orgasm. 

As the waves began to subside, you whispered raggedly, “I need you.”

Eddie trailed his hand from your thigh to your cunt, only for you to stop his hand. “No. I need more, I need you inside of me. Now.” 

Eddie groaned at your desperate plea for him to fill you. Without a word, he began undressing. His breathing was labored as he quickly removed his shirt, tossing it aside. He fumbled with his jeans, eager and clumsy in his haste to free his hard cock. When he finally did, you let out an audible gasp, taking in the sight of him. He was so fucking perfect.

“How do you want it, baby?” He asked, eager to give you anything you’d ask for. 

“What have you fantasized about?”

Eddie hesitated, “We don’t have to -”

“Tell me,” you demanded. 

“You, um, you’ve got great tits,” he all about moaned. “I think about you riding me a lot.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before you pushed him back to lean against the pillows, a sly smile on your lips. You reached for a condom from the nightstand, tearing open the wrapper with a quick, practiced motion, and rolled it over his throbbing cock. Eddie’s eyes followed your every move, sighing at your touch. 

With a deep, steadying breath, you positioned yourself above him. Your hands rested on the headboard while his hands gripped your thighs, his fingers digging in as he watched you. Slowly, you began to lower yourself, the initial contact making both of you gasp. The incredible stretch of his cock stung as you lowered yourself down inch by inch. It was almost overwhelming, but so perfectly pleasurable. Eddie’s eyes widened, his breath coming in quick, ragged bursts. 

“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth. His hands tightened on your thighs, reminding you just how much he wants this.

You continued to sink down, savoring the sensation of being filled. Once fully seated, you paused to adjust, getting accustomed to his size. Eddie wasn’t the longest you’d ever had, but by no means was he small. Close to 7 inches if you had to guess. He was however, the thickest not by an absurd amount but enough to notice the  difference. He felt phenomenal. 

You began to move, lifting yourself slightly before sinking back down. The room began filling with the sound of your mingled moans. As you established a steady rhythm, Eddie’s moans grew more frequent, his grip sure to leave bruises. “Fuuuuuck,” he repeated, his voice rough with pleasure.

You shifted from leaning forward to putting your full weight on him, arching your back slightly as you moved your hands from the headboard to behind you, resting them on his thighs. In this position, you had better control and began to increase your pace.

“Aghh - just like that,” Eddie groaned. “Show me how much you want it." Eddie’s eyes were locked on you, taking in every detail - the bounce of your breasts, the flush on your cheeks, the intense pleasure on your face. You looked stunning.

He moved his hands to your breasts, groaning as he squeezed them gently. He adjusted himself so he was sitting up, his hands moving to roam over the rest of your body as he began kissing your skin. He started at your collarbone and moved along your chest until he reached your left breast. Kissing and nipping at the soft skin before enveloping your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. You shuddered at the added stimulation, moving to rest your hands on his shoulder for better stability as he moved his mouth to your right nipple. 

You were finding it hard to keep quiet, biting your lip to stifle your moans as the combination of his mouth and the fullness of his cock drove you closer to ecstasy.

Eddie, however, was having none of that. Removing his mouth from you chest, “Don’t hold back," he rasped. "Let the whole fucking building know how good it feels to have my cock inside you.”

You let yourself moan freely, the sounds echoing in the room as you quickened your pace.

"Ooooohhh god,” you cried out as your orgasm began to build. 

You swirled your hips, adding a tantalizing motion that made Eddie mumble curses of pleasure. His hands moved to your hips, gripping firmly as he reclined against the pillows. You leaned forward with him, placing your arms on his chest for support as you rode him with increased intensity.

“Such a good girl,” Eddie said in awe, his eyes locked on you as you chased your orgasm. The praise spurred you on, and you let out a loud cry. Eddie’s lips curled into a wry smile as he watched you, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on you.

“You like that, huh?” he teased, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

You whimpered a feeble “yes,” your voice barely audible as you tried to keep up with the intense pleasure.

“Thought you might,” he chuckled. “Be the good girl that you are and cum for me,” Eddie instructed.

That was all it took. Your hips began to falter as your orgasm ripped through you, sending your body into a shuddering climax. Eddie’s groans of satisfaction grew louder as he watched you come undone on top of him. He gripped your hips tightly, taking over control and thrusting into you with a fierce rhythm, pushing you seamlessly into another orgasm.

As you came down, your body collapsed against Eddie's, still trembling from the aftermath of your third orgasm. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, the intensity of the pleasure overwhelming you. Eddie, sensing your exhaustion, slowed his thrusts, his hands gently tangling in your hair as he lifted your face to look at him.

“Shit Eds” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I can come again.” 

Eddie’s lips curled into a mischievous smile, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Sure you can, baby. You haven’t even gotten what you wanted yet,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before repositioning you both.

The sudden loss of him inside you made you whimper, the emptiness leaving you desperate to be filled again. Eddie lifted you, placing you on your knees, and then knelt behind you. His hands took hold of your hips, and he lined himself up with your entrance before thrusting into you with a forceful, deep motion. The immediate fullness made you moan, the new position allowing him to penetrate you more deeply and hit your g-spot perfectly with every thrust.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” you cried out, your voice raw with pleasure as he continued to thrust into you with a relentless rhythm.

“This is what you wanted, right baby? To get railed?” Eddie asked, his voice a deep, gravelly whisper. His hands squeezed the flesh of your ass as he drove into you.

“Yes!” you cried out. “Please Eddie, harder,” tears streaming down your face.  He responded by pounding into you just as you asked. 

Leaning forward, Eddie kissed the skin along your back, his teeth grazing your flesh with gentle bites, adding another layer of sensation. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles white from the strain, as desperate cries of pleasure fell from your lips. His left hand slipped between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it frantically.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, don’t stop,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need. Eddie’s fingers worked your clit with determined precision, the added stimulation making it clear you were about to lose it.

As the pleasure built to its peak, you screamed his name, your body shaking uncontrollably as you came. Eddie’s grip on you tightened, his thrusts never faltering as he felt you clenching around him.

“There it is,” he moaned, his voice filled with satisfaction as he felt you coming undone. Your mascara ran down your cheeks in streaks, merging with your tears as you reached the height of your pleasure. Eddie continued to pound into you as your orgasm subsided, savoring the way you responded to him.

He was relentless, driven by his own need to reach his climax. He removed his hand from your clit,  gripping your hips firmly as he thrusted into you with increased force. “I want you to cum with me,” he growled.

You cried out, your voice filled with desperation. "I-I ahhh..." Your words were swallowed by your moans as Eddie kept thrusting. 

"You can do it," he encouraged, his voice low and steady. "I know you can."

Eddie's thrusts grew more intense, his rhythm never faltering as he drove you toward another climax. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his own breath coming in ragged bursts as he neared his release.

"Atta girl," Eddie growled. His thrusts grew sloppy, driven by the raw intensity of the moment. You clenched around him, surrendering to the pleasure as euphoria washed over you. The sensation was all consuming, a final, powerful climax that left you gasping.

Eddie's own climax hit hard. He let out a string of moans, his body shuddering as it hit. His thrusts became erratic, his grip on your ass tightening as he rode out his release.

Eddie collapsed beside you, both of you breathing heavily, basking in the afterglow. The intensity of the night had left you feeling dizzy and euphoric, your body still tingling from multiple orgasms - five mind blowing orgasms, to be exact. The most you’d ever had with a partner before was three - and while still sensational it was nothing compared to this. Making it clear that Eddie Munson was the best fuck you’ve ever had.

As you started to come down, you glanced over at Eddie. He was staring at the ceiling, his face a mix of disbelief and deep thought. "Eddie, what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

"Can I level with you?" he asked, his voice serious.

"Of course," you replied.

"It's pretty obvious that what we just had was too good to be a one-off," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "And it's not going to be easy to just go back like this never happened. I mean, I can't just pretend I don't know you've got a praise kink." He teased. 

"Eddie!" You laughed, giving him a playful nudge.

"I'm only half kidding. I clocked that shit when I tried to teach you guitar, this just confirmed it," he admitted with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, a smirk on your lips. “So, what's your point?"

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow and looking at you seriously. “If you can handle keeping it casual, I think we should do this again.”

“Fucking hell, Munson didn't we address this on the couch? I wanted to fuck you, I'm not in love."

Eddie laughed. “Right, I know. But sometimes it can lead to that, and I just want to make sure you understand if we continue to hook up it will never be anything but physical. I can never offer you more, is that clear?" 

You grinned. “Crystal."

"So, friends with benefits?” He asked. 

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips as your eyes locked with his. 

"It's a Sexually Explicit Kind of Love Affair" 

Two months had passed since you and Eddie established your friends-with-benefits arrangement, and you had both adhered to a set of rules: open communication, no exclusivity, and keeping things private. Your frequent hookups had become a thrilling part of your routine, each encounter more intense than the last, and quite a few that were unforgettable. 

Fucked You in the Bathroom When We Went to Dinner:  The two of you went to dinner with your friends to celebrate Vicky’s birthday. Amid the celebrations, you and Eddie shared knowing glances across the table and when the opportunity arose, you both slipped away, heading towards the restaurant's bathroom.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Eddie's hands were on you, pulling you close. He pressed your back against the wall, as his lips found yours in a rough kiss. His mouth began trailing along your jaw as you you reached down to unbuckle his belt. Eddie's pants were down around his knees, his hands hiking your dress up, growling when he saw you had no panties on. You lifted your leg, resting it on the sink, back still pressed to the wall as Eddie wasted no time before guiding himself into you. Your hands immediately threading through his hair as he sunk in. 

Eddie's thrusts were urgent and desperate. "Fuck, can’t get enough of you," Eddie gasped, his breath hot against your neck. 

You could only respond with a series of breathless moans. The pleasure building rapidly as Eddie's movements grew more intense. His hands gripped your hips firmly,  holding you in place as he drove into you. 

Your climax was approaching quickly, and you couldn't help but let out shrieks of pleasure. Eddie's hand reluctantly coming to cover your mouth to stifle the sounds. He loved hearing you, but not here. 

“Shh, baby. I know," he whispered feeling you beginning to clench around him. You bit the palm of his hand to stop the scream that was desperate to escape you as your climax hit. His thrusts growing erratic as he came with you, burying his face in your neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

As you both caught your breath, you quickly adjusted your clothes, and you fixed Eddie's hair. You walked out first heading back to the table. Eddie arrived a few minutes later, drink in his hand as if he had been at bar the whole time, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he sat down.  

Knee Deep in the Passenger Seat: It'd been a lively evening out at the bar playing pool with Chrissy, Eddie and his bandmates. You were keenly aware of the effect your outfit was having on Eddie as you'd chosen a particularly short skirt that barely covered your lacy black panties if you moved too much. So each time you bent over to take a shot, your underwear was tantalizingly visible. 

As you lined up for another shot, Eddie approached, leaning in close.  To any onlookers it would seem like he was giving you a tip to make your shot. "You're such a fucking tease," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You turned your head slightly, catching his eye with a sly grin. "I know, but you love it," you whispered back. 

Eddie's gaze was fixed on you as he walked back to his spot against the wall. As you knelt over the table to take your shot, a smirk tugged at your lips knowing he was clearly struggling to focus on anything other than the view you were providing. 

If Eddie could have had his way, he would have sunk to his knees right there and ate you out while you were bent over that pool table. But patience is a virtue. 

As you turned to face him after landing your shot, you knew he was trying to maintain his composure.

When it was time to leave, Eddie offered to take you home.  "Chris, I’ve got her. I pass her apartment on my way home anyway.” While that was true, you knew that wasn't his plan.

As you walked out, Eddie's eyes never left you, his gaze focused on the way your hips swayed with each step. When you reached the van, he opened the passenger door for you and you slid into the seat, feeling his intense gaze on you. 

As you settled in your seat, you looked at Eddie who was still standing next to you. A sly grin pulling at his lips, as he stepped in. You were confused until he knelt down on the floor in front of you, shutting the door. His expression one of eagerness.

With his hands now gripping your thighs, he pushed your skirt up, his fingers brushing against your skin. "I've been wanting to taste you all fucking night," he hummed, his voice low and filled with need. 

You looked down at him, a teasing smirk on your lips. "Aw look at you, did I tease you so much that you can't even wait?"

Eddie’s big doe eyes, looked a lot less innocent in this position, darkening at your words. Hunger written all over his face. 

In an instant he pulled your panties to the side, leaning forward so his head was nestled between your thighs. His tongue making contact with your bare slit, with a tantalizing slow lick. You gasped at the feeling. Eddie moaned against your pussy, "You taste so goddamn good,” his voice vibrating through your core. 

The moment his tongue touched your clit, he was relentless, alternating between licking and sucking. Your eyes rolling in the back of your head as he savored you. 

Within just a few short minutes you were a moaning mess, hands tangled in his hair, breath ragged, eyes screwed tight as you could feel yourself on the brink of your orgasm. Then suddenly, Eddie pulled away. Your release immediately ripped away from you. 

His face flushed and glistening with your essence, looked up at you with a smirk. “Look at that, I can be just as much of a tease as you," he rasped.

You whined at the loss of contact. "Please, Eddie.” 

“You’ll have to wait, baby.” He said, readjusting your underwear and skirt, wiping his mouth as he dipped out of the van and walked to the drivers side.

Truth be told, this was just as upsetting for him as it was for you. You were intoxicating and if he was being honest he’d love nothing more than to continue to devour your sweet cunt until you came all over his tongue - multiple times. But he thought it only fair that you feel the same strain that he had all night. He’d make it worth the wait when he got you to his trailer. 

You're on your knees, I'm on the case: You had the day off, so what better way than to spend it in Eddie's bed. When you arrived at his trailer, he answered the door shirtless, wearing only boxers with a towel draped over his shoulder.

"I'm about to shower," Eddie said, ushering you inside and closing the door behind you. "I'll be out soon. Feel free to watch TV, the remote's on the table."

As Eddie went to shower, you settled on his couch, finishing up the episode of Seinfeld that was on. After about ten minutes, you began to get restless.

You could hear the shower running, steam cascading into the hall because Eddie didn't shut the door completely. You made your way to the bathroom, knocking on the door to let him know you were there as you walked in. 

"Be out in a second, just gotta rinse my hair."

"Mind if I join ya instead?" 

There was a brief pause before he responded, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Sure, come on in."

You quickly undressed and slipped into the shower the steam enveloping you. You were facing Eddie as the water was cascading down his hair. Some droplets hitting your body, as Eddie glanced over you with a grin. 

You gave him a playful smirk before immediately dropping to your knees, positioning yourself in front of his hardening cock. Eddie's eyes locked onto you, filled with anticipation.

Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth, the warmth of the water mingling with the heat of your breath. Eddie's response was immediate. His breath hitched, at the feeling. "Ahhh," he grunted, his voice thick with pleasure. 

You began to move, sliding your lips up and down his length with practiced ease. Eddie's hands gripped the shower bar for support, his fingers tightening as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Holy Shit," he gasped, his voice strained with pleasure. "You're so good, that feels so fucking good." 

You continued your rhythm, your mouth and tongue working him expertly. Eddie's groans grew louder, the pleasure clearly overwhelming him. "Oh god, yes," he panted, his hips thrusting gently to match your movements. 

The water continued to cascade around you both, mingling with the sounds of Eddie's pleasure as you pushed him closer to the edge. "Don't stop, baby" he urged, his voice breaking. "I'm gonna cum."

With a final, deep stroke, Eddie came hard. You kept your mouth on him, sucking every drop as he moaned and gasped, his hands gripping the shower wall for dear life bracing himself.

His face was flushed, a mix of steam and sweat glistening on his skin. He looked down at you with awe and satisfaction. "You're fucking amazing," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

You stood up, and Eddie cupped your face, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. As your mouths moved together ,his cock began hardening again, ready for round two in his room.

"I know, "Baby, No Attachment!"

As the months passed the frequency of your encounters with Eddie had evolved beyond merely getting off. At first you considered that it was just your friendship deepening, but as time went on, you couldn't help but feel that these interactions between you were teetering the line of something more. 

Eddie's band practices had effortlessly blended into your weekly routine. “Want to come to practice again?” he’d ask, flashing a grin. The first time he invited you, you joked about whether he had a fantasy of hooking up in Gareth’s garage or something. Eddie only laughed and said, “Nah, I just figured you might enjoy hearing us play and I thought it’d be nice to have you there.” Of course you went, and enjoyed every second of it, maybe even more than the shows. Seeing Eddie perform offstage, goof around with his bandmates, and brainstorm new arrangements was incredibly fun to witness.

By the third week into attending practice, Eddie offered another invitation. “Want to come with me to visit Wayne this Sunday?” he asked one afternoon. You hadn’t seen Wayne since he left Eddie the trailer, and although the invite surprised you, you agreed. Wayne’s warm hospitality was a delight, and seeing Eddie with his uncle gave you a new insight into his life - it felt special that he shared it with you. 

You began noticing more changes in your own habits. Instead of going to social events alone, you often opted to ride with Eddie. Your weekend hookups had bloomed into near everyday occurrences, leading you to spend a lot more time at his trailer, as it offered much more privacy than your apartment - Eddie and you were rather loud. Eddie's loud anyway, but when he's inside you he doesn't shut up. Always talking you through it, telling you how good you're making him feel and he loves hearing what he does to you, so you never hold back. 

On more than a few occasions you’d accidentally fallen asleep over there, and eventually Eddie just began inviting you to stay the night in the first place. Gradually, your personal items like a toothbrush, a few changes of clothes, and your favorite books made their way over. You were there so often that it was shifting from a convenient arrangement to something that felt more like a shared space.

The boundaries you’d set were being tested, and it was becoming harder to maintain the pretense that this was purely physical. The line between attraction and emotional connection was blurring, and although Eddie had always insisted that this arrangement was meant to stay casual, his actions seemed to contradict that. In those soft moments with him, at practice or Wayne's, or when you were lying in his bed wrapped up in his arms after another incredible fuck, you found yourself dreaming of more and every time you did you'd think back to Matt's insistence that there was something between you and Eddie. Back then you thought it was Matt's jealously, eventually giving way that it was underlying attraction but now like this you can't help but think maybe there has always been more simmering between you both. 

You didn't dare say it though, you wanted to remain the “chill girl” who didn’t push. But the more time that passed the more you felt caught between holding your tongue and addressing the growing complexity of the situation.  

"It's fine, it's cool, you can say that we're nothing but you know the truth." 

The summer heat was beginning to wane as you and Eddie arrived at Steve’s Labor Day party. 

You were enjoying yourself, chatting with Nancy when you overheard a conversation nearby. Eddie was talking to Chrissy, who had just referred to you and he as a couple. 

“Oh, no, we’re not together,” Eddie said, a dismissive edge in his voice as he responded. The words hit you like a slap. You knew what you had signed up for, but it still stung, especially when the lines had been blurring for months. 

You attempted to shake it off, focusing on the friends around you. However, as the evening wore on, the frustration you felt was hard to ignore. Eddie’s behavior had been increasingly confusing. And this comment felt like the final straw - if your friends could see it, why couldn't he? 

When the party ended, Eddie drove you back to his trailer with Metallica blasting through the speakers. The music did little to ease the anger you were feeling. 

Once inside the trailer, Eddie reached out his hands gripping your waist, as his lips found yours. The kiss felt good, almost intoxicating, but your anger quickly reclaimed its hold as the words "we're not together" echoed in your mind.

You pulled back, needing a moment to regain your composure. Eddie’s eyes searched yours, confusion in his gaze. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly.

"I'm not really feeling it right now,” you said firmly, pulling away from his touch. "I think I'm going to head home actually." 

Eddie’s face fell for a moment before a small smile played at his lips. "You don't need to go, stay the night. We can watch a movie."

A few months ago, this invitation would have felt like a friendly gesture. After all, the beauty of a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement is that it starts with a foundation of friendship. But tonight it was just a bitter reminder of how these nights have morphed into something much more complex. At the start of your arrangement, movie nights often transitioned from watching the film to fucking until the credits rolled. This felt natural, expected. But now the dynamic of movie nights has grown significantly more intimate; cuddling on the couch, Eddie softly playing with your hair, and gentle kisses between scenes. All gestures that are only typical in, well - relationships. You've had enough. 

"Eddie, are you being avoidant or are you truly oblivious to what's going on?" 

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what? What are you talking about?"

"Us. This," you said, gesturing between the two of you. "It feels different, and it has for a while now." You took a deep breath, struggling to steady your voice. "Eddie, even our friends notice it."

"This is about Chrissy's comment?" he asked, annoyance seeping into his voice.

"You were so quick to dismiss it."

"We're not a couple, so that probably has something to do with it," he said, with a laugh. "What was I supposed to say?"

You gave him a short nod, as you began to gather your things. "It's not even about what you said, it's about what you're not saying." 

The frustration was evident on Eddie's face. "I thought we were both on the same page about this," he said, following you.

"Dammit, Eddie," you turned towards him, your voice rising. "We were, but it’s hard to feel like we’re still casual when my favorite bra lives in your dresser!"

Eddie’s expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, but he still held his ground. "From the start, I told you I don’t do relationships. I never promised you anything more than what we agreed on."

You scoffed. “I know, and that’s exactly why I’ve kept my mouth shut for so long. But you’ve pulled me into every aspect of your life, and it’s not the same anymore. If you weren’t so hung up on that concept, maybe you’d admit what you’re feeling.”

“Don’t," he said sternly. "Don't try and make me out to be the bad guy because you couldn't keep your own feelings in check.”

His words felt like a punch in your gut. You could feel the lump take perch in your throat, trying to swallow it back but the tears were coming. 

Eddie’s expression softened as he noticed your your eyes glistening. He watched helplessly as you continued to pack, his frustration morphing into anguish as tears streamed down your face.

"Wait,” he pleaded. "Let's talk, we can take a step back."

Your hands shook as you stuffed your clothes into your bag, sobs coming in ragged, painful gasps. “A step? We'd have to take twenty," you choked out, your voice breaking. 

Eddie looked away, struggling to reconcile your pain with his own fears. "I just, I'm sorry I confused you. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea."

"Maybe you didn't intend for things to change, but they did. We both let them. I did because I liked it, why did you Eddie?" 

His stomach twisted at that.

 “Every rule we set, you broke," you continued, bitterness lacing your voice. "It was all ‘let’s keep it discreet’ until you kissed me between songs at practice. What the fuck was that?! ‘We need open communication,’ but you never talked about any line we crossed." Your voice rose despite your sobs. "For fucks's sake Eddie, we haven't been exclusive yet for six months, you’ve called after me! Going as far as turning down others because you want me in your bed. Whether we fuck or we don't."

Eddie stood still, motionless, as the weight of your words sunk in.

"You can try to downplay this all you want, but deep down you know. And it's why your past hookups could never satisfy you the way I do.” Tears streamed down your face as you glared at Eddie.

The silence grew heavy between you as Eddie struggled to find a response.

"I don't know what you want me to say. I can’t just flip a switch and become something I’m not. I made my stance clear from the beginning," his voice wavering as he spoke. 

You shook your head in disappointment. "Got it." Your tears fell harder, and Eddie’s own eyes were on the verge of tears as he watched you zip up your bag.

“Baby,” he started, his voice trembling as he reached out a hand towards you. 

“Don’t, Eddie,” you scolded, your voice a harsh whisper. “You don't wanna call it love, fine. But it's done." 

Eddie’s face twisted in confusion and frustration as you finished speaking. He seemed to get only a fraction of what you were saying. "Okay, okay," he said, his voice cracking with desperation. "We'll just go back to how it was before. I mean, we can just forget about all this..." 

"You're not getting it, Eds" you replied, your voice steady despite the tears. "I can’t be your friend.” 

Eddie’s face contorted with panic. "No, don’t say that," he pleaded, his voice shaking. "I’m sorry I led you on. We can go back - just like it was. We can fix this." Tears welling up as he tries to grasp what you're saying. 

"Eddie, it wasn't just that. This whole thing between us has made me realize that maybe… maybe I had feelings for you long before we hooked up."

Eddie's face pales, his panic escalating as he struggles to process what you've just admitted. "What the fuck is happening right now?" he says, his voice rising in distress. He collapses onto the couch, his body shaking as the gravity of the situation hits him full force.

"Before we, before this, you said you didn't," he mutters, almost to himself, as he tries to reconcile your words with his memories. 

"I didn’t realize it then," you admit, your voice breaking. 

Eddie’s face was wet with his own tears now, his hands trembling as he held his face, listening to you explain.  

"I never would’ve let anyone else call me a nickname I hated. Anyone else’s persistence would’ve been stopped but it just sounded so pretty coming from your mouth..." Your voice was choked with emotion. “And I think being honest with myself about that, along with everything we’ve been doing... I've realized that maybe I was  being a fool to think it was ever just attraction."

Eddie breaks down, his tears flowing freely. "Goddammit" he chokes out, his voice thick with regret.  “I can't-"

You cut him off knowing what he was going to say. "I know Eds, you've made it clear," your voiced cracked, sobs breaking through the words. "You were right to worry this would get messy, I'm sorry I told you I could handle it." You took a deep breath and looked at him one last time, the ache in your chest almost unbearable. You slung your bag over your shoulder, heading for the door.  "I'd probably do it again though."

"I don't want to lose you,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper as he tried to hold back his emotions.

Your heart broke at his words but you knew this was the choice you had to make, even if it wasn't what you wanted.

"I have to go," you said as you turned and walked out of the trailer.

“You just need a better life than this / You need somethin' I can never give”

Eddie’s tears fell uncontrollably as you left.  Watching you walk away was like a rift tearing through time and space, an unbearable ache that pierced his soul. 

His mind spiraled in a loop, like a broken record that kept repeating the same line: It was a mistake. He knew better, he knew better than to get involved with you, but he had, and now you were gone. Eddie had wanted to believe that you could handle something casual, he risked it because he had an insatiable hunger that only you had satiated. His own denial ran so deep he hadn’t even fully accepted the magnitude of what was happening between the two of you until your words hit him like a freight train tonight. But as Eddie sat there, drenched in regret, his mind wandered to all things you. 

Eddie had always been branded the freak for being a little outside the box, and while he stayed true to himself it was always a bit toned down when he met new people. However when he met you, he knew he didn't have to do that.  While you could fit neatly into the box, you didn't care to. Eddie was instantly captivated by you, and it wasn't just because you were stunning - it was your wit, and charm that pulled him in. 

He could never forget the first day he realized he wanted to kiss you. It was one of the early times you hung out - that night you were complaining about "Dirty Dancing." You just kept rambling - so comically irritated, he found it hilarious and he wanted to just shut you up with his lips. He couldn't help himself coining, "Baby" for you. It had felt right rolling off his tongue, and even though you shot him an annoyed look, he could’ve sworn he saw a hint of a smile. Eddie then proceeded to try and get you to reenact the lift scene from the movie, but you refused with a firm “Fuck no, Munson.” Robin wouldn't either, but Steve, high as a kite, agreed. Of course it ended with them flat on the floor and the four of you laughing your asses off. For whatever reason that night marked a turning point for your friendship - the two of you began spending time together outside of your shared circle. It was always a little touchy, a little flirty and Eddie was constantly having to push the urge to kiss you outside of his mind. 

Steve was always trying to persuade Eddie to just go for it, but Eddie wasn’t interested. He typically only hooked up with the same person three times - if ever more than once. He feared that if he ever got involved with you he wouldn’t be able to go back, and commitment was something he wasn't into. Fast forward three years and nothing's changed. Still, one night around two years ago he nearly let his guard down. 

A group of you had gathered at a nearby bar before Corroded Coffin’s first paid show at The Hideout.

“Let me buy a round for you guys, a little liquid courage before tonight!" you insisted. Gareth joked that it wasn't necessary when they had Eddie's good luck charm - You. “Is that why you keep me around, Munson?” you teased, planting a playful kiss on his cheek. “For a little extra luck,” you said with a wink and a smile before heading to the bar. In that moment, Eddie was certain he had to kiss you. 

When you returned with a round of tequila shots, your cheeks flushed and your smile bright, you explained that the handsome guy at the bar; Matt - asked you out and then proceeded to buy the round of shots for you when you'd said yes.

As Jeff raised his shot and toasted, "To Matt!" Eddie looked at you, realizing that it was better this way. It would have been foolish to kiss you. You deserved someone who could offer you more. 

Eddie’s mind whirled, jumping from that almost kiss to the fateful night on your couch. He should've went home because from that moment everything changed. You were sensational, the way your body responded to him, the way you sounded, the way you made him feel. He was right to know himself, that after a taste, he would never want to go without. He was selfish for this.

The past 6 months together Eddie had recognized little shifts, but he'd ignored them. Looking back it was probably June when things first began to change from the raw thrill of a good time to something that hinted at a little more intimacy. Your presence had turned his bed into a sacred oasis, where he felt truly seen and understood. The laughter, the warmth, the touch - it was all part of a connection he cherished. Yet, every time it felt like it was too much, he would push it out his head, trying to drown out the truth that he felt something more. Even if he wanted to risk all for you, he couldn’t. He wasn’t good enough to make you his.

This painful realization was a truth he had to face. His fear of inadequacy and his belief that he couldn’t sustain a meaningful relationship had driven a wedge between you. And now, with you gone, he was left grappling with the reality that he had pushed away the one person who had made him question his own defenses. Sitting on his couch, a headache pounding from his tears, he tried to sleep, searching for some sort of peace.

In the weeks that followed, Eddie rarely visited his bedroom. It was a space tainted by your absence. His home felt hollow, so he picked up extra shifts at the diner, and crashed at Gareth’s when he could. He thought about reaching out to you, admitting you were right, that he loved you too, but he knew it wouldn’t change a fucking thing. He still couldn’t give you what you wanted. He wasn’t ready for a relationship, not when he didn’t believe he was enough.

You deserved the best, and Eddie was convinced he wasn't that - he was stil a pot dealer, bussing tables to make ends meet and for some free food, just dreaming of a future with his band. How could he be the right person for you when he didn't have much to offer.

Eddie had been so absorbed in the band that he had drifted from the usual social circle. The only time he’d seen Steve and Robin since your departure was after one of his show the last weekend in September. They had approached him, and Eddie, looking weary and regretful, had apologized for not being around much. He wanted desperately to ask about you - God, he did - but he struggled to find the right words.

When Steve and Robin happened to mention they hadn’t heard from you either, Eddie’s heart sank. You were probably avoiding them, likely to keep from running into him. Steve, with a knowing look, asked if the two of you had gotten involved. Eddie gave a brief, vague answer that painted a picture of your arrangement without exposing too much. 

“Maybe try reaching out to her though," he suggested. 

 Robin nodded solemnly. “Of course,” she replied, understanding the complexity of the situation without needing more.

The days blurred into weeks as Eddie threw himself into his band, trying to escape the gnawing emptiness and the haunting memory of you. Each gig was an escape, but it never lasted. The real struggle was coming back to an empty space, a home without the one person who had made everything feel right. 

“Back when we were still changin' for the better / Wanting was enough / For me, it was enough" 

It was the kind of night that makes you want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over your head, except you weren’t in bed. You were behind the wheel of your car, heading home after leaving the man that you loved. 

As the tears flowed freely, your mind drifted to the most serious relationships you’d had; you college boyfriend, your relationship with Matt - both seemed like mere practice compared to what you shared with Eddie. He wasn’t just the best fuck you’d ever had, he was the best person you’d ever known. The thought of never being around him again was agonizing.

Returning to your apartment felt like a warm welcome from an old friend. You had spent nearly all of August entwined in Eddie’s bedsheets, living for the hope that maybe, just maybe, you could have a future together. You uncorked a fresh bottle of Riesling, not even bothering with a glass as you tried to drown out the fact that Eddie was never truly yours.

Weeks after leaving Eddie, the silence was deafening. The ache of not hearing from him, of not knowing how he was, ate at you incessantly. You knew that this was your choice, yet you'd expected some sign - any sign - that he was still there, still thinking of you.

You threw yourself into work, hoping that staying busy would numb the pain. But this came at a price - you isolated yourself from your friends, avoided their calls, and shut yourself off from the world that might remind you of Eddie.

When Robin buzzed your intercom one evening, her arrival was a welcome disruption to your self-imposed exile. She stood at your door with pizza and ice cream in hand, a silent understanding in her eyes.

"Hey," she said softly, a warm smile breaking through her concern. "I thought you could use some company."

You invited her in, your heart heavy as you tried to muster a smile. You sat in your living room, as you finally let your emotions spill out. 

Between sobs, you managed to ask, "How is he?"

Robin took a deep breath, clearly choosing her words carefully. "He hasn't been around either, but Steve and I saw him last weekend, he's been busy with the band. They're doing really well - they’re working hard to catch the eye of an A&R rep to help develop them. When we told him we hadn’t heard from you, he briefly explained why that might be, and not that I wouldn't have anyway - but he was one that suggested this." 

He had thought of you. That was enough to make you break down again. Robin wrapped her arms around you.

“It’s okay," she whispered.

Robin comforted you the rest of the night. Reassuring you that in time it will get better. As Robin was on her way out you told her that while you missed everyone it was just too hard right now, and you needed more time. 

She nodded, understanding. "We’ll be here whenever you’re ready."

As she left, you felt hope amidst the sadness. But even with that hope, you found it difficult to move forward. You almost mustered the courage to attend Jonathan and Nancy’s Halloween party, but after getting dressed, you couldn’t bring yourself to go. A week later, you had plans for lunch with Steve and Chrissy but the nausea of confronting your emotions kept you from following through. It was still too soon to be around the people who reminded you of Eddie, so you stayed away, in your cocoon of sorrow, hoping that someday the pain would ease enough to allow you to step back into your life.

“And from the outside / It looks like you're tryin' lives on / I miss the old ways / You didn't have to change/ But I guess I don't have a say / Now that we don't talk"

It was the second week of November, and you’d decided to go out for drinks with some colleagues. You were at a bar you’d never been to before, located on the other side of town - quite far from the usual spots you and your friends frequented. With the slim chance of running into anyone you knew, you let your guard down and enjoyed the evening. 

You were so engrossed in your conversation that you almost missed it. At first, you thought you’d imagined it, but then you heard it again. Your stomach dropped, and a wave of heat washed over you as you recognized Eddie’s unmistakable voice. Looking around, it was Gareth you spotted first, and as you looked for Eddie, your heart sank. He looked drastically different - his once long hair was now a buzz cut, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, while dressed in a navy striped button-down. His signature leather jacket draped over the back of his chair the only remnant of the man you remembered.

Despite your attempts to refocus on your colleagues, your attention kept drifting back to Eddie and the band. They were celebrating with a round of shots, and you wondered if they were marking a milestone. Since the round of drinks you’d suggested for their first paid gig, you knew they had a tradition of celebrating this way. Your heart sank as you overheard Eddie’s toast: the local station had agreed to start playing their music, and they were promised a small tour around neighboring states in the new year.

Watching the band’s journey over the past three years -  early gigs at house shows to paid gigs at dive bars - you knew you had to say something, not just to Eddie but to all of them. You were proud of their progress, and after witnessing their hard work at countless practices this year, it felt right to acknowledge their accomplishments. You couldn't deny that it almost felt kismet, that you were here tonight.

As your coworkers began wrapping up their night, you excused yourself. You made your way over to the band’s table, your heart racing. As you approached their table, Gareth’s eyes lit up as he saw you.

“Well, look who it is!” Gareth exclaimed.

Eddie turned, his smile dropped as he took in your presence. 

“Of all the gin joints, you walk into the one I’m in?” you joked, attempting to ease the awkwardness. The band chuckled, and you continued, “I couldn’t help but overhear you guys. I just wanted to come over and say congratulations. I know how hard you’ve all worked."

The band echoed their gratitude before Gareth suggested you join them. A sudden, overwhelming discomfort gripped you. This was a mistake. Every lingering feeling you had for Eddie rushed back, and you struggled to maintain composure. "Oh thank you, but I need to get home," you said, attempting to mask the unease. "But I'm really happy for you all."

As you started to walk away, Eddie rose from his seat. "Baby, wait," he called out.

There it was, the nickname only he called you. The one you'd been desperate to hear.

You stopped, turning slightly to face him as he reached you. "I, um, just wanted to say thanks for that. I really appreciated you coming to the table."

"Of course," you said softly.

His eyes roamed over your figure as he took in the way your dress fit, and a low, almost involuntary groan escaped him. "Wow, that dress, you... you look incredible."

You gave him a thankful nod. It hurt you to hear him say that, knowing you'd bought this dress months ago solely with the intention of him taking it off.

"Me? Look at you. You look so... I don't know. Refined, maybe?"

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Is that good or...?"

"Oh, y'know you always look good," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "But I'd be lying if I said the hair didn't shock me a bit at first," you admitted.

Eddie's eyes softened, and he responded with a chuckle. "It's weird for me, still. I haven't had a buzz cut since middle school. But I just needed... a change."

His words hit you harder than expected, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as shook your head in acknowledgement.

He smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. "I want you to know I thought about reaching out, but I wasn't sure..." he trailed off.

You nodded again, appreciating the sentiment, a small smile on your lips as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I really should go, but I am truly so proud of you, Eddie," you said, your voice wavering. "Ever since I met you, I've seen how hard you've worked for what you want, and I'm so happy that it's paying off."

The words seemed to break something in him. Instinctively, he reached out, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. "I've missed you," he breathed into your hair.

You hugged him tightly, tears rolling down your cheeks. "I've missed you too," you whispered back, feeling the warmth and comfort of his embrace. For a moment, it felt like time had stopped, and you wished you could stay there forever. But as much as you wanted to linger, you knew you had to go. You slowly pulled away, forcing a smile through the tears. "I'm really glad I got to see you," you said softly.

Eddie looked at you, his gaze lingering as if he were on the verge of saying something more, but he simply nodded. "Me too," he said quietly.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you / ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow / you’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be / and I don’t want to go home right now”

The ride home felt like déjà vu. Another teary-eyed drive to your apartment after walking away from the man you loved.

Once you were home, you sank into the couch. Wrapped in a blanket, tears streamed down your face as The Smiths' The Queen Is Dead album played on the record player. For the 17th of November, the weather was a bit of a mess. It honestly felt poetic, the thunderstorm mirroring the emotions you were feeling. Every crack of thunder echoed your sobs.

About an hour into your pity party, you were starting to regain some composure when the buzz of the intercom startled you. You figured it was your neighbor, who often used the wrong buzzer, so you hit the button to let them in. Just as you were about to lay back in your spot on the couch, you heard a knock at your apartment door. Curious and a bit irritated, you peered through the peephole and froze. It was Eddie, drenched from the rain, with tears streaming down his face. Your heart raced as you swung the door open, and he walked in, shutting the door behind him.

"Eddie, what-" Before you could utter another word, he started rambling.

“What are the fucking odds you’d be at that bar tonight?” he began, his voice breaking. “On a night that was supposed to be a highlight in my life, and all I wanted was to share it with you.” His words came out in fractured gasps, his tears mixing with the rain on his face.

“When you said I fought for everything I wanted, it felt like a knife twisting in my chest because... it’s a lie. it's a fucking lie when I let you leave.” His voice cracked, and he struggled to steady himself.

“I should’ve told you this at the bar,” he choked, his tears falling harder now. “It felt like fucking fate that you were there tonight, and I still let you walk away. Again! I'm so sorry for the way things turned out. I should've fought for us. I should've fought for you. I let you go because I couldn’t admit I loved you. Even though you knew - of course fucking you knew - because you see me, all of me. And you’ve loved me through it, even when I didn’t think it was possible.” He buried his face in his hands, wiping his tears and catching his breath.

“I was convinced I wasn’t enough for you,” he continued. “But you wanted me all the same. I’m so sorry that I didn't call you weeks ago. I’m sorry for being so scared that I'm not what you deserve, that I let you walk out of my life because every day without you has been fucking hell.” His breaths came in jagged, broken waves. “I thought I could move on, try to forget it, but the goddamn world would have to stop before I could ever stop feeling this for you... It’s always been you.”

“Eddie,” you breathed.

Eddie stepped forward, his hands cupping your face. “I'm still not sure if I'm the man you deserve, but I'd like to try if you’ll have me.”

You nodded at his words, tears streaming down your face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his in a kiss that began tenderly but quickly deepened, fueled by a desperate need to reconnect and erase the distance that had come between you. Your moans mingled as your tongues met, and Eddie's hands tangled in your hair. When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless, you rested your foreheads together.

“I love you, Eddie Munson,” you whispered.

“I love you so fucking much, baby,” he murmured, placing a kiss on your forehead.

[obsessedwhyyes]

Beneath the Blood and Starlight

Summary: Awoken from a nightmare, you seek a moment of reprieve down by the river, only to find your mysterious vampire companion - covered in blood. As you help him with his mess, you realise that perhaps there's more to his rakish, teasing façade: a vulnerability that you had not anticipated. A moment of intimacy ensues.

Rating: T Word Count: 3096 Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Content: Act 1, pre-romance, fluff, early bonding, non-sexual intimacy, flirting, feral cat Astarion. Warning: Starts with a nightmare sequence featuring depictions of ceremorphosis, in case that's an issue.

A/N: What was meant to be a cute, fluffy little drabble grew arms and legs and turned into several thousand words. I wanted to explore some non-sexual intimacy, in the context of Act 1 where everyone is still learning about each other, so here we have some typical Act 1 Astarion flirting, some banter, and some exploration of Astarion - the person, rather than the vampire spawn.

It was a night like any other.

The campfire warmed the faces of the merry band of travelling companions you had accrued throughout the course of your journey. The strangest bedfellows one could ever imagine, but amidst the chaos of your journey up to now, the sound of laughter was a joyous reprieve; a rare moment of peace.

Your gaze was drawn inexorably to Astarion who sat across from you. Firelight danced across his pale skin as you watched him, and he caught your eye then. A mischievous smile played at the corners of his mouth and your heart fluttered, just a little.

“Darling,” he purred, raising a finger to point to you, “you’re bleeding.”

You were?

Your hand reached for your face, feeling a slickness trickling from your nose. Strange. You hadn’t noticed any pain.

Suddenly, the firelight seemed too bright, the laughter too loud.

Something was wrong.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your body was wracked instead with a fit of coughs. You could not breathe.

You doubled over, and an ache spread throughout your jaw - a pain unlike anything you had ever experienced. Your innards felt ready to burst out of you.

“Are you alright?” Astarion’s voice was tinged with an uncharacteristic concern. Moving quickly to your side, his cool hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. But as your eyes met his, you recoiled in horror.

A mindflayer.

Where Astarion’s once beautiful face had been, you were greeted with orange eyes, burning with malice, sharp teeth like cut glass within a tentacled maw, and slickened, wet skin. Yet, his voice remained the same, teasing and rakish - a jarring contrast that set your heart pounding, limbs begging you to flee.

You tried to scream, but your jaw felt wrong. It cracked, a sickening sound that reverberated through your skull. The pain was excruciating, blinding. Something writhing and slick attempted to push its way out of your throat and you choked.

Astarion-Not-Astarion’s hand, still cool against your feverish skin, stroked your cheek almost tenderly. “That’s it,” he cooed, his voice a twisted parody of his usual flirtatious drawls, “embrace the change.”

You looked around wildly. All of your companions had transformed, their familiar faces replaced by disgusting, terrifying… No, beautiful, evolved, magnificent alien features.

“Change,” they chanted. “Change. Change…”

You bolted upright, a strangled gasp escaping your lips. Cold sweat drenched your skin as you wildly scanned your surroundings. The familiar sight of your tent came into focus.

Your heart pounded in your chest as realisation set in. A dream. It was a dream.

It was a night like any other.

And that was precisely the problem.

Sleep, you decided, was no longer an option.

There was a river in the woods nearby and you were in desperate need to cleanse yourself of the sweat which clung to your still shivering body. Or rather, you needed something, anything to distract yourself. And so, packing washcloths, you left the confines of your tent and snuck away into the woodlands.

–

The sound of running water called to you, a moment of solace drawing nearer. Or so you thought, until a familiar figure came into view.

It was Astarion, sitting by the river's edge, moonlight gleaming across his pale… Bare skin.

Assuming you'd stumbled in on something you shouldn't have, you averted your gaze hastily, a blush crawling up your neck. “A-ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude!”

“It's just my shirt, darling. No need for such modesty.” Astarion’s voice carried a hint of amusement, clearly privy to your embarrassment.

A moment passed as you attempted to recompose yourself. Looking up, he was indeed just shirtless. 

Thank the gods for that.

As you drew closer to him, you noticed the blood smeared across his face - evidence of a recent hunt.

Truth be told, he was a bit of a mess. Crimson streaks painted his cheeks and chin, with a particularly gruesome splatter across his left temple. Some of it had begun to dry, flaking at the edges. It was a stark, almost beautiful contrast against his pale skin - a reminder of the predator that lurked beneath his charming exterior.

You sat across from him, trying to ignore the way the moonlight played across his bare chest.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Out for a midnight stroll or were you just hoping to catch me in a compromising position?”

You rolled your eyes, though you were grateful for the familiar banter. You tried not to recall the events of your nightmare, the lingering tendrils of which still threatened to send you into a blinding panic. In a way, you were grateful to have stumbled across Astarion on your journey out here. As much as you told yourself otherwise, being alone was perhaps not what you needed right now.

“I just needed some fresh air,” you said, less than eager to give away the finer details of your predicament.

Your gaze fell on a needle and thread beside him, and a hole in his shirt draped across his lap.

“What happened?” You asked, nodding to his shirt, in a hasty attempt to change the subject.

“Ah, this? I was unfortunate enough to get tangled up with a particularly feral boar this evening. The little bastard didn't get very far though.”

Well, you thought to yourself, that explains the blood.

As he picked up the needle and resumed his repairs, long fingers moving with practised ease, you found yourself curious. “I didn't know you could sew.”

“I'm a man of many talents. I'd be happy to give you a… private demonstration, if you like.”

You sighed in mock exasperation. “Isn't it exhausting trying to talk your way into my trousers all the time?”

“Who says I was trying to talk my way into your trousers?” Astarion gleamed.

You fixed him with a doubtful look, eyebrow raised. In response, he reached into his pack which rested behind him, and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to you. As you unfolded it, you gasped. Delicate florals, intricate patterns adorned the fabric, embroidered with a meticulous care and skill that you would have attributed to the tailors and seamstresses of Baldur's Gate’s Upper City. It was as if he had captured the essence of a moonlit garden, with silvery threads weaving a tapestry of nocturnal blooms and shadowy vines.

“Gods, Astarion. You made this?”

He nodded, a flicker of genuine pride crossing his features.

“It's beautiful,” you breathed as you ran your fingers across the stitches. “What a wonderful talent to have.”

Something shifted in Astarion’s expression - a flash of vulnerability quickly masked. 

“Yes, well, one must find ways to pass the time. Keep it, if you like,” Astarion continues, attempting to feign disinterest. The look in his eyes told a different story.

“Thank you,” you said. You meant it.

A moment of silence passed between you, punctuated by the gentle bubbles and burbles of the river as it flowed.

“I don't think I have any special talents of my own,” you mused, more to yourself than to him.

Astarion glanced up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, I'm sure you have some hidden talents. I'd be more than happy to help you explore them, if you like. In my tent, perhaps?”

You raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze.

Astarion grinned, unabashed. “That time, I was trying to talk my way into your trousers.”

You laughed then and gods, did it feel good to laugh on a night like this, even with the familiar feeling of heat rising to your cheeks. This dance between you - this constant push-and-pull - had become almost comforting in its familiarity. Of course, you had considered his offer - he had not exactly been subtle about his intentions with you. But you weren't quite ready to give in. Not yet, anyway.

Your laughter settled, and something in the mood shifted as Astarion turned his gaze from you to the river.

“Truth be told, Cazador didn't give us much beyond the clothes on our backs. I had to learn some things for myself.”

The admission hung heavy in the air. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, despite the venom that laced his voice at his former master’s name. 

“I'm sorry,” you said softly. Once again, you meant it.

He shrugged, forcing a lightness into his tone. “It’s not all bad. Using my hands to create something beautiful - it's a welcome distraction. It lets me feel… well, not good, but less terrible for a while.”

You nodded. You never knew quite what to say in these moments. Astarion had only recently begun to open up to you regarding his past, and each story drew forth a maelstrom of emotions from you. Sadness at the gods-awful role he was thrust into; guilt at not having been there for him sooner; anger, not only at Cazador, but at those who had the opportunity to save him but chose not to, as though his vampiric nature made him less worthy of the safety that all who live, crave. You could only imagine the feelings which raged like a tempest in him.

It was in moments like these that you had to admire just how brave he really was.

You were snapped out of your ruminations when Astarion finished his mending. You caught a glimpse of a sharp, pointed fang as he used it to cut the thread - an action which shouldn't have been as fascinating as it was.

He stood and slipped on his shirt.

“Well?” He asked, with a twirl and a flourish. “What do you think?”

“Perfect as always,” you replied, then paused. “Except for, well, the blood on your face.”

Astarion’s eyes widened in indignation. “And you're only mentioning this now?”

You shrugged, fighting back a grin. “I thought the feral look rather suited you.”

“You absolute freak,” he scoffed, but there was no real heat behind the words.

“I can help if you want.”

As you dug into your pack to procure a washcloth, your intentions clear, Astarion’s reaction was immediate and visceral. He recoiled as if you'd brandished a weapon, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Absolutely not.”

Pride and uncertainty marred his voice. You recognised the look in his eyes - the same wary glance of a feral cat, torn between the desire for help and the instinct to flee.

“Come on,” you coaxed, keeping your voice soft, even. “It's not like you can look in a mirror.”

You had hoped humour would de-escalate the situation.

It did not.

For a moment, anger flashed in his eyes - a cornered predator lashing out. But as he met your gaze, something in his expression shifted. The fury melted to uncertainty, then a flicker of longing so brief you almost missed it.

Astarion’s body language was a mess of contradictions. He leaned slightly towards you, as if drawn by an invisible thread, only to catch himself and pull back. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, but the words lacked his usual bite. “I don't need– I mean, I'm perfectly capable of–”

“If you don't need my help, that's okay. We don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

Astarion’s eyes darted between your face and the cloth, held loosely in your hand. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“Why?” He asked.

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. Why are you helping me? Why care?

“Because I want to,” you answered simply.

Something in Astarion’s expression cracked then, a hairline fracture in his carefully constructed façade. He gave a jerky nod, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Well,” he said, his tone aiming for nonchalance but missing by a mile, “if you insist on playing nursemaid, who am I to stop you? Though I warn you, darling, caring for me can be a dangerous pastime.”

The words were pure Astarion - flirtatious, guarded, with a hint of threat. The words weren't quite acceptance, but they were close enough.

“I'll take my chances,” you teased softly, patting the ground beside you, prompting him to sit.

He complied with an obvious reluctance, perching on the edge of the riverbank as if the ground might swallow him whole.

As you wetted your washcloth in the river and moved closer to him - close enough to feel his cool breath on your skin - you notice him tense at the anticipation of your touch. His eyes were squeezed shut, face turned slightly away from you. But you were gentle as you placed the cloth to his cheek and began to wipe away the streaks of crimson from his face.

The sounds of the world around you dulled, faded to a murmur as you tended to him, as though the leaves had stilled their rustling and the river its gurgling. In this moment of suspended reality, your focus narrowed to Astarion’s face and the myriad of emotions playing across it.

His hesitation, his vulnerability - it struck you how monumental this simple act truly was. Here was a man - a vampire - who had known centuries of cruelty; who had learned to weaponise his charm and keep the world at arm’s length for his safety. And yet, he was allowing you to see him like this: uncertain, teetering at the edge of trust.

The weight of his concession settled over you like a blanket. Each micro-expression that flickered across his features told a story of internal struggle - the tightening of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his eyes squeezed shut as if bracing for pain that wouldn't come. It was a dance of contradictions; a battle between ingrained distrust and a longing for gentleness.

In this frozen moment, you realised that what you were offering wasn't just a clean face. It was acceptance, care, a touch unburdened by expectation or demand. And for Astarion, perhaps accepting it was an act of bravery greater than any he'd shown in battle.

With careful strokes, you cleaned the blood away from his cheek. You worked slowly, mindful of the tension in his jaw. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, he began to relax under your ministrations.

“Turn your head for me?” You asked, softly.

Astarion complied without a word, tilting his face to give you access to the other cheek. His eyes remained closed, but the furrow in his brow had softened.

You resumed your task, gently working your way across his features. A stubborn smear of dried blood at the corner of his mouth, another at the hollows of his cheekbones, droplets that had spattered at his forehead - all melted away before your eyes with each glide of the wet cloth, unveiling his pale skin.

As you worked, you found yourself studying him in a way you never had before. His elven features were a study in contrasts - ethereal beauty intertwined with the weathering of time and hardship. High cheekbones caught the moonlight, throwing delicate shadows across his face. His skin, where it wasn't marred by blood, was like polished alabaster, smooth and luminous.

As you gently moved to cleanse his temple, your fingertips brushed against a strand of his hair - silk curls spun from starlight.

Yet it was the imperfections that truly drew you in. Fine lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes, like a map of laughter and sorrow etched by the years. His brow, while regal, bore the weight of exhaustion, a testament to the burdens he carried.

There was something mesmerising in the juxtaposition - this timeless, otherworldly beauty marked by the unmistakable signs of an unlife born of hardships and losses yet unspoken between you. But each line, each weary shadow, only served to enhance a grace that time and pain could never fully erase.

Your hand paused, cloth hovering near his cheek, as you realised you'd been lost in studying him. In that moment, beneath the moon’s gentle gaze and the river’s whispered song, you saw not just the elf; the vampire; the mysterious travelling companion, but the man - beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly captivating.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered open, catching you in your reverie. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The air between you was filled with unspoken words and possibilities. 

It was… intimate.

“See something you like, darling?” Astarion’s voice was soft, lacking its usual sharp edge of sarcasm. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that made your breath catch.

You smiled softly, resuming your gentle ministrations.

“Just making sure I didn't miss any spots.”

You weren't quite ready to voice the thoughts swirling in your mind.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by rippling sounds of water as you periodically dipped your washcloth in the river to wring it out.

As you shifted to clean the last traces of blood, you finally looked up again to meet Astarion’s gaze fully.

“There,” you said, “I knew there was a handsome man somewhere under all that filth.”

Astarion’s lips quirked into a smile - not his usual smirk, but something softer.

“Well, I suppose I should thank you for your… attentions,” he murmured.

The moment stretched between you, fragile and charged with possibility. For a heartbeat, you thought he might lean in; might close the distance between you. But the moment passed, leaving behind a mix of relief and something that felt dangerously close to disappointment.

You cleared your throat, breaking the spell.

“We should probably head back to camp,” you suggested, your voice steadier than you felt.

Astarion nodded, rising to his feet with his usual grace. As you gathered your things, you felt his eyes on you, thoughtful and considering.

“You know,” he said as you started back through the woods, “I think you might have one hidden talent.”

You glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow in question.

His smile was enigmatic, tinged with something you couldn't quite name.

“You have a remarkable ability to surprise me. And that… that is no small feat.”

As you made your way back to camp, the weight of your nightmare felt lighter. And if you walked a little closer to Astarion than strictly necessary, well, that was just to avoid tripping in the dark. Nothing more.

It was a night like any other and yet, as you settled back into your bedroll, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and Astarion. A new understanding, perhaps, or the first trembling notes of a melody yet to be fully composed. Whatever it was, it sang you to sleep, keeping the nightmares at bay just this once.

No Pressure Tag List: @roguishcat @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard

Masterlist can be found here.

[shybluebirdninja]

Broken Claws and Tender Hearts

Summary: In the dark corners of a crumbling city, aging mutant Wolverine, James Logan Howlett, finds himself gravely wounded and abandoned. Rescued by Y/N, a compassionate woman trapped in an abusive marriage, Logan’s gratitude evolves into deep, forbidden love as he witnesses the brutal toll of her husband's violence.

The city was a mess, like it had given up on itself a long time ago. Streets were littered with trash, and broken glass crunched underfoot like a constant reminder of the decay that had set in. In the darkest corners of this dismal place, where even the streetlights seemed to flicker with disinterest, James Logan Howlett—known to the world as Wolverine—was barely hanging on. Once a fierce mutant warrior with an unbreakable spirit, he was now just an old man with unhealable wounds and a broken heart.

Logan, as he was known, was a far cry from the invincible fighter he used to be. His claws, once sharp enough to cut through steel, were now dull and rusty. His body, scarred and bruised from countless battles, was failing him. Pain was his constant companion, a relentless reminder of his mortality. As he lay slumped in a filthy alley, the cold seeped through his tattered clothes, mingling with the sweat of his suffering. He was beyond exhausted, teetering on the edge of consciousness, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, this is one hell of a way to go,” he muttered weakly, his voice barely a croak. His usually fierce eyes were now clouded with exhaustion, and the alley seemed to close in around him, a concrete tomb waiting to claim him.

Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, a pair of footsteps echoed through the alley. Logan's dimming senses barely registered the sound at first. But the crunch of boots on the grimy pavement drew closer, and his survival instincts kicked in, if only just. He tried to lift his head, but it felt like it weighed a ton. He managed to catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure approaching.

“Jesus Christ!” a female voice called out, a mix of shock and concern lacing her words. The figure moved closer, and Logan could make out the silhouette of a woman. Her face was partly hidden by the dim light, but the earnest worry in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Hey, buddy, you look like shit,” she said, crouching down beside him. “What happened to you?”

Logan tried to muster a response, but the effort was futile. Instead, he gave a weak shrug and a bitter laugh. “Just another day in paradise,” he rasped, struggling to keep his eyes open.

The woman, whose name Logan would soon learn was Y/N, didn’t seem deterred by his sarcastic tone. She looked him over with a practiced eye, noting the severity of his injuries. “You’re in no shape to be lying here. We need to get you out of this mess.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna be any trouble,” Logan mumbled, his voice tinged with irony. “I’m practically dead weight.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Y/N said, her voice firm but gentle. “Everyone deserves a chance, even you. Let’s get you out of here.”

With a strength that belied her delicate appearance, Y/N helped Logan to his feet. It was no easy task; he was barely able to support himself, his legs unsteady beneath him. She wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to steady him as they made their way out of the alley. Each step was a challenge, and Logan could feel his energy draining away with every movement.

“You’re really doing this?” Logan asked, glancing at her with a mixture of gratitude and skepticism. “You know I’m not exactly in the best shape.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Y/N replied with a faint smile. “You’re not the first person I’ve helped, and you won’t be the last. Just hang in there.”

The journey to Y/N’s home was slow and arduous. The streets seemed endless, stretching out like a labyrinth of shadows. Logan’s breathing grew more labored with each step, and he could feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness. Y/N kept a steady pace, her determination unwavering.

When they finally arrived at her modest apartment, Logan was barely aware of his surroundings. The building was far from luxurious, but it had a certain homeliness that contrasted sharply with the desolation he had just left behind. Y/N managed to get him inside and guided him to a makeshift bed in the living room. The space was cluttered but warm, with a few personal touches that made it clear someone lived here.

“Alright, let’s get you settled,” Y/N said, her voice gentle as she helped him lie down. “I’m going to get some supplies and see what I can do for you.”

Logan watched as she moved about the small apartment, gathering medical supplies and setting them out with careful precision. Her movements were efficient but calm, as if she had done this many times before. Despite the pain, Logan found himself oddly comforted by her presence.

“Why are you going through all this trouble?” Logan asked, his voice weak but curious. “You don’t even know me.”

Y/N paused her work and looked at him with a thoughtful expression. “It’s not about knowing you. It’s about doing what’s right. No one should be left to suffer like this, not even someone who looks like they’ve been through hell.”

Logan chuckled dryly, a sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m kind of a mess. I don’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“Everyone has their own battles,” Y/N said softly. “Yours might be different from mine, but that doesn’t make them any less real. I’ve had my share of struggles, too.”

As Y/N cleaned his wounds with a gentle hand, Logan winced at the sting of antiseptic. Despite the pain, he appreciated her care. It was a stark contrast to the harshness of his usual existence. For once, he wasn’t fighting, wasn’t on the run. He was just lying here, vulnerable and at the mercy of someone who seemed to genuinely care.

“You know, I’m not exactly the type to get all mushy,” Logan said with a faint grin. “But this...”

Y/N cut him of and glanced up at him, her eyes warm. “You don’t have to be mushy. Just be grateful that someone’s here to help. That’s all I’m asking.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’re giving me a chance when I don’t even deserve one.”

“Everyone deserves a chance,” Y/N replied firmly. “Even if they don’t think so themselves.”

As the night wore on, Y/N continued to tend to his wounds with meticulous care. Logan watched her, taking in the details of her face, the determination in her eyes. It was a rare sight—a glimmer of kindness in a world that had long since turned its back on him.

Despite the pain and fatigue, Logan felt a strange sense of calm. For the first time in a long while, he was allowing himself to be cared for, to be vulnerable. It was an unfamiliar but oddly comforting feeling. He had spent so many years fighting, surviving, and pushing everyone away. But here was someone who was willing to stand by him, even in his darkest hour.

“Hey, Y/N,” Logan said softly as she finished her work. “You ever wonder why we end up in places like this? I mean, I’ve fought a lot of battles, but this... this is a different kind of fight.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression thoughtful. “Sometimes, I think we end up where we need to be. Even in the darkest places, there’s a chance for something good to happen. Maybe this is just one of those moments.”

Logan nodded, his thoughts a tangled mess of past regrets and hopeful possibilities. As he drifted off to sleep, the warmth of Y/N’s care was a small, flickering light in the midst of his darkness. It wasn’t a cure for his wounds or his broken spirit, but it was a reminder that there was still some good left in the world

----------------------------------

Y/N’s apartment, though modest and cluttered, was a sanctuary of sorts for Logan. As days passed, he began to recover from his severe injuries, thanks in no small part to Y/N’s dedicated care. The old Wolverine, now fragile and more vulnerable than ever, found himself in an unexpected role—patient rather than warrior. It was a role that didn’t sit easily with him, but Y/N’s unwavering kindness made it bearable.

Y/N’s daily routine revolved around caring for Logan. Mornings began with gentle cleaning of his wounds, followed by a carefully prepared meal, usually something simple yet nourishing. Despite her own exhaustion, she never missed a beat, always wearing a brave face even when her eyes betrayed her fatigue. Logan noticed these details—the way her hands shook slightly when she applied ointment, the forced cheerfulness in her voice, and the way she always tried to keep things normal.

One afternoon, while Y/N was in the kitchen preparing lunch, Logan sat on the bed, feeling the stiffness of his muscles. He was starting to regain some strength, but moving was still a struggle. He could hear Y/N’s soft humming and the occasional clatter of pots and pans. Just as he was about to call out to her, the sound of the front door slamming shut cut through the quiet.

Logan tensed, recognizing the unmistakable sound of anger. Y/N’s face, when she returned to the room, was pale and strained. Her eyes darted nervously towards the door. Logan could sense the tension in the air, a sharp contrast to the calm that usually filled the room.

“Everything alright?” Logan asked, his voice hoarse but concerned. His eyes, though tired, were keenly observant.

Y/N forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, just... Marcus had a rough day at work. Nothing to worry about.”

Logan didn’t press further, though he could tell there was more to it. He knew from experience that some things were best left unspoken, but the bruises on Y/N’s arms, which she tried to hide with long sleeves, spoke volumes. Each mark was a silent testament to her struggles.

The days turned into weeks, and the tension between Y/N and Marcus became increasingly palpable. Logan overheard snippets of arguments through the thin walls of the apartment. Marcus’s voice was harsh and threatening, full of disdain for mutants and a general aggression that made Logan’s skin crawl.

One evening, as Y/N was bandaging a fresh wound on Logan’s side, the door burst open with a violent crash. Marcus stormed in, his face twisted with rage. “What the hell is this? You’re still wasting your time on this mutant freak? I thought I told you to get rid of him!”

Logan’s eyes flared with anger, but he held back, his body tensing. Y/N’s face flushed with a mix of fear and frustration. “Marcus, please, just calm down. He needs our help.”

“Why should I give a damn about this piece of shit?” Marcus spat, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “He’s nothing but trouble. You’re bringing this mess into our home.”

Logan could see the strain on Y/N’s face, the way she struggled to keep her voice steady. “Marcus, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. This man is hurt and needs help. I can’t just turn him away.”

Marcus’s gaze flicked to Logan, his eyes filled with contempt. “And what about what I need? You’re always putting others before me. I’m done with this crap.”

Logan remained silent, his claws itching to come out, but he knew better than to escalate the situation. Y/N’s shoulders slumped as Marcus’s angry words continued to fill the room, each one a fresh wound to her already battered soul.

Finally, Marcus stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Y/N stood there, shaking slightly, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. Logan’s heart ached for her, and he struggled to keep his voice calm as he spoke.

“Y/N... are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle despite the anger bubbling inside him.

She wiped her tears and nodded, though it was clear she was far from okay. “I’m fine. It’s just... the same old stuff. Marcus doesn’t understand, and he never will.”

Logan reached out, his hand brushing against her arm gently. “You don’t deserve that, you know. No one does.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “Thank you, Logan. I know it’s not your place to say that, but it means a lot coming from you.”

The days that followed were a delicate balance of tension and care. Y/N continued to nurse Logan back to health while trying to manage the chaos that Marcus brought into their lives. Logan’s own recovery was slow but steady, and he found himself growing more dependent on Y/N, not just for physical healing but for the emotional support he hadn’t realized he needed.

One night, as Logan lay awake in the dim light of the living room, he heard Y/N sobbing quietly in the next room. Unable to ignore her distress, he carefully rose from the bed and moved to the door of her room. He knocked softly, hoping not to startle her.

“Y/N, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There was a brief pause, and then Y/N’s voice, strained but soft, replied, “Yeah, come in.”

Logan entered to find Y/N sitting on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands. The sight of her, so vulnerable and broken, stirred something deep inside him. He approached her cautiously, sitting down beside her.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice a rough whisper in the quiet room. “You want to talk about it?”

Y/N looked up, her eyes red and swollen. “It’s just... everything feels so overwhelming. Marcus is getting worse, and I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Logan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle despite the rawness of his own wounds. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve been handling all this shit with a lot more grace than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Logan. It means a lot to hear that, especially now.”

As they sat together in the dim light, Logan found himself opening up in a way he hadn’t in years. He shared fragments of his past, stories of battles fought and lost, of the loneliness that came with being a mutant. Y/N listened intently, her presence a comforting balm to his wounded soul.

“I never thought I’d be in a place like this,” Logan said quietly. “Hell, I thought I’d be dead by now. But... there’s something about this place, about you, that makes me feel like maybe I’ve got a reason to stick around.”

Y/N’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the weight of their respective burdens seemed to lift. “Maybe we both needed this. A place where we could find some kind of solace, even if just for a little while.”

Logan nodded, feeling a strange sense of peace despite the chaos around them. He realized that his feelings for Y/N were growing stronger, and he admired her more with each passing day. Her strength in the face of adversity, her kindness despite her own suffering—it all spoke to him in ways he hadn’t expected.

One evening, after another particularly brutal argument with Marcus, Y/N sat down beside Logan, her face etched with exhaustion. She had a new bruise on her cheek, a stark reminder of the violence she faced at home. Logan’s heart ached at the sight of it, and he reached out, gently brushing his fingers against the bruise.

“Does it ever get easier?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

Y/N shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “No, it doesn’t. But I have to keep going. For me, for you... for everyone who needs me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. It’s not right.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and hope. “Maybe someday things will change. Maybe there will be a way out of this mess. Until then, I have to hold on to whatever hope I can find.”

As the days continued, Logan’s feelings for Y/N deepened. Her resilience in the face of Marcus’s abuse, her unwavering dedication to helping him despite her own suffering—it all made him see her in a new light. He found himself drawn to her not just as a caretaker, but as a person who had become an unexpected beacon of hope in his life.

One evening, as they sat together after Marcus had stormed out, Logan took Y/N’s hand in his, his touch gentle but firm. “Y/N, I want you to know something. I’m here because you gave me a chance when no one else would. And... I care about you. More than I probably should.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching in her throat. “Logan, I—”

Before she could finish, Logan leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that I want to be here for you. I want to fight this together.”

Y/N’s eyes were filled with tears, but a small smile touched her lips. “Thank you, Logan. That means more to me than you can imagine.”

----------------------------------

Logan's recovery was a slow grind. The days were punctuated by a relentless rhythm of pain and progress, his wounds mending bit by bit. Y/N's care was both a balm and a burden; she was always there, her hands gentle and her demeanor kind. But as Logan's strength began to return, another kind of strength was being tested—Y/N’s.

Every day, Logan saw the bruises she tried to hide. He noticed the way she flinched when Marcus’s name was mentioned, the dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer could mask. It wasn’t just the physical pain that she wore like a second skin; it was the emotional toll that was etched into every line of her face. Logan could sense it, even when Y/N put on a brave face and forced a smile.

One evening, while Y/N was preparing dinner, Logan was lounging on the bed, his head resting against the headboard. He heard the all-too-familiar sound of the front door slamming, followed by Marcus’s booming voice, filled with venom. Logan’s jaw clenched, his claws itching to come out. But he knew better. The last thing Y/N needed was another problem on top of the one she already had.

Y/N’s footsteps were quick and hesitant as she moved around the kitchen. Logan could hear her trying to keep her voice steady as she spoke with Marcus, though it was clear from the sharpness in her tone that things were far from calm. Logan’s concern deepened with every shouted insult and the occasional crash that echoed through the apartment.

He struggled to stay put, his anger boiling beneath the surface. It was maddening to be so powerless, to hear Y/N suffering while he lay here, barely able to move. He wanted to confront Marcus, to show him just how outmatched he was, but his weakened state kept him tethered to the bed. It was a cruel irony that the very strength that had once made him a force to be reckoned with now left him helpless.

The door finally swung open, and Y/N walked in, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. She carried a tray with a modest meal, her hands trembling slightly. Logan’s heart ached at the sight of her, and he tried to offer a reassuring smile, though he knew it probably looked more like a grimace.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Everything okay out there?”

Y/N set the tray down on the small table beside the bed, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and resignation. “Yeah, just another argument. Marcus had a rough day and... well, you know how it goes.”

Logan’s gaze was intense, filled with concern. “Y/N, you don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t deserve this.”

She sat down next to him, her shoulders slumping as she took a deep breath. “I know. I just... I don’t have a choice. If I leave, things will only get worse. I’m trying to hold on for now.”

Logan could see the pain in her eyes, the way her hands shook slightly as she picked up a small bowl of soup. He wanted to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, but he felt powerless, his own strength a mere shadow of what it used to be.

“Y/N, listen,” he said, his voice rough but earnest. “I know I’m in no position to make demands or offer solutions, but you’ve got to know that you don’t deserve this. Marcus is a piece of shit, and you’re better than this.”

Y/N’s eyes met his, and she looked so tired, so weary. “It’s not that simple. Marcus is... he’s unpredictable. If I push too hard, it’ll only make things worse. I have to tread carefully.”

Logan’s anger flared, his hands curling into fists. “You shouldn’t have to live in fear. No one should.”

Y/N gave a small, bitter smile. “I appreciate that, Logan. I really do. But sometimes, just getting through the day is enough. It’s all I can manage right now.”

As the days went on, Logan’s concern grew. He noticed more bruises on Y/N’s skin, more shadows in her eyes. The arguments with Marcus became more frequent and more vicious. Logan found himself wrestling with a deep, gnawing frustration. He wanted to protect her, but he felt like a caged animal, unable to do anything but watch.

One night, after an especially brutal argument, Y/N came into the room, her face bruised and her lip split. She tried to hide it, but Logan saw the truth. His heart pounded with a mix of rage and helplessness.

“Y/N, what happened?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She sat down beside him, her movements slow and pained. “It’s nothing. Just... another fight. I’m okay.”

Logan’s eyes were fierce, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re not okay. This isn’t right, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to put up with this crap.”

Y/N sighed, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resignation. “I know, Logan. I know. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave. I need to keep this place together, even if it’s falling apart.”

Logan’s anger simmered, his frustration boiling over. “I wish I could do something. I feel like I’m just... useless.”

Y/N shook her head, her hand reaching out to touch his. “You’re not useless, Logan. You’ve given me more hope than I’ve had in a long time. Just having you here, knowing you care—it means more than you know.”

As they sat together in the dim light of the room, Logan felt a deep connection to Y/N. Her strength, her resilience, even in the face of so much pain—it was a stark contrast to the brutality she endured. He realized how much she had come to mean to him, and how deeply he wished he could change her circumstances.

Despite the growing attachment and the undeniable pull he felt towards her, Logan remained bound by his own limitations. He could only watch as Y/N continued to endure Marcus’s cruelty, his own feelings of helplessness mixing with a fierce, burning desire to protect her. Every bruise, every tear she shed was a reminder of the pain she was enduring and the brutal reality of her situation.

Logan’s internal struggle was a constant battle. He wanted to be the hero, the one who swooped in and saved the day, but he was stuck in a role that felt more like a spectator than a savior.

----------------------------------

The night air was heavy, thick with an oppressive silence that seemed to press against Logan’s chest. He lay in bed, the shadows dancing across the walls as the soft hum of the city outside filled the room. Y/N had been unusually quiet tonight, and Logan's senses were on high alert, a growing unease gnawing at him.

He could hear Marcus’s booming voice from the other side of the apartment, each shout like a hammer pounding against Logan’s already frayed nerves. It had been a rough night, and Y/N’s attempts to calm her husband had only seemed to make things worse. Logan could feel the tension in the air, a sense of impending violence that made his heart pound and his skin crawl.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He struggled to push himself up, but his weakened state made it a Herculean effort. He needed to do something, anything, but he was still bound by the limitations of his own frailty.

Suddenly, a crash echoed through the apartment, followed by Y/N’s scream. Logan’s blood ran cold. Without a second thought, he threw off the covers and stumbled toward the door, his heart racing. The anger and fear coursing through him felt like a storm, threatening to tear him apart.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and desperate. He reached the door and yanked it open, the scene that greeted him was something out of a nightmare.

Marcus was towering over Y/N, who was curled up on the floor, her face streaked with tears and blood. The rage in Marcus’s eyes was palpable, a fury that seemed to consume everything in its path. Logan’s instincts screamed at him to act, but he was frozen for a split second, caught between his own fear and the raw, primal need to protect.

“Get the hell away from her!” Logan roared, his voice a guttural snarl. He forced himself to step forward, his hands trembling as he tried to summon the strength to intervene.

Marcus’s head snapped around, his eyes locking onto Logan with a mixture of shock and fury. “What the hell are you doing here, mutant? Stay out of this!”

Logan’s claws extended with a sharp, metallic hiss, his rage boiling over. “You’ve done enough, you piece of shit. Leave her alone.”

Marcus sneered, his face twisted into a cruel smile. “Or what? You’ll claw me to death? You’re pathetic.”

In a burst of adrenaline, Logan lunged forward, his claws slashing through the air. He was fueled by a mixture of desperation and anger, the need to protect Y/N overriding every other consideration. The chaos that ensued was a blur—Marcus lunged at Logan, and in the ensuing struggle, Logan’s claws struck out, his aim wild and frantic.

Time seemed to stretch and warp as Logan’s claws found their mark. Marcus fell, a look of disbelief and shock etched on his face. The room fell silent, the only sound the ragged breaths of the two remaining people in the room.

Y/N was still on the floor, her body trembling as she stared at the lifeless form of her husband. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of horror and disbelief. Logan stood there, his own breathing heavy, his claws retracting as he tried to process what had just happened.

“Oh God,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “What have you done?”

Logan took a tentative step toward her, his heart aching at the sight of her pain. “Y/N, I—”

“No!” she cut him off, her voice sharp and filled with anguish. “You didn’t have to kill him. I—I didn’t want this.”

Logan’s heart twisted at the sight of her tears. “I didn’t mean to... I was just trying to protect you. I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt you like that.”

Y/N’s sobs were ragged, her hands covering her face. “It’s too late for that now. I don’t know what to do...”

Logan knelt beside her, his voice soft and full of regret. “Y/N, please. I know this is a mess. I never wanted things to end like this, but I care about you. I care about you a hell of a lot.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes red and swollen. “What are we supposed to do now? What happens next?”

Logan reached out, his hand gently touching her arm. “We get out of here. We leave this place behind and start fresh somewhere else. I’ve got a stash of cash, and we can find somewhere safe. I just—”

Y/N cut him off, her voice trembling. “And what? We just run away? We leave everything behind and hope for the best?”

Logan’s gaze was intense, his voice pleading. “It’s not just about running away. It’s about finding a place where you can be safe, where you can be happy. I know it won’t be easy, but it’s got to be better than staying here, right?”

Y/N’s eyes searched his, and for a moment, Logan saw the flicker of hope amidst the pain. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Okay. Okay, let’s do it. But we have to be careful. We can’t just jump into this blindly.”

Logan nodded, a mixture of relief and determination in his eyes. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll figure things out together. I promise.”

----------------------------------

The first light of dawn seeped through the cracks in the dilapidated building where Y/N and Logan had spent the night. They had barely slept, huddled together in a small room with only a threadbare blanket for comfort. Y/N's eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep, and Logan's face was etched with exhaustion, but beneath it all, there was a flicker of determination.

“Jesus, what a fucking mess,” Logan muttered as he rolled out of bed, wincing at the stiffness in his body. His voice was rough, a mix of weariness and frustration. He glanced around the room, taking in the dusty furniture and peeling wallpaper. “This place isn’t exactly a five-star joint, but it’ll do for now.”

Y/N sat up, her expression a mix of sadness and resolve. “We can’t stay here long. We need to move, find a place where we can lay low and figure things out.”

Logan nodded, his gaze fixed on her. “You’re right. The longer we stay, the more chance we have of getting caught. I’m sure Marcus had connections and surely he talked about me. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who kept his mouth shut.”

Y/N rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of her nightmare-filled sleep. “I just can’t believe it’s really over. That we’re actually doing this.”

Logan moved closer, his voice softening as he spoke. “It’s real, alright. And it’s probably gonna be rough as hell. But we’ve got a shot at something better, Y/N. We just gotta keep moving, keep our heads down.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes full of a fragile hope. “And what about you, Logan? How are you holding up? I know you’re hurting, too.”

Logan grinned wryly, a hint of his old self peeking through his exhaustion. “I’ve been through worse. I’m still kicking, aren’t I? It’s not about me right now. It’s about making sure you’re safe.”

She smiled, a small, grateful curve of her lips. “Thank you. For everything. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

“Hell, it wasn’t easy for either of us,” Logan replied, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But that’s the way it goes. You deal with the crap life throws at you and hope for a bit of luck.”

They packed what little they had, their belongings hastily stuffed into a couple of old duffel bags. As they prepared to leave, Logan took a moment to glance back at the room they were leaving behind, a reminder of the chaos and danger they were escaping.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before someone shows up,” Logan said, his tone low and urgent. “The city’s not exactly safe, and we’ve got no time to waste.”

They made their way through the empty streets, their movements cautious and deliberate. The city was waking up, and with it came the hustle and bustle of a new day—one that neither of them had any intention of being a part of.

Y/N walked beside Logan, her hand occasionally brushing against his, a silent reminder of their shared journey. The streets were eerily quiet, the weight of their escape hanging heavily in the air. The city’s familiar sights were quickly becoming distant memories, replaced by the uncertainty of the open road ahead.

“So, what’s the plan?” Y/N asked, her voice breaking the silence. “Where do we go from here?”

Logan glanced at her, his eyes focused and serious. “We head north. There’s a cabin in the woods a few hundred miles away. It’s not much, but it’s off the grid. We can lay low there for a while, figure out our next move.”

Y/N nodded, absorbing the plan. “Okay. I trust you.”

“Good,” Logan replied, a hint of a smile on his lips. “We’ll make it. We just need to stick together and stay smart.”

As they continued their journey, the reality of their situation began to sink in. They were fugitives now, their past lives left behind in the wreckage of Marcus’s wrath. But amidst the uncertainty and danger, there was a growing bond between them—one forged in the fires of their shared struggles and the hope for a new beginning.

They traveled through small towns and rural areas, staying off the beaten path and avoiding any unnecessary attention. Each night, they would find a place to rest, whether it was an abandoned house or a makeshift campsite. They made do with what they had, finding solace in their shared strength and resilience.

One evening, as they sat around a small campfire, Y/N turned to Logan, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames. “You know, I never thought I’d be here. On the run, hiding from everything. But having you here... it makes things a bit more bearable.”

Logan looked at her, his gaze softening. “You’re not alone, Y/N. We’ve got each other, and that’s something.”

She smiled, a small but genuine expression of warmth. “Yeah, it is. And it means more than you know.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire their only companion. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with challenges and obstacles, but for the first time in a long time, there was a sense of hope—a belief that, despite everything, they might find a way to make it through together.

[websterss]

OUR QUIET START — ERIC (AQPDO)

SUMMARY: You didn't think much when you decided to leave the house today, you didn't plan for a world apocalypse, you didn't plan to fear for your life, you didn't plan to meet anyone new.

WARNING(S): angst, some fluff, signing, deaf son.

WORD COUNT: 1,963

PAIRING: Eric x fem!Reader  

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed.

MASTERLIST

You didn’t think your life could flip in an instant. One mere disaster that further evolved into living in fear and silence. You didn’t know what those things were, but all you knew was that the mere lot of them had descended from the sky and now they wreaked havoc in the streets. Your neighborhoods, your city. It wasn’t intact anymore. It had just been a regular day. A great day, one turned into a never-ending nightmare.

The echoes of everyone’s screams still haunt your nightmares. What was a nice sunny day turned into a living hell. You and your Thomas had only needed to get a few necessities that you were running short on. You didn’t think much of it until the ruckus started. Cars crashing into each other outside. Horns going off one by one. People began running frantically, running back into the stores, which had lured the things inside. You had instantly dropped everything and grabbed onto him. Tugging him down with you. Your backs pressed up against the shelves. Your first instinct was to reassure Thomas. He could see everything unfold before him, people running past the aisles, parents hoisting up their children, cans and packages falling, he registered everyone’s movement, but he couldn’t hear the screams and cries. Not like you could. The creature was picking everyone off one by one. You shed tears harder as you brought your hands out in front of you. Your hands were trembling as you managed to say what you needed to him.

Need stay quiet. You signed. You nodded rapidly, trying to make him understand. You brought your finger up to your lips to further emphasize. You brushed back his curls as he brought his own hands up to wipe at your fallen tears.

Your lips trembled as the clicks of the creature grew closer. The store fell into an eery silence. You were just waiting for someone to fuck up and make a sound. Draw attention and risk your lives.

Thomas tapped your arm to gather your attention. His brows furrowed deeply as he signed. Your eyes fell on his hands then his face.

Shooter, what?

You shook your head no. Reaching your hands forward to grip his own. You could see him stricken with fear and confusion. If it hadn’t been a shooter then what was it? Thomas shook his head, his own hands pushing your hands back up to explain it to him further. His jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed. He pushed against your hands again. Then he signed. Tell me. He mouthed me.

You sighed then closed your eyes. Your brain half working in the brink of nearly dying and trying to get the fuck out of the store. Monster. How the fuck did you forget the sign for monster? You opened your eyes back up. Raising your right hand to spell out monster for him. Letter by letter.

M.O.N.S.T.E.R. You then went to sign what you had been pondering what they were, they shot down from the sky that could only mean one thing right? You rose your hands up to your head, your hands curling to make devil horns, but instead you wigged your forefingers in a circle to sign alien. Your mouth mouthing the word for him as well. Alien.

Thomas’s eyes fell to the ground then back up to you. He shook his head, pressing against your lowering hands. That’s not what he wanted to know. You only locked eyes with him. Keep contact and nodding yes. His eyes widened in fear as he started registering it. His eyes stayed that way as he moved back a bit. His body slumping as his eyes wandered around. Looking to each end of the aisle you took shelter in. The store, you now realized might’ve been the wrong place to take shelter in, anything could clatter to the ground if you weren’t careful.

You figured he needed a minute because it was a lot to take in, but boy were you wrong. His eyes flew past your shoulder, and that’s when he saw the creature before you even heard it. He tugged on your sleeve frantically, scooting back, but you stayed frozen in place as you slowly turned to look at it. His eyes widened in fear. It turned into the row you were in. Thomas gripped your hand firmly. Sliding into your side. He went as far as to wrap his arm around you. His arm now between you and that thing, but it wouldn’t do much to protect you both. The alienated clicks it was making did not put you at ease. Especially as he creeped by you two. You held you breath, staying as still as you could muster. Thomas opted for closing his eyes. If he couldn’t see it, then surely it wouldn’t do anything to you guys, he thought. And it didn’t. Not yet anyway.

The creature didn’t see you. You further watched as it continued down the another end. The people in the aisle next to yours however hadn’t been so lucky. A can colliding with the floor capturing its attention right away. You silently gasped as you clung to Thomas. Burying your face in his chest. He pressed your head to his body. Creating a barrier between you and the horrid sight that was happening before him. His eyes watered as he looked away and let his forehead press on top of yours.

You had completely missed the man looking at you and your child, nor the creature coming back down towards you after tearing apart another person who dared to scream at the sight of them alone. So long as we didn’t make any noise they wouldn’t go near us, you began to put together. They were attracted to noise, so you just had to not make any.

Upon the creature getting closer the man decided to slowly pick up a can and launch it down the store. The loud clatter of the can was enough to drag the creatures attention that way. The cacophony of other peoples screams kept the creature and its second buddy busy. There had been two in the store with you all. He pushed himself up his feet, and grabbed both yours and Thomas’s hands, pulling you out the store before they turned back.

The chaos outside was worse off than the store. You would have rather stayed put inside to not have to watch New York fall apart in disaster. You clutched your son close to you, turning his eyes away from the chaos that administered around you. Various screams of those trying to out run the terrifying creatures down the streets, cars being flipped and ablaze with fire. Buildings shattered glass littering the streets and caught fire from the collision of their arrival. Your beloved city was no longer.

You turned to face the man who saved you both. His mouth opening to speak, but your hand shot out before you could think, covering his lips with your palm as you shook your head no.

He seemed to catch on as he scoped the vacant streets. He looked down brushing his hands against yours, you hesitated to follow him once more, but something in you told you to follow, to follow where he went. Better than staying out in the open. You looked down at Thomas who peered up at the man with feigned interest, he was guarded and caution of the new stranger.

Don’t trust him. He signed, shaking his head. His hands clawing upwards his chest area then curling into fists in an upward twist. Trust is what he signed. His brows pinched together. If his frown didn’t give him away, it had been the judgmental look he gave the man in the brown suit as he roamed his figure in a once over. You sighed quietly, bringing your hands up to sign back.

You mouthed its then brought your forefinger, middle finger and thumb together flicking them outwards in an okay sign. You mouthed Let’s then signed for trust. You brought your hands upwards your chest area too, then curled your hands into fists in an upward twist. Trust.

The roll of his eyes had you smiling. You got him. You extended your arm for him to take then allowed the man to lead, but not before he stuck his finger out in a waiting motion. He paused for a brief second, looking like he was thinking over something then lowered to your son’s height. He brought out his right hand and miserably failed to sign his name, the R passing for a U which had you and your son pinching your brows together. Euic?

Was he foreign?

Upon your lost expression, he looked to you and mouthed Eric. Pointing to himself.

You looked to his lips. AREECC. You mouthed his name to yourself slowly. Your mouth opened in realization knowing where he messed up. You looked down at Thomas whose eyes shifted back and forth between the two of you. You waited patiently till his eyes landed on you and your hand. E-R-I-C. You signed the R hard for emphasis in replacement of the U.

Eric? What? Really? Thomas’s brows shot up in amusement.

Your son deadpan at the man. Eric now labeled, was lost to his own confusion. You silently laughed, no sound echoing past your lips. You slowly helped him out hitting and making each letter out hard. You twisted your forefinger and middle finger together. Then pressed your thumb to lay on top of your ring finger. R you mouthed.

Eric copied your hands. R he mouthed. He went to make the attempt again with your son. He lowered down to his height and began with pointing to himself. I’m E-R-I-C. He smiled feeling happier he was able to get his name across to you both. He went further to extend his hand out, your Thomas was hesitant but eventually shook his hand. With learned precision, Thomas’s signed letters came out second nature. Watching Eric trying to catch each one was all the entertainment you needed today. You tapped his shoulder to look up at you. You slide your right dominant hand up your non dominant left a short distance across your forearm in a fast motion, starting from the back of the base.

Slow. You gave him a pointed look. He don’t sign. You slide your right dominant hand up your non dominant left a short distance across your forearm again, going even slower to emphasis very very slow.

Slow. You mouthed. Thomas huffed in annoyance. You understoodd his hate to go at the pace of someone who wasn’t fluent, his want for people to learn was valid, but not everyone wanted to or wasn’t very good at it.

He patted Eric and waited for his eyes to shift onto him. With reluctance and annoyance he brought his hand up and signed his name slow at your requests. T-H-O-M-A-S.

Thomas, he mouthed his name then pointed to himself.

“T–“ You had rushed forward again when Eric began to pronounce his name. You muffled the T before it spilled past his lips. You looked around, your heart beating against your chest, but the tension in your shoulders didn’t let up. A creature ran by but didn’t see nor hear you three. You let your head fall forward. Eric steadying himself with a hand on your shoulders. You shook your head again, lifting it slowly then bringing your forefinger to your lips. Your reminder to him to remain quiet. Quiet…you all needed to stay quiet. Your fear struck something within him, a need to not fail you again. To not fail you and Thomas ever again.

[sydneymykah]

☆MY FASHION ICONS☆

How to turn influence into originality

I think everyone should have at least 2 - 3 different fashion icons. Whether it's an artist, model, designer, fictional character or even cartoon. It's these influences that can help build upon your own fashion sense and style. Relating and gravitating towards certain people can help us decide how we want to present ourselves to the world. Help us find our inner confidence shine through to the physical. Taking bits and pieces from other influences to make something completely your own.

This post is in three sections

1. How finding your influences can help you find your style

2. My icons and their style

3. How I use their influence to find my own original style

(Also I use fashion icon and style icon interchangeably. The basis is just someone who’s fashionable and has a style you feel inspired by)

Lets get into it

FINDING INFLUENCE

Maybe you watched a movie when you were younger and a character dawned an outfit that has stuck with you forever. A specific show or movie has stayed with you simply because of the fashion alone. You discovered that you would give anything to dress like the people you grew up seeing on your screens. To a celebrity's iconic street style or a characters impeccable fashion choices. What we naturally gravitate towards is what inevitably ends up being our main influence. Knowing what we are inspired by helps us figure out how we want to represent ourselves. Today I'm focusing on fashion and style.

If you're someone who wants to figure out what inspires you I'd suggest to go explore all genres of films and tv. Regardless the decade I bet you, you will find a movie or show that resonates with you in terms of fashion/style and aesthetics. Pinterest of course is also an amazing place to look for inspo. Especially if you already have an idea of what you want but need expanding upon it. Environment also affects inspiration. I've seen people's style and how they express themselves completely change because they moved abroad or just simply to a new city. I hope people who read this who are in an environment who cant express themselves the way they want are able to find a place for them someday. If you cant find an environment physically, I'd suggest finding one online. Twitter communities, Tumblr and discord servers pertaining to your interests can help you extremely.

Now, people might struggle to take what inspires them and make something of their own without looking like a straight up carbon copy. Not knowing how to build a style and not look like they're wearing a costume. What I've found to be helpful is to start off by noticing patterns with how your influences dress. If one is a celebrity you can probably find interviews of them talking about the style you're trying to implicate. If it's a character(s) there's a high chance there are YouTube videos and even tiktoks dissecting their style. The best part about this is that you can pick and choose what you like and what you want to try out.

That is also how you eventually find your own style through influence. You have to do things through trial and error. I know that makes people wince because they don't want to look ridiculous but it's true. The main thing you need is confidence. And if you don’t have that fake it till you make it sis. I can think of many people and celebrities who started off one way and evolved into the icons they are today. To people like Rihanna, Bella Hadid, and Sabrina Carpenter. Even with them you can see what influences their style. Rihanna (who has gone through many fashion phases) once being very heavily influenced by 80's UK British punk rock style and Americana. Bella recently being influenced by vaquero and cowgirl chic fashion because of her current cowboy boyfriend Adan Banuelos. Sabrina being very influenced by baby doll aesthetics, lingerie, and 60's style of clothing. You can see with all of their influences they're able to make it theirs. Of course they have stylists to help them(not to take away from their own creativeness) but you can still find ways to help yourself.

Even I am in the trial and error stage. Finding out what I like and what my current influences wear that I want to try too. What helps me is making mood boards and finding pieces that look similar to the ones my inspirations wear. It’s important to note that just buying statement pieces won’t help you build style because it’s harder to create different outfits with them. Basics are VITAL. So don’t overlook them when dissecting your influences. Let me show you how I dissect the patterns and fashion sense my fashion icons have and how I use these as blueprints in figuring out how I want to style myself.

MY ICONS

FRAN FINE

Played by the fabulous Fran Dresher, Fran Fine was the main character in the extremely popular and iconic sitcom of the 90's "The Nanny". Fran being a flashy girl from Flushing Queens who stumbles into a nanny job taking care of rich bachelor Maxwell Sheffield's three kids. The shows main plot is the will they won't they dynamic between Fran and Mr. Sheffield and how unconventional of a nanny Fran is.

Her unconventional yet charming nature reflects in her many iconic outfits. Many pieces being traditionally sophisticated like blazers and turtlenecks are made more flirty and tempting with mini skirts. Frans style didn't shy away from any sort of color, texture or pattern. Wearing things that range from a brick pantsuit, a rainbow sequined strap dress, tiger print blazer and mini skirt set, many bright colored fur coats, and full vinyl and leather matching sets. Her main inspo to her fashion seems to take from 60’s and mod fashion trends. Especially with her big hair and headbands being her main choice of accessory.

Frans typical silhouette would consist of some sort of turtleneck or vest. If she wore a vest it'd usually would have some sort of blouse underneath (collared or another turtleneck). Her bottoms would either be fitted pants, a mini skirt, or a mini dress. Frans signature shoe was a classic pump heel and would usually wear some sort of stocking or tights with them. (usually black) Occasionally she'd switch out the pumps for a boot that would either be reminiscent of 60's mod or just a regular heeled boot. Fran loved a matching set so typically her skirts would usually match her jackets. Her jackets typically being cropped or regular sized blazers. A lot of them being fur trimmed.

CHER

Cher is a famous musician, actress and Tv host. She was the IT girl of the 70's deemed " Goddess of Pop" and was known muse for the incredible Bob Mackie, one of my favorite fashion designers.

Cher was known for her impeccable and ground breaking style. She was unique and was never afraid to dress outside the box. Proudly showing off her stomach and wearing very risqué mesh outfits. Cher's approach to fashion was like a hybrid of bohemian, Disco and old Hollywood glamour. The main thing I think of when it comes to Cher is how she was almost always decked out in sequins and diamonds. Forever sparkling and shining in the cameras. Looking like a colorful disco ball. Cher was also known to not shy away from feathers, furs, and metallics. Considering she can technically be considered a showgirl and had her own popular show filled with musical numbers it makes sense for her to wear that sort of fashion.

Cher's classic silhouette was usually some sort of form fitting, skin showing dress or two piece. She would start off covered in some sort of shawl or jacket that was usually fur or covered in feathers. Then she would reveal her outfit. Typically the outfit would show some a lot of skin, usually her stomach, chest and arms. She was almost aways wearing cross body dresses and tops. a top that would wrap around Chers chest but still show off her core and arms. If Cher wasn't wearing a dress with this type of top she was wearing flared disco pants/Bell bottoms. Similar to Fran, Cher never strayed from interesting patterns and designs. Both very flashy and fashion forward women who knew how to light up a room with just their style alone.

JEM

Jem, from the 80’s cartoon "Jem and the Holograms" is the lead singer of her pop rock band of the same name. Not only that but she’s also secretly Jerrica Benton, the groups manager and owner of her late father's record label starlight music. Jem's 80's fashion can only be described as truly outrageous along with her big pink hair.

Jem of the Holograms was a unique show not only for its premise but because the main cast almost always had a new outfit every episode. Jem didn’t have a consistent silhouette but her outfits were adjacent or the inverse to her alter self. Jerrica being more conservative and covered while jem was more flashy and glamourous. Like a rock star should. One thing consistent with jem were her colors. Pink being her iconic color along with purple, light blue, fuchsia, and yellow.

Jem wore everything from pant suits, bodycon dresses, ball gowns, evening gowns, trench coats, matching sets, and bodysuits. All with 80’s trends like shoulder pads, fingerless gloves, popped collars, patterns like polka dots, layered necklaces, and mini skirts (one reminiscent of tutus artists like Cyndi Lauper and Madonna would wear) The one accessory that stays consistent with her is her gem star earrings and if you notice in the show are the bands symbol. In many of her outfits she dawns a star shape or pattern

*Note that not just Jem inspires my fashion tastes in the show but other characters as well. The other person inspiring me second to her is her antagonist Pizzazz who I've opted as my alter ego. especially considering Jem wears pink and Pizzazz wears green, (opposite colors)

CREATING YOUR OWN STYLE

If it’s not obvious based off the three examples I gave, I like dressing like the brightest thing in the room. The star. The showgirl. The main character of you will. I like to be dressed up even if I’m the only one doing so. So naturally I gravitate to people (or characters) who dress like that. Showgirls like Lola Falana and Josephine Baker inspire me too. Now what I do is take the inspirations and make a mood board. You might've seen my "The Vibe I Bring to the Function" post. That is one example. I've created many moldboards of the type of style I want to have. By taking those influences I notice the similarities between them then make a base line. Here's what I've noticed with mine:

Sequins and rhinestones

Feathers and fur

Leather/Vinyl

Figure hugging

Skin showing

Bodysuits

Turtlenecks

Fitted Blazers/Suits

Flared pants/Bell Bottoms

Matching skirt/pants and jacket sets

Animal Print

Bold Prints/Patterns

Cross body/Halter tops

Bold and bright colors

Then I take this andattribute it to what I know looks good on me. Like certain accessories. for example headbands and bamboo hoops (usually in gold). Speaking of you should also learn your colors. Coincidentally Jems colors are actually some of mine. Especially the color pink. But like I said above trial and error is how you soon figure out what works for you and what doesn't. I used to have a romper body suit once that was baggy with spaghetti straps. The pants were hemmed with elastic so it looked like sweatpants… That's when I realized that if I wanna wear a bodysuit it looks better if its form fitting and flared at the leg lol. Asking people what looks good on you helps a lot too. A lot of the stuff I figured out looks good on me is because I consulted some good friends. When it comes to my environment I'm in an astrology discord chat with some close friends and long story short I'm associated with peacocks so I consider that into my style as well. I'm also from the south so southern inspired outfits also intrigue me. I take this all and experiment with it. I currently have a bunch of animal prints in my close to a peacock corset to an orange velvet bellbottoms. This is only the beginning.

At the end of it all it comes down to experimenting, finding what looks good and realizing that what you gravitate towards. Learning to style yourself is as easy as looking up the basics on YouTube and building on from there. Your icons in fashion will help you get to the direction you want and one day you’ll see how much you’ve developed.

Also ALWAYS remember that you’re in charge here. You can change whenever and whatever you want. You don’t have to find your style and stick with it forever. Like I mentioned before Rihanna has been through multiple different fashion phases, we’re seeing the same with Doja cat as well. Your influences now can be completely different later. Whether it’s your environment or tastes that change. Whatever you find in life that influences you. So today I might be dressing like a 70's showgirl the next a man-eater vampire. Still me at the end of the day. And whoever your icons are, or whatever your inspired by at the end of it all should be reflection of how you want to express yourself.

✧─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Xoxo, Sydney Mykah -☆

[alotofpockets]

The newest member | Alessia Russo

Pairing: Alessia Russo x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Alessia being extra protective of you during your pregnancy.

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | words: 1k

Over the years you had grown to love how protective Alessia was over you. She showed her protectiveness even in the smallest of ways, it had always made you feel safe and loved. Ever since the two of you found out that you were pregnant with your first baby, her protectiveness evolved. 

It started out very sweet, making sure she got you everything you needed, taking control of the conversation when the questions were getting too much for you, and setting up all the doctors appointments so that you didn’t have to worry about it. But as your pregnancy progressed, her protectiveness grew with it. You had mixed feelings over the new found protectiveness. 

There were the ways that you were grateful for, like telling strangers to back up when they reached their hands out to touch your belly without permission, or making sure that she grabbed everything you needed for your wide range of cravings from the store. But there were also ways that could be rather annoying at times. The further along you got into your pregnancy the less she let you do on your own. 

In your third trimester her biggest form of protectiveness was that she had taken the no heavy lifting advice that the doctor gave you as you not being allowed to lift anything. Which often led to frustration from your end. “Less, come on. There are literally two baby onesies in here, I think I can handle that on my own.” You roll your eyes at your wife as she takes the bag from your hands anyways.

In your fourth trimester she wouldn’t let you be home alone, ever. Having your wife around so much was great. She would read to the baby, make you food, and she gave you the lots of cuddles. But when she would leave to go to practice, she would have someone babysit you, which was less fun. She never called it babysitting, of course, but whenever she had to go another person randomly showed up on your doorstep. Whether it was her mom, a friend, or a teammate, there was always someone there. Luckily for you, the people she sent to babysit you never acted like that was why they were there. 

While usually Alessia’s antics of having someone practically babysit you were pretty annoying, today you were grateful to have someone around. Viv was with you today, she was still out because of her ACL injury, and therefore she wasn't joining the rest of the Arsenal girls for training just yet. You were in the kitchen, getting a glass of water, while Viv was sitting on the couch. “Viv, get in here.” You yell out. Viv hears the worry in your voice and is quick to her feet. “What’s wrong?” She asks, matching your worried tone. “My water just broke.” Viv moves to your side and grabs your arm to support you, “Okay, let’s get you to the hospital then.” She leads you to the front door, she scoops up the hospital bag that Alessia had placed next to the front door a couple of weeks ago, “Just in case.” she kept saying. While you settle in the car, she gives a quick call to Jonas. 

At the training field Jonas hangs up the call and heads over to the team again. “Girls, can I have everyone’s attention please.” He calls over and everyone jogs in his direction. “I thought I’d get everyone together for this announcement because I just got a call that is rather exciting.” The team has their full attention on their coach. “Alessia, your wife is in labor. Viv is driving her to the hospital as we speak.” Alessia stood in shock until her teammates start patting her on the back, and hugging her. “What are you waiting for Russo? Let’s go.” Katie says once her teammates are done hugging her. “I’ll drive.” Beth announced, rushing to the locker room to grab her keys.

You hear a knock on your hospital room door, Viv gets up and opens the door for your new guests. Alessia is immediately by your side and takes your hand in hers, “How are you feeling, baby?” She asks as she places soft kisses to your forehead. “At the moment I am mostly excited to meet this little girl.” You share.

When it was time for the delivery, Alessia ushered everyone out of the room. Over the years these girls had become your family but this was a moment you did not want them present at. Alessia stayed by your side the whole time, helping you do your breathing exercises, holding your hand, being supportive, and praising you for how well you were doing. The delivery was very hard but all was forgotten the second you got to hold your baby girl. Alessia asked one of the nurses to snap a few pictures, and enjoyed the moment of meeting your little girl for the first time. 

Once the doctors and you said visitors were okay, Alessia went to the waiting room where Viv, Beth, and Katie were very impatiently waiting. “Ready to meet our healthy baby girl?” She asked as she watches everyone get up full of excitement. They follow her in the room. You don’t think you’ve ever heard them be so quiet before. “You're allowed to make noice, you know?” Effectively pulling them out of their trances. Alessia picks up the baby from the little crib, and walks towards her teammates. “These are your aunties.” The girls huddle around the newborn, admiring the little girl. 

When it was time to take your little girl home, you dressed her up in the baby Arsenal jersey that Alessia got from the team. Your wife snaps a picture and sends it to the Arsenal group chat with the caption, ‘Meet the newest member of the team’. 

You enjoyed your first day at home with the newest member of your family with just the two of you. Letting family and friends know that both mom and baby were doing great, and setting up times for them to meet your little girl.

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a tip 💗

[bluublu-blub]

more yan! bf

another drabble of yan! bf trying to tie you down by terrifying the shit out of you. i can't believe this evolved from me wanting to see man on his knees to this. i once again apologize for not uploading frequently. i am working on it —life have been just... uncooperative.

Here's the thing with yan! bf, he will absolutely not try to hide that he is doing something behind your back. It baffles you to no end because it is so damn obvious that he is hiding something from you and he will look at you with eyes that urged you to ask him —"what". 

You don't want to know at all.

The whats and whys.

It's better to not know at all before it drown you with guilt.

You are well aware of the fact that he isn't the one to cheat. Yan! bf has nothing to hide after all, you just need to ask him a question and he will go down on his knees to answer your questions. At this point, you would rather be ignorant of what activities he is up to. 

There are moments where you think he is involved in some crime syndicate and with your less than stellar self-preservation would quive and hope that you won't get tangled in whatever crimes he committed. 

You probably should've broken your relationship especially if you care so much about your safety. But, you don't. You aren't that attached to him really. It's just for the sake of everyone's safety, you would rather stay with him. Besides, he is very endearing and loyal to you —what more could you ask for? 

It was one of the days where Liam refused to let you go. This happens far more frequently than you would want it to. His arms wrapped securely in your chest, his limbs are gripped tightly on your legs which makes movement seemingly almost impossible. 

"Liam, move." You tried to get out of his hold. 

Liam hummed before nuzzling into your head.

 

"I have work." 

Sighing at the top of your head, he whines at you. "Let's cuddle some more."

"I am going to be late." You tried to reason with him.

"Quit your job." He grumbled. "Spend more time with me."

You closed your eyes to try and calm your growing annoyance at his familiar remarks of you quitting. 

"I told you, you don't need to work." He says. 

"I need to work to live. Not everyone has a trust fund, Liam."

"Well, you need to think more of me then." You could feel him moving from your side to hold your face in place so he could look directly in your eyes. "I have more than enough for you."

There it is again.

You observed him as he grew more serious, eyes staring straight into your soul as he spoke. 

"Darling," he purred. "Do manage your expectations of me a lot higher than your average lowly guys."

Once again you could feel the unsettled foreboding feeling in your gut that made you want to run away. Yet, his hands are still locked in holding your face as if he knew that given a chance —you will try to run away from him. 

"While I do adore your stubborn personality, darling."

You feel trapped as he leans his forehead to yours. 

Suffocating as your breath hitched, the cold air felt a lot more colder than it was before as it touched your skin.

His eyes remind you of how terrifying he truly is.

"It would be better if you try to see where I am coming from."

[formulas-bitch]

streamer Lando Norris x artist/reader

In a world where streaming had become the new norm, Lando Norris found himself in an unlikely partnership with a female streamer. Their names were as different as their personalities; he, a young, charismatic racer with a penchant for speed and risk-taking; she, an enigmatic artist with a flair for storytelling and an uncanny ability to connect with her audience. Their partnership was not born out of convenience or necessity, but rather, a strange and inexplicable twist of fate.

As they streamed together, their chemistry was undeniable. Lando would bring the thrill of the race to the screen, his fingers dancing across the controller as he maneuvered his way through virtual tracks at breakneck speeds. His laughter and cheers echoed through the studio, filling the air with an infectious energy that seemed to lift the spirits of everyone around him. On the other hand, the female streamer would take the reins when it came to interacting with their audience, engaging in witty banter and sharing intimate details about her life as an artist.

Their fans, known as the "Lando's Angels" and the "Artiste's Aficionados," were equally devoted. They would tune in religiously to witness the dynamic duo's antics, often spending hours in their streams, cheering them on and leaving generous donations. The streamer pair's popularity only grew with time, transcending the boundaries of gaming and art. They became cultural icons, their influence spreading far and wide.

Lando and the female streamer continued to push each other to greater heights, experimenting with new games, art forms, and storytelling techniques. They embarked on charity streams, using their platform to raise awareness and funds for various causes close to their hearts. Their partnership was not without its share of challenges, of course. They had their fair share of arguments and disagreements, but they always managed to find common ground and work through their differences.

As their fame grew, so did the pressure. Lando found himself constantly in the spotlight, his every move scrutinized by fans and critics alike. He struggled with maintaining a private life and the constant need to be "on" for his audience. The female streamer, on the other hand, dealt with her own set of challenges as she navigated the often-misogynistic landscape of the streaming world. Despite these obstacles, they remained a beacon of positivity and resilience, inspiring countless others to chase their dreams and find their own unique voices in the world of streaming and art.

Their partnership eventually evolved into something more than just a professional arrangement. As they spent more time together, traveling the world for gaming and art conventions, attending exclusive events, and collaborating on creative projects, a deep bond began to form between them. Lando found himself falling for the enigmatic artist, her wit, charm, and unyielding strength winning him over. She, in turn, found herself drawn to his vulnerability, his willingness to open up and share his fears and insecurities with her. Their relationship was not without its fair share of challenges, but they faced them together, their love for each other serving as a guiding light.

As their personal lives intertwined, so did their professional lives. They launched their own production company, hiring a team of talented streamers and artists to join them in their quest to create something truly special. Together, they pushed the boundaries of what was possible in the world of streaming and art, exploring new genres, mediums, and storytelling techniques. Their streams became less about the games they played or the art they created and more about the stories they told, the lives they shared, and the connections they forged with their audience.

[wing-ed-thing]

Enemies to Lovers with Tobirama Senju

Tags: No Reader Pronouns

𓆃 It's actually surprisingly uncomplicated to go from an enemy to a lover with Tobirama, contrary to assumptions. And it's because he's an extremely logical person.

𓆃 Given that you end up proving yourself to be trustworthy, Tobirama is willing to take things of the past at face-value and weigh them against actions of the present.

𓆃 All clans, after all, were warring. And when peace was inevitably negotiated, there wasn't a single soul who had nothing to look past.

𓆃 Things might actually go smoother if you knew Tobirama prior to the foundation of the village. Seeing each other in passing on the field or even engaging on combat together would, at the very least, establish some familiarity between the two of you.

𓆃 Especially for the period, battlefield etiquette was an unspoken rule that almost everyone engaged in. And while you could expect an increase in underhanded tactics when things grew contentious, at the very least, you learned your opponent's name.

𓆃 And while Tobirama isn't one to throw out compliments to you during your altercations, the engagement itself is a testament to your strength and praise to your skill.

𓆃 He'll get oddly silent, his eyes never leaving you as he charges at you over and over with his blade. Although, this isn't to say that he's rash when it comes to you. Rather, it's the opposite.

𓆃 His gaze is dark and calculated, and his intense focus is a compliment in and of itself. It means he's taking you seriously.

𓆃 And once the village eventually comes together, building rapport with Tobirama only becomes easier, especially if your people are on board and cooperating with the effort or if you're an active participant in negotiations and/or leadership.

𓆃 It takes time, genuine interactions, and, of course, some amount of trust to break through Tobirama's hard exterior. He's fairly aloof and abrasive, but demonstrating your seriousness when it comes to the issues can gain you a powerful ally.

𓆃 Tobirama can also smell an act from a mile away, so sincerity is key to building a relationship. And no matter what your dynamic evolves into, it's one built on trust and honesty.

𓆃 It's extremely likely that Tobirama will fall first... and not know it, which leads to you noticing him around quite a bit, always finding an excuse to talk to you while also staying stand-offish and aloof.

𓆃 He tries to stay a logical as he can, but every so often his nerves will get the better of him, resulting in various fumbles or misspoken words.

𓆃 But don't be mistaken, if things start to go south with any agreements between your clans, Tobirama won't shy away from the issues and may speak with less tact than he should. But it's important to understand that his approach is logical.

𓆃 It's not something he necessarily holds against you, and he's not quick to hard assumptions, but he's also not turning a blind eye to anything that might concern him just because of his affection for you.

𓆃 After all, his family comes first.

𓆃 But given enough evidence, Tobirama is readily able to move forward on the grounds of mutual respect and understanding. He doesn't like to talk much about the past in the first place.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I had to feed my Tobirama stans a little

[fanbasetwo]

Ꮺ . , BEING ENEMIES WITH WONBIN !!

NOTE FROM SENA , (this is a fic in a headcanon manner) first wonbin work lesss gaurr , MASTERLIST!!

i. THE BEGINNING OF A SILLY FEUD

Your rivalry with Wonbin started over the most ridiculous thing ever: his best friend stealing a strawberry from your best friend’s lunchbox in 3rd grade.

Your best friend cried for hours about the betrayal, and you decided it was your duty to avenge her. Naturally, this meant you had to hate Wonbin by association.

“You’re friends with a thief!” you’d declared with the confidence only an indignant child could muster.

“It’s just a strawberry! You’re crazy,” Wonbin had retorted, rolling his eyes.

And from then on, you two were sworn enemies. Even as the years passed, the petty grudge somehow persisted, growing into something you didn’t even know how to stop.

ii. HIGH SCHOOL : THE RIVALRY EVOLVES

By high school, the rivalry had become an unspoken rule. If there was a chance to one-up or annoy each other, you both took it without hesitation.

During group projects, you’d fight over ideas until the teacher had to separate you.

If he scored higher than you on a test, he’d make sure you knew about it: “Better luck next time,” he’d say with a smug grin.

If you beat him in a game during gym class, you’d make a point to celebrate a little too enthusiastically, just to watch his annoyed reaction.

Your classmates were so used to the bickering that they didn’t even bat an eye anymore. “Oh, it’s just Y/n and Wonbin being Y/n and Wonbin.”

iii. THE MILK INCIDENT

The rivalry reached its peak when you heard a rumor that Wonbin had bullied one of your friends. Furious, you decided to confront him in the most dramatic way possible—by dumping a carton of milk over his head during lunch.

The cafeteria went silent as everyone turned to stare. Wonbin froze, milk dripping from his hair as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“What the hell was that for?!” he finally asked, his voice sharp and low.

“For my friend, you jerk!” you shouted back, feeling righteous in your actions.

Later, your friend admitted she’d lied, and you were mortified. But by then, the damage was done—Wonbin refused to talk to you, and you could feel his cold gaze whenever you crossed paths in the hallways.

iv. FAILED ATTEMPTS TO APOLOGIZE

Guilt gnawed at you, so you decided to apologize. Writing a note felt like the easiest option since facing him seemed impossible.

“I’m sorry for the milk thing. I overreacted. Can we talk?” you wrote, slipping the note into his locker before rushing away.

The next day, you saw him take the note out, glance at it, and toss it in the trash without even opening it. You felt your blood boil. How dare he ignore me like that?!

v. CORNERING HIM AFTER CLASS

The silent treatment pushed you to the edge. After one particularly tense class, you followed Wonbin out and grabbed him by the collar, shoving him against a wall.

“Why are you acting like this? I said I was sorry!” you snapped, glaring up at him.

He looked down at you, completely unfazed. “You think one sorry note fixes everything?” he shot back, his tone sharp.

“What else do you want me to do? Get on my knees and beg?”

“You could try thinking before you act for once,” he said, his words hitting harder than you expected.

vi. THE UNEXPECTED KISS

The argument grew more heated, voices rising as you both vented years of pent-up frustration.

“You’re so infuriating!” you shouted, your grip tightening on his collar.

“You’re not exactly a walk in the park either!” he retorted, leaning closer as if challenging you.

In a moment of pure impulsive anger, you yanked him down by his uniform collar and kissed him hard.

For a split second, he froze, but then his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with equal intensity. It was messy, fiery, and charged with all the unresolved tension between you two.

vii. THE AFTERMATH

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together.

Wonbin smirked, his lips still inches from yours. “Still hate you,” he murmured, but the teasing edge in his voice felt softer, almost playful.

“Good,” you muttered back, even though your heart was racing.

viii. A SHIFT IN THE DYNAMIC

After that kiss, things between you and Wonbin were… different. The bickering continued, but now there was an underlying tension that neither of you could ignore.

He started teasing you more often, but his comments were laced with a new kind of warmth.

“Don’t trip over your own feet,” he’d say during gym class, but his smirk would linger a little longer than usual.

You found yourself glancing at him in class, wondering if he was thinking about the kiss as much as you were.

ix. NEW “RIVALRY” RULES

The “hate” between you two started feeling more like a game. When he scored higher than you on a test, you’d roll your eyes but secretly smile at his smug expression.

When you outperformed him in a group activity, he’d groan dramatically but give you a subtle nod of approval.

Your friends noticed the shift immediately. “Are you two… flirting?” one of them asked during lunch.

“Flirting? With him? Never,” you scoffed, but the blush on your cheeks gave you away.

x. THE UNSPOKEN TRUTH

Neither of you openly acknowledged what had happened in that hallway, but it was clear that something had changed.

You still pretended to hate each other, but the lingering glances and subtle smiles told a different story.

And though you’d never admit it out loud, you didn’t really hate Wonbin anymore. If anything, you might actually like him. But for now, you were content to keep playing the game—because that’s just how things were with you and Wonbin.

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[squiddy-god]

"Festering feelings"

Dragon! Albedo x reader

Ok this was written before the event with albedo "twin"

♥︎REQUEST ARE OPEN♥︎ don't be shy, send request for any of the fandoms on my fandom list, you can even recommend shows/games if they aren't there. Or even if you just want to chat! Anon is also always open!

CW : no beta, not proofread, subtle yan!albedo but nothing explicit or too bad, corrupted!albedo, dragon! Albedo, albedo is corrupted by durins heart and turns more draconic- the reader is kind of scared but into it. Murder (it's a fatui) slight gore,

1.5k

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You were close with albedo, helping him with the numerous experiments he evolved himself in, watching his ever diligent mind work through the process of alchemy like gears turning in a clock. Truly he was a genius, a wealth of knowledge accumulated over the years, countless tests and trials behind those blue eyes. 

It would be a lie if you said you didn't admire the man, and an even bigger lie to say you didn't have a crush on the young alchemist. From the way his ash blond locks framed his face to the way his eyes lit up when a new discovery was made- everything seemed to make your heart flutter in your chest, beating rapidly as you tried to calm it. You wondered if he could feel the same, yet quickly dismissed the thought. They say that love is blind, and that seems to be the only explanation as to why you failed to notice the way his eyes lit up when you spoke, the way he latched onto your very word, never growing tired of your voice. 

He loved you, the way you walked around his lab, lovely eyes darting around the shelves looking for what he needed, the way you listened to him and always asked questions, all of the endearing things you did for him, they all made his heart swoon and jump. The unfamiliar feeling of butterflies fluttering in his stomach often arose when you spoke to him, your voice a melody in his head. 

However unlike you, albedo had suspicion that you felt the same. The way your eyes darted away from his, how eager you were to help him, how you rushed off when you caught him so shamelessly staring at you. He wouldn't make a move, no- not until he was certain he wouldn't be rejected. 

At first he had tried doing much the same he did with everyone else, keeping his distance so as to not create a tedious relationship, yet it proved to only be the opposite. The more distance he tried to put between you the more his heart longed for yours, and the more his mind would scream at him to stop pushing you away. So he listened, if keeping distance wouldn't work then he might as well embrace the feelings that festered within him, he'd hold you as close as you'd let him. 

That had been the normal routine, even in the small lab at dragonspine he still had you assist him. "Y/n, you get me three lamp grass? " He asked, eyes not leaving the desk in front of him as his slender hands delicately mixed and worked. "Of course albedo, top shelf right? " You were already walking towards the tall shelves, stacked to the brim with various ingredients. Albedo hummed in disagreement "I put them on the middle this time, it had more space" You chuckled and grabbed the lamp grass, placing them next to one of the many containers and beakers, "thank you y/n'' He flashed you a gentle smile, his eyes soft as he watched in silent amusement while you grew flustered. 

"A-anything else you need albedo? " He humed, "no, get some rest, I'll manage on my own" He had already turned back to his work when you sighed and shook your head. You placed a hand gently on his shoulder, "don't overwork yourself alright? " You asked him. He didn't turn towards you on account of the red dusting his cheeks. "I won't. make sure to get a full night's rest, otherwise the physical experiments tomorrow may become botched" You nodded before heading off to where you slept. 

It wasn't often that albedo became flustered, but recently it had become more difficult to keep his emotions in check around you. He wanted nothing more than to hold you close to him, to press his lips to yours and here you say his name oh so sweetly. But the emotions seemed to only grow in intensity, festering under lock and key. He'd noticed how they seemed to grow darker, he didn't like the stinging in the back of his throat when he saw you speak with others, nor did he enjoy the need to seal you away, to keep you to himself. 

Weeks passed as it grew more and more difficult for him. You noticed the change in his behavior, how his mind seemed disorganized, how he spent longer and longer away, when he didn't sleep- his eyes growing paranoid and at times almost hostile. You were beyond worried, especially now that he had been gone for what seemed like hours. You drumed your fingers against the wooden desk in an attempt to distract yourself from the frantic paranoia. 'He would be alright' you told yourself, albedo was anything but weak, yet in his current state it made you worry. 

Sighing to yourself you got up and grabbed your sword, quickly writing a note encase he came back before setting off. The fur of your heavy cloak already collecting the falling snowflakes. He had said he'd be in Wyrmrest valley, so that is where you will go first. 

Deep in the heart of wyrmrest valley not a soul dared to make a sound, the warmth of the caver, bathed in a terrifying red glow made his skin feel like it was on fire. He felt an odd connection with the heart, veins drawing his to step closer as they always had. Derived from the earth, made from the same spotless soil and cut from the same cloth. Perhaps that's why it had drawn him in, the sense of connection and sameness giving way for the corruption to sink into his being. 

Reaching out a gloved hand he was too late to draw himself away, his vision clouded over with a foggy red as he collapsed. It felt as though his gloves had fused to his skin, now turning to rigged scales, pitch black and hard as stone, cracks along his now scaled forearms glowed with a fuchsia red, his once blunt nails growing into sharp claws, two sets of horns sprouting on his head, the top set large and curving back and the bottom pair curved forward,  the same glowing cracks adorned on both sets. His long tail thrashed back and forth, black scales and red spines shifting and he held his face in his claws. 

His pupils dilated into red slits, teeth growing sharp and fanged. The star at the base of his throat now glowed the same fuchsia red, cracks spreading out from it and along his body. 

For once in weeks he felt at ease, mind now riddled with an inky fog, clouded yet sharp as ever. His head turned to attention when he heard the heavy footsteps outside the cavern entrance. Eyes lighting up at the thought of it being you, so that he could finally hold you close to him without pesky interruption. Yet disappointment caused his stare to turn cold as he gazed upon the fatui skirmishers. Whatever the pests wanted he had already grown bored of it, opting to simply take care of them now lest they cause trouble later. 

You really had come at the worst moment, albedo elbow deep in a skirmishers chest, his gaze as cold as the permafrost. You watched as the body dropped to the ground. "A-albedo" He snapped his head towards you with a grimace, he didn't like the way you said his name, the sweet tone you always called him with now gone, lost to the snow that whipped and swirled outside. A step back, a step forward, he matched your pace ten fold, standing over you with sad eyes. 

His clawed hands took the sword that you losely gripped in your hands, Twirling it with skill before it was enveloped in a golden light, a Snapdragon soon taking its place as he tucked it behind your ear. 

"Albedo? You-" He shushed you gently, claws caressing your cheek, careful not to press too hard. "I'm certain you feel the same y/n" He cupped your face, the gentle look in his eyes lacking the same warmth they once had, now replaced with a festering heat, a smoldering fire."So will you allow me to perform an experiment? " You swallowed the lump in your throat before nodding slowly, hesitance in your movement as a wicked grin spread across his features. And without wasting time he pressed his lips to yours. They were hot against yours, your skin cold from the outside as he used his other hand to press the back of your head. He didn't want to pull away, he wanted to deepen the kiss more, to hold you closer and longer. Alass you needed air, so he relented and pulled back, only for your lips to follow his. 

You knew he was still in there, even if only a shred of his true self remained, even if it was a pointless endeavor, you wouldn't give up, you'd bring him back one way or another. 

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[nextchae]

between the lines — choi yeonjun

word count: 9.8k

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

synopsis: Y/N and Yeonjun, two close friends who live together as roommates in the city, have a close friends with benefits/no-strings-attached relationship. As they navigate their individual careers���Y/N as a songwriter and Yeonjun as a choreographer—they struggle with unspoken feelings that simmer beneath the surface.

genre: friends with benefits to lovers, slight angst, miscommunication trope, light smut

The soft strum of guitar strings fills the dimly lit living room, the melody threading through the quiet apartment like a whisper. You sit on the worn couch, your notebook balanced on your knee, as you search for the right words. The familiar comfort of the space surrounds you—walls decorated with concert posters, a few scattered vinyl records, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. It’s a place you’ve grown to call home, even if it started as just a convenience.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since you and Yeonjun decided to split the rent on this place. What began as a practical solution—a way to save money while chasing your dreams in the city—soon turned into something more. The late-night talks, the shared meals, and the quiet moments between the rush of your lives somehow blurred the lines. You’re not quite sure when the shift happened, when friendship evolved into something more complicated, something without ties or titles. 

You moved to the city almost three years ago, fresh out of college and full of dreams of making it big as a songwriter. You’d always had a way with words, a knack for turning feelings into lyrics that resonated with people. Growing up, you’d spent hours writing songs in your bedroom, dreaming of the day when someone famous might sing them. But it wasn’t until you landed an internship at a small music label during your last year of college that you realized this could be more than just a dream.

The city was everything you’d hoped for—fast-paced, full of opportunities, and alive with the energy of people chasing their own dreams. You threw yourself into your work, writing day and night, determined to prove yourself. It wasn’t easy, and there were times when you wondered if you’d made the right choice, but you kept pushing forward. Music was your lifeline, your way of making sense of the world, and you couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

You met Yeonjun about a year after moving here. It was during one of those early-morning sessions at the company, both of you exhausted but still driven to keep working. You’d bonded over coffee and shared frustrations, finding comfort in each other’s company in a world that could often feel isolating. He’d been working as a choreographer for a few years by then, having moved to the city not long before you.

Yeonjun’s story is different from yours, but in some ways, it’s the same. He grew up in a small town, the kind where everyone knows each other, and where being different wasn’t always accepted. He’d always been drawn to dance, ever since he was a kid, but it wasn’t until he saw a hip-hop performance on TV that he realized it was something he could actually do. He taught himself at first, practicing in his room for hours until he could mimic the moves perfectly. But it wasn’t just about copying what he saw—he wanted to create something of his own, to express himself in a way that words never could.

After high school, he knew he had to leave if he wanted to pursue dance seriously. The city was the obvious choice, a place where he could be anonymous and free to chase his dreams without the weight of small-town expectations. It was hard at first—finding gigs, making a name for himself—but Yeonjun had always been determined. He took whatever jobs he could get, building a portfolio, until finally, he landed a position as a choreographer at the company where you both now work.

Yeonjun pours himself into his work in a way that’s both admirable and heartbreaking. He’s always been the type to push himself to the brink, to give everything he has to his art, even if it leaves him drained. It’s something you recognize in yourself, that same drive to create, to pour your heart and soul into your work until there’s nothing left. But where you find comfort in words, Yeonjun finds it in movement, in the physicality of dance. It’s his way of processing the world, of dealing with the things he can’t say out loud.

You pause, tapping the pen against your chin, lost in thought. The song you’re working on is different from the others. The lyrics feel too close to home, too revealing. You’ve always been good at keeping things casual, especially with Yeonjun, but this song? It’s like a confession you’re not ready to make.

The front door creaks open, and you look up to see Yeonjun entering, his shoulders slightly slouched, the exhaustion from hours of rehearsal evident in his posture. His hair is tousled, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his skin, a testament to his dedication. He’s always been passionate about his work, throwing himself into every dance like it’s his last. It’s something you admire about him—his unwavering commitment to his craft, the way he’s able to express emotions through movement that you sometimes struggle to put into words.

“Long day?” you ask, setting the notebook aside as he drops his bag by the door and kicks off his shoes.

“Yeah,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The new routine is killing me. But I think it’s finally coming together.”

You nod, watching him move across the room to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and takes a long drink before leaning against the counter, his gaze flickering to your notebook. “Still working on that song?”

“Trying to,” you admit, your voice tinged with frustration. “It’s not coming out the way I want it to.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Can I hear it?”

You hesitate, your fingers brushing over the pages as if they might burn you. It’s not that you don’t trust Yeonjun; it’s just that this song feels too personal, too risky. But then again, he’s always been the one you could show your rough drafts to, the one who gets it without you having to explain. 

“Maybe later,” you say, offering a small smile to soften the refusal. He doesn’t push, just nods and crosses the room to sit beside you on the couch. The proximity is familiar, comforting in a way that you’ve grown used to but never quite gotten over.

Yeonjun stretches out, his arm resting on the back of the couch behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. It’s moments like these, when the world outside fades away, that you remember why this whole thing started. The physical connection, the ease of it—it’s always been so simple with him. No complications, no promises, just an understanding between two people who found something they both needed. 

“How was your day?” he asks, his voice low, as if to match the quiet of the room.

You shrug, leaning back against the cushions. “Just the usual. Worked on some lyrics, played around with a few melodies. Nothing groundbreaking.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that makes you wonder if he’s amused or just genuinely happy to be here with you. “You always say that, and then you come up with something amazing.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Choi.”

“Is that so?” His hand slides down from the back of the couch to rest lightly on your shoulder, a touch that’s more familiar than you’d care to admit. It’s not meant to be anything more than a casual gesture, but there’s a weight to it that neither of you acknowledge. 

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, the room feels smaller, the air thicker. You’ve had moments like this before—moments where you could swear there’s something unspoken between you, something more than just friendship or convenience. But just as quickly as it comes, the moment passes, and you’re left with the same comfortable silence that’s defined your relationship for so long.

“You hungry?” he asks, breaking the tension as he stands up and heads to the kitchen again. “I can make us something to eat.”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, grateful for the distraction. You watch him move around the kitchen, the easy familiarity of it all reminding you of why this arrangement has worked so well for so long. 

It’s easy to fall into routine with Yeonjun. Easy to keep things as they are, without complicating them with feelings you’re not ready to confront. You’re close, closer than you’ve been with anyone else in a long time, but there’s a line you’ve both drawn that neither of you have dared to cross. At least, not yet.

But as you sit there, your notebook still open beside you, you can’t help but wonder how long you can keep pretending that what you have is enough. That the song you’re writing isn’t about him. That the feelings you’ve buried won’t eventually surface, demanding to be acknowledged.

You glance at Yeonjun, who’s now humming a tune as he chops vegetables, and you feel that familiar pang of uncertainty. He’s your friend, your roommate, your…whatever this is. But more than that, he’s become someone you can’t imagine your life without.

And that’s what scares you the most.

As the scent of food begins to fill the apartment, you pick up your pen and return to the lyrics, hoping that somehow, the right words will find you. But deep down, you know that this song—like everything else between you and Yeonjun—won’t be finished until you’re ready to face what’s really there.

Until then, you’ll keep writing, keep playing, and keep pretending that the notes between the lines don’t mean anything more than they should.

But you know better. And so does he.

Yeonjun's humming fills the small kitchen as he moves with practiced ease, his hands skillfully chopping vegetables while he sways to a beat only he can hear. You watch him from your spot on the couch, momentarily distracted from your lyrics. There's something calming about the way he moves, a rhythm in everything he does that makes you think he was born to dance.

You close your notebook and set it aside, deciding to give up on the song for now. The smell of sizzling garlic and onions begins to fill the air, making your stomach grow in anticipation. Yeonjun always jokes that he's not much of a cook, but you know better. He's not a gourmet chef, but there's something about the way he prepares a simple meal that makes it taste like home.

"Smells good," you say as you walk over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside him.

"Thanks," he replies, flashing you a grin.

"It'll be ready in a few minutes."

You nod, letting the silence between you stretch out comfortably. Moments like this are what you've grown to cherish-simple, unassuming, and yet filled with a sense of closeness that you don't often find elsewhere. It's not just about the physical connection; it's the ease of being in each other's company without the need for words.

When the food is ready, you both settle on the couch with plates in hand, the TV on but more for background noise than anything else. The meal is simple stir-fried vegetables with rice, but it's exactly what you need after a long day.

"You know," Yeonjun starts, his voice breaking through the quiet, "we should do this more often."

You glance at him, curious. "Do what?"

"Have dinner together. Talk. Just...hang out without any expectations."

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Are you saying our usual arrangement has expectations?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You know what I mean. We're always so busy, and when we're not, well..." He trails off, but the implication is clear.

When you're not busy, you're usually in bed together, caught up in something that's more physical than anything else.

"Yeah," you admit softly, picking at your food. "I guess we could use more nights like this."

The conversation lulls after that, but it's not uncomfortable. Instead, it feels like something unspoken has settled between you, something that's been lingering for a while now. You finish eating and place your plate on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch with a contented sigh.

Yeonjun follows suit, setting his plate aside before stretching out beside you.

His arm brushes against yours, and though it's a simple touch, you feel a spark that you're not entirely sure how to ignore. You shift slightly, trying to create some space, but he's already there, his presence warm and familiar.

You've been here before-curled up on this couch, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, the line between friendship and something more always blurred. But tonight, it feels different. There's an awareness in the air, a tension that neither of you seems willing to address.

Yeonjun's arm drapes over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It's a touch that could be innocent, but the way your heart speeds up tells you otherwise. You glance at him, and he meets your gaze, his expression unreadable but intense.

"You're tense," he murmurs, his voice low, the words almost lost in the hum of the TV.

You force a smile, trying to downplay the sudden rush of nerves. "Just tired, I guess."

He doesn't reply, but his hand moves, his fingers tracing a light pattern along your shoulder, down your arm. It's such a simple touch, yet it sends a shiver through you, one that you try and fail — to hide. Your body reacts instinctively, leaning into his touch, your breath hitching slightly as his hand moves lower, grazing the side of your waist.

"Yeonjun.." You say his name softly, a warning that's half-hearted at best.

You've been here so many times before, and you know where this is heading, but something about tonight feels different.

There's an undercurrent of something more, something that makes your heart race in a way that it hasn't before.

"Hmm?" His hand pauses, his fingers resting lightly on your side, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours as he turns to face you. "Is this okay?"

The question hangs in the air, loaded with implications that neither of you dares to voice. It's not like he's never touched you like this before-in fact, you're all too familiar with the way his hands feel against your skin. But tonight, there's a hesitation in his voice, as if he's asking for something more than just permission to touch you.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, as you nod. "Yeah, it's... it's fine."

He takes your word for it, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate path along your side. The sensation is maddeningly gentle, his fingertips barely grazing your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You feel the tension in your body ratchet up a notch, every nerve ending on high alert as he continues to explore.

Your own hand, almost as if acting on its own, moves to rest on his thigh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants. It's a bold move, one that you might not have made if you weren't already teetering on the edge, but there's something about the way he's looking at you, something in his eyes that pulls you in, making it impossible to resist.

His breath hitches slightly at your touch, his eyes darkening as he shifts even closer, his body now pressed against yours. The hand on your waist tightens, pulling you toward him until there's no space left between you, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. There's a question in the way he says your name, a plea that you're not sure you're ready to answer, but your body responds before your mind can catch up.

You lean into him, your lips brushing against his neck, the barest hint of a kiss, but it's enough to send a jolt of electricity through both of you. His hand slides lower, resting on your hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you onto his lap.

It's a familiar position, one you've found yourselves in more times than you can count, but tonight it feels different.

There's a desperation in the way he holds you, a need that's been simmering just below the surface for too long. You can feel it in the way his hands move over your body, in the way his breath quickens as your lips find their way to his jawline.

"Are we really doing this?" you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. You’re not sure why you even ask, you’ve been here so many times before, but something tonight feels different. Wrong.

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that's as intense as it is unexpected. It's not the first time you've kissed him, but it feels like it might be the last time you can pretend this is just about physical need. There's something more behind the kiss, something that makes your heart race and your mind spin.

The kiss deepens, your hands tangling in his hair as you press closer, his body warm and solid beneath yours. His hands roam over your back, your waist, anywhere he can reach, and you find yourself responding in kind, your own hands exploring the familiar terrain of his body.

But as the kiss grows more heated, you realize that you're not just reacting to the physical sensation. There's an emotional undercurrent here, something that's been building for months, maybe even years, and now that it's finally bubbling to the surface, you're not sure how to handle it.

You pull back slightly, your breath coming in short gasps as you look into his eyes. There's a question in his gaze, one that mirrors your own uncertainty.

But there's also something else— something raw and unspoken that makes you want to throw caution to the wind. And for a moment, you're both frozen, caught in the limbo between friendship and something more, unsure of which way to go.

But then he's kissing you again, his lips urgent against yours, as if trying to drown out the uncertainty with the heat of the moment. And for now, you let him, because as much as you hate to admit it, you're not ready to face what this might really mean.

Not yet.

So you lose yourself in him, in the feel of his hands on your skin, in the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this. And you tell yourself that you'll figure it out later, that you can keep pretending a little while longer.

The sound of your footsteps echoes through the long, polished corridors of the company building as you make your way to the songwriting studios. The building is abuzz with activity, a hive of creativity where music is born, and you’ve spent countless hours here, pouring your heart into melodies and lyrics that others will one day sing.

Today, you’re scheduled to work with a team of producers and other songwriters on a new project, a high-profile debut that the company’s placing a lot of faith in. It’s a challenge, but one you’ve grown used to over the years. You’ve always thrived in environments where pressure and creativity intersect—where the need to deliver something extraordinary pushes you to your limits. But this morning, your mind isn’t fully on the task ahead. Instead, it keeps drifting back to last night, to the way Yeonjun’s touch lingered on your skin long after you’d untangled yourselves on the couch.

It’s always like this, the day after. A strange, awkward tension that hangs in the air between you, unspoken but undeniable. You’re close—closer than most friends—but there’s a fragility to your connection that neither of you seems willing to address. Last night’s kiss, the way he held you as if he was afraid you might slip away, only made things more complicated.

But that’s how it’s always been with Yeonjun. Complicated.

As you step into the studio, you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. The room is already filled with the low hum of conversation, the team gathered around a table strewn with sheet music, laptops, and half-empty coffee cups. 

“Y/N! Right on time,” one of the producers, Sejin, greets you with a smile. He’s well respected in the industry, someone you’ve worked with before, and his easy-going nature helps put you at ease.

“Morning,” you reply, forcing a smile as you take a seat. “What are we working on today?”

“Just going over the latest drafts for the new group,” Sejin explains, handing you a stack of lyric sheets. “We’ve got a few solid tracks, but we’re still missing that one song to really set them apart.”

You nod, scanning the lyrics quickly before glancing up at the others around the table. They’re all talented in their own right, but you’ve always felt a bit like an outsider in these sessions. You’re used to writing alone, letting the words flow naturally without the constraints of collaboration. It’s not that you can’t work with others—it’s just that your process is different, more introspective, and sometimes that doesn’t mesh well with the fast-paced, team-oriented environment here.

Still, you dive into the work, offering suggestions, tweaking melodies, and trying to find that perfect line that will tie everything together. Hours pass in a blur of creativity, the familiar rush of crafting something new temporarily pushing aside the thoughts of Yeonjun and the tangled mess of feelings you’re trying to sort through.

But as the session winds down, you find yourself distracted once again, your mind wandering back to him. You can’t help but wonder how his day is going, if he’s still working on that new choreography he mentioned last night. You’ve always admired his dedication to his craft, the way he can lose himself in the rhythm, his body moving like it’s an extension of the music itself. It’s something you’ve never quite understood—how he can express so much through movement, while you rely on words to convey your emotions.

“Y/N?” Sejin’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You with us?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you say quickly, shaking your head to clear it. “Just thinking about something.”

He gives you a knowing look but doesn’t press the issue. “Alright, let’s wrap it up for today. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

You nod, gathering your things and heading for the door, but your thoughts are already elsewhere. As you step into the hallway, your feet seem to move on their own, leading you in the direction of the dance studios rather than the exit.

You tell yourself it’s just curiosity—just checking in to see how he’s doing—but deep down, you know it’s more than that. You want to see him, to feel that connection again, even if it’s tinged with the awkwardness that always seems to follow you both the day after.

The closer you get to the dance studios, the more you can hear the faint thump of bass reverberating through the walls, the rhythm quickening your pulse. You pause outside one of the rooms, peering through the small window in the door, and there he is—Yeonjun, completely lost in the music.

He’s dressed in loose sweatpants and a tank top, his skin glistening with sweat as he moves with an intensity that takes your breath away. His movements are sharp, precise, each one flowing into the next with a grace that seems almost effortless. But you know better. You know how hard he works, how much of himself he pours into every step, every beat.

You watch, captivated, as he goes through the routine over and over, his expression focused, his body pushing past the point of exhaustion. It’s mesmerizing, the way he moves—so different from the way you create. While you spend hours hunched over a notebook, searching for the right words, he’s here, expressing everything with the fluidity of his body, the music coursing through him like a second heartbeat.

And yet, for all your differences, there’s something that draws you to him, something that makes you want to understand him better, even if you’re not sure how.

Eventually, he spots you, his movements slowing as he catches his breath. He meets your gaze through the glass, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then he raises a hand, beckoning you in, his expression softening into something you can’t quite read.

You push open the door and step inside, the sound of the music now louder, vibrating through your chest. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and the faint scent of his cologne, familiar and comforting.

“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse from exertion. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Just finished up in the studio,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual. “Thought I’d see how you were doing.”

He nods, grabbing a towel from the floor and wiping the sweat from his face. There’s a moment of silence, the kind that usually doesn’t exist between you, but today it feels heavier, weighted by everything left unsaid.

“How’s the choreography coming along?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He shrugs, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… getting there. Still needs some work.”

You nod, unsure of what to say next. Things are always a little awkward the day after, like you’re both trying to find your footing again, unsure of where you stand. You’re close, but not in the way most people would define it, and that makes everything more complicated.

“Do you want to see it?” he asks suddenly, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of hope and vulnerability that you’re not used to seeing from him.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you reply, surprised at how much you mean it.

He nods again, then steps back to the center of the room, his focus shifting as the music starts up again. You move to the side, leaning against the mirrored wall as you watch him begin the routine from the top.

This time, you’re not just watching the choreography. You’re watching him—the way his body moves, the way he expresses emotions without a single word. There’s a passion in his movements, a dedication that you can’t help but admire. It’s so different from the way you create, but in a way, it’s the same. You both pour your hearts into your work, channeling your emotions into something that can be shared with others. 

But while you’ve always been careful to keep a certain distance from the songs you write, Yeonjun dives in headfirst, letting the music consume him. It’s one of the things that draws you to him, even as it scares you. You’re afraid of getting too close, of letting yourself feel too much, but Yeonjun? He’s not afraid of anything. At least, that’s how it seems.

As he finishes the routine, he turns to you, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten under the fluorescent lights. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice breathless but filled with a quiet intensity.

You take a moment to find your words, still processing everything you’ve just seen. “It’s incredible, Yeonjun. Really. The way you move… it’s like you’re telling a story with your body.”

He laughs softly, wiping his forehead with the towel again. “That’s the idea, I guess. Trying to say something without words.”

You nod, understanding more than you’d like to admit. It’s what you both do, in your own ways—expressing the things that are too difficult to say out loud.

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it’s different. There’s a sense of understanding, a shared recognition of what you’ve both just experienced. And yet, there’s still that underlying awkwardness, the unspoken tension that lingers from the night before.

“Thanks for coming by,” he says after a while, his voice softer, more subdued. “It means a lot.”

“Of course,” you reply, giving him a small smile. “I should probably get going, though. Got more work to do.”

“Yeah, same here,” he agrees, but neither of you moves.

You stand there for a moment longer, caught in the liminal space between what you are and what you could be, before finally turning to leave.

“Y/N,” he calls out just as you reach the door.

You pause, your hand hovering over the handle as you turn back to him. There’s something in his eyes, something vulnerable and raw, that makes your heart ache in a way you’re not sure how to deal with.

“See you tonight?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you say softly, your chest tightening with the weight of what’s left unsaid. “See you tonight.”

The next few weeks pass in a blur of deadlines, rehearsals, and late-night studio sessions. The company is buzzing with the excitement of upcoming debuts, and both you and Yeonjun are caught in the whirlwind. You spend hours hunched over your notebook, scribbling lyrics in the margins of sheet music, tweaking melodies until they’re just right. Meanwhile, Yeonjun is locked in the dance studio, pushing his body to its limits as he fine-tunes his choreography, each movement meticulously crafted to tell the story he’s been envisioning.

You see less and less of him during the day, your schedules barely overlapping. When you do cross paths, it’s usually in the early hours of the morning, when the world is quiet, and the company building is almost empty. You’ll find him in the kitchen, downing a glass of water after a long session, or he’ll find you sprawled on the couch, half-asleep with your notebook balanced precariously on your lap.

But despite the distance growing between you, the nights you do spend together seem to grow more intense. It’s as if the time apart makes the moments you have all the more precious, and when you finally fall into each other’s arms, it’s with a hunger that neither of you can quite explain. You’ll reach for him, or he’ll reach for you, and suddenly, you’re tangled up together, the world outside forgotten.

These nights are different from before. There’s a tenderness in the way he touches you now, a lingering softness that wasn’t there before. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, his hands tracing patterns on your skin that leave you breathless. You find yourself reaching for him in the dark, needing the reassurance of his presence more than you’d like to admit.

But when the morning comes, the spell is broken. You both slip back into your respective roles, burying yourselves in your work, pretending that nothing has changed. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling that something has—that the lines between what you are and what you could be are beginning to blur.

But no matter how close you get, there’s always a part of you that holds back. You’re afraid to let yourself fall too hard, to risk the friendship you’ve built. And Yeonjun… well, he’s never been one to talk about his feelings. He’s always been the type to show rather than tell, to let his actions speak for him. But there are moments—brief, fleeting moments—when you catch a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

It’s in the way he holds you a little tighter when you’re falling asleep, or the way his gaze lingers on you just a second too long when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s in the small, almost imperceptible shifts in his behavior, the way he’s always there when you need him, even if he doesn’t say much. You’re not sure what it means, or if it even means anything at all, but it’s enough to keep you hoping.

You can’t remember the last time you let yourself relax. Between the relentless grind of work and the complicated emotions swirling around Yeonjun, you’ve been wound so tight it feels like you might snap at any moment. So when Sejin, a fellow songwriter you’ve grown close to over the last few months, suggests a night out, you don’t hesitate.

“We deserve this,” Sejin says with a grin as you and a few others from your team gather at a bar downtown. It’s one of those places that feels both cozy and chaotic, dimly lit with just the right amount of noise to drown out any lingering stress. You order a round of drinks, clinking glasses as laughter and conversation fill the space around you.

At first, it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of the night. You chat with your coworkers, swapping stories about the latest projects, the occasional frustrations, and the little victories that keep you all going. The alcohol helps—loosening your tongue, easing the tension in your shoulders. You’re smiling more than you have in weeks, the weight of your responsibilities slipping away with each sip.

Sejin is by your side most of the night, always quick with a joke or a refill. He’s been a good friend since you started working together, the kind of guy who can make you laugh no matter how rough your day’s been. Tonight, though, there’s something different in the way he’s acting. He’s hovering closer, his touches lingering just a little too long—a hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist as he pulls you into another laugh.

You try not to think about it too much, telling yourself it’s just the alcohol making you notice things that aren’t really there. Besides, you’re enjoying yourself, and you need this distraction. It’s a welcome reprieve from the complicated mess you and Yeonjun have created, a chance to remember who you are outside of the endless cycle of work and the tension that’s been brewing between you.

But as the night wears on, the drinks keep coming, and before you know it, you’re a lot drunker than you intended to be. The bar is spinning, your words slurring as you lean on Sejin for support. He laughs, though there’s a strange edge to it, and before you can protest, he’s leading you out into the cool night air.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he says, his voice sounding both far away and too close at the same time.

You nod, though your mind is hazy. The streets blur together as Sejin hails a cab, his arm still around you as you slide into the back seat. Your head lolls back against the seat, your thoughts drifting to Yeonjun—how you’ve barely seen him this week, how you miss him in a way that’s starting to hurt. You wonder if he’s home, if he’s even noticed you’ve been gone.

The cab ride is a blur, and before you know it, Sejin is helping you up the stairs to your apartment. You fumble with the keys, giggling as they slip through your fingers, and Sejin chuckles, taking them from you to unlock the door. The moment the door swings open, you stumble inside, barely registering the figure sitting on the couch until you hear his voice.

“Y/N?”

Yeonjun’s tone is sharp, cutting through the fog in your mind. You turn to face him, swaying slightly as you take in the sight of him—hair tousled, eyes dark as they flicker between you and Sejin.

“Hey, Yeonjun,” you mumble, your words tumbling out in a slur. “Didn’t know you’d be home.”

Sejin clears his throat, his hand still on your arm. “I, uh, brought her back. She had a little too much to drink.”

“Clearly,” Yeonjun mutters, standing up. There’s something in his expression that you can’t quite place, something that makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “You didn’t have to go out of your way.”

Sejin’s grip on your arm tightens ever so slightly. “It’s no trouble. Just wanted to make sure she got home safe.”

Yeonjun takes a step closer, and for a moment, the air between them crackles with something tense and unspoken. You’re too drunk to fully understand what’s going on, but even in your foggy state, you can sense the shift in the atmosphere. 

“I’ll take it from here,” Yeonjun says, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

Sejin hesitates, his eyes flicking to you before he finally lets go of your arm. “Alright. Take care, Y/N,” he says, his tone softer as he gives you a final look, something unreadable in his gaze before he nods at Yeonjun and heads out the door.

The silence that follows is heavy, wrapping around you as Yeonjun closes the door behind him. You stumble toward the couch, dropping onto it with a huff. Your head is spinning, and your thoughts are a mess, but even through the haze, you can feel the tension rolling off of Yeonjun in waves.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” you mumble, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him. “Sejin was just being nice.”

Yeonjun lets out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Nice, huh? Looked like he was being a little too nice.”

You frown, not understanding what he means. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as he looks away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You’ve never seen him like this before, so tightly wound, like he’s holding back something he doesn’t want to admit.

“It means,” he finally says, his voice low and strained, “that I didn’t like seeing his hands all over you.”

His words hit you like a bucket of cold water, jolting you out of your drunken stupor just enough to understand what he’s saying. You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind racing to catch up.

“You’re jealous?” you ask, disbelief coloring your tone.

Yeonjun’s eyes flash with something raw and vulnerable before he looks away, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I am. I just didn’t like it.”

You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. The Yeonjun you know is always calm, always in control. Seeing him like this, so unguarded and honest, throws you off balance. But there’s a part of you that’s been waiting for something like this, something real and undeniable to break through the wall that’s been growing between you.

You push yourself up from the couch, your legs shaky as you close the distance between you. You reach out, your fingers brushing against his, and he looks down at you, his eyes searching yours for something you’re not sure you can give him.

“I don’t want him, Yeonjun,” you say softly, your voice steadier now. “I don’t want anyone else.”

His breath hitches, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but then he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you close like he’s afraid to let go. You melt into him, the warmth of his body grounding you, the steady beat of his heart in your ear.

The moment is tender, intimate in a way that feels different from all the times before. It’s not about the physical connection this time; it’s about something deeper, something that neither of you has been willing to acknowledge until now.

“You’re drunk,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice soft but laced with something that sounds like regret. “We should talk about this when you’re sober.”

You nod, your head heavy against his chest. “Okay,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion finally takes over. “But don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, his voice the last thing you hear as you drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.

The days following that night out are a blur of awkward silences and strained conversations. You’ve decided to keep your distance from Yeonjun, convinced that if you ignore the unresolved tension, it might just go away. It’s not easy—every time you pass him in the apartment or bump into him in the hallway, there’s an unspoken barrier between you that feels impossible to breach.

You’re confused and frustrated by him and what you can remember of that night. Angered by his idea that he has a right to be jealous over you and your own life when he has made it quite painfully clear that you only fit into a certain part of his. 

Deep down, you’re scared too. Scared that finally speaking the unspoken will completely ruin what you have with him right now. At least, some part of him is better than nothing. 

At work, you throw yourself into your projects with renewed fervor. The music studio becomes your refuge, the rhythmic pounding of your work echoing the unspoken rift in your personal life. You throw yourself into your songwriting, pouring all your frustration and confusion into your lyrics, trying to keep your mind off Yeonjun and what happened.

Your interactions with Yeonjun have become sparse and awkward. When you do talk, it’s about mundane things—what’s for dinner, when you’ll be home, or whether the groceries have been restocked. The warmth that once colored your conversations has evaporated, leaving behind a cold, professional distance. Yeonjun seems to sense the shift, though he doesn’t push. He glances at you with a mix of concern and frustration, but you avoid his gaze, determined not to confront what’s clearly between you.

One evening, as you return from a particularly long day at the studio, you find yourself yearning for the comfort of your apartment. But when you step into the kitchen, you’re met with an unexpected sight: Yeonjun is sitting at the table, flipping through your notebook.

Your heart sinks as you realize that the notebook in his hands is the one where you’ve been jotting down lyrics—lyrics that are deeply personal and mirror the turmoil you’ve been feeling. Panic surges through you as you stride over and snatch the notebook from him.

“What- what are you doing!” you demand, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound composed.

Yeonjun looks up, surprise etched on his face. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not for you to read,” you cut him off, clutching the notebook to your chest. “That’s private.”

He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I saw it on the table and was curious. I didn’t realize it was… personal.”

“It is,” you snap, your frustration boiling over. “It’s personal, and it’s not for you to go through.”

Yeonjun stands up, his posture tense. “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. I just saw it and didn’t think. I mean, I thought it was just work…”

“You didn’t think,” you say, your voice rising. “That’s the problem. You never think about boundaries. This is more than just work to me!”

Yeonjun’s expression shifts from surprise to something harder, a mix of hurt and frustration. “I was trying to understand. Things have been off between us, and I thought maybe this would help.”

Your heart pounds as you realize the weight of his words, but you can’t bring yourself to fully acknowledge them. Instead, you feel the sting of his presence and the awkwardness of your failed attempts to keep things from getting complicated.

“You don’t need to understand through my work,” you say, your voice wavering. “If you want to talk, talk. But don’t read my lyrics and think you’ve got it all figured out.”

Yeonjun’s shoulders slump as he looks away, a silent admission of defeat. You feel a pang of guilt, but it’s quickly overshadowed by your own frustration and confusion.

“I need some space,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “I’m going to stay with a friend tonight.”

Yeonjun’s eyes meet yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. For a moment he looks as if he’s going to reach out and touch you, and in that same moment you realize you would’ve done nothing to stop him. But instead he just nods, but his expression remaining guarded. “Alright,” he says, his tone low. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

You grab a few essentials from your room and head for the door, unwelcome tears burning hot on your cheeks. You hope Yeonjun doesn’t notice as you rush out of your small apartment and down through the lobby into the outside night, the chill of the evening air a welcome distraction from the emotional storm inside you. As you make your way to your friend’s place, the city streets feel both unfamiliar and oddly comforting. The argument has left you feeling exposed, like you’ve revealed more than you intended.

When you arrive at your friend’s apartment, you sink into their couch, trying to push the thoughts of Yeonjun and the argument from your mind. But even as you try to relax, the weight of the unresolved tension between you lingers, a reminder of the delicate balance you’ve been struggling to maintain.

You fear that by distancing yourself, you might be pushing Yeonjun away for good. The thought of losing him entirely—of having to navigate your feelings alone—makes your heart ache. Yet, the walls you’ve built around yourself feel like the only protection you have against the complexity of your emotions and the uncertainty of what comes next.

You and Yeonjun manage to skirt around each other all the next day of work, maintaining a silence that’s louder than words. You work diligently, each interaction with Yeonjun marked by a careful neutrality. The emotional distance between you is palpable, and you both seem to be operating under a new, unspoken rule of non-interference.

As the workday winds down, you grab your things and head out, relieved to be done for the day. Sejin catches up with you as you leave the building. His presence is a welcome distraction, and you engage in casual conversation as you both walk toward the sidewalk.

Sejin has always been friendly, but lately, there’s been an undercurrent of something more. Today, as you both make your way out of the building, he seems unusually nervous. You sense a change in his demeanor as he stumbles over his words, clearly building up to something important.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Sejin begins, his voice filled with a hesitant earnestness. “I’ve really enjoyed working with you, and over the past few months, I’ve developed feelings for you. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now. How would you feel about going to dinner with me sometime?”

The question takes you by surprise. Your heart races as you process Sejin’s confession. You’ve noticed his growing interest, but you didn’t expect him to be so direct. Panic rises within you as you try to formulate a response that will be both honest and gentle.

“Well, Sejin,” you start, searching for the right words, “I appreciate your honesty and I’m flattered. But right now, I’ve–I’ve just got a lot going on, and I don’t think I’m ready to start something new.”

Before Sejin can respond, a shadow falls over the two of you. You glance up and see Yeonjun standing a few feet away, his face a storm of emotions. His eyes dart between you and Sejin, and his body language reveals a barely contained frustration. 

Without a word, Yeonjun brushes past you, his stride forceful and his shoulders tense. He makes a beeline for the exit, leaving you and Sejin standing in the wake of his departure. The tension in the air is palpable, and you watch Yeonjun’s retreating figure with a mixture of confusion and concern.

Sejin glances between you and the direction Yeonjun has gone, his face a mix of disappointment and concern. “Is everything okay?” he asks, his tone gentle.

You nod, trying to mask your unease. “Yeah, I think so. I just need to make sure Yeonjun’s alright. I’m sorry, Sejin. Can we talk about this another time?”

Sejin nods, trying to convey a look of understanding in his eyes. “Sure, yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N.”

With that, you turn and hurry after Yeonjun, your heart pounding in your chest. You navigate through the bustling city streets, your mind racing as you try to catch up with him. You call his name several times, but he’s already a few blocks ahead. 

As you round the corner toward the park where you often walk, you see Yeonjun’s silhouette up ahead, walking briskly. You quicken your pace, calling out to him once more. “Yeonjun! Please, wait!”

He doesn’t turn around, and as you get closer, you can see the tension in his posture. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the cool evening air feels heavy with unspoken words. You reach the park entrance just in time to see Yeonjun disappear around a corner, his figure retreating into the darkness.

Breathless and frustrated, you stop at the park entrance, your hands resting on your knees as you try to catch your breath. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut—Yeonjun’s already gone. The distance between you seems insurmountable, and the weight of the day’s events settles heavily on your shoulders.

You take a moment to compose yourself, your heart aching with a mix of regret and confusion. The conversation you had with Sejin, Yeonjun’s reaction, and the unresolved tension all swirl together in a confusing mess. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve made a mistake, that you’ve pushed Yeonjun away without fully understanding the consequences.

You hurry back to the apartment, your steps echoing on the pavement as you rush to get home. The anxiety you feel is almost tangible, and your heart pounds in your chest. The tension from the earlier confrontation and the sight of Yeonjun walking away have left you feeling desperate to make things right.

As you fumble with your keys at the apartment door, your hands are shaky, and you finally manage to get it open. You practically burst inside, the cool air of the hallway a sharp contrast to the heat of your emotions. Without thinking, you head straight for Yeonjun’s room, your mind racing with fear and determination.

The door is closed, and you knock on it urgently, your voice trembling as you call out. “Yeonjun! Please, open the door! We need to talk!”

There’s no immediate response, and your anxiety grows. You knock harder, the sound of your fists hitting the wood echoing through the quiet apartment. “Yeonjun! Please, let me in!”

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally creaks open. Yeonjun stands there, his face streaked with tears, and the sight leaves you momentarily stunned. Your own tears well up as you take in his tear-streaked face, the raw emotion evident in his red eyes.

“Yeonjun…” you say softly, reaching up to touch his cheek and gently wipe away the wetness. The gesture feels like a small balm against the intense emotional turbulence between you.

He looks at you with a mix of sadness and frustration, his voice cracking as he speaks. “I heard everything. I’ve been hearing around the company that Sejin’s liked you for a while and was planning to ask you out. And it just… it drove me crazy, thinking that I let someone else get to you before I did.”

He pauses, his breath hitching as he tries to gather his composure. “I don’t know when it started. Maybe from the first time I saw you or the first night we spent together here, I just, just didn’t think I could stand to be apart from you anymore. But I was a coward, hiding behind all that talk of ‘no titles’ until it made myself sick, but not as sick as the thought of losing you. So I just held out, and I was selfish to be jealous of you and Sejin but I just, I just–.”

His words spill out in a jumble, and you can see the pain in his eyes. The fear and regret in his voice cut through you, and you realize the depth of his feelings and the extent of his struggle. It’s a painful revelation, but one that brings clarity to the confusion of the past few weeks.

“Yeonjun,” you say, shaking your head as you interrupt him, “I’m sorry too. My new song,” you begin, throat dry at beginning your confession. “The lyrics, they were about you. And us. I freaked out when I saw you reading them because I didn’t want you to know that’s how I really felt, really feel about you.”

Yeonjun’s eyes widen, and he seems momentarily taken aback. “Your lyrics… they were about me?”

You nod, your voice trembling as you continue. “Yes. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared too—scared of how you’d react, scared of losing you if things went wrong. I thought keeping things as they were would be easier, but it only made things worse.”

Yeonjun reaches out, taking your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, mingling with his as you both stand there, emotions raw and exposed. The vulnerability in this moment is overwhelming, but it’s also a relief. For the first time, you feel like you’re both truly seen and heard.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

Yeonjun nods, his eyes searching yours. You both stand there in the quiet of Yeonjun’s room, holding each other and allowing the weight of the past to slowly lift.

The quiet of Yeonjun's room wraps around you both, a cocoon of stillness that contrasts sharply with the whirlwind of emotions you're both feeling. 

And then his hands are on you again, for the first time again in what feels like an eternity, but for the first time that it really feels like they should be.

The intensity of the moment lingers as you continue to hold each other, the weight of unspoken feelings finally coming to light.

Yeonjun's eyes search yours with a mixture of vulnerability and longing. His hand, still holding yours, gently rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. The small, tender gesture speaks volumes, and you can feel the tension between you start to shift.

"I've missed this," Yeonjun murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've missed being close to you, in every way."

You take a deep breath, your heart racing as you feel the same pull. The barriers between you have crumbled, leaving only the raw, honest emotions that have been building up for so long.

Without thinking, you lean in, closing the space between you.

Yeonjun's lips meet yours in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he's testing the waters. But as the kiss deepens, the hesitance fades, replaced by a consuming need to connect. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you respond eagerly, your hands finding their way to his hair and the back of his neck.

The kiss grows more passionate, the intensity of your emotions reflected in every touch and movement. Yeonjun's hands slide down your back, tracing the curves of your body with a reverent touch that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the heat between you, the longing that has been simmering under the surface, finally being expressed in a physical, tangible way.

As the kiss breaks, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Yeonjun's eyes are filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. 

And in one swift movement, he pulls you to his bed until you’re pinned underneath him. His hands roam over your body, exploring with a mix of urgency and reverence. Each touch is a declaration, a way of expressing the feelings that words have failed to capture.

His long fingers trail teasingly under your top, feeling their way, as they have done countless times before, until they reach your aching breasts. 

You find yourself lost in the sensation of his hands on your skin, the way he touches you with both confidence and care. The intimacy between you is electric, each caress and kiss further dissolving the barriers that had once kept you apart.

His hands seemed to have acted on their own, ripping your shirt off and taking not much longer to unclasp your bra. You find this an invitation and an opening to pull his own shirt off, your palms roaming eagerly against his now bare and slightly sweaty chest.

A smirk rises to his lips as he moves downwards, lazily pulling at your underwear from under your skirt. Your back arches in response, a whimper escaping your lips.

“Jun… please,” you whine, begging to feel him between your shaking legs.

“So needy,” he teases, eyes dark as he removes the rest of his clothes. You do the same, and he hovers over you instantaneously, an unfamiliar yet pleased smile curved onto his lips. 

And then he’s inside of you and your mind is swimming in a sea of pleasure and blissfulness. You’re tangled in each other and for once you don’t feel bad about it or have the lingering feeling that guilt will begin creeping in anytime soon. You feel right now that you’re exactly where you need to be. 

After a while you both settle onto the bed, the kisses become slower, yet your hands still exploring each other's bodies with a desperate need. Yeonjun's touch is both tender and passionate, his hands moving over you with a sense of awe and longing. You respond in kind, your hands tracing the contours of his body, savoring the feel of him beneath your fingertips.

The world outside melts away, leaving only the connection you share in this moment. The passion and emotion that have been building up between you finally find their release, and the bed becomes a haven where you both can express the depth of your feelings.

As you both finally come to rest, entwined in each other's arms, the room is filled with a quiet sense of peace. The kisses and touches have given way to a gentle, lingering closeness, and the weight of the past seems to lift, leaving only the promise of a new beginning.

Thank you for reading! I had a lot of drafts saved so I’ve been posting them over the past few days!

[armpirate]

Is it the water or is it me? || JJK

pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader

w.c.: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut, public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, handjob.

Summary: You and Jungkook have been working together for quite some time, which ended up with him growing a crush on you that was one sided. Or so he thought.

There you were again, walking around with that radiant smile that made everyone instantly smile at you, as if you brought with you a ray of sunshine in your pocket. Jungkook wasn’t sure about the rest, but he for sure thought his morning would get better only with the idea of seeing you there.

He wasn’t sure of when his crush on you started, but he knew that something clicked in his brain when you first stepped in the office, starting your practices there. And he remembered how hard it was for him to focus on something else when his boss assigned him to be your mentor. He tried to keep his focus on the screen, but his eyes kept running over your body, tracing the subtle way your curves formed under your floral dress.

And while he thought it was a temporary attraction because you were the new thing, it only kept evolving as you grew closer together.

As time went by, you two became the type of coworkers that would be constantly together in the workplace, and that would get more touchy than you should -sometimes his hand would reach to your nape, under your hair, to give it a playful and soft squeeze; sometimes it was you the one who touched his arm or playfully laid your head on your shoulder as you laughed together. Not to mention those “colleagues dates” you would have randomly, out of the office, just to catch up with rumors and gossip when you weren’t on the same shift. And more than once, Jungkook finished the day feeling guilty for not taking the chance on you. He wasn’t sure whether you’d feel comfortable or not. He could easily be misinterpreting your too friendly behavior. Maybe you were like that with everyone you were close to -although he didn’t see you acting that way with anyone else from the company, whether it was a man or a woman.

You both were attending the annual company dinner your boss prepared at the end of the year, but even then he knew nothing would change. And chances of him leaving earlier were high. Confirming that idea when you showed up with a tight black dress that lifted higher on your thigh when you sat next to him. His hand wanted to reach to your skin, and the amount of times he had to stop himself from doing it was insane.

His mind tried to concentrate on other things, as he desperately engaged in conversations with the others, until you laid your hand on his thigh, supporting your body when you leaned closer, pressing your breasts on his arms when you tried to reply to the man who was sitting next to him. If he didn’t know you, he’d have thought you were doing it on purpose.

Well, it seemed like he didn’t know you indeed, because your intention was pretty obvious. And it might have been for a few months already. Always meeting up with him, trying to finish your hang out with a kiss even. Yet you always came back disappointed when he left after giving you a friendly hug.

You went back to your seat, earning a sigh of relief from the person on your left as he moved uncomfortably, noticing one of his hands was trying to place his pants properly, before he tried to completely hide the lower part of his body under the table.

The rest of the dinner went by as a rough challenge for him, trying to test his limits before he jumped on you in front of everyone. Although all that control would only last until you all moved your party to a club near the restaurant you were at. Having to see you dancing with random guys all night wasn’t what he was planning at all, and he blamed himself for staying longer than he was intending to only because you insisted on him going.

During one of those glances he aimed at you, he was sure he caught you looking at him over the guy’s shoulder, and he swore your eyes squinted because of the smile you were hiding when his jaw clenched.

You were playing with him that night. And that annoyed him just as much as it turned him on.

Looking around him, making sure neither of your colleagues would mind your business -either because they were already too drunk or because they were somewhere else-, he started walking in your direction.

“Y/n, I’m going home” he screamed over the music.

He didn’t have to tell you, he could’ve sent you a text as he left… Yet he walked over to you, in a little hope you’d leave with him.

You frowned your eyes, finally stepping back from the blond guy that was still having his hands on you “Already?” you frowned confused “It hasn’t even been an hour since we came”.

One hour of seeing you flirt and be surrounded by men constantly, while he stared from afar hoping he had as much confidence as they did. “I don’t feel well” he lied.

Convinced you’d just shrug your shoulders and turn again, he was surprised when you held his wrist and dragged him to the restrooms, leaving behind the man you’d been dancing with for the past fifteen minutes. His feet battled to keep up with the speed of your steps, being surprised by how you were walking that fast so neatly while wearing heels.

You entered the ladies restroom, being welcomed by a few surprised looks from the women that were retouching their makeup. He was waiting for you to speak, but you had no intentions to. You knew he was feeling fine, and what bothered him was the fact that you paid no attention to him all night. You were acting bittersweet on purpose, just to get a reaction from him. Getting some water on your hands, only making them humid enough, you spreaded the tiny drops on his forehead, drenching his locks a bit when you pushed his bangs back. Your fingers felt so good when you lowered them on his cheeks, and dangerously close to his lips.

“Feeling better?” Jungkook nodded, eyes closing under your touch “Is it the water or is it me?”.

Your question made him open his eyes wide, surprised by the suggestive tone you were using. Although he didn’t know that smirk would make it way worse. “Y/n…” he whispered. “Because if it’s me, I think there are better ways to make you feel good” your doe eyes, feeling so innocent in contrast with your voice was making it difficult for his brain to work properly.

He wasn’t sure if alcohol was speaking on your behalf, but he discarded that idea when your breath smelled fruity from the only drink you’ve gotten ever since dinner started.

This time he was the one dragging your body to one of the cubicles, pressing your body to the door he had just locked. Both of his hands on both sides of your head, as he leaned over you to know what was up with your attitude that night “You’re making it so difficult for me to hold back”, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

It was ironic he was the one saying that, when he reached out to you in the middle of the dance floor to make sure you wouldn’t leave the place with that other guy.

“Who says you should hold back?” you raised an eyebrow, getting back control on the conversation.

His neck flinched when one of your hands reached his nape, digging inside his locks, at the same time your warm breath was gently caressing his throat. His cock grew bigger inside his pants as his skin welcomed the humidity of your tongue, tracing his jaw. “I want this just as much as you do, Kook” you whispered when you reached his ear.

Your voice sent dangerous alarms into his brain, something that he wasn’t able to control before he was cupping your face in his hands to lean into a sloppy and messy kiss. Feeling the taste of your saliva, mixed with the pineapple flavor of your drink, on his tongue was driving him crazy. Your hands tugging his blue shirt, and digging under it was rotting his brain with full images of everything he wanted to do to you. You didn’t know what you started.

His tongue twirled around yours, while your lips sucked on his like your life depended on it. You both had wanted this for so long, and you were finally giving in to all your wishes.

Jungkook barely gave you time to process the kiss, before he was already attacking your neck with wet open mouth kisses. Hands sneaking down your back to squeeze your ass and keep you in place. You still had room to move though, letting the thin strips of your dress fall off your shoulders, just to get your arms out of them and be able to lower your dress, exposing your tits.

Attracted to them like a magnet, his lips closed around one of your hard nipples, while his tattooed hand pinched and pulled your other button. He kept switching, making sure he’d get enough taste of the both of them.

Even if you were drunk in pleasure and excitement, too absorbed in how your clit throbbed for attention, you went to his pants instead, unzipping it and lowering them just enough to let his hard cock jump free. His teeth digged in your sensitive button as soon as your thumb started circling around his tip, getting it wet with his own precum. His cock only escaping from your fingers momentarily when he took your panties off, and circled his wrist with them.

Jungkook made sure to get his fingers wet and ready before they slid through your folds, deviously caressing you until they reached your needy clit. He felt how tight you were when he dug them deeper down your entrance, and he could only think of how it was better than he ever had imagined. You held back your moan, finally feeling being stretched by him, your walls hugging him tight and perfectly, while your brain could only picture the way he was so deep inside you that only the character on his knuckles would be the only thing visible. “You’re so tight, baby” he whispered, slowly moving his fingers in and out.

“Just imagine how tight I’ll feel around your cock” you replied back with a smirk, hearing him groan when your fingers started working on his cock again. Both of you kept moving in sync, as if it were a little heads up for what was to come.

Jungkook started walking backwards, with his fingers still stretching your pussy as much as he was able to. He dragged you on his lap when he sat on the toilet, making you straddle him. He was eager to feel you, and it was written all over his face when you dropped his cock.

Lips parted, holding back the moan that came out as a gap when you felt full again, feeling every inch of his cock invade you and stretch you out so perfectly. Both of you groaning low when your pubes finally touched, while you gave each other time to adjust to that new sensation.

Although, not even a few seconds later, Jungkook was urging you to move, fingers digging in your flesh as he pushed you upwards. Every move of your body was making him like he was in heaven, as your insides kept hugging him. Your hands held onto his shoulders, trying to get used to that new sensation that made little stars float in front of your eyes.

You felt his hips raise, trying to get deeper into you, trying to hit that right spot that would make your knees weak and barely possible to hold back your moans. Your lower lip hid under your teeth, which were biting hard on your skin, trying to keep any moan from escaping while Jungkook kept groaning against your neck and throat. Far from making you stop, though, it only encouraged you to go faster, making the tank behind him move constantly, hitting the wall and joining the sounds of your flesh clapping against each other.

“You feel so fucking good” he said, “Way better than I could ever have imagined” his lips let out a groan, and seemed like he was more careless about being heard than you were. “Fuck, keep riding my cock that way” Jungkook kept moving his hips up against you “You like it?”.

“Fuck, yes” you finally moaned lowly, moving even faster when your pussy started clenching around his cock.

That ticklish feeling in your belly was going hard on you, just a few more moves and you’d feel it showering over you, from head to toe. “Cum, baby. Cum with me” he managed your hips, controlling your movements with both of his hands, until you both exploded together.

You hugged him tight, hiding your face in his neck, biting it hard just to keep your moan from sounding louder than it already is, when you felt that sticky liquid fill your loads just as fast.

“Fuck, baby” he sighed, trying to get his breathing back to normal “Shit” he threw his head back. “I can’t believe I’ve missed on this for so long”.

You smiled against his neck, feeling exactly the same way he was “Well, I think we should make up for the wasted time tonight”.

“Let’s get out of here”

[hotmentransformed]

Hollywood Magic

In the bustling backstage of the prestigious Oscars ceremony, nerves were running high. Among the frenzy of stagehands, makeup artists, and celebrities, stood Alex, a wide-eyed production assistant fresh out of film school. It was his first gig at such a grand event, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. He had bought a fresh tuxedo for the event and felt professional and ready to start his new career.

Throughout the evening, Alex darted from one task to another, ensuring everything ran like clockwork. He meticulously checked seating arrangements, coordinated with the stage crew, and even fetched coffee for the stars. Despite the chaos around him, Alex felt a surge of exhilaration with each passing moment, relishing the special opportunity to be a part of Hollywood's biggest night.

But as the ceremony progressed smoothly, tension began to mount backstage when one of the scheduled presenters failed to show up for their award presentation. Panic swept through the crowded corridors as frantic whispers filled the air. Producers frantically made calls to find a replacement, but everyone was either unavailable or unwilling to present. With no one else available at such short notice, all eyes turned to Alex.

Without warning, an envelope was thrust into his hands, and he was ushered onto the stage. His heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation. This was his moment—a chance to step onto the grand stage of the Oscars and make his mark in the entertainment industry. Usually, the honor was only reserved for the most iconic of stars: how lucky he was to be just an average Joe, given an opportunity rarely afforded to even some of the most famous celebrities. As Alex approached the microphone, the weight of the moment bore down on him like a heavy cloak. The sea of faces in the audience blurred as his nerves threatened to overwhelm him.

Alex's heart pounded in his chest as he felt an inexplicable surge of warmth coursing through his body. At first, he thought it must be from the stage lights, but it grew stronger and more electrifying. It started as a subtle tingling but soon evolved into an intense sensation, like a thousand needles pricking his skin.

His muscles tensed and bulged beneath his clothes, a strange pressure building within him. Alex's eyes widened in shock as he felt the fabric of his brand-new suit strain against his expanding frame. The audience's murmurs of anticipation turned into gasps of surprise as they witnessed the spectacle unfolding before them. First, it was his arms, as if sculpted from marble, that began to swell with newfound strength. His biceps and triceps rippled beneath the fabric of his shirt, stretching it to its limits, and eventually ripping his sleeves. Then, his chest expanded, pushing against the material as if eager to break free. Each breath seemed to inflate his torso further, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

As Alex's transformation continued, his shoulders broadened, each muscle defined with chiseled precision. His back rippled with power, the fabric of his shirt straining against the force of his expanding physique. Even his legs, once hidden beneath his trousers, began to bulge with raw strength, threatening to burst through the fabric at any moment.

Despite his best efforts to resist, Alex couldn't help but flex his muscles, which expanded and tore free from the confines of his shirt and jacket, a mixture of embarrassment and pride washing over him as he unwittingly showed off his newfound form to the world. The audience's laughter only fueled his humiliation, but still, he couldn't stop himself.

With each involuntary flex, Alex's body seemed to take on a life of its own, moving with a grace and power that he had never known. His embarrassment gave way to a sense of awe as he marveled at the sheer magnitude of his transformation. But just as he began to revel in his newfound strength, disaster struck. With a sudden rip, the fabric of his pants gave way, leaving him standing on stage in the nude. His cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment as he hastily covered himself with the envelope he had been given to present the award.

Standing there dumbfounded and twice his previous size, he heard an announcer on the speakers: “And now, presenting the Academy Award for Best Costume Design, the one, the only: John Cena!”