#it's been a whole year and i am still not over it

[runesinthenight]

There are so many ways that this is a different piece. Not only did they change how it is arranged and remove the context inportant to understanding the piece, but they changed "please take one" to an allergy warning.

The fact that they removed the "please take one" portion of it from a museum standpoint changes so much too. In a museum, you are not supposed to touch any of the pieces unless there is a sign which expressly says you can. The original sign expressly said that. That is the sort of sign that will get visitors to interact with the piece. I would take a piece of candy from that pile.

However, the new sign only has a warning on it. The first sentence is an allergy warning. That in it of itself isn't bad. Having an allergy warning is good if you're inviting people to take a piece of candy. The second line is a choking hazard. While this may be true, it feels more like a way for the museum to cover their ass.

Actually, that whole warning comes across as a legal message. It gives the feeling that the museum is putting all of the blame on you if you decide to eat the candy and something bad happens. It is not inviting. It puts off the visitor. I would not take a piece of candy from that piece.

Now, if in an ideal world where politics and political messaging were not involved and the change was purely for liability reasons, I still would have done it differently. I would have placed it under the "please take one" or on a smaller sign under the original sign.

Doing a little research, the signage for this piece has changed a few times over the years, some having the warning, some not, some mentioning AIDS, some not. But the main outcry has been when this sign does not mention AIDS because it is such an integral part of understanding the piece. This piece is meant to be interacted with and that interaction is meant to spark an emotional connection in the visitor. Taking and eating a piece of candy from it should make you think about Ross and his struggle. It should not just be "oh! Free candy!" That removes so much meaning with the piece. Especially to people who have never interacted with this piece or this artist before.

I am in the museum industry. This is my career. And signage is a critically important part of how a museum presents itself and interacts with the public. I really wish there was a way I could see all of the itterations of this sign and see how they've changed over the years and across institutions. Because this piece is on loan to the Smithsonian from the Art Institute of Chicago and I am curious about what aspects were or were not included as part of the loan agreement. But I also want to see when exactly the first sign was from. As doing a quick search shows that the Art Institute of Chicago aslo got into some hot water in 2022 for not including AIDS in the interpretive portion of their text (which is excluded altogether in the Smithsonian sign).

Signage can be difficult. It's a balance between too much text and not enough. You have to make signage that appeals to a wide range of visitors, especially visitors not knowledgeable about the subject. Art museums tend to lean on the shorter side of signage text with the curator often largely in charge of what does or does not go on. The second sign is an example of what I, in my professional opinion, would consider too little text as important context to understand and connecting with the piece is left out.

the david zwirner gallery and the felix gonzalez torres foundation in the smithsonian removed the descriptive plaque for portrait of ross in la by felix gonzalez-torres. the old plaque explained portrait for ross' origins as the artist's partner's aids related death, and replaced it with a plaque with absolutely no information about the piece itself, who ross was, or who gonzalez-torres was either. portrait of ross was also reeranged to lay on the floor long ways instead of in a pile as it typically is situated, and the plaque outside the exhibition FOR GONZALEZ-TORRES omits his sexuality, as well as his aids related death. i'm in utter disbelief

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[peace-hunter]

Question for baby prime Orion au: how do the rest of the gang take that Orion is the "lost" prime. Because here's the reaction I think they'll have:

D-16:oh primes my friend is a prime and I punch him in the face yesterday!?

Elita: oh primes, this trouble making bot is a prime!?

B-127: one of my new friends is a prime, this is awesome!!

"How well am I taking that one of my friends is actually a demi-god?" reactions from best to worst:

you're pretty much right with Bee. this has been the wildest day he's had since forever, he's very much just along for the ride and he's kinda just "this may as well happen :)"-ing through everything. he's also lowkey clinging to the one (1) good new he's gotten from this whole affair for dear life. like. he could freak out about the fact his entire life has been a lie and he's been working himself to death for a tyrant that's betrayed their entire race to their sworn enemies. or he could be happy his new best friend is extra cool now. so. y'know. glass half-full half-empty kinda deal.

Dee's reaction is,,,, complicated. obviously.

on one hand holy crap his friend is a prime that's the coolest fucking shit ever he's friends with someone directly related to megatronus prime-

on the other. this is just one more thing he's been wrong about for cycles. everything he thought was true is turning out to be a lie and even if this isn't a betrayal like sentinel's it's still something he has to accept is not what he thought it was. Orion, his best friend, the person he trusted the most, is not what he thought he was.

and even though Orion didn't know (which... is also a point of contention between them with Dee not being quite able to believe one could forget such a thing even as Orion swears over and over again he had no idea) there's still a divide between them that wasn't there before. now Orion is this almost mythological being directly created by their god for greater things while Dee is just... a miner.

now Orion is a Prime. and Dee has just found out what happens when you trust a so-called Prime.

and he also can't help but wonder, as he remembers all those times Orion ignored what he said and involved him in his crazy schemes with no regard for what he thought about it, if it's just in the nature of Primes to do as they wish without considering what it means for everyone else.

but the real victim here is elita who is experiencing a level of cringe that hasn't been seen in cybertron before nor will be seen again until maybe four million years and a war later during peace negotiations. pray for her.

baby prime orion au

[harmonyrae]

Inked

Synopsis: Somehow you won a free session from the most famous tattoo artist in Linkon. You never expected to be sucked into his world, but you’re slowly becoming even more obsessed with him. And with who you are when you’re with him. When you finally discover what he’s involved in, will he push you away or show you a whole new world? 

AN: This fanfic was inspired & entirely fueled by the artwork above, done by the amazing @obligatedart - thank you for letting me use your work as the cover art! Go check them out and see the other tattooed Rafayel pieces they’ve done. I’ve written over 80 pages in a week so... comment if you want to be tagged for part 2!

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual content, alcohol consumption, public sex, threesome, oral (m&f receiving), creampie, PiV, birth control mentioned (yay protection), mentions of needles (tattoo needles, not medical), genital piercings, vehicle accidents, injuries, blood, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 16k 

“I still can’t believe you won the fucking contest!”

Tara punches you in the arm and you grunt, swatting at her with a pout. She leans away from you to protect the coffee in her hand before giggling and gently rubbing the spot she hit.

“Sorry, sorry, I just… I spent so much money buying like 50 raffle tickets and you bought ONE and beat all the odds. Did you cast a spell? Are you a witch?!”

Tara’s animated voice draws the attention of the other cafe patrons. You sip your latte silently and try to avoid their judgemental gazes. Tara sets her cup down and crosses her arms. She leans back, squinting at you.

“So it’s tomorrow, right?”

You nod and lean on the table in front of you to pick at your blueberry muffin. Tara snatches the muffin away and you look up at her with wide eyes. She’s definitely irritated with your silence. But what can you possibly say? Sorry? Sorry for winning a once in a lifetime raffle to get a free tattoo by the best tattoo artist in Linkon? Who has a 5 year waitlist? Who has tattooed the biggest celebrities? Who was a judge on the #1 reality show for 3 years running trying to find the next big artist? Who is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life? Fuck no, you are not sorry at all.

“I know you wanted to win so I don’t want to talk about it and make you upset.”

Tara rolls her eyes and plops your muffin back on its plate. You sit back and sigh, looking Tara up and down. She didn’t seem like the type to have a lot of tattoos, but she hid them well. When she wasn’t in her uniform she was showcasing the artwork on her body. The designs were gorgeous and you wished you had been more patient when getting yours. You basically ran to the tattoo shop on your 18th birthday to get a super basic bitch tattoo just because you could. 

“I want to hear about it! I am going to live vicariously through you. Spill bitch.”

You chuckle and finish off your latte before pulling out your phone to show Tara the email chain you started with the artist. She grabs your phone instantly and scrolls through the messages.

“Oh my god, even his emails sound hot.”

You roll your eyes and watch Tara’s eyes light up when she sees the design.

“Holy shit. You are BRAVE! AN underboob tat?! You’re gonna show him your tits the first time you meet him?! Biiiiiitch!”

She squeals before zooming in on the design and ogling at the details.

“This is so pretty! The seashells and the little pearls and chains? Amazing. It will match your chest piece really well too!”

She was right, the seashells and pearls would tie into your mermaid chest piece perfectly. It was the first tattoo you put a lot of effort into, getting the design nailed down and taking your time finding a good artist. You wanted this next piece to compliment it and expand on the original concept. The shells would be a dusty pink to match the tails with the beading and pearls adding a little sparkle. You smiled, your pre-tattoo butterflies swirling. 

“OH! You sent him a picture of your chest piece.”

She slapped your shoulder excitedly.

“In a bikini top! Are you KIDDING ME? Imagine him opening that picture and just getting to stare at your gorgeous tits and that tat? I’m horny just thinking about it.”

You grab her wrist to stop her flailing, your cheeks are burning since her voice is just a little too loud. She glares at you, her sly smile absolutely beaming. 

“Jesus Tara, shh! It’s not a big deal, I’ve wanted this piece expanded for a long time and Rafayel’s specialty is literally anything ocean related. He’s going to touch up the girls too.”

She raises her brows and drops her eyes to your chest and you quickly realize your mistake.

“The mermaids, you horny bitch, the mermaids.”

She nods slowly.

“Uh huh… sure!”

You don’t argue with her, let her think what she wants. You were already anxious thinking about the appointment. She was right about one thing, you were basically showing him your tits the same day you officially met. It’s like “Hi, nice to meet you, here’s my tits” - nice.

When you get home that night you spend extra time prepping your skin and finding the right outfit. Sure you’d be taking off your top and just wearing pasties, but making sure you felt your best beyond that was important too. You drink your sleepy time tea, since the pre-tattoo butterflies had turned to pre-tattoo anxiety.

You slip on your nightgown and settle back, trying to force yourself to relax. About 30 minutes later, you’re on your phone. You just couldn’t help it, you scroll through your feed liking Tara’s selfie with her boyfriend, Jeremiah. A photo of Caleb at a bar, he must have gotten some R&R today. And what’s this? Zayne posted a meme? Doctor Zayne? Oh, Greyson won a bet - that makes more sense. 

As you scroll, you start finding posts reposted by Lemuria Studios, recent clients, sketches done by artists and then a video that makes your chest tighten. Rafayel sits hunched over the arm of some buff dude in a tank top, the tattoo gun in his hand moves steadily against his skin. God, he looks hot. He’s just sitting there, doing his job, why are you freaking out? You want to put the phone down, watching him work is only going to make you more anxious for tomorrow. But you can’t seem to let it go. You’re mesmerised by the outline of the muscles of his forearm, barely visible under his own colorful tattoos, they twitch as he colors in the lines he just made. His dusty purple fringe brushes his cheeks, his earrings sway as he bobs his head to whatever music is playing. He stops and wipes the guy's arm with a towel before leaning back and looking at the camera. He smiles and… fuck… You drop your phone and stifle a moan. You’re not going to survive tomorrow. 

The next morning, you wake up early to get ready. You cook a huge breakfast, as difficult as this session was going to be, you didn’t want to make it worse by passing out. You down a huge glass of water while you do your makeup. You sweep your hair over your shoulders in two long braids and slip on a beanie. Your joggers sit comfortably on your hips and you change out your fitted halter for a dark cut off t-shirt. You were committing to the comfortable vibe, especially if you were going to be mostly uncomfortable very soon. 

Your phone rings and you race to the kitchen to see Tara’s picture flash on the screen. You answer and put it on speaker as you lace up your boots. 

“What’s up?”

“I’m just checking in before your session. Are you nervous?”

You chuckle under your breath. She has no idea.

“Oh yeah, I always get pre-tattoo jitters. They’ll go away when I get there.”

“I doubt it! Girl, his face is going to be inches away from your tits. I’d bring a change of panties if I were you.”

“Tara, what do you think people at work would say if they heard you talk like this?”

“Oh, they’d lose their minds! Sweet, innocent Tara would never warn you about imagining him dropping his tattoo gun and climbing on top of you, ripping your pasties off and –”

“TARA!”

She giggles for a minute straight, barely able to catch her breath. You swing your backpack over your shoulder and jog down to the garage. 

“Sorry! Honestly, I think you’ll have a great time. You’re gonna look hot with the new tat and I can’t wait to see it. Send me pics!”

“Of course. I’ll text you during breaks.”

After you hang up, you secure your helmet and hop on your bike. You take back roads instead of the highway since you know you’re too nervous and driving fast would be a bad idea. By the time you get to Regent Square, you can feel your heartbeat pounding against your ribcage. You find a long term parking garage and pay the outrageous fee. When you check your phone, you realize you only have 10 minutes before your appointment. You were supposed to be there at least 15 minutes early to fill out the paperwork. You jog down the street, only slowing long enough to catch your breath before heading inside the studio. 

Lemuria Studios is gorgeous, the pictures posted online don’t do it justice. The floor to ceiling windows bathe the room in sunshine, the weathered brick walls covered in bright graffiti, neon signs with what you assume to be words - although you are not sure what language it is and the hardwood floors are covered with vibrant rugs with intricate patterns. A large sectional couch corners off the waiting room where a few patrons wait for their artists. There are various tattoo stations, each decorated to suit a different artist. Towards the back of the studio there is a door with an ‘R’ in what looks like ceramic tiles. Must be Rafayel’s private room.

You approach the front desk and greet the receptionist with a smile. She passes you a clipboard with release forms and leaves to walk to the door at the back. You watch her knock and crack the door open, she says something before turning back to look at you. You quickly refocus and fill in the paperwork. You place the clipboard on the counter and take a seat on the couch, fiddling with the tassels of the pillow next to you. 

You’re about to stand and start pacing, your nerves getting the best of you, when you hear a door squeak open. You lift your eyes to see the man himself, emerge from the room and stroll towards the front of the studio. You clench your fists, yep, he’s even hotter in person. 

He’s dressed casually, his button up is definitely not buttoned up. His neck tattoo swirls down his neck to the center of his chest, two koi fish swim in a circle around his Adam's apple, the fins extend towards his jaw and down his neck with pink lotus flowers complimenting the red scales of the fish. Cut off sleeves let you see his signature tattoos, full sleeves on both arms. Not an inch of skin untouched, the full color underwater scenes are vibrant, bright orange and purple coral, dark blue waves highlighted with teals and white, schools of yellow and blue fish swim in circles around his forearm and a dolphin soars over the waves. His fitted jeans hide the leg tattoos you’ve seen in photos, the ocean waves that look more like flames than water that spiral from his ankle to his hip. He also supposedly has more tattoos on his torso, but you avoided looking up any photos of him shirtless because, well… that would be dangerous.

His shaggy hair casts a shadow over his eyes, but his smile is on full display. He turns to you and you hold your breath to avoid giggling like an idiot. His blue eyes are so bright, the wash of pink in them shines in the morning light that streams through the windows. As he approaches, you awkwardly stand and put on a shy smile. 

“Hi! I’m Rafayel, nice to officially meet you.”

He extends a hand and you nearly fall back onto the couch, finally taking a breath. You take his hand and revel in the softness of his skin. He suddenly yanks you forwards and starts pulling you toward the door at the back of the studio. You stumble along after him.

“I can’t wait to show you the final sketch, it’s everything you described but I added a little something that I think you’ll like.”

You giggle as he pulls you into the room. The bright purple walls are covered in either framed sketches, polaroids of tattoos, or random tattoo designs scribbled on a napkin or envelope. A vintage jukebox, with a modern AUX attachment, sits in the corner. A stack of canvases leans against the wall and a bucket of various spray paints sits on the floor. His drawing table has countless sketches pinned to it, including yours. The design is exactly what you imagined, but there’s an additional element. The centerpiece that directly connects to the chest piece is now slightly larger, having a net pattern woven behind it with a few fish and broken shells. 

“That’s amazing, holy shit! But it’s a bit more than we originally planned on, are you sure you have time?”

He immediately starts getting the transfer paper prepared. You see him shrug.

“The whole day is yours, it was booked by the radio station that set up the raffle. It’s actually pretty nice only having one client to work on, I can take my time.”

You feel your cheeks flush. He would take his time on your piece, it was flattering and nerve wrecking. You set your bag down on a chair in the corner and stuff your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, awesome, I didn’t realize…”

“You’re nervous aren’t you?”

You huff out a laugh and put your hands on your hips.

“Not at all, I have plenty of tattoos. I know the drill. I’m totally fine, just excited.”

He turns, the transfer paper in hand, and walks over to his station. Everything was meticulously set up from the tiny cups of ink to the paper towels to his tattoo gun. He sets the transfer paper down before heading to the sink in the corner and washing his hands.

“Do you need tape?”

You watch him scrub his hands, it was almost like he was a doctor preparing for surgery. You tilt your head and hum to yourself, trying to figure out his meaning. He dries his hands and looks at you, his lips set in an amused smirk.

“For your nipples.”

You immediately drop your gaze and try to laugh to distract from the blush rising to your neck and cheeks. You clear your throat and meet his gaze.

“No, I wore pasties. Like I said, I know the drill.”

He smiles and motions towards the table. He puts on gloves and gives his bottle of transfer cream a shake. He eyes you expectantly.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

You turn away from him and face the padded table in front of you. You tug your shirt off over your head and toss it over your bag on a nearby chair. You hesitate to turn around. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous - sure you are literally half-naked in front of a guy you could only dream of, but he’s done this countless times! Your tits are not the first ones he’s tattooed under. You turn to face him and watch his eyes drop to your chest, he glances at the transfer paper and back to you, mentally lining up the art on your body. 

“Yea, this will look amazing on you.”

His voice is rougher than before, you clasp your hands behind your back and rock on your heels.

“Thank you… uhm… do you want me to lie down or?”

He walks up and squeezes some transfer cream onto his gloved hand. 

“Just stand right here. This might be cold.”

You brace and when his fingers touch the skin just under your breast, you gasp. Not from the cold, but rather from the jolt of electricity that sparked through your system. 

“You were right, s’cold.” 

He chuckles and continues to rub the cream along your upper rib cage, under your breasts and down the center of your chest. He grabs the transfer paper and lines it up.

“Can you hold 'em up for a second?”

You blink.

“Your… breasts. I want to make sure this will line up properly.”

You silently curse at yourself for how stupid you feel. You really should have chosen maybe a leg piece or maybe a cute little forearm number, but no you had to do this. You cup your breasts and lift them, staring at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. He lines up the transfer and presses it to your skin, slowly peeling it away. 

“Fuck yes. That looks perfect. Take a look in the mirror and let me know what you think.”

He turns away and changes his gloves while you check his placement. Just the transfer looks insane, your previous embarrassment melts into excitement. You turn back to him with a huge smile. 

“I love it! It’s gonna look so good!”

Rafayel smiles and you skip over to the table. You miss the flush that spreads across his cheeks as he watches your tits bounce on your way over. You hear him clear his throat as he leans to drag his chair over with his foot. You lay back on the table, your head sinking into the pillow and your hands resting on your stomach.

Rafayel sits and slides closer to you on his chair. He picks up his tattoo gun and dips the needles into the ink. He looks up at you, shaking his head to get his fringe out of his eyes.

“Ready?”

You relax your shoulders and sigh, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Hell yeah.”

The outside of Rafayel’s palm rests against the side of your breast, holding the skin taut as he begins tattooing along the edge of your rib cage. The pain is about as bad as you expected. The vibration of the tattoo gun against your ribs makes your teeth chatter. You close your eyes and try to distract yourself while adjusting to the sting of the needles. 

“So, why mermaids?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks up the monotonous buzz of the tattoo machine. You tilt your chin down and look at his god-like profile. With his attention on your tattoo, you finally let yourself examine his face. The ear you can see is littered with piercings. Double conch, helix, daith, an industrial with a little fish charm attached. His eyes have a hint of black smudged along his lash line, of course he wears eyeliner… of fucking course. And it looks so damn good too. 

He has a variety of facial piercings, which look amazing and now you want one… or two. A small silver septum hoop. You notice he occasionally wiggles his nose, rubbing it across his top lip, a nervous habit perhaps? His lip piercings have you in a trance, the shark bites, the vertical labret - how would they feel against your lips? You also caught sight of a tongue ring. The things this man could probably do with his tongue…

“Still with me, cutie?”

You are glad he was refreshing the ink on the needles as you have a very physical reaction to this new little nickname he’s given you. You cough and try to steady yourself, once you are still he continues his work.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Oh yeah, by what?”

He’s teasing you now. Great. But you never back down from a fight and if he wants to poke at you with his cute little comments - and not just the needles in his tattoo gun - you’ll give it right back to him.

“By you.”

He laughs, a hint of surprise on his face.

“Oh really? What distracted you exactly?”

“I was just admiring your piercings. I haven’t gotten nearly enough.”

“What piercings do you want?”

His tattoo needle continues to buzz and the pain slowly fades to a numbness. 

“Definitely more on my ears. I like the tragus. And then maybe my navel, basic, I know.”

“No way, the navel is a great piercing. There are a lot of creative jewelry options too. I love mine, I’d recommend it to anyone.”

“You have your belly button pierced?” 

He chuckles and shifts his hand, his pinkie dangerously close to your pasty making your heart flutter.

“Yup. Was one of my first actually. After that it was all downhill. Now I have too many to count.”

“Really? What other piercings do you recommend then?”

He hesitates and glances up at you. His eyes flick to your breasts and back. And you swear you caught him biting his lip for a moment. 

“Body piercings are fun. But if you’re not ready for that but bored with your ears, facial piercings are a good place to start. Septum made me cry like a bitch, but it’s a great one.”

“Made you cry like a bitch, huh?”

Your mocking tone makes him pause and look at you, his lips set in a pout. You giggle at his pathetic, yet adorable, expression.

“It’s because it fucks with your sinuses or some shit, not because it hurt!”

“Okay, okay!”

“I’ve gotten some piercings that make grown men weep and didn’t flinch, trust me, it was not because of the pain.”

You raise your eyebrows at the implication, but you decide to hold your tongue and not entertain the thought of what those “other” piercings might be. You settle your head back and take a deep breath.

“And what about tattoos? Which one was the most painful?”

He hums to himself, his hand once again shifting and pushing your breast slightly upward as he colors in a line. 

“My neck was the worst, by far. I’m glad I didn’t pick something that went directly over my Adam’s apple cause I would not have survived.” 

“That piece is really nice. Did you design it?”

“I did. Then my apprentice tattooed it. Never been prouder of the kid. Now you’ve asked a few questions, I think it’s only fair you answer one of mine.”

You sigh dramatically and chuckle when he stops working. You know he is staring at you, probably pouting again, so you stare at the ceiling. 

“Alright, fair is fair.”

“Why mermaids?”

“Oh uhh…” You stutter as you try to find the right words. “Because they’re tragic yet beautiful.” 

Rafayel stops again and looks at you, his brows raised. 

“Art and literature depicts them as beautiful creatures, but their counterparts are much darker. Sirens lure sailors to their watery graves. They’re… underestimated? Like their beauty distracts while their voice reels them in. It’s powerful.”

“Was there something that prompted the need for a constant reminder of their power etched into your skin?”

You shift your gaze to his hands, resting on your stomach, the tattoo gun hovering over your skin.

“I spent a long time under someone’s thumb, feeling powerless. He always felt like he had to protect me. I was… lost… for a while. Then I read a book about a siren, using the form of a mermaid, who charmed the men in her life into submission while planning their downfall. I didn’t want Ca– my friend to be hurt though! I decided to put on a ‘damsel in distress’ act for him but I’m still in control, ya know?”

Rafayel nodded sharply, his gaze more intense. He shifted on his stool and the familiar hum of the tattoo gun started again. With his focus back on your body, you felt your mind start to spiral. Was your explanation dumb? You know sirens are not exactly mermaids, but mermaids looked better. Did he think you were dumb and confused them? Should you have said ‘cause they’re pretty’ instead?

“Most people don’t realize sirens and mermaids aren’t the same thing. Seems like you do.”

“I do! Yeah, I just… I guess…”

“Liked how mermaids looked better than a half bird sea creature?”

His voice was light, sarcasm had found its way back to him and you sighed in relief. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I saw some good siren designs but nothing clicked. This one did. Plus I think it makes my tits stand out.”

Rafayal lets out a breathy laugh and sits up straighter in his chair. He grabs a paper towel and wipes the excess ink from your skin. He moves his chair forward and settles his arm over the top of your breast, his hand resting at the center of your chest. You can feel his breath fan across your skin and you have to bite your lip, hard, to avoid shivering.

“It does, but I have a feeling they looked perfect before too.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel slightly dizzy. Did he just? Did he? He complimented your tits. This man complimented your tits, with his face inches away from them, while stabbing you repeatedly with a needle. How are you supposed to respond to that?

“Thank… you.”

Rafayel laughs at your whispered appreciation. His hands work carefully, shifting and sliding to draw the centerpiece.

“Okay, next question.”

Over the next four hours you and Rafayel go back and forth with questions. It almost felt like you were on a first date. You talked about your favorite music, his favorite movies, your job at the Hunters Association, his secret sushi restaurant that’s opening in six months. On your break at the two hour mark, he offered you a soda and walked in circles around the room, stretching his legs, while talking animatedly about a rave happening later this month. And when you begged him for the details so you could get tickets, his smile grew tenfold.

As he was adding the final touches, he stood bent over you poking and dabbing away ink until you were nearly ready to scream. His hair would brush against your shoulder and you’d stiffen, leading to Rafayel joking about ‘staying loose or it’ll hurt more’ which made you squeeze your thighs so tightly you nearly cried. When he finished and was doing the clean up he surprised you, his cheeks were a tad rosy and his usually playful tone more serious.

“I haven’t had this much fun during a session in a while. So… Thank you. I hope you like it.”

You took his hand and sat up, hopping off the table to turn and face the mirror. You were speechless. The lines were sharp and straight, the colors bright, the shading made everything pop out as if the seashells were just sitting on the surface of your skin. Your mermaids were glowing - their scales nearly sparkled and the ocean waves surrounding them looked so real. Tiny sparks floated around the mermaid's hands, creating a shield of fire. Like they were putting on a show or putting up a forcefield. You couldn’t stop yourself from squealing with excitement before you turned around and lunged towards Rafayel, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh my god…”

As soon as your chest collided with his, your excitement faded and pure terror replaced it. You jumped back, instinctively covering your chest with your hands. His ears were bright red and he stared at you, unable to blink it seems. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think! I was so excited and… Shit… I –”

He reaches out and takes hold of your arms. You snap your mouth closed.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you love it. I do wish that you hadn’t… pulled away so quickly though…”

You blinked rapidly. He was pouting again, pouting because you pulled away from hugging him. From hugging him while… His thumbs brush against your skin and you tilt your head, scanning his face for confirmation that what he said was real.

“I was going to wait to ask you out until after I bandaged you up and you had your shirt on, but why waste a perfectly good moment?”

Your mouth hangs open and you feel your knees jerk. Rafayel’s hold on you tightens and he helps you lean back against the table.

“Shit… let me get you some juice, you’re probably crashing a bit.” 

Oh, he has no idea just how badly you are crashing out right now. He jogs out of the room and returns with a small bottle of orange juice. He opens it for you and holds it to your lips. You take a sip and lift your hand to hold his wrist while he helps you drink. His eyes meet yours and you stare at him, he doesn’t look away, his gaze burns straight to your core. He sets the bottle down and grabs a paper towel, dabbing at your leaking tattoo gently. 

“Yes.” You whisper.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

If you thought you’d seen him excited before… He smiles, his dazzling teeth take your breath away. You raise a brow when you realize he has gems adhered to his canines - can he get any sexier?

“Well, I’d say this session went swimmingly.” 

You giggle and rest your palms on the table behind you. He gets to work cleaning your tattoo and snapping a few pictures for you before covering the fresh ink with Saniderm wrap. You pull your shirt back on and down the rest of the orange juice - you were starting to feel your endorphins fade away and your body was reeling from the experience. 

“How does tomorrow night sound?” 

He holds his phone out to you and you take it, seeing he already set up a contact for you. You feel your cheeks burn when you see the contact name “Tattoo Cutie.” You don’t correct it, just add your name beside it and punch in your number before handing it back to him. 

“Sounds perfect.”

You wake up to a banging on your front door, it’s so loud you’re sure your neighbors will complain to you later. You don’t even bother putting on your robe and jog through your living room. You swing the door open and Tara flies through, nearly knocking you over. You close the door and follow her through the hall to your living room.

“You’re casting a spell or making one of those wish bottle things or whatever it is that you’re doing to make your life so damn perfect.”

She plops down on your sofa and crosses her arms. She stares up at you with a stern expression. You try not to giggle since Tara’s version of “stern” comes across a lot like Rafayel’s pout. 

“I didn’t cast a spell. I just –”

“You just what? Became the luckiest girl in the world without even trying? That’s even worse!”

You finally let out a laugh and sit down next to her, pulling your legs to your chest.

“Listen, I have no idea what’s going on, I am just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. It feels like I’m going to wake up any moment and realize it was all a dream.”

She shifts on the sofa and turns to face you.

“I don’t want to sound like I am jealous in a mean way, I am jealous in a ‘give me some of your luck’ way. Maybe then Jeremiah will finally propose…”

You grab her hand and squeeze gently.

“Oh come one, you literally picked out your ring with him! He’ll propose, he’s obsessed with you. He’s also terrified of you, so he knows better than to half-ass a proposal. Give him more time.”

Her cheeks flush and she looks down at her hand, holding up her ring finger. She lets out a sigh and looks up at you with determination.

“I want to know everything about last night. Every dirty detail. Spill.”

She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs under her, fully facing you. She won’t let go of your hand, so you’re trapped on the sofa with her until you tell her about your date.

“He picked me up on his bike and –”

“He rides a bike! Oh my god that’s hot - what kind?!”

“A Kawasaki. It was really nice, dark blue with bright blue headlights. He told me he collects them so –”

“He collects motorcycles? Oh my god…”

“Are you going to let me tell you about the date or not?”

Tara huffs and lets go of your hand. She lifts her fingers to her mouth and pressed her lips together, “zipping her lips” so you can continue.

“We drove around for a while and then he took me to – oh I don’t know if I can tell you…”

“BITCH IF YOU DON’T –”

You laugh and lean away from her flailing hands. You raise yours in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but you have to promise not to say anything, swear.”

She places a hand over her heart.

“I swear on Winterford the 3rd I will not speak a word.”

“Woah, swearing on your dog's life is intense Tara.”

She crosses her arms and glares at you. You roll your eyes and continue.

“He is opening a sushi restaurant in a few months, so he took me there to show me around. It’s down at the pier near Whitesand Bay.”

Tara opens her mouth to say something but instantly closes it. You nod in approval, her self-control is improving. 

“He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but the interior and kitchen are done. We made sushi together and ate on the rooftop terrace looking out over the water.”

Tara lets out a closed-mouth squeal and claps her hands. She motions with her hands for you to continue. 

“We walked along the pier and talked for a long time. When it got dark he offered his jacket - I know - and then we went back to his bike. He drove down this alley where graffiti artists practice and gave me a can to try it out.”

“Wait - sorry - you defaced public property?”

“Rafayel owns the building and advertises it as, and I quote ‘an artists playground’ so no I did not.”

“That’s a shame, it would have been hot.”

“Tara! I’m a public servant! I’d lose my job.”

She pokes your shoulder.

“Only if you get caught!”

You rub your temples and suppress the urge to laugh at her antics. 

“What happened next?”

“He drove me home.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She punches your shoulder and you fall back onto the couch.

“TARA!”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN GET A KISS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I DID! Just not… okay… he kissed me on the cheek when he said good night. It was cute.”

“CUTE?”

You sit up and push her, she doesn’t even move. 

“I don’t want to rush things!”

“At least tell me he made plans for a second date with you?”

“He did. We are going out on Friday night.”

“Thank god. Please, I beg of you, get laid or at least make out with him!”

“Tara, I swear to god…”

“You have been insanely stressed lately and from what you’ve told me, he is super into you. Just let go babe, enjoy it! Enjoy him.”

You cross your arms and shake your head.

“It’ll happen when it feels right. I won’t lie, I hope it’s sooner rather than later, but I also am willing to wait. I –”

You stop yourself, feeling your cheeks heat up. Tara’s expression softens.

“Oh. Oh.”

You get up from the couch and head into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Tara is right on your heels.

“You liiiiike him. Aww, babes!”

She wraps her arms around you, hugging your back as you pour coffee beans into your espresso machine. 

“I just started seeing him, it’s too early to tell.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

She releases you and slides onto a bar stool, her arms leaning on the island. You start chopping up fruit and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. The sound of your coffee machine cuts through the silence and you avoid looking at Tara, knowing she can read you like a book. Maybe it was after the tattoo session or when you were holding hands on the pier, but at some point you realized you really liked Rafayel. He made you laugh and he asked the most bizarre questions that made you think about life in a new light. You wanted more and god, you hope he does too.

By the time Friday rolls around you are definitely ready for some fun. You’ve been constantly sharing memes back and forth with Rafayel all week. It’s certainly eased the stress of work. But you want to see him and you’re eager for his call when you finally clock out and head home.

You’re barely in the front door when you hear your phone buzz. You see Rafayel’s name light up your screen and have to force yourself to count to ten before answering it. You don’t want to seem that eager. 

“Hey, you.”

“Hey cutie, how was work?”

“It was okay, not too much activity today so I was stuck cataloging old reports. I almost fell asleep like three times.”

“I bet. I… shit… I have to tell you something.”

You clench your fist and lean against the door to your bedroom, dropping your bag to the floor.

“Okaaaay.”

He sighs and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“I have to reschedule.”

And there it is, your heart sinks.

“Oh… yeah okay.”

“Not because I want to, trust me. I owe someone a favor and have to be at a party.”

You bite your lip, propping your hand on your hip as you start to pace.

“I see.”

You can’t mask the edge to your voice. A party? Someone is calling in a favor for him to come to their party? He is famous, so it would make them look good, but why couldn’t he invite you? Was he embarrassed of you? Did he not want people in his life to know you were dating? Or seeing each other? Or just talking? Are you even dating?

“It’s more like work, she’s offering free tattoos to the guests. The other artist fell through so she’s calling me in so her party doesn’t ‘crash and burn’ - her words not mine.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, you’re pissed.”

You stop dead in your tracks and straighten up.

“I am not!”

“I can hear you pacing.” 

You look down at your shoes. Of course you wore your chunky boots with the clicky heels today. The taps on your wooden floors were that loud? Damn.

“I’m not mad, I promise.”

“Then you’re irritated?”

“No…”

“What is it? Come on, tell me.”

“I guess… confused?”

“Confused about what?”

You close your eyes and sit down on your bed. Bracing yourself for the embarrassment you’re sure will wash over you after your next statement. 

“Is there a reason you couldn’t bring me? I know you said it was more like work, but I guess… You know what, nevermind.”

You flop back onto your mattress and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Nope! Not ‘nevermind-ing’ - I would love to bring you, I just… I… fuck how do I explain it?”

“You don’t want anyone knowing about me?”

“No! Fuck no! That’s not what I… shit… okay, I didn’t think you’d want to come. It’s not a normal party. Not everyone is… comfortable with this sort of thing.”

You sit up immediately. Your hand tightly grips your phone. 

“What kind of party is it?”

He pauses. The silence stretches for what feels like hours. He finally sighs and chuckles under his breath.

“It’s a sex party, babe.”

You audibly gasp and slap a hand over your mouth. You shake your head and ignore your throbbing clit to continue the conversation.

“Oh, I… right… I get it. Sorry. Uhm…”

“You’re more than welcome to come as my plus one, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You take a moment and consider your options. A sex party. As Rafayel’s plus one. You’ve never been very adventurous with your sexual endeavors. You didn’t even realize sex parties happened in real life. You’re practically salivating just thinking about it. You stand and face the mirror hanging next to your closet. What have you got to lose? 

“What should I wear?”

Rafayel laughs, he clears his throat before continuing. 

“Something sexy, but that’ll be easy for you. I’ll bring you a mask.”

You pause after opening your closet. 

“A mask?”

“Yeah, everyone wears masks to add to the ‘experience’ - everyone at these parties knows each other most of the time, but the masks offer a sense of freedom. Everybody can do what they want for the night, no consequences.”

You tug at the fabric of a sleek black dress as you mull over the idea. Just for the night. No consequences. Maybe Tara is right, maybe you should just let go. 

“What time?”

“It starts at 9. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“See you then.”

After you hang up you get to work figuring out your outfit. Rafayel might have confidence in your ability to pick out a sexy outfit but you certainly didn’t. Should it be sexy and cute? Just sexy? Sexy and slutty? Sexy and fancy? You pull dress after dress from your closet and nothing feels right. You finally decide to forgo dresses completely. The first skirt you pull out is the one. You can visualize the outfit and while it’s much more revealing than you’re used to, you are pretty sure you’d be wearing more than most of the party goers regardless. 

You zip up the pleather mini skirt, adjusting it so it sits high on your hips. Your legs were on full display, the skirt mostly serving to just cover your ass. You grab your favorite black bra and shrug on the mesh top. Layering gold necklaces so your torso doesn’t appear so bare. You look in the mirror and jump up and down with excitement. Your tattoos are fully visible through the mesh. You had lathered lotion onto your new tattoos so the peeling wasn’t noticeable and carefully applied perfume, avoiding the healing skin. Your red pumps sit next to the door with your red crossbody clutch. You were ready, well sort of.

Rafayel called you only a few minutes later and you carefully made your way to the first floor. You were comfortable wearing heels, opting to wear them all the time when hitting the club with Tara or going on dates. But tonight, your nerves were making your ankles a little wobbly. The elevator door opens to the front lobby of your apartment building and you spot Rafayel leaning against a car just outside. Fuck.

He had a button up, that was actually buttoned up this time, tucked into shredded jeans. His boots were laced with gold laces. He had multiple chain necklaces around his neck. As you got closer you realized his shirt was also see through, just little golden floral appliques scattered over the sheer fabric. You could see everything and god, it was a sight. The definition of his abs, the dark lines of a tattoo on his side and swirls of ink trailing from his neck piece down his chest. You spot his navel piercing, sparkling as the setting sun casts what almost felt like a spotlight on him. Something else sparkles, nipple rings. You swear under your breath. He’s going to kill you, not literally, but - well he might with how fast your heart is beating. 

He finally looks up from his phone and spots you. His eyes widen and he stares, jaw slack, for at least a full minute. Your cheeks burn and you have to focus on his face so you don’t sneak a peek at his torso again. 

“Fuck, you look amazing.”

His words make you stammer. You swallow hard, working up the courage to respond.

“I can say the same for you.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek. You feel his body against yours and sigh, wishing you could delay him letting you go.

“Ready to go, cutie?”

You nod and he opens the passenger door for you. You slide in and finally take a good look at the car you’re in. You’ve never ridden in a Bentley before - the seats were soft under your thighs. The leather is silky rather than sticky against your skin. The car was painted a similar dark blue to his bike and had the same bright blue headlights. You already knew he liked the color blue, but this just made it more obvious. 

He settles into the driver seat and the engine revs to life. 

“You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?”

You lean on the center console as you face him, leaning forwards.

“I’m sure.”

“We can leave at any point, Talia will just have to deal with it. Just don’t hesitate to –”

You press your index finger to his lips, silencing him. The surprised look on his face makes your smile hurt your cheeks.

“Rafayel, I’m sure.”

He smiles and you drop your hand, but he grabs it immediately and laces his fingers with yours. He rests your hand on his thigh, rubbing your hand with his thumb as he sets off down the highway.

As the gates to the mansion open, you squeeze Rafayel’s hand trying to quell a wave of nerves. This mansion is huge, you spot two guest houses and a pool with a waterfall - a full ass waterfall - nestled in the backyard surrounded by hundreds of trees and flowers. The cobblestone driveway leads to a massive mahogany front door, where two men stand, dressed in black. Rafayel continues rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“It’s intimidating, I know. It’ll be better once we’re inside.”

You watch party goers enter, getting pat down briefly before heading inside. From what you can see, they’re dressed fairly normally. Dresses and heels, suits or blazers. Rafayel parks in the garage of one of the guest houses and rushes around the car to open your door. You give him a playful glare.

“You know I can open my own door, good sir.”

He takes your hand and helps you out, bringing your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles. 

“I’m aware.”

You don’t argue when he wraps an arm around your waist as he leads you to the main house. He enters through a backdoor and a security guard greets him with a smile.

“Raf, good to see you. Talia is in the main room already. She told me to show you to the booth. And who is this with you?”

His voice hardens when he spots you. Rafayel leans over and kisses your temple.

“She’s with me.”

The guard nods and unlocks a door, ushering you both inside.

All the lightbulbs have been replaced with warm red bulbs, fake candles cover every surface, cushions and blankets are tucked in corners. Rooms that typically never have beds have become makeshift bedrooms. Wait staff stroll in and out of the kitchen with platters covered in hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. A DJ is perched on a balcony overlooking the main floor, the music a mix of soft jazz with sultry singers. 

You’ve yet to spot any party goers, so you relax a bit as you take in the lavish interior. You’re pulled behind a curtain, a small room sits behind it with a padded table, a small cabinet, a portable sink, a large medical light and a few stools. Rafayel walks up to the cabinet and crouches, examining its contents. You spot a large collection of tattoo equipment. As Rafayel sets up his station, you peek through the curtain and see people walking around. Everyone is wearing masks and at least some form of clothing. You hear Rafayel call your name and you jump back through the curtain.

“Curious, are we?”

You scoff and cross your arms. He turns to you and holds something out. You take it and realize it’s a simple black eye mask, made of simple fabric with a thick elastic band. When you look back up at Rafayel, he is already putting his on. You slip the mask on and fiddle with the elastic, unsure if you should tuck it under your hair. Rafayel touches your hand and you pause. He turns you around and collects your hair, holding it up so you can slip the elastic band underneath. He lets your hair go and smoothes it back in place. 

“You’re welcome to look around, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I’ll stay, at least for now. I can be your assistant.”

He smiles and brushes his thumb across your cheek. He stares at you for a moment, his eyes bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and he leans closer. Is he going to –

“Raffie! Oh my god thank you thank you thank you!”

A woman with long purple waves bounces through the curtain. You almost let out a gasp when you see she’s naked from the waist up. Rafayel slaps a hand over his eyes and sighs.

“Talia… You might be the one person at this party I absolutely do not want to see naked.”

“Raffie, you’re so dramatic. I have pasties on!.”

If she did have pasties, they were… camouflaged. Her teasing voice only seems to irritate Rafayel more. Or maybe it’s because of her cute little nickname for him.

“Talia, please…”

Talia sighs dramatically and dives through the curtain for a moment. When she returns she has a silky purple robe on. She reaches up and yanks Rafayel’s wrist and pulls his hand from his face. His eyes remain closed.

“I put on a robe, Raffie. Chill out.”

Rafayel opens his eyes and shoves her shoulder playfully.

“Stop it with the Raffie.”

“I don’t know, I like Raffie. It’s cute.”

Rafayel stares at you and you can’t help but laugh. Talia giggles and grabs your hand, shaking it wildly.

“When Rafayel said he was bringing a plus one I was shocked. He never brings anyone around me honestly. You must be special.”

“Oh, no I’m –”

“She is.”

Rafayel cuts you off and you nearly choke on your own saliva. His hand grazes your hip, holding you close. Talia smiles and pokes his shoulder.

“I see. Well… here you go.”

She hands you and Rafayel a keyring with three cards attached. You flip the cards back and forth, not seeing anything printed on them. 

“In case you decide to… participate. Feel free to tattoo as long as you like, I only promised the service until midnight.”

Rafayel nods and accepts the side hug Talia offers. She gives you a quick hug as well - taking you by surprise - before skipping out of the room.

“So that’s Talia. She’s my aunt. And she’s so great at introductions.”

He puts his keyring in the cabinet and sits down on one of the stools next to the table. He starts spreading out a wide array of flash tattoos he’s designed, making it easier for selection. You fiddle with the keyring. 

“So what’s this about?”

He looks up and, even in the dim lighting you can see his ears turn red.

“It’s a… aha… a way to approach someone you want to interact with and express interest.”

You stare at him, letting your mind wander as you try to figure out how it works. You avoid Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed that you don’t understand his implications. You hear him stand and approach you. His hand covers your own and he takes the keyring. You watch as he flips to the blue card.

“An individual will approach another individual, or a group of individuals, and hold up a card. They’ll wait until they’re chosen or refused. The card tells you what they want.” 

You lift your wide eyes to meet his.

“The blue card is for the male. The red card is for the female. And the yellow card is for both.”

You blink rapidly and clear your throat.

“So if I approached you and held up this.”

He holds up the red card.

“It means I want you… In whatever way I can have you.”

You take a deep breath and feel your chest tighten. You press your thighs together and basically beg your pussy to calm down. He places the keyring back in your hand and closes your fingers around it. He lifts his hand to hold the side of your neck. He leans closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath fanning across your face. His lips barely graze your cheek, just above your lips. Every breath you take pushes your chest against his. It takes everything you have not to grab him and devour him on the spot.

You hear the curtain behind you flip open and Rafayel lets go of your neck, looking up to see his first client. You sit on a stool and watch Rafayel tattoo client after client. Most are completely naked, which takes you a bit of time to adjust to. You help him by cleaning the table - very well - between clients. 

Every time a woman enters, their breasts bouncing and pussy proudly on display, you feel a twinge of pain. And when Rafayel puts his hands on them to begin working, it feels like you’re going to throw up. 

Before you know it, midnight is less than a half hour away and your nerves start to swirl. What will Rafayel want to do once his “duties” are done? Just as you’re getting ready to ask him, a perky brunette with olive skin strolls in. Golden chains draped over her perfect body. She leans against the table and points to a simple jellyfish design. 

“It’s a popular one. Where’dya want it?” 

He clears the table and she lays down on her back. You glance down at your phone and check the time and when you look back up, she is laying with her legs spread wide. You hold your breath and look to Rafayel, who is still focused on getting his supplies refreshed. When he turns around a look of genuine surprise graces his face. He sets his tattoo gun down and crosses the room to wash his hands.

“Are you sure about that? It’s worse than a piercing and harder to heal. You won't be able to participate anymore tonight.”

“A night of passion or a tattoo on my pussy by the famous Rafayel? I am absolutely sure.”

Rafayel doesn’t look at you as he puts on his gloves. You tense and drop your gaze. He sits on his stool and slides over, when you finally look up you see him basically staring at her pussy. You gasp silently, you didn’t think it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but when Rafayel glances over his shoulder at you you quickly get up and dash through the curtain. 

You don’t look back and you don’t hear him call for you - not that you could hear anything over the music and moans. You walk through the various rooms, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter on your way. You finally find an empty room and sit down to catch your breath. You down your champagne in one go and fiddle with the stem of the glass. 

You know you shouldn’t be upset, you weren’t in a relationship and this was technically your second date. From the sounds of it, he’s tattooed that area before. Of course he has, it’s his job. It isn’t a big deal. You feel foolish for running out like that, he probably thinks you’re dramatic and can’t handle his job or his fame. You set the glass on a table nearby and cover your face with your hands. 

You finish off two more glasses of champagne before feeling brave enough to head back into the main hall. You take your time as you walk back to Rafayel’s tattoo booth, letting yourself watch the chaos around you. Clusters of people on beds, tables and even the floor. Riding, licking, sucking, moaning. You feel like you’re in another world, where shame and embarrassment don’t exist. If you weren’t so frustrated you might actually be enjoying yourself. 

You stop at the staircase, your eyes locked on a couple wrapped around each other. It’s not like the others, they take their time, kissing and touching before he lifts her to ride his cock. Her moans are soft and the smile on her face - she’s experiencing pure bliss. You feel your cheeks heat and your throat tighten. You want that, not just a night of passion with a hot guy. And maybe you aren’t able to handle Rafayel’s job or fame. Is that such a bad thing? That you know what you want? Or what you don’t want?

“Cutie?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks you out of your spiral. You feel his hand on your back and you turn to face him. You know your cheeks are flushed, your eyes hazy yet vacant as your mind tries to make sense of your newfound clarity. 

“I’m sorry I ran out.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs your arms.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I know it’s your job and you’ve probably tattooed plenty of pussies - it’s not a big deal.”

“Really? I think it is a big deal if it upsets you.”

“I wasn’t upset. It doesn’t matter anyway, if I can’t handle it then maybe you should find someone who can.”

He stiffens, his brows knit together and his eyes darken. His voice drops and his tone becomes rigid.

“Is that what you want? For me to find someone else?”

“Maybe I am uncomfortable with the idea of you touching another girl's pussy, even if it is for your job. So yes, find someone who doesn’t care.”

He pushes you back against the wall. His hands move from your arms to tightly grip your hips.

“What if I like that about you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he leans in, pressing his chest against yours.

“Do you want my hands on you? Only you? Only touching your pussy?”

Your chest heaves, pressing against him with every breath. His hands move up your waist, forcing your back to arch off the wall towards him.

“Cause that’s what I want. I don’t want to touch anyone else like that, not when yours is the one I can’t stop thinking about tasting.”

His nose rubs against yours.

“I told her to change the location or get out.”

His lips brush against yours, you can almost taste him.

“So don’t tell me to find someone else because you’re the one I want. So please, don’t run away.”

You let out a shaky breath and reach up to grab his neck, you capture his lips. He moans against your mouth and you bite his lip. He gasps and tries to pull back but you don’t let him. You hold him to you and slide your tongue into his mouth, which he quickly sucks in. His tongue dances with yours leaving you breathless. 

He leans down to pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands dive under your skirt. He grabs your ass and you roll your hips against his stomach. He walks over to an unoccupied sofa and sits down with you straddling his lap. You run your hands down his body, feeling the chill of his nipple rings against your palms. He pushes your hips down and you lower onto him, his bulge growing harder under you. He suddenly pulls back.

“Wait - do you want to go somewhere private?”

You grind your hips against him and he groans loudly. You can feel eyes on you and it makes you grind harder. You lean forward and press your mouth to his ear.

“I can’t wait… and I want them to watch you take what’s yours.”

Something inside of Rafayel snaps. He rips the mesh top from your body and pulls up your skirt over your hips. His hands roam across your back as he places kisses to your chest. Your relentless grinding makes him nip and lick at your skin in response. He unhooks your bra and tosses it over the sofa, his mouth moving to capture your nipple. You throw your head back and sigh, your breathing becoming more erratic by the second. 

He lifts your hips and you whine, the friction of his bulge against your clothed pussy wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He picks you up and stands, dropping you onto the couch. He kneels and unzips your skirt, pulling it completely off of you. You tug the buttons on his shirt loose and run your hands over his chest. He pulls off the shirt and you reach to unbutton his pants, but his hand stops you. You look at him, confused.

“I have to show you something first, okay baby?”

You nod and lean back. He unbuttons his pants and bends to pull them down completely - along with his underwear. Your jaw drops, literally drops, at the sight of his cock. Not just because he is well-endowed - not to the point of discomfort, but you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow. But because the moment you saw that glint of silver your pussy throbbed so hard you nearly came. 

Right at the base of his slit sat the silver ball, you reach out and wrap your hand around him. He shudders but remains still for you. You run your fingers over his slit, already leaking pre-cum, and roll the silver ball between your fingers. You feel the other end of the piercing underneath, you shift the piercing back and forth. He moans and his hips twitch. You stroke him slowly, working your way down to the silver studs at the base, sitting atop his pubic mound. You moan as your fingers rub across it, imagining how good it will feel against your clit. 

“Having fun, cutie?”

His words are broken, his breathing labored as you work him. You smile up at him and push yourself to the end of the sofa. He reaches his hand out and strokes your cheek. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out and lick his slit. His hands grip your hair and he pulls you away from him. He towers over you, making you lean back onto the couch. He climbs over you and leans down, pressing his lips to your neck.

“How wet are you right now?”

You roll your hips up against his cock and he growls into your neck. He sits back to tug your panties down your legs. He lowers himself again, pressing his entire body against yours. You moan with how hot his skin feels against yours. You wrap your arms around him and cling to him, your legs spreading wider as he settles against you. His hands roam your body, pinching at your nipples, fingering your weeping pussy, palming your ass - every touch sending shockwaves through your system. 

He dips his fingers further into your pussy and you pull your hips back. He looks at you, sweat already dripping down his forehead. You run your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes - those beautiful fucking eyes. 

“I don’t want your fingers Raf, please…”

He chuckles and slides his hand down to line himself up. You feel the chill of metal against your entrance and flinch. 

“Look at me.”

You tear your eyes away from his cock and meet his gaze. He leans forward and kisses you. It’s a slow and steady kiss. Your mind swims as you feel his tongue slide in. And then you feel that delicious stretch, his cock sinking into you, the metal balls of his piercing stroking your inner walls. The kiss turns messy as your moans and his gasps harmonize and fill the air around you. Finally your hips jerk forward and you feel his pubic piercing press to your clit. You pull away from the kiss to scream his name, the pressure and chill of the metal overloading your senses. 

Rafayel whines as he holds still to let you adjust to him. You claw at his back and he drops a foot to the floor beside the couch to angle his hips better. You know he’s about to pound into you and make you scream even louder. The thought of the people around you watching makes you delirious. 

“Raf.. I need you– I need you to move, please…”

He doesn’t hesitate and he pulls back until just his tip is tucked inside and then he rams his hips forward, sending you backwards on the couch. You squeal and moan as he finds his rhythm. He rests his forehead against yours and gasps for air, his chest turning red from the exertion. Every snap of his hips pushes his pubic piercing against your clit making it throb and the drag of those inside of you drives you crazy. Finally you feel it, that silver ball hitting that spongy spot that makes your legs shake. You whimper and ignore the tears sliding down your cheek, the pleasure completely encompassing your being. 

“Fuck… I need to come, ahh.. Shit…”

He starts to pull out, but you wrap your legs around him and lock your ankles. He looks at you, his forehead tight as he fights off his orgasm. You release his back for a moment to grab his face, pressing a kiss to his swollen lips.

“Come inside me, baby. Pill… I’m on the pill, just come for me…”

Your command is immediately obeyed, you feel his release and shudder as the warmth fills you. His pace never falters and the added slickness from his release makes his cock slide through you even faster. Your g-spot is hit every single time he thrusts and you finally feel your back arch and your body tremble, your orgasm hits and you scream.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes Rafayel fuck yeeeeessss…” 

As you both come down, you feel his body relax against you. You lean your head to the side and he nuzzles into your neck. His soft kisses help your breathing to steady. You open your eyes and gasp quietly. Rafayel lifts his head and follows your gaze. A small group of people are standing in a circle around the sofa where you and Rafayel are lying. Some of them are holding cards and leaning on each other, some are just smiling and whispering to each other. 

“They want to join.”

Rafayel whispers in your ear. You hold onto him, suddenly very aware of how naked you are - how naked everyone is. Rafayel lifts you, his cock slipping out before he settles you on his lap. He wraps his arms around you protectively.

“We can tell them to leave, if you want?”

You hear your heart pounding in your ears. Before tonight, you never would have thought you’d be interested in experiencing certain things, but now… 

“Are you uncomfortable with anything?”

He looks at you, his brows raised in surprise.

“Another man’s dick in you, for one. Or his tongue…”

“I meant, for you.”

He tilts his head.

“I thought…”

“I don’t want you anywhere near another girl’s pussy. But his… tongue…”

You look up and stare at a particularly attractive man standing on the outskirts of the small group, partially hidden in shadow. He’s tall, broad shoulders, the hard lines of his abdomen glisten with sweat. An intricate tattoo of a dragon starts at his chest, its wings spread across his shoulder and down his arm, the body trails down his side, curving over his abs before its tail spirals down his hip and coils around his thigh. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes shift and damn… you can appreciate a pretty cock when you see one. His black and red mask covers his whole face, but even from a distance, his eyes are piercing. Rafayel follows your eyes and sees him, a blue card in his hand.

“What do you want him to do to me?”

You lean into his ear and nip at his earlobe, his cock springing to life against your thigh.

“I want him to suck you off while I ride your face.”

Rafayel groans, his head pressed into your shoulder. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Only if you want to. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel good.”

He lifts his head and looks at the man, who you’re positive is smiling wickedly. Rafayel gives him a nod and he approaches. The rest of those watching move back slightly, giving your trio more room. The man pulls a large round ottoman over and kneels beside it. His voice is deep and smooth, sending shivers down your back. Watching a man like this make Rafayel writhe with pleasure sends a new slickness to your tender pussy.

“Your ass goes here pretty boy, you lay back with your head on the couch so your girl can sit comfortably.”

He pats the ottoman, now lined up against the couch. Rafayel stares at him, his mouth hangs open. You examine the man before you, you wonder if he’s wearing contacts. Crimson eyes stare directly at Rafayel. Just as Rafayel is about to speak, the man lifts a finger to where his mouth would be. He reaches around his ear and you hear a quiet click. The lower half of his mask detaches and he slides it off, his face now only partially disguised. His smirk is breathtaking, he licks his lips slowly.

“I’m a man of my word.”

You look at Rafayel and narrow your eyes. He shakes his head.

“I’ll explain later.”

You lean in and kiss him, he whines when you pull back. He stands up with you in his arms and sets you on your feet beside him. He approaches the man, who is at least 2-3 inches taller than him. The man places a finger under Rafayel’s chin and lifts his gaze. 

“Your legs don’t move and your hands stay still. If you thrust, I hold you down. I’m doing the work here. Just like she –”

He points at you over Rafayel’s shoulder.

“She is riding. You lay there and take it, got it?”

You watch Rafayel tense, but with how his breathing accelerates you can tell he is turned on. He lays down, positioning himself as instructed. The man kneels and places his hands on Rafayel’s knees. Rafayel looks down and watches the man slowly glide his hands up his thighs. You crawl onto the couch, watching the man caress Rafayel. Finally the man wraps his large hands around Rafayel’s cock and strokes him until Rafayel is panting. The man nods at you and you pull on Rafayel’s shoulders until he rests his head back on the couch. You lift your leg over his head and hover over his face, but he doesn’t let you tease him. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down without warning. His lips close around your clit. You gasp and grab onto his elbows. 

You feel the chill of his lip piercings, his septum ring brushes against the skin just above your clit. And you finally have your answer, how his tongue ring would feel… you’ll never be the same. The ball rolls over your clit, the sudden chill and pressure makes your vision blur. You start rolling your hips. His moans start to get louder and you look up to see the man has started licking Rafayel’s shaft, placing sloppy kisses to his tip. He sucks his tip into his mouth and suckles, the lewd slurping sound he makes pushes you to grind your hips faster. When he finally takes Rafayel fully into his mouth Rafayel’s hips jerk. The man stops and lifts his mouth off of him and you feel Rafayel shake.

“I told you, no moving.”

He presses his forearms onto Rafayel’s thighs and grip his hips. You feel Rafayel’s fingers dig into your thighs as he laps at your clit, making your core heat unbelievably fast. You watch the man take Rafayel back into his mouth, lowering himself until Rafayel’s cock is fully in his mouth. Rafayel shakes under you and whimpers loudly. Hearing him whimper like that could make you come untouched, you’re sure of it. You watch the man’s throat move as he swallows around his length. You grind faster, knowing Rafayel won’t last long if this mystery man is deepthroating him so easily. He finally thrusts his tongue inside you and you lean forward, resting your hands on his stomach.

“Tell him to finger you.”

The man’s rushed words take you by surprise. As soon as he says them he is taking Rafayel in his mouth again. You lift yourself up just enough to hear Rafayel take a deep breath and groan wildly. You shift and bring your knees closer to his head.

“Raf, fingers… in me.”

A cocky smile tugs at his lips.

“I thought you said… you didn’t want my fingers?”

He barely gets the words out before he gasps, the man has shifted and sucked one of Rafayel’s balls into his mouth, his hand stroking his shaft. You look back at Rafayel and smile.

“Do as you’re told, pretty boy.”

You sit back down before he can reply. He quickly lifts his hands and circles your pussy as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. His teeth graze the sensitive bundle and his fingers curl and scissor rapidly against your puffy walls, not giving you a moment to adjust. You lean down and run your tongue over his nipple ring, he rams his fingers into you harder in response, finding your sweet spot. You take the piercing between your teeth and give it a gentle tug and start rolling your fingers over the other side.

You watch as the man starts bobbing up and down, from tip to base he takes Rafayel’s cock over and over.. You swear you can see the outline of Rafayel’s cock in his throat. He starts groaning, the vibration sends Rafayel into a frenzy and you feel your orgasm crest. 

“I’m coming fuck fuck fuck… ahhhh yes Raf yes..”

You hear the man moan and look up to see Rafayel’s release leaking out of the sides of his mouth. That sight makes your climax so intense you worry you might blackout. You feel Rafayel start tapping your thigh and you quickly lift yourself away, he gasps for air but laughs as he relaxes. You crawl off of him and are mortified to see the couch around his head completely soaked, his face and hair drenched. But you can’t find a reason to care when he looks so pussy drunk.

The man stands and wipes at his lip with his thumb, you glance down at Rafayel’s cock and see not a drop of his release is left behind. This man really sucked him dry and cleaned up… impressive. Rafayel sits up and looks up at the man. 

“Debt is paid. See you next week, Rafayel.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You look at Rafayel and crawl onto his lap.

“I’m looking forward to hearing what that was about…”

You try to wipe his forehead with your wrist. 

“Leave it, I like  smelling like you.”

You slap his chest and he chuckles. He looks up to see there are still people waiting. 

“Still in the mood to experiment?”

You don’t even glance around, you just lock your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

“No, I want you to myself. I need to see if my mouth can make you whimper like that again.”

He glares at you and pinches your side. You try to wiggle away from him, but he grabs you and hauls you over to lay on top of him.

“I can promise you, when it’s your mouth, I’ll be so delirious I might speak another language entirely.”  

You kiss his nose. 

“That’s hot.”

He laughs and kisses your nose.

“Let’s get out of here, yea?”

You’ve basically lived at Rafayel’s apartment over Lemuria Studios for the past week. It’s closer to the Association and much nicer. Plus, waking up next to him is a great way to start your day. And being fucked senseless every night is definitely helping you sleep better. 

“You should go by your place after you get off work, pick up some clothes and shit.”

You put down your coffee and stare at him.

“I want you to be comfortable when you stay here.”

You stand up from the bar stool and walk around the kitchen island. He stops chopping vegetables to lean on the counter and look at you. His shirt hangs off your shoulders, the hem barely covering your ass. You run your hands down his chest, placing a kiss over his heart. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you press yourself against him. He rubs his hands over your back and rests his chin on your head. 

“I like changing into your clothes when I get off work. I like using your shower gel so I can smell like you. I like sleeping naked in your bed. I am more comfortable than I’ve ever been.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you wearing my clothes and sleeping naked…”

You feel his hands glide down your back and pull his shirt up over your ass. The cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver. He leans down to kiss your neck, his hands feeling the curve of your ass and diving lower between your legs.

“I just think you should have some of your own things, you know?”

“I’ll pick up a few things after work.”

His fingers press against the crotch of your panties and you shiver.

“When do you have to leave for work?”

You glance over his shoulder at the clock and smile. You giggle and grab onto his neck, keeping him close.

“About an hour…”

He plants his hands under your ass and lifts you up. He continues placing messy kisses to your neck as he walks you to his bedroom. 

“That should tide us over until tonight, yea?”

Work wasn’t boring, but you were itching to leave and head to your place. The more you thought about it the more excited you were to have your things at Rafayel’s place. You loved smelling like him, but your hair types are very different and his products are definitely not working for you. You planned your entire evening while working. Completing reports, canvassing Wanderer hotspots, scanning physical reports into the digital system - with every mind numbing task, you got closer and closer to the self-care date with yourself. 

When you open the door to your apartment you’re greeted with the scent of extremely ripe bananas. You forgot you’d gotten them the day before the party and now… You close your front door and drop your keys on the entry table. You enter the kitchen and stare at the bananas. As you poke at them, you have an idea. It’s been ages since you’ve baked banana bread, but your grandmother's recipe is a classic. You find the recipe book on your bookshelf and gather the supplies you need. But before you bake, you need “an everything shower.” Badly.

Your shower gel is more floral than Rafayel’s, which is refreshing. And your scalp is finally able to breathe with your products gently scrubbing away the buildup. Shaving takes forever, but it’s worth it, Rafayel’s silk sheets would feel like heaven against your skin tonight. You put on a face mask while moisturizing and dance around your kitchen in your underwear while you stack the ingredients for the banana bread on the counter

Once the bread is in the oven, you grab a small suitcase and start packing up a few essentials. The travel size versions of your hair care products, underwear, an extra work uniform, a set of pajamas - just in case - two casual outfits and your go-to little black dress. You throw the uniform you wore today in the washer into the dryer and go through your fridge in case anything went bad while you were gone. 

You’re setting the trash bag by the front door when you hear a muffled grunt. You press your ear to the door and hear more quiet groans and shuffling feet. You stand on your tiptoes and look through your peephole as quietly as possible. You see what looks like a white helmet and a purple jacket. They’re so close to your door you start to panic. You hear a knock at your door and you freeze.

“Cutie? Are you still here?”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled behind the door. You let out a sigh of relief and swing the door open, forgetting you’re only in your underwear. Rafayel is hunched over against the doorframe, the sleeves of his leather jacket are torn and the left leg of his cargo pants are shredded and bloody. 

“Shit! Rafayel what happened?!”

He tugs at his helmet but can’t get it off. You push his hands away and unhook the straps to pull the helmet off his head. His face is pale and he’s drenched in sweat, but he still smirks when he sees you.

“Damn… what a welcome.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

You lift one of his arms and wrap it around your shoulder. You carefully help him walk into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind you. 

You help him sit down on the couch and drag your coffee table closer to elevate his leg. The fabric is almost completely torn away from his skin and you can see the dirt and gravel stuck in his wounds. You help him remove his gloves and jacket, carefully inspecting his arm to see if there’s any wounds you haven’t seen. You tug his damp t-shirt off and look for any cuts. Bruises are already starting to darken over his ribcage. 

You rush through your room to the bathroom to get a first aid kit and a few towels. You toss your face mask in the trash and put on your robe, haphazardly tying the belt at your waist. When you return Rafayel has his head back on the cushion with his eyes closed. 

“Raf? You with me?”

He opens his eyes and smiles weakly. He tries to sit up, but clutches his side with a grimace.

“Rafayel, you need a doctor.”

He shakes his head, but keeps a hand pressed over his ribcage. 

“It’s not that serious, trust me. I just need it cleaned up. I’m sorry I just showed up like this…”

“Rafayel…”

“I’ll get checked out when my doctor gets back in town. I promise.”

You rub your forehead and reach to turn on another light. You place the first aid kit on the coffee table and rush to the kitchen to grab a glass and a bowl of water. You hand Rafayel the glass, set the bowl down and sit down in front of him. 

“Drink that.”

He doesn’t argue, he drinks the water slowly while he watches you work. You dip a towel in the water and gently try to clean the dirt and gravel out of his wound. He winces, but doesn’t struggle. You start putting a bit more pressure to see where the deeper cuts are and he groans. You look up at him and he has his eyes closed tightly. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You continue cleaning the wound until it looks clear of debris. You shake a can of antiseptic spray, squinting your eyes at him as he shrugs.

“I crashed, no biggie.”

You grit your teeth and spray a more than generous amount on his leg. His leg shakes and he curses under his breath. He reaches for your hand and takes the can, chucking it across the room.

“Enough! I.. I think it’s clean…”

You flash him a smirk and grab a roll of gauze to start wrapping his leg. 

“I haven’t crashed in a long time, but these things happen. I’m okay.”

You continue wrapping his leg in silence. The feeling he is hiding something ripping into you like a knife. This is a serious injury, he could have lost his leg or worse. He’s a careful driver, you know that. So what caused him to crash? You finally look at the helmet on the floor next to the couch. The white paint on the side is scraped and you can see a thin crack along the visor. But what catches your eye is the intricate red design on the front. 

“Nice helmet.”

“Thank you. I don’t get to wear it often. Guess it’ll be retiring until I get it fixed up, huh?”

You nod. He leans forward and grabs your hands.

“I know it looks bad, but I’ve had worse. Come on, look at me, please?”

Just as you meet his gaze his phone rings. He grabs his jacket on the couch and digs his phone out. His gentle smile drops when he sees the caller. 

“I need to take this, I’m sorry.”

He lifts his leg and tries to stand up, but you push him back.

“I’ll go, you need to keep your leg elevated.”

You walk to your room, closing the door behind you. Holding the handle, you don’t let the lock click. You wait until you hear a hushed “hello” before pulling the door open a crack. You press your ear as close to the opening as possible. Rafayel’s voice is hushed.

“I need to know their name.”

“No, I know. I know. I’d never seen them before.”

“I don’t give a fuck, they almost got Ryūō caught. Cops knew which bike to follow.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of cops. Who is Ryūō? Is that really a name?

“Yea, they caused my crash. No, Zayne’s out of town. Of course I’m not at the hospital, I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m okay, seriously, I need to focus on Ryūō.”

Zayne?! As in your childhood friend, the head of cardiology? That Zayne? Is he Rafayel’s primary physician too? Why can’t Rafayel go to the hospital?

“I want a name by the end of the night, put any expenses on my card.”

“No, don’t say anything. I’ll set up the next meeting and fill everyone in.”

“Yeah, fuck… Okay, have Ryūō call me.”

You’re tempted to swing the door open and confront him immediately, but your brain is swimming with theories. 

“Cutie? You can come out now!”

You open the door slowly. Your eyes narrow and you glare at him from across the room. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and your stomach tightens. As you approach him, he shifts uncomfortably, your gaze finally unsettling him. Just as you sit down to finish treating his leg, his phone rings again.

“Is that Ryūō?”

He looks up from his phone, his expression darkens. You don’t leave, instead you continue wrapping his leg and sit in silence while his phone continues to ring. Finally, he answers it.

“Hey.”

“No, doc’s out of town. I’m okay. It could have been worse.”

“Where’d you stash your bike?”

“No no no, I’ll send someone to get it. Keep your head down for a few days.”

“I’m looking into it.”

“He put down Onryō so I’m guessing it’s personal. Could be you, could be me, or both. I’ll have more info by the end of the night.”

Onryō? As in the Japanese yokai? You remember reading about popular yokai’s before your vacation to Japan after you graduated college. You recall they are ghosts who hyperfocus on vengeance. Their passion could be born out of jealousy or hatred. Does he think this person is trying to hurt him and this Ryūō person? Now Ryūō makes more sense. Another yokai.

“Sy, I am asking you not to look into it. It’ll get too messy if you get involved.”

Who is Sy?

“I know what you can do and I am asking you not to do anything. Please. I will call you as soon as I know anything.”

He hangs up and tosses it on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans, running his hands through his hair before looking up to stare at you.

“Go on, ask.”

You secure the gauze with tape. Picking up a new towel, you dip it in the water and squeeze out the excess before moving to sit next to him. You wipe his face and he relaxes, you continue down his chest. 

“I’m pretty good at puzzles. So… I think I pieced most of it together.”

“Do tell.”

You feel his fingers trace your jaw. You pause and look at him.

“Bikes, cops, code names, someone is messing with you or whoever Ryūō is. My educated guess… Racing?”

He looks down at his leg, his brows furrow.

“Am I wrong?”

He sighs and looks at you again.

“Spot on.”

“So can you tell me what really happened now?”

He pulls the towel out of your hand and pulls you to him. You lean against the couch, careful not to put any pressure on his ribs. Once you settle, he takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been a part of the racing scene for a few years. Ryūō and I started around the same time. Now, we’ve become leaders… kind of? We’re used to having targets on our backs. So we’re careful about bringing new people onto the scene. Today, we held an open race to test the waters and it bit us in the ass.”

“Onryō? You mean?”

“Yeah... They signed in and before the race even started, cops rolled up. They targeted Ryūō and he pulled off the race to pull the cops away from us. That’s when the prick kicked me off my bike on a turn and I fucked up my leg.”

“So you have people looking for this Onryō person, what will happen when they find them?”

“My people will call me. And I’ll deal with it.”

You cross your arms and glare at him.

“And how will you, “deal with it” exactly?”

Rafayel tosses his head back on the couch and closes his eyes.

“I can’t tell you that, cutie, you know that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not going to put your job on the line. You have a duty to report this kind of thing, right? The less I say the better.”

“So Ryūō and Sy, they’re the same person, right?”

Your question makes Rafayel sit up straight, he turns to you and grabs your shoulders tightly.

“Drop it. Please.”

“No. You came to my door, bleeding and bruised and you’re expecting me to just ignore whatever shit you’re into that caused all this? Really Rafayel?”

His grip tightens.

“You’re not getting hurt because of me.”

You reach up to hold his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing under his eyes.

“I’m a hunter, I am good at taking care of myself. I’m not afraid of whatever it is you’re involved in, but what I am afraid of is you getting hurt.”

He leans into your touch, his cheeks warming and his pale skin starts to flush.

“I know you’re able to protect yourself, but these people… They’re different. They play by a different set of rules and I don’t want you to risk your job or your safety for me.”

“That’s my choice.”

He huffs out a laugh and leans his forehead against yours.

“I know, I just… fuck…”

You kiss his nose affectionately and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You curl up beside him, pressing your face into his neck.

“Let me choose you.”

He rubs your back and your body relaxes next to him.

“So…”

He kisses the top of your head and hums encouraging you to continue. 

“What’s your name? Like your racing name?”

He chuckles and leans back, tucking you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Kiko.”

You close your eyes, it seems all the racers pick a yokai as their code name. You try to remember the lore behind Kiko. 

“That’s a type of Kitsune, right? A holy fox? No, spirit fox!”

“Yep.”

You shift so you can look up at him. 

“I thought you’d pick something ocean related like… Kōjin or Tatsu?”

“A biker with an oceanic racer alias, purple hair and brightly colored Kawasaki?”

“Oh…”

“Yea, I don’t need cops breathing down my neck at the studio. So I chose something, I guess, that fit my personality?”

“You relate to a fox, huh?”

“Curious, playful, intelligent. Yea, I think so.”

“They’re also very loud if they don’t get love and affection.”

Rafayel nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, you giggle, swatting at him to sit up.

“I guess it’s an accurate description then.” 

You look down at his helmet and squint. The white base and red lines around the eyes and at the center.

“Ohhh… that explains your helmet!”

“Yeah, usually I wear a white leather jacket but I was in a rush today.”

“You don’t race the blue bike you’ve been driving me around on, do you?”

“No, I have a different bike for races. Different colors and fake plates.”

You sit up, cross your legs and face him. 

“Take me with you.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“Like, on a ride?”

You smile, a wicked gleam in your eye.

“On a race.”

He stares at you, his mouth open and eyes unblinking. You stare back, your smile unwavering. 

“You realize it’s illegal, right?”

You nod.

“And dangerous?”

You nod.

“And you might –”

You slap a hand over his mouth. He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your hand.

“I know the risks. I want to see more of your world. Especially when mine is so… blah…”

“Hmm mmh mmh hmm huh mhm!” He mumbles, trying to speak to you through your hand.

You move your hand away and pinch his cheek. He grabs your hand and holds it tight.

“You fight Wanderers for a living! That’s not ‘blah’!”

“Fine. I want to see more of your world because I…”

You look down at your lap, trying to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. He grabs your chin and lifts your face to meet his gaze. 

“Because what, cutie?”

“Because I hope I can be a part of it…”

He plants his hands on your waist and lifts you, plopping you down on his lap. His hands hold onto your ass and he pulls you closer. It’s at this moment you realize you’re still not wearing any pants and the rough fabric of his cargo pants rubbing against your nearly bare pussy makes you twitch. You grab onto his shoulders and try to lift yourself off his lap.

“Your leg!”

“It’s fine, stop squirming.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and shift your knees wider to properly straddle him. He squeezes your ass and rubs his hands down your thighs. You run your hands down his chest and start to play with his nipple rings, which earns you a deep groan. He takes the hint and stops teasing you.

“I want you to be a part of my life, but it’s a complicated one. Are you sure?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through his hair. You lean forward and place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Show me a whole new world, Aladdin.”

He chuckles and bites his lip as he looks up at you.

“My dick is not a magic carpet, but I will take you for a ride.”

You slap his chest and try not to laugh.

“You’re so stupid…”

He seizes the opportunity, with your hands on his chest, to grab your face and pull you to him. He kisses you until you can barely breath, your worries fade. You’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into, but you’re sure of one thing - Rafayel has made you feel more alive in the past week than you’ve felt in years. And you’re going to chase this feeling, for as long as possible.

Rafayel finally lets you breathe and you smell something burning. He scrunches his nose and you sniff the air, trying to determine what it could be. Your eyes widen and you scramble to crawl off of Rafayel’s lap.

“My banana bread!”

(AN Part 2: Surprise! It's also a crowfish fic. Smile.)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname

[hrts4nagi]

best friends brother!

my best friend's brother is the one for me!

pairing :: itoshi sae x gn!reader (short implied)

synopsis :: third year of high school and graduation is right around the corner! you have so many great and upcoming things up ahead. some planned and some unplanned.

what definitely wasn’t planned was falling for itoshi sae, more commonly known as your best friend’s brother.

what a way to break the pact.

wc :: 2.3k

extra :: i love the victorious sound track!!!! p.s listen to best friend's brother for a better experience :>

the best friend pact - rules:

#1 - always be happy for each other

#2 what was number two again?

#3 - do not fall for your itoshi sae

SUCCESS FAILED

shit.

well, to be completely fair it’s not like you meant to fall for itoshi sae right? it’s not like you were always searching for him as soon as you entered the room. it’s not like you didn’t mean to get lost in his gorgeous teal eyes. or the way you’d get sneak a peek at his abs whenever he had to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

who am i kidding?

you’re completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with itoshi sae. did i mention he was your best friend’s brother?

who knew a pact made 12 years ago would be the sole cause of your distress?

the rules have gotten fuzzy over the years but the one clear rule rin emphasized every time was to not fall for sae. he claimed it was because they have the same eyes, eyelashes, and name. he thinks it would be the equivalent of you dating him.

and he does not like the sound of that.

-

“reo i’m so screwed!” you flop onto his king-sized mattress rolling around face covering your eyes.

“hey! at least change out of your uniform before rolling around in my bed.” he scolds.

you stuck out your tongue at him in response earning a scoff back. “i wish i could lay hear all day," you sigh contently.

“that’s what i’ve been saying,” you yelp not noticing the white-haired boy under the covers.

gasping, you clutch your chest in shock. “what the hell, nagi? have you been here this whole time?”

“yah, you woke me up the second you landed on me.”

he rubs his eyes before sitting up. “hey, y/n while you’re here can you make those buldak noodles you always make? i really want something spicy."

“yeah sure, reo do you still any packets left?”

he sighs before pulling some out of the cabinet. “only for you guys.”

you slide a bowl over to nagi and reo. you lean onto the counter awaiting their response, tapping your fingers in anticipation.

“so what's up with ya?”

“stop eating with your mouth full.”

“it's sae.” you frown taking a seat at the counter across from the two.

nagi perks up his head. “oh, so you finally confessed to him?"

you slam your head down onto the counter in frustration.

“i'm taking that as a no.”

you slightly raise your head up to make eye contact with the two. “what do i do? if i act on my feelings, rin will kill me! falling for his older brother is the ultimate betrayal.”

“i don't think you're betraying him, per se,” reo defends. “think of it more like bending the rules a bit!”

“i'm completely breaking the rules reo. the golden rule for that matter!” you argue.

“huh, well that's unfortunate.”

-

study sessions at rin’s was commonplace. having a terrible habit of bad time management and being a professional procrastinator, rin dragged you willingly forcefully to his house after school, to get all the studying done. but don't worry, it came with perks!

#1: free tutor

#2: free snacks

#3: getting an occasional glimpse of sae

"for english, there's a lot of words that have a silent-"

rin's words drown out as you begin daydreaming. losing complete track of rin's current lesson, you turn your head towards the backyard, where you see sae dribbling the ball outside. watching his figure run by every other second.

“you know if you’re gonna stare at my brother, can you at least do it when i’m not in the general vicinity?” rin deadpanned.

“i wasn’t oggling at sae,” raising up your arms in defense.

rin raised an eyebrow at your choice of words. “what was i talking about then?”

“uhm,” you ponder attempting to trace back your steps. crap. you were way too focused watching sae to even comprehend what rin was saying. the lesson is completely bleary in your mind.

“about our upcoming exam right!” rin lightly smacked your head with his notebook in response. you rub the area he hit before looking at him with a pout.

“wrong, i was talking about my upcoming game which you’re going to. right?” rin points his pencil at you accusingly.

“yup! wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

you nestle back into the couch trying to regain focus on the question in front of you. unfortunately, your mind began to wander elsewhere. every time you close your eyes to think of the solution of the equation, the image of sae would flash in your head.

first, you'd see his deep teal eyes, donned with his infamous bottom eyelashes. you swear you could get lost in them all day. next, the shaggy magenta hair that managed to look 100x better when styled down.

what were you doing? aren't you supposed to be studying?

you shut your textbook quickly, startling rin in the process.

“i’ll be back, i think i need a drink.” rin nods in response as you usher to the kitchen.

you sigh looking down at the glass of water, swishing it around. unaware, you turn without realizing there was someone in your pathway. colliding with a hard chest as the glass shatters to the kitchen floor.

you crossed your fingers hoping you didn't bump into last first person you wanted to see.

“woah careful.”

there stands itoshi sae. you notice his hair being slightly damp, presumably from the exercise drills he just completed. you snap out of it, realizing you were staring at him longer than necessary.

“shit, i’m sorry,” you bend down to pick up the broken glass, before you even get the chance to, sae gently swats your hand away.

“careful. don’t want you to hurt yourself,” your cheeks burn at the subtle contact.

he cranes his neck towards you, making eye contact. “it’s okay, i’ll clean it up myself.”

sae slips off his hoodie but not before you take a quick peek at his toned stomach.

you were definitely no better than a man the way you shamelessly watched him. he glances at you while raising an eyebrow before turning away to avoid eye contact once more.

“well, it was nice running into you! sorry about the glass, i have to go back to studying!” you hurry out of the kitchen before sae can even respond.

returning to the living room, rin is surprised to see you all flustered and sweaty. “what happened with you?”

“nothing!”

rin raises an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. unconcerned, he turns back to his notebook reviewing the material.

-

you swear itoshi sae is doing this on purpose.

every time you're over, you always find yourself in lucky terrible predicaments. last week, you wandered into a seemingly empty bathroom to be met with a shirtless sae. a single towel wrapped around his waist, leaving little to no imagination.

and what does he do?

he tilts his head at you and continues to brush his teeth, as if you were never there in the first place. when you return to rin’s room, even he's concerned that you might be coming down with a fever from how flushed you were.

just yesterday, you were aiming for a glass on the top shelf. before you knew it, sae was behind you pressing his chest onto your back. he was so close that you could feel the warmth emitting from him and the fresh, crisp scent of his cologne.

it was intoxicating.

nonchalantly, he reminded you to be careful next time as he handed you the glass and walked away. you were left blinking at the action.

itoshi sae was driving you crazy. scratch that, insane. you absolutely had no idea what to do about it.

you think it's absolutely infuriating how itoshi sae remains perfect and composed, sporting the same deadpanned look every time.

meanwhile, you're left a stuttering, blushing mess from each and every interaction. you swear you want to punch his face the next time. (you wouldn't dare to ruin his pretty face)

-

“hey, can you do me a huge favor?”

itoshi rin never asks for favors.

stunned, you continue to listen along, wondering what he has to say.

"you're not going to ask me to kill anyone are you? did isagi really piss you off that bad?"

rin flicks your forehead with irritation.

“sae’s down with a fever," he starts. "neither my mom or i are able to tend to his needs cause of our schedules. you don't have anything to do this afternoon right?”

you slowly nod.

“cool, all you have to do is serve him leftovers my mom left on the stove and make sure he takes his medicine. after that, you're free to go.”

-

you could not do this.

standing in front of the itoshi household suddenly felt foreign to you. a sense of dread washes over you at the thought of the current situation.

what's the worse that can happen being alone with sae?

you didn't want to give it a second thought.

after twenty minutes of back and forth, you managed to enter the kitchen to prepare sae's meal. it didn't take too long, it was a quick and simple task. though, you're unsure why you ended up missing the bowl once or twice, having to clean up the mess.

the tray settled on your hands became ten times heavier from the nerves coursing through your body. you make your way to second floor, your legs feel like jelly. you sure hope none of the sweat droplets from your forehead fell into the soup. mustering enough courage, you lift a hand to the door and softly knock.

“sae?”

there's a moment of silence.

“come in.”

you enter the older itoshi’s room. you watch as he slowly sits up. prominent bags under his eyes, a flushed face, and weak deameanor. not to mention, the complete lack of color from his face. this looked nothing like the sae you know.

"hey, how are you feeling?"

"like absolute shit." you chuckle from his remark.

"sorry that was a stupid question."

you make your way towards the side of his bed, tray still in hand. being extra careful to ensure the contents of the bowl don't spill.

"do you think you're able to eat?" you stretch out the tray as an offer.

"my throat is killing me but i'll just suck it up, i have to take medicine anyway."

you place the back of your hand to sae's forehead, eyes widening at the heat. his face was hot to the touch.

"yikes, you really are burning up."

all sae could do was nod weakly in response. a frown replaced your expression. seeing sae in such a state tugged at your heartstrings.

"i can feed you so you can save your energy?"

sae nods once again.

he hopes you mistake the flush of his face from being sick, not one of revealing his feelings.

carefully, you lightly blow onto the soup, gesturing sae to open his mouth. he complies, opening enough for you to slip the spoon in. soon enough, he finishes his meal. he takes his medicine shortly after.

"almost done! let me go get a new rag for your forehead and then i'll leave you to rest," you smile softly, turning to exist his room before he latches onto your wrist.

“wait, don't go.”

you whip your head back so fast you're sure you have whiplash. gently, sae pulls you towards him. all you can do is let him lead you closer and closer.

this was so unlike sae.

“stay with me? please.”

itoshi sae never pleads. who were you to deny such a request?

you pull up a chair from his desk and take place to the side of his bed once more. the two of you share a moment a silence, basking into the

“never knew you were the type to be so clingy,” you tease.

sae doesn't even have the energy to throw you one of his usual glares. instead, he grabs your hand once more bringing it up to his chest. shocked from the gesture, you attempt to bring your hand back towards you but to no avail. sae has other plans.

“what are you doing?”

“i'm showing you what you're doing to me.”

your eyes widen at the unexpected confession. you're sure your face is beet red. your heartbeat feels so loud you wouldn't be surprised if sae can hear the rhythm of your heart.

"wait, sae i can't! it's one of rin and i's rules."

he scoffs hearing the mention of the younger itoshi. he composes himself despite being sick to make his actions loud and clear.

“i don't care. rules were meant to be broken anyway.”

in a swift motion, sae drags you from previous seated position to under the covers with him. you gasp from the abrupt action. he buries his head into your neck, softly inhaling the scent of your perfume.

you comply as your hand makes it way to the top of his head. you scratch light shapes into his scalp earning a sigh of contentment from sae.

"if you get me sick, im going to kill you."

"yeah yeah."

guess his plan worked out after all.

-

bonus:

“huh? what pact?”

you gape at rin. surely, he didn't forget. right?

“the pact we made when we were 5? that pact? the best friend pact?”

all rin does is blink at you.

“doesn't ring a bell."

“you're joking right? please tell me you're joking.”

“i can assure you i'm not.”

you face palm before returning to meet rin’s eyes once more. “so, you really don't care that i'm dating sae?”

“oh that's great news actually, i was wondering when you'd finally make a move.” he shrugs.

“what? so you knew!”

“how could i not? you weren't exactly subtle about it.”

"so, you're not gonna kill me for dating sae?"

"no, i'm livid."

you can feel a sweat drop trickle down your forehead. rin releases a breath before speaking again.

"but, you seem happier with him. i guess. so, i don't really mind." rin ruffles the top of your head as you continue the way to your second home, the itoshi household.

☆.

a/n :: rin is a 10/10 best friend. i lowk hate the ending might revise at a later time </3

[hivemuthur]

Nothing's New - Ch.3.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut sort of present moving from this chapter forward

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 5,5K

tag: #nothings new

summary: Alright folks, some abrupt decisions are made in this chapter and I am foreshadowing Viktor's self-discovery (I will place a warning in the next chapter, as here it's still not that relevant). I will post some smut in a minute so you all don't get too sad :v

Cross-posted on AO3

—

You’ve spent the entire weekend stewing in your thoughts. Replaying the events over and over, from beginning to end, picking up pieces you might have missed before. It’s been a week since your last interaction with Viktor, and today is the final day for you to collect your things from his apartment.

You’ve been lying in bed, wondering if what happened last week was real or just an odd case of pareidolia—attaching meaning where there was none. Viktor’s anger, his cracking voice, the way he slumped back into the chair after you hurled fragments of conversation at each other. And yet, those fragments were more than anything that had happened between you in the past year.

People do such strange things after breakups. They throw themselves anywhere but into the breakup itself. They drink, get addicted to something, take up an extreme sport—or extreme hookups, which could also count as a sport—start smoking, dive into a new relationship, or become completely hopeless or cruel versions of themselves. And those versions do stupid, strange things.

Like giving your ex the keys to your apartment to pick up their stuff. Or being the said ex and going to your ex’s apartment to pick up your stuff. Utterly deranged. Utterly strange. Cruel on one side, hopeless on the other.

You have waited the entire weekend, sitting on pins. You haven’t seen Paul once, ignoring his texts and phone calls. Then, inevitably, Sunday noon has crept in, and you realise, that you have to go.

The journey is a drag in itself, but once you are in front of his apartment, you pause. You hold your breath as you slide the key into the lock. Getting here was torment. You thought the cursed triple-date restaurant ordeal was horrific, but you knew nothing. This is horrific. This is true terror. The terror of what’s on the other side of the door gnaws at you the whole way here, and now it gnaws harder, your hand frozen on the key, frozen in the lock.

When you hear it click, you release the trapped breath and close your eyes, stepping in. It’s dark. The day is muggy, with rain on and off, as the weather broke earlier in the week. The first licks of autumn hang in the air, and suddenly, you remember how freezing Viktor’s apartment is during the colder months. Your apartment. The apartment you lived in together. Whatever.

You take a timid stroll through the hallway—some pictures have disappeared from the walls. The ones of you and him. It’s expected, no reason to sulk. Moving on.

There it is: the lounge. The space where you’ve spent so much time reading, yapping, playing records, having sex on the couch, on the windowsill. Sleeping in front of the TV. So much time spent there alone, waiting, falling asleep with a book on your face, or staring expectantly at your phone. So many times you were abandoned here.

Viktor’s desk by the window is still covered in books, papers, and notes. He’s taken his computer away for the weekend, leaving behind a sharp square-shaped void outlined in dust where it had been. You draw a sad face in the dust with your finger, then hesitate, wondering if you should wipe it away so Viktor doesn’t notice.

You sit in his chair and spin yourself around, your feet dragging on the floor. No pictures to stare him in the face while he works, no particularly personal notes. No signs of Julia yet. No assprints in the layer of dust on his desk. Check.

You turn to the box he’s left for you in the middle of the room. Your name is scrawled angrily on it, as if Viktor forced himself not to write something like "CUNT" instead. It’s sealed, ready for you to grab and flee. But you want to see what remnants of you he’s collected, the things he so firmly believes need to be returned.

You rush to the kitchen and grab the first knife you see. Back to the box. A strange feeling churns inside you—something close to excitement, but also to dread.

With trembling hands, you slice the tape, reopening the wound. The box is stuffed with paper on top, meticulously packed. You pull the layers out and start digging.

Your books and clothes, mostly. You take them out one by one. Your T-shirt with "ALL MY BOOTS ARE FUCKED UP" written across it in huge letters. You used to sleep in it. You hadn’t realised it was left behind. It smells exactly of nothing—just a piece of cloth that’s been hanging in a closet for months. And yet, it smells faintly of Viktor, though maybe it’s just your imagination.

Books, each of them ones you love. Especially your first edition of The Lord of the Rings. Not the first edition, just the first one you ever got. A couple of notebooks with notes for work and personal scribbling. Your pin that says, “Bono in short legs shock.” Nothing in particular.

A few records are stuffed to the side. You wince at how he’s squeezed them in there and wonder if they’ve already melted and warped in the heat that was killing you not so long ago. And then, your heart sinks. Between the books and the clothes and an odd perfume bottle, lies a small box.

A gift you’d brought him: the tiniest chunk of meteorite you’d bought at the weirdest book convention you’d ever been to. It had been mixed with a natural minerals expo, an esoterica expo, and a reptile expo. Truly terrible. Until you spotted a man selling pieces of stars from his private collection. And you thought to yourself that if anyone on this planet deserved to receive a star for no occasion, it was Viktor.

He was speechless when you gave it to him. “Amazing,” he’d whispered, his eyes glinting as he weighed it in his hand. For something so small, it had felt so heavy. His heart had felt heavy too, with affection and devotion. He kissed you, kept kissing you until you were out of breath. It was wonderful.

And now it sits in your hand, discarded and abandoned. And it feels heavier than ever.

Forcing the tears back where they came from, you take a shaky breath and scramble up from your knees, clutching the box in your hand. You go to return the knife to where you’d taken it from in the kitchen, determined not to leave any sign of your snooping—except for the sad face drawn in the dust.

When you turn from the counter, it hits you violently in the face.

A Post-it note on the fridge. Viktor’s handwriting. Very old-fashioned. Very Viktor. More intimate than text messages. He’d left those for you once, before your intimacy had died. But this one isn’t for you.

“Miláčku, if you could grab my notebook on your way to work, I will be eternally grateful. V.”

In an instant, you forget your intention to leave no trace. You snap it from the fridge door, twisting it violently in your fingers. Something roars in your chest, and you can feel yourself spiralling. The need to go somewhere safe is overwhelming. So you go to the bedroom.

And there you are, confronted with another square-shaped void. The outline of where the bed used to be screams at you with the darker shade of wooden floor compared to the rest of the room. The empty space—what you remembered as small and cramped—now feels massive and vast.

You crumble onto the floor, squeezing the box with Viktor’s star in one hand and the wretched note in the other. There is no force that could stop your tears. Your lungs burn as you release a pathetic wail of a sob, granting yourself one of the ugliest cries you’ve had in months. The sun sets at some point.

Your chest and shoulders shake in spasms as your tears fall onto the piece of yellow paper, distorting the handwriting into blurred stains. This is the worst you have felt since the beginning. This is the bottom, surely. Crying in your ex’s apartment, on the spot where your bed used to be, clutching a word in your fist as if you refused to give it away to another woman. You refuse to give Viktor away to another woman. You refuse to give yourself to another man.

When you’ve run out of tears, you just stare at the note. For about ten minutes. No, for around twelve hours. You have no idea how much time has passed. You sit there curled up where the bed used to be, unable to move, unable to cry. The remnants of whatever composure you had when you stepped in are all gone.

You don’t even flinch when the door unlocks, and you hear footsteps and a sigh from the hallway. You are completely content to die here in your ignominy.

“Why are you still here?” Viktor’s voice echoes through the corridor, making him sound like an annoyed ghost. Hearing no response, he sighs again, louder this time, to emphasise how distressing your presence is to him. A caricature of a sigh, almost as if mocking someone else’s.

“I asked, why are you still—” He pauses when he sees you. “Are you alright?” The way his voice is laced with genuine concern makes you sick. It is the truest thing he has said to you in such a long time. One of the very few true things he has said in a year.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice utterly sad and so small. You open your shaking fists, and Viktor crouches awkwardly to make sense of what you are showing him. Once he sees the box and the wet, yellow paper, he understands.

“This,” he says calmly, “is something I no longer want. And this is a note to my girlfriend, Julia.”

His tone is devoid of emotion—quiet, calm, calculated. Inside, he is a storm. He left those two things intentionally, to stab you back. He had no idea the stabbing would work so well.

He planted them to stop feeling so fucking sodden. The rush of adrenaline at the thought of you finding those items was a momentary relief because he wasn’t able to tell you how stumbling upon your things jabbed at his heart. He wasn’t able to tell you that he actually played your records and read your books. Or that, when he found your T-shirt hanging in the wardrobe, hidden under his sweater—the one you stole all the time in winter—he died, just a little. How he hadn’t realised until he put the sweater on and discovered there was another skin underneath the wool. And that it still smelled of you after all this time. He wouldn’t tell you that he’d rather eat drywall than smell it again.

“Why is it saying what it’s saying?” you ask, your voice a sharp, trembling whisper, disbelief written all over your face. It’s so undignified to ask this. But dignity is a luxury you have to shed to get through this.

“Because I forgot my notebook for work the other day,” Viktor replies, his tone dispassionate, his eyes studying you like a scientist observing a failed experiment. This has truly backfired. Or rather, it has worked too well. In his wildest dreams, Viktor wouldn’t have dared to think he would find you curled up on the floor, your face swollen and defeated, exposing yourself to another blow.

“Do I have to wipe your face with it, so you answer my question?” you hiss, though the answer isn’t unexpected. The tiny dent made the last time you saw each other was, in the end, only a dent.

You wouldn’t even call it a crack—something you could peel off and peek inside. So, of course, you have to keep hitting.

His jaw tightens, but his voice remains cool, measured. “It is a pet name. A word you use for someone you are in love with.” He is hitting back. Your anger makes him angry. The fact that you are so angry and broken means that nothing has ended, nothing has resolved. And it boils the fear within him, and he attacks when he is afraid. Normally, it wouldn’t be a phrase to play with. But now, he is afraid.

The paper in your hand crunches loudly as you snap your fist shut. “It belongs to me,” you say in a dark tone, your voice brimming with equal parts defiance and anguish.

Viktor scoffs. “That’s rich. Nothing in here belongs to you, save for the trash you refuse to take out.” He stands up to accentuate his disgust. “Are you honestly being jealous right now?”

“No!” You shake your head and pick yourself up to level with him. “But this is just… cruel,” you shoot back, your voice rising, cracking under the weight of his dismissal.

“You will forgive me,” Viktor says with a bitter smile, “but I don’t follow. Which part of me doing the exact same thing that you are doing—moving on—is cruel?” He hasn’t moved on. He is standing stuck in one place. Julia is a distraction, and he knows it. And he knows it’s wrong to use someone like that, but he is only human. And there is no comfort in the idea of being eternally broken.

“You know exactly what I am talking about! Did you leave it here intentionally? Did you do this to hurt me?” Low. You are so low right now, the sound of you hitting this new bottom is echoing across your skull.

“You are so fucking full of yourself,” he spits, his voice dripping venom. “This is my house. It was on my fridge. As far as I remember, there was nothing in my fridge that you might possibly need to take with you.” Except for this exact note that I left there for you to see. That I left there to hurt you, and you are absolutely right about me because you know me better than I know myself.

“Why did you make me come here?” you demand, your voice trembling with rage and heartbreak.

“Do I look like a delivery man to you?” Another cold scoff. Fast, so fast, he’s afraid you are going to see.

“Viktor. This—this is not going to work the way you think it will. You can’t just get rid of me. I will be in your life. I—”

“No!” he roars, the crack in his composure finally showing. “I want you gone. You—you fucking abandoned me! You ran, as if I were some abusive bastard. You do not get the right to demand anything from me!”

You are actually being screamed at by Viktor. Your brain short-circuits, and you blink a couple of times.

“What about Jayce and Mel?” you counter, clutching at straws, desperate to find a thread that could keep you tethered to him. Why, though? Were you really going to be friends again?

“I don’t give a fuck about Mel. And if I can live without you, I can live without Jayce,” he snaps, his voice teetering between fury and despair.

“Viktor, you cannot be serious right now. Jayce is—”

“I would rip off my leg to rid myself of you,” he cuts you off, his voice raw and unfiltered, his accent thickening under the weight of his emotions. “The good one. There is nowhere I wouldn’t go to rid myself of you. I regret—”

“I could slap you for that,” you interrupt, your voice low and trembling with fury.

“I wish you would,” he shoots back, stepping closer, his face a mask of tortured defiance. “I wish you would do fucking anything other than run. I wish you had waited for me that evening and talked to me. I wish you didn’t wipe your face with a note. I wish you’d picked up the phone instead of turning it off. You ruined me. You stole so many months of my life. And you dare to be surprised that I have found someone.”

“You abandoned me first,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but the words hit him like a blow.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice tight, his eyes closing as if to shield himself from the truth. He knows. He knows. But for once, when he needed you to be strong, you were weak, and he couldn’t forgive that. Just once, when he crumbled under the pressure of stress, under the pressure of investors gnawing at him and Jayce, he just wanted you to stay put. To just be the person he came back to, day after day, until it passed. And when you crumbled, he hated you because you made him hate himself for being weak as well.

“You abandoned me first,” you repeat, louder this time, the words escaping your lips like a confession. “I loved you so much.” There are so many bottoms yet to be discovered by you, you realise. Stacked in layers, only for you to be painfully peeled off, like the paper skin on shoulders burned in the sun.

“Stop,” he says again, his voice faltering, the dent cracking as you keep hitting. As you keep scratching and clawing your nails at it.

“I tried to stay, but I couldn’t,” you continue, tears spilling over your cheeks, your voice alien even to you.

“Stop this,” he pleads, stepping closer. His hand reaches out, hesitating in mid-air before brushing against your face. His touch is tentative, trembling. His thumb sweeps the tear running down your cheek. His face, morphing in anguish, rage, something you can’t read—hesitation, resignation—all of those things watercolour across his eyes, his eyebrows, his lopsided mouth, transforming from one into another second after second.

“It ripped me apart,” you whisper, and his hand drops, his head bowing under the leaden weight of it all.

You feel the fear of the moment escalating or fading—both wrong—as now this is the most real thing that has transpired between you in almost a year. Your breath hitches when Viktor steps closer. And then.

He rubs his face against yours, his breath trapped in his throat as his composure fades. You freeze. The feeling of his skin on yours—so familiar. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple jumping, and finally, his golden eyes meet yours. And then. And then.

And then.

The featherlight brush of his lips—not yet a kiss. A strangled movement, hesitant and unsure. Your face cupped in his hands, the pull of gravity still stronger than the pull of his arms. And you stay, fixed in your place, breathing in his scent.

The last time you kissed was a long time ago, save for the absent pecks you gave each other when coming and going. And before that, you kissed many times. But never like this. Never so uncertain, so afraid.

He holds the back of your head as if you were water. It isn’t just one kiss. It’s plenty of lingering, sad kisses—no tongue, just his soft lips gently pressing against yours, making tiny smacking sounds each time he retreats to start again.

The outside of him is calm, but his heart flutters in his chest, and you can feel it under your hands, fisting his sweater. You kiss him back with equal, fleeting tenderness. Your hands travel to his neck, to his cheeks, ghosting over the beauty marks on his face. In the deafening silence of this space, all you can hear is his shuddery breath.

So this is how it used to feel. You remember. The one tremendous feeling that was missing, that you had forgotten about. Belonging. It crawls back into the periphery of your nerves—the sensation of being taken and kept, falling from his mouth to yours. But this time, you take him back; you keep him back.

He closes his eyes and kisses you deeper, pulls you closer. The familiarity of it erases all his careful plans to kick you out of his life. It clouds his judgment as he does the unthinkable. His fingernails scrape faintly against your cheeks, and you open your mouth fully for him, allowing him to swallow you. Your tongues touch, and Viktor groans. Because it feels different than with other people, and he can’t deny it.

His cane clatters against the wood as he leans on you, pushing you toward the windowsill. His fingers now dig into your ribs, knocking the air out of your lungs. You hop up, open your legs, and he is between them immediately. Leaning on you, squeezing the back of your neck, his hands all over you, under your clothes, and you gasp for air, rutting your hips against him to feel more of him—all of him.

Your hands fumble with his shirt and sweater so you can touch the flat plane of his stomach. His belly button glues itself back to his spine as you slide your palms underneath. Your breaths grow heavy as his hands fist your hair and press you further into his face until you can’t breathe. He gropes you so hungrily it almost hurts; all the clothes you are wearing hurt your skin, and only Viktor’s skin can soothe this pain.

You desperately pull the layers between you up and press your stomach to his. His hips buck into yours, his cock straining in his pants, and he wants—he wants, he wants you so much he whimpers, rutting into your core, the pang of lust and need twisting in his lower belly.

It all falls back into place when he suddenly remembers what it’s like to be just blissfully fucking you, what it feels like to be inside you, and he is aching. He thrusts against you hysterically, cursing his clothes, his hands grabbing fistfuls of your flesh, and you wrap your legs around his hips, digging your thumbs into the hollow of his cheeks.

And it’s only when you moan out his name that he remembers something else—how hard it was to breathe when you left. How bad he felt under Mel’s worried gaze. And he knows he wouldn’t survive it if it were to happen again.

So he pauses, breathing heavily, resting his forehead against yours. He snarls and pulls away, and you feel something hooked out of your chest violently, leaving a gaping hole behind. He disappears from your space so fast you can only register him moving further between your blinks.

When you open your eyes again, you see him in the far corner of the room, hunched on his cane, chest heaving, turned so that he wouldn’t face you.

“Get out.” His voice is flat and rotten, as if someone has made him eat poison.

Wordlessly, you take the box with the star chunk from your pocket and place it on the windowsill before leaving the room. You drop your belongings back into the previously gutted box, not bothering to seal it back up, drop the keys into the bowl by the door, and leave with a loud thud echoing all the way back to the bedroom.

Viktor stands by the window, waiting to see you out on the street. His hand clasps against his mouth, trying to suppress a sob, his eyes fixed on you down there, so tiny, waving in a cab. It swallows you and takes you away, alongside your things.

It’s getting late, but he still calls Julia. He gives her the worst, most generic talk he can muster. He gives her a weak “It’s not you, it’s me,” which is, of course, a lie. Because it’s about her—not being you. And he can’t bear another woman crying in his apartment on that day, but he braces through it. He doesn’t tell her about the kiss. She cries a lot, but they part in peace. She’s understanding like that. And he feels about one stone lighter when she leaves.

But it’s not enough. One stone lighter, that’s all he feels after. His apartment is still heavy, still weighed down by the absence of you. He locks the door, leans against it for a moment, trying to breathe. The quiet settles over him, a suffocating silence that makes his chest tight. It’s not like he thought it would be. He should be relieved, shouldn’t he? He doesn’t have to juggle anyone’s emotions anymore, doesn’t have to pretend to be something he’s not. But all he can think about is you. How you left, how he watched you go, how he felt that piece of him break off and disappear when the door shut behind you.

He makes his way to the couch, sits down heavily, his hand finding its way to his lips. His fingers press against the spot where you kissed him, still lingering with the faint taste of you, the memory of your warmth. He mumbles a quiet apology, but it feels hollow, empty, like he’s talking to the walls.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over, the words breaking him. “I love you. God, I love you...”

His breath catches on the last confession, as if saying it aloud will somehow make it real, but it only makes the absence feel sharper. It’s almost unbearable. The pain of not having you here, the pain of knowing he pushed you away. He presses his palm harder against his lips, as if trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through his fingers. He feels completely gutted.

And you come back to Paul with your gutted box of things. He lets you in, no words said. He makes you tea and sits you on the couch. And you feel... so rotten, so evil for doing this. He cradles your head on his lap and makes quiet, soothing shushing sounds. When it starts to feel worse and worse, you snort up your sniffle and sit up.

“I have to talk to you,” you say in a cracked voice, Paul still smiling, still not realizing, because he would never expect you to do something so horrible.

He cocks his eyebrows and hums. “Oh-oh.”

“Paul, I’m serious,” you say, your voice trembling. The tea in your hands cools as the weight of what you’re about to tell him crushes you into the couch.

“You sure you want to do this now? Seems like you had a hard day already,” Paul replies, his tone gentle, though his gaze searches yours cautiously, as if bracing for something heavy. He’s ready for many things. He understands breakups are complicated. He knows how fresh this is when you started. And he’s told himself he’s ready for this kind of moment as well. Yet. Yet.

“I need to tell you something,” you insist, setting the tea down and folding your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking.

“Let me guess. Things are not as over between you and Viktor as you thought they were,” Paul says, leaning back, his face unreadable but his voice still gentle, knowing.

“I—” you stammer, feeling a lump rise in your throat. Were you this obvious?

“You don’t need a genius to know that. It was pretty fast… you and me. I am aware,” he continues, his voice soft but tinged with resignation, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. He’s actually hoping to be wrong, but well.

“We kissed,” you admit, the words spilling out like a confession you can’t hold back any longer. And then you wince as the memory somehow becomes real once you speak it out loud. But you can’t tell him what kind of kiss it was. That you’ve betrayed Paul about a million times today, with each tender and longing kiss Viktor gave you—and you gave back to him. Let him think it was just a kiss.

“Oh.” Paul freezes, his expression shifting ever so slightly, though you can’t tell if it’s surprise or hurt—or both.

“Oh?” you echo, your own voice quivering with uncertainty, afraid of what will follow.

“Well, I… I didn’t exactly expect you to say that,” he admits, running a hand through his hair, his movements deliberate, as if giving himself time to think.

“What did you think I was going to say?” you ask, your voice cracking, the weight of guilt pressing on your chest like a vice. The bottoms just keep coming.

“Oh, I don’t know. That you’re not ready to move in yet? I don’t know what I was thinking, really,” he says with a bitter laugh, his shoulders sagging as he looks away from you for the first time.

“Paul—” you start, but he cuts you off with a raised hand.

“Do you want to get back together with him?” he asks, his tone measured, though the tension in his jaw betrays him.

“No,” you say quickly, but the certainty in your voice wavers under his gaze. No. No, you don’t want to. You’re sure you don’t want to. And yet.

“Do you want to move in with me?” he asks, his voice quieter this time, almost cautious, as if he doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“I… don’t know,” you admit, your hands clenching into fists against your thighs, wishing you had an answer that would hurt less. No. You don’t want to.

“Do you still love him?” Paul’s question lingers in the air like a storm cloud. You swallow hard, your silence speaking louder than any words could. And you hate yourself for it. This poor, kind man. And what you did to him. Almost the exact same thing Viktor did to you.

Paul sighs, the sound heavy with understanding and pain. “Do you love me?”

“I—I don’t know,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes under the pressure of his scrutiny.

“Well,” Paul says, forcing a weak smile that makes his lines more prominent. “I guess that concludes it.”

“Paul—” you try again, desperate to say something, anything, to fix this.

“Don’t,” he interrupts, his voice breaking slightly. “I guess I should’ve known. Jesus, how have I been so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid. I am. I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your chest aching with regret. He looks so hurt. And it aches to be so broken that you can’t love a nice, beautiful, boring man. It would be so easy if it weren’t so hard.

“Is that all it was? Just a wait up before you can get back with him?”

“Paul, I’m not getting back with him. And no, it wasn’t. I just… don’t think it’s fair. To be with you, when I’m not…” anything in particular. Not in the relationship, not outside of it. Just complacent.

“Do you have any idea… what it feels like to be with someone who is in love with someone else, all the time?” He looks at you and the answer is written all over your face, then takes a long sigh. “I’ll call you a cab.”

You sit in silence for a while. You drink your cold tea. You stand up, pick up your box for it to be taken from your hands and carried by Paul to a cab. He slumps it onto your knees and closes the door before you can say ‘thank you.’ Then he pats the cab’s roof and sends you away. He will make you his own box, soon.

And you come back home, to your dark place, with one box, and another already anticipated, to stack one on top of the other. Thoughts clattering in your head. Viktor, the mess you’ve made, the confusion—all so harrowing.

You should feel something, shouldn’t you? Relief, maybe? But it’s just emptiness, the kind that fills every corner of your flat, each inch of it reminding you of what you’ve lost. You try to focus but your thoughts slip back to Viktor, to the kiss, to the way he touched you, like he still cared, like he still wanted you.

Sitting down on the bed, you press your fingers to your lips, the memory of his kiss burning there, so vivid, so real. You can almost feel him again. The warmth of his hands, the way his lips fit against yours like they were made to. Your chest tightens, the ache deepening. You close your eyes, leaning into the pillow, whispering, “I love you. I miss you so much,” to the fabric, as if hoping that saying it aloud will somehow help you to repent.

And in that quiet moment, when the dust settles down, the truth you've been running from finally breaks through. It was always there, under the surface, but now you admit it. Now, you let yourself feel it, how much indeed you love him and miss him.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: The Yapper, The Listener

Pairing: KK Arnold x Reader

Fandom: UConn's women's basketball

Rating: Fluff | First-Person POV

Summary: kk has always been the yapper, til you

Word Count: 1.4k

If you had told me a year ago that I’d somehow out-yap KK Arnold, I would’ve laughed in your face. I mean, KK? The loudest, chattiest, most relentless talker on and off the court? The same KK who could trash talk you into a bad game without even breaking a sweat? Yeah, right.

But here I was, sitting across from her at our usual booth in the student union, rambling about the absolute disrespect I’d endured in my morning class while she sipped her smoothie, nodding along like I was delivering the most important speech of the century.

“And then, tell me why this man had the audacity to mark my paper down a whole five points just because I ‘lacked conciseness’—KK, can you believe that? Lack conciseness? Babe, I am a storyteller. I paint pictures with my words.”

KK hummed, swirling her straw around her cup. “Mhm. Can’t rush the art.”

“That’s what I’m saying! He just doesn’t get my vision!” I huffed, leaning back against the cushioned booth. “Anyway, that ruined my whole morning. I had to go get an iced coffee just to recover, and then—”

I paused, narrowing my eyes at her. “Wait a minute. You’re way too quiet. What’s going on? You’re supposed to be my hype man in situations like this. Where’s the outrage? The energy? The unnecessary side commentary?”

KK smirked, resting her chin in her palm. “I mean… I figured you had it covered, mamas.”

I squinted. “What does that mean?”

She reached across the table, tapping my lips with her thumb. “It means you yap more than me now.”

I gasped, clutching my chest like she’d personally offended me. “That’s crazy. That’s actually insane.”

KK just laughed, settling back in her seat. “I used to think nobody could out-talk me, but you? You be talkin’.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, you act like you don’t love hearing me talk.”

She shrugged, lips twitching. “I do. That’s why I let you.”

That made me pause. My mind ran back to how things had shifted. When we first started dating, KK and I had been on the same level when it came to running our mouths. We’d banter back and forth for hours, seeing who could get the last word in (spoiler: it was usually me). But somewhere along the way, she’d settled into this… listening role.

Not because she had nothing to say—KK always had something to say—but because she liked hearing me talk.

I felt my face heat up at the realization. “Wait… have I just been yapping at you nonstop for months and you let me?”

KK grinned. “Mhm. And I don’t even mind.”

I stared at her. “I feel like I should be embarrassed. But I’m not.”

She reached for my hand, playing with my fingers. “Don’t be. I like it.”

And just like that, I melted.

Basketball practice had ended an hour ago, but I was still sitting on the sideline, waiting for KK to finish getting shots up.

Correction: commentating while waiting.

“There she goes, folks, lining up for the free throw—she dribbles once, twice—oh, she hesitates. The tension in the air is thick. Will she make it? Will she fold under the pressure? The crowd holds its breath—”

The ball swished through the net effortlessly.

KK turned to me with an unimpressed look. “You doubting me, mamas? That’s crazy.”

I grinned. “Never that, baby. Just setting the scene.”

She jogged over, resting her hands on her hips. “You ever thought about a career in commentary? You already talk enough for the both of us.”

I gasped dramatically. “So you admit I took your spot as the biggest yapper?”

KK shrugged, tapping my knee. “Go ‘head and take the title, baby. I like hearing you talk. You keep me entertained.”

I tilted my head at her, softening. “You really mean that?”

KK rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness there. “Yeah. Your voice is my favorite.”

Damn. How did she always make me feel like the luckiest person alive?

Later that night, we were curled up in my dorm, KK stretched out on my bed while I laid half on top of her, tracing patterns on her arm.

“I’m just saying, if you’re gonna sit there all quiet while I talk, I feel like you owe me commentary of some kind.”

KK raised a brow. “What kind of commentary?”

I huffed. “I dunno. Like little affirmations. ‘Mhm, that’s crazy’ isn’t gonna cut it all the time.”

She laughed. “Oh, so now you need me to hype you up while you talk? You getting greedy, mamas.”

I pouted, looking up at her. “I just like hearing your voice too.”

KK smirked before leaning down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Okay. Next time you go on a rant, I’ll gas you up properly.”

I smiled, satisfied. “Good. Because I’ve been holding in a rant about how the dining hall got rid of my favorite cereal and I need you fully engaged.”

KK chuckled, wrapping her arms around me tighter. “I’m all ears, baby.”

And just like that, I went right back to talking, knowing she’d listen to every word.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[imliterallyf7ckin9crazy]

“ℑ’𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔶𝔢𝔱, ℑ’𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢”

Squid game season 2

In-ho x f!reader

Warnings: in ho is obsessive, stalking, poverty, cannon violence, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, loss of sanity, reader is an absurdist, childhood abuse, obsession, sad stuff.

NOT PROOF READ OR EDITED. This will also be a THREE PART SERIES bc quite honestly I can’t write much at one time smh. Also do not take reader too seriously she crazy as hell.

Also sorry reader and in-ho barely interact this chapter bc I needed to set the scene so you know what I’m talking abt. Pls read still tho bc I think it’s cool :3 you’ll need it for part two and part three.

TLDR: this is gonna be long af. So basically the reader is previous winner like gi hun only she went kinda crazy after her first game. So she gets like mentally locked in the games so to speak and so after she wins she doesn’t pay any of her debts and actually tried to accumulate more so she can be recruited again. She gets her card and when she talks to in ho he is like “why would u do this” and she’s like “bro bc i think I understand you and shi” and he’s like “if you can win again we can talk lol” and she is like bet. Only he tries to rig it against her. But she is dead set on winning.

A/N: am I projecting? Maybe. Also this shit is LONG sorry it took so long

————

Sometimes, when you find yourself winding through random back alleys or when you lie your head to rest at night, you can still hear the screams..

You can still feel the reverberation of each gunshot fired into the innocent flesh of desperate people. The wetness of the blood that splatters your face as others die before your eyes and you can’t quite tell if the screaming your were hearing was theirs or yours.

And sometimes you can still make out all the promises that were made in the dormitory. The faint memories of the voices of friends you made. The exact sound of their voices lost to time, but the faces of their lifeless bodies remained unchanged in your mind. Some of them were at the hands of players and some of pink soldiers.

And one at your hands.

Life had been cruel to you long before being convinced to risk it all. To say your early life was messy would be an understatement. Years of falling to sleep bloody and bruised, countless hours of begging for basic needs, and endless attempts to run away and make it better. Trying anything to make you feel whole. Like nothing ever happened at all. Once you got a job your parents kicked you out and left you to fend for yourself. At first it was great, you didn’t feel like you were being suffocated anymore. Until you got fired.

The place you worked at was shut down due to the owner embezzling the money and getting caught. The business soon went down at for lack of funds. And the reality of life became clear to you once again. Over time the hope you had to escape your parents and live the life you dreamed of as a young girl was drained from your soul. Ever since then you’ve been doing this. Wandering the streets aimlessly, almost as if you had never been in your home city a day in your life. You can’t even see the faces of those around you. Every face is replaced by one of four faces… ever since then that is.

The first face is younger you, battered and bruised to all hell. You see her face on usually younger people. No matter what they’re saying or doing the expression she gives is always the same. Glosses over eyes and facial features set in a way that screams both “why would this happen to me” and “what the hell became of us”. You cant even begin to answer those questions.

The second is the face of your father. Almost every man looks like him now. Though you haven’t seen him in years, since the game he’s come back to haunt you. To remind you there’s more wrong with you than what happened in those couple days. That there’s more broken about you. His expression stays angry. Tense like he’s going to hit you. For this you almost never interact with men and if you do it always end poorly.

The third is the one drives you insane most.

There was this beautiful, kind girl you once knew. Growing up she was the only thing that made living worth it. You were picked on quite a bit at school, be it because you never really spoke or because you had to be such a goodie two shoes to stay out of trouble at home. But she always stepped in at just the right time to save you. Even though her own home situation was much less than desirable she still found time to comfort you when you were in shambles or got into trouble to defend you. You both told each other everything, both pillars in the other’s lives. But after being kicked out you were forced to lose contact, solely because you couldn’t contact her or get to her part of town. That was until you joined the games at your lowest possible time to try and get some money to keep your loaners from finding you and gutting you for profit. Guess who you saw.

The girl that meant everything to you was suddenly standing before you. Deep You both scolded each other for getting into so much debt you had to meet here. Giving each other shit, like you used to. Looking back you almost chuckle at that for the nativity you both had. You watched people die together. Sprayed and stained with so much blood you didn’t now who’s it was. She kept you alive in there, with out her keeping you calm you probably would have died or quite frankly killed yourself. Against all odds you made it to the final three together against a man who needed the money for his family. She told you it was “okay “to take his life in his sleep after the final dinner because he would have done the same if either of you if you had fallen asleep. That morals in this situation would only get you both stuffed into a gift box. And so you both took his life for the sake of yours. You can still feel your stomach dropping as he pleaded for his life while you and your friend stared down at him cruelly, begging falling on deaf ears as you tore him to shreds with dirty steak knives.

Of course after that it was final two. When the last game was revealed, squid game, you remembered only one could leave. Actually, the both of you used to play squid game in school. Even if it’s typically a “boys game”, she was great defense and you were quick enough for easy offense. Genuinely, those were one of your fondest memories. Of course you’d be pinned against each other for the last time. Though you didn’t know it, the VIPs plans were to be able to watch an animalistic death match. However, you and your friend came to an agreement. No weapons, no fist fights to the death. You both knew you couldn’t kill each other, so you decided to simply play the game for the last time. The loser would take their lives themselves, with honor. And so you did. It became your last good memory. You were laughing for the last time, giggling like you were back to being school girls beating the popular boys at their favorite game. You still roughed each other up, nearing the end you both couldn’t ignore you were fighting for the death. That one of your lives hinged on this moment.

At the end, it was you who had won. You told her that you could both just back down and go home. You tried to convince her but she was set on this being the end, regardless how much you cry. You still remember what she told you before she slit her own throat clean open with her steak knife right before you, blood mixing with the mud and rain of the arena.

She said “I can’t go back there. Not without that money. I’ve had more fun here with you than I ever did my whole life. I got to be a little girl again with you. I can’t go back. This is the way I want to go, y/n.” And gave you a smile with tears turned invisible because of the rain. But you knew she was crying. “I love you”

then she was gone. As you rushed to her side, screaming her name until your throat was raw and starting to bleed you noticed her face. This look of bliss on her face, this twisted look of satisfaction graced her features as she bled from her self inflicted wound and stained your clothes and soul forever. You see that face on almost every woman. Eyes wide in ecstasy, faint smile and whole face covered in bright red blood. How badly you wished it was you instead of her, how badly you wanted to feel the contentment in life she had in those final not. That day you decided when you died it would be like her on that day.

Lastly, the fourth one you weren’t sure if it really counted as a face. It was the black geometric mask of the man who supposedly put you there. After you won you got to speak with him on the way home. Blindfold sure, but you found a tiny sliver where you were able to make out what he looked like. It was less soulless than the pink guards you had seen. It actually looked like a face, only it was made of many shapes. No one ever has his face, but you see him everywhere, more than any of the others. He’s always in the corner of your eye, you can make out his mask in the shadows of buildings, swearing you can see him watching you through your house window at night. No matter where you are you feel him watching.

For those reasons you almost never go out during the day, preferring to slink around and waste your hard earned murder money on stupid shit or alcohol. After all, why not? It goes without saying you were never the same after the games. It became all you thought about, every waking hour became ‘how was that possible? Who was really behind it? Why would they do this?’ So many questions swirled in your mind. You had theories for each of those questions already sure, but physically no way to know for certain. That not knowing sunk so deeply into your blood and poisoned your mind you came up with a new question to silence the voices that screamed at you and the faces you saw.

‘How do I get back?’

You became obsessed with many insane schemes and ploys to get yourself back in. Countless hours poured into the optimum plan to weasel a way inside the game again and truly figure this shit out. So you went back to the basics

Question: how where the games possible? Answer: clearly it was a high budget operation, meaning the money was coming from somewhere. But I mean come on-that’s too much money for just one person not even including the cash prize! So it has to be multiple people funding the whole thing. Thats theory #1

Question: who is really behind it? Answer: Ties into previous theory. If it’s multiple people, then who? Who’s setting it up and then who’s paying? Clearly that masked man is the leader or else he wouldn’t be so reclusive… but who is he throwing these games for? He said it’s just to give people a second chance but that just can’t be true but it can’t be just for him. There has to be people watching, that’s theory #2.

Question: why would they do this? Answer: clearly it’s not just for helping the poor- that much is obvious. Now here’s the theory you have that will be impossible to prove without going back. You were thinking about the games…. Kids games and team games. Like ones you would see on tv. Then you remembered how many cameras were everywhere. LITERALLY everywhere. Could just be security but it feels like more. Then the amount of cash and not everyone has that much money. What if there was a couple people paying to watch? Honestly you couldn’t tell if you were onto something or on something but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched by something bigger. Theory #3

And lastly and the most important question.

“How are you getting back?”

Why did they pick everyone? Because you had crazy amounts of debt. How did they get you there? Played games in train stations, then got picked up in a car and gassed out.

After months of speculation and planing this was what you could come up with. You had already paid off all of your debt and had so much left over money. You started spending recklessly, at one point just handing out money. People looked at you crazy but you didn’t even know it. You were in your own world let alone had the courage to look at their faces…

You began taking out extremely large loans with no intentions of paying anything. You were going out of your way to accumulate as much debt as possible. Consciously double crossing dangerous people. You kinda hoped sometimes that all these people would be able to find you and put you out of your misery but you were just too good at playing life threatening games. As the year went on you continued to pour so much money into the drain in hopes to be put back on the list for the games. Until that fated time of year came, when you remember being kidnapped.

You eventually realized no matter what you did you’d probably never run out of cash. One very late night after a particularly rough day you decided to gather all your money and dump it into your fire pit and set it all on fire. The tears running down your face contrasting with the wide smile on your face. It was a very bittersweet feeling to watch all the money you killed and almost died for burn in front of your eyes. The money 455 people fought and were slaughtered like animals for being reduced to ashes. But it also felt so good to lose it all and return to at least one about your old life. The time of recruitment was drawing near. You kept wasting money and hiding for your life until you gained even more debt than you had the first time. Honestly you were kind of impressed with yourself- think about it! You were able to accrue more debt in one year than you did your whole life up to this point.

It did briefly cross your mind that if this doesn’t work you literally burned all your money and multiple gangs and organizations wanting to harvest your organs for a quick paycheck. If you don’t get back in this year the chances of you trying again next year before one of many catch and kill you are extremely low. Oddly enough you didn’t mind living on the edge anymore, living within an inch of losing your life daily became so normal to you it almost felt fun. You started to see the world much differently the closer it came to hunt for that elusive recruiter. You think you’re starting understand the whole point of the games themselves.

The more you lived the way you did the more of humanity you saw. The lows of the human experience and the ugliness that controlled the heart of every person alive. And you noticed that the grand majority of these horrors revolved around money. Now that money had lost all value to you it became silly to see all these people just like you were so desperate for just enough money to save them to come along. To be fair it gets to a point where all you can do is pray it will work itself out.

But you watched people run themselves in circles for cash. Kill and be killed for cash. Lie, cheat, betray all for money. You see that no amount of money can take away the wrongs you did for it. All it really is is paper with no actual value. That money doesn’t really mean anything, it’s all an imaginary system people made themselves. All people do to become rich means nothing but they are greedy enough to put money before life. The money means nothing, the actions mean everything.

So then what’s the point of living? If it’s all based off a make believe value system built to extort and corrupt. If everything is rendered meaningless because people put values in the wrong things. If humanity is rotten to the core and unable to see what really matters then what the fuck is the reason to exist?

There is none. Isn’t that beautiful? All that you strive to do in life will not matter once you die. At death a successful man is as poor as a homeless man. In 100 years whatever you did in your small, insignificant life will be forgotten. There’s no point!! You could go and burn all your money, kill someone, lie and cheat and you’d STILL be on the same level as the richest person in the world. That revelation changed your whole view of the world and yourself.

Then the same day came again. The same exact day a year ago when you were suddenly approached by a man with a suitcase full of money and two pieces of paper. You went to the same train station at around the same time as you did before. Your mind was completely fogged with anticipation as your heart raced. You could barely walk straight or hear anything. You had to actually look at people to see if you could see that man, and every face was one you always tried to run from.

You breathed heavily and tears started to prick your eyes as they darted from person to person. You, your dad, your friend. You, your dad, your friend. They were everywhere. You felt as though you were going faint or throw up or both? You knew the people in the station had to be judging you even if you couldn’t quite see them. You felt like a fish In the ocean wandering without a reason. Eventually after you didn’t even know how long you chose to sit down on a bench and you just started to cry into your hands. You heard people mumble about if they should help you or not. Unsurprisingly no one did.

This wasn’t working and you were so fucked. But even as you cried you still believed this suffering was just a drop in the bucket. It didn’t really matter. Not anymore

Just as you were about to call it quits and go back home and hide until you couldn’t anymore you heard a voice so familiar it sent a shock through your whole body. Your head snapped up and a gasp was ripped from your throat

“Ms.(last name). I hoped we’d never have to meet here again”

Your eyes widened as you saw his face. It was the same man who came to you a year ago. You could actually see his face, the first real face you’ve seen on a person since you’ve gotten back since the game. All you could do is look up at him from your spot on the bench with wide delusional looking eyes.

“May I sit here?” He asks politely, to which you responded with a fast nod. He looked at you with this look of… pity? You figured you must look pretty pathetic nowadays. You have maybe 3 outfits total and you really haven’t been eating well. He smiled. before speaking again.

“Your debt has increased since the last time we met, but you knew that correct?” He asks. You nod again. You planned everything but what to say. “Why haven’t you payed it off?”

“Well I uh… kinda did? Most of it now is all new” you said with a shaky voice. He raised his eyebrows and chuckled a bit, finding it at least amusing. You knew it was an impressive feat. “I also set all my money on fire maybe a month or two ago? I’m actually not sure when…” you trailed off, trying to pinpoint the time when it dawned on you that you actually have had no true concept of time. You just know it’s been a year since you returned home. You can only really remember events but the time not so much.

“Ah, grown bored have we?” He mused. You knew that wasn’t quite it but seeing as you didn’t really know what’s made you do everything you have so far, only you knew you had to do it. You gave him another nod. He kept the same customer service type smile as he reached over and opened his case. It was set just as you remembered with the money and the ddakji. You sighed a bit before speaking “do I have to play again? I already know what happens and I don’t really want to be hit right now” you said, not really thinking. You didn’t know if you were in a place to be making requests but here you are.

You got another laugh from him, you didn’t know you were just so passively comical. “You dont have to, no. But maybe it will bring you back to your senses and you’ll live life how you were supposed to”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. ‘Live life like I was supposed to’. Is there any way someone is supposed to live? You didn’t think that way. You weren’t supposed to live any type of way, you should have died in that arena and-

“Are you sure this is what you want to do. What are you trying to gain?” His voice sounded pressed now, clearly trying to guide you into walking away. But if that was going to work you would have kept your money and moved far far away. You didn’t like being talked to like you didn’t know what’s made you were doing. You knew better than anyone you had lost your mind. You knew the things you were thinking, feeling, and thinking were most likely wrong. But you had no other option. No treatment for whatever illness is controlling your life.

“Im not trying to gain anything. I lost what I lost and I want it to stay gone…Please, just give me the card” your eyes were looking dead into his, voice wobbly with both terror and excitement. You held your hand out and you couldn’t even tell it was shaking. You couldn’t tell anything from anything. He lightly shook his head before reaching into his suits breast pocket and pulls out a brown business card. Upon seeing it you almost felt as if you were going to throw up right there. Your throat itched to scream and your legs twitched as if you were about to run away.

However when he placed the card into your hand all you did was close your fingers around it. Whole body shaking as you thanked him for the opportunity, just as you did when he gave it to you the first time. You both stood up and got ready to part ways for the second time. Right as you were about to bow your head he stopped you.

“Don’t become too full of yourself. Just because you won before means nothing the second time. I’ve seen many winners over the years, you will be no different than the other pieces of trash when you die in there. Is that really what you want?”

You opened your mouth to retaliate when he lifted his hand to stop you. “Have a great life, young miss. I hope you make the right decision” he says with his signature smirk and bow he walked in the direction opposite of the way you had to go. Presumably off to recruit more clueless individuals down on their luck. You had to hurry home now, you’d been out far too long and you knew people had people looking out for you. Waiting to catch you and make you pay. You quickly got out of the train station and started on your way back to the shitty, cheap hotel you’ve been hiding in. You’d been in that danm station for so long the sun had began to rise. The sky looked more pigmented, the air felt cleaner and you could actually think without hearing stray gunshots or phantom screams. You looked down at the small card in your clutches and flipped it over, revealing the number you had to call.

For the first time you hesitated in your plan. You were really about to go back to the place that ruined you. You missed the old version of you, when your real personality existed and you had a life. All you do all day is cry and shake and bang your head until you can form a thought. You were nothing like you remember being.

Maybe that’s what pulled you back there. The old you bringing you back to the last place she existed. A part of you actually did die in there, the part that still believed in people. She died right there with your friend, you left your soul in that dirt plot. And maybe you could find her again.

Once you got to the door of your room and got yourself inside you dialed up the number on your card and hit call. It rung a few times and when it picked up the automated voice command the same statement as before.

“If you wish to participate please state your full name and date of birth”

The words got stuck in your throat as you held the phone up to your mouth. This was your last chance to find something within you to back away.

“Y/n, D/O/B” you barely got it out fully as your stomach sank. This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for. Nothing matters. Nothing matters. Nothing-

“Player 444.” That’s him. That man with the black mask, that’s his voice. Hearing your number made you hold your breath and lose your balance. It’s been so long since you’ve been called that name. You knew it was him because his voice changer was a slightly different pitch than the other workers. “What is the point of this?” He asked with a serious voice, bordering threatening. You had an answer for this. “There is none. Get it? If there’s no reason to do it there’s no reason not to.”

He only hummed in response. Seemingly understanding at least a bit of what you said. “I have questions for you” you continued. This is what you’ve been waiting for. This was the point. You just needed to know

“questions?” He repeated. You guess he’s never been pressed by someone before. Small amounts of amusement was in his voice as if shocked anyone would speak to him like that

“Yes questions that’s what I said. Who are you and how are you able to get our information. Where did you take me. What is the point of-“

“I’ll tell you what” he cut you off in the middle of your frantic questioning. It’s probably for the best of you would never had stopped talking for him to even answer. You waited on bated breath, hanging on his words as you kept the phone pressed flush against your skin. Compartmentalizing his voice and how he talks into a file in your mind. “You want to play again because you want to know if your right, is that correct”

what he said caught you so off guard you didn’t even reply when he gave you a chance to respond. Every word got stuck in your throat to the point all that came out was strangled starts of a sentence. “You must have many theories in that little mind of yours. You’re coming because you think you’re smart enough to figure everything out, don’t you?”

Well… like kinda yeah that is what you think. You didn’t really know what to say, he hit it right on the head. You did think you could figure it out, actually you think you already have most of it. Not even his taunting could pull you out of that.

“Let’s play a game. If you can win again we can have a talk and I’ll tell you all you need to know. Only if you’re the last one standing.”

You knew it could never be that easy. With an operation of this scale and price you knew you would never get an offer so open. ‘If you can win again I’ll tell you anything’ they must believe you lost your brains when you lost your mind. Suddenly you did feel like you really didn’t know what you were getting into. It feels like a trap has already been set for you, it feels like they knew you were going to return all along. You struggled to breathe until you manged to force out a “okay”.

There was a muffled chuckle you could barely hear. There was something different now. You weren’t so sure about your plan anymore. He hadn’t said anything out right threatening or scary yet you knew he had something in store for you or else he never would put so much on the line. You just made a deal with the devil.

The original phone opera voice came back to tell you where to be picked up and that it would be this night. The phone hung up after that. All that remained was a deafening silence. It was done. You got what you had so badly wanted. But why doesn’t it feel as good as you wanted. Why don’t you feel fixed? Why hasn’t the old you come back to fix everything? That sinking feeling started bubbling over as you stood there with your phone in your hand. Beginning to hyperventilate you make your way to the crumby hotel bathroom and splash water in your face. You keep from looking in the mirror because you know what you’ll see. It will either be your friend or younger you. It used to be a huge problem when you first got out. Every time you’d forget and see them staring back at you you’d have another break down. Now it just puts you on edge, but it would be best if you just refrained from looking. You keep telling yourself that you can figure it out, you keep telling yourself it doesn’t matter if you live or die in there, you keep believing there’s no point in running from what would free you of your pain. Something deep inside tells you that you are close to seeing what the people who run this game do. That the epiphany they had to come up with this would make it all worth it. All you wanted was to see the bigger picture.

You could die happy and content dying just like your dear friend if it meant you could understand what it was all for. It’s on the tip of your tongue waiting to said and recognized.

You spend hours mulling over thoughts similar to these ones while you counted down the time before being relocated to what might as well be hell. You knew at this point you were walking into a death trap made just for you. You were going to either be granted the privilege of seeing the greater purpose of your suffering. You believed there had to be a reason, someone had to have figured out something huge to make them come to this.

Finally the fateful time reared its ugly head and you tugged on your coat. You looked at your room for the last time. You stood in the door way as your eyes brushed over all you had been. Papers scattered about, bottles of alcohol strewn about and random belongings resting in odd spots. It was time to say good bye once again. You are willing to leave it all behind and relive everything if it meant finding a purpose.

Eventually you arrived to you meet spot, an extremely expensive looking limousine was parked and waiting for you exactly where the phone operator said it would be. It was shiny and black with completely tinted windows. The anxiety you felt caused you to raggedly pant as you approached the car with unsteady steps. You gently opened the car door and stepped inside. The interior was white and luxurious and in front of your seat laid a golden pig. You sighed and closed your eyes waiting for the gas to kick in and claim your consciousness. Tears rolled slowly down your face as every even that happened in the games flash before your eyes. The blood, the screaming, the bits of brains and guts dried onto your clothes, and most of all the severed neck of the only friend you ever had. And to even your surprise you began to smile and giggle as you saw what happened to you play out like a movie in your minds eye. The gas started to be deployed into your enclosed car as your giggles became louder and more deranged. Sobs and laughter being mixed together as everything became hazy and burred.

Right before you black out you hear the masked man’s voice come from the little pigs speaker, loud and clear

“Welcome back, player 444. I hope you are happy with your decision”

_______

Sorry the friend is gonna remain nameless so you can imagine whoever. But next chapter when you get in the games there will be named characters. Again sorry you and in ho barely talked I just needed to get the exposition out before writing the main bits. Thank you sm gang and the next part will be out soon.

Also sorry end is kinda rushed I’m tired

[gogogyaru]

AN INTERVIEW & PHOTOSHOOT WITH AYUYUN!! (2018)

Ayu – “While gal culture takes a variety of forms, I'm affiliated with the Ganguro genre, an original Japanese culture which isn’t just about style and beauty but a way of life. Whilst some Gyaru’s came and went with the fashion wave a while ago, Gyaru’s still exist and continue against the fashion trends and have strong policies and mind-sets. I knew about the Ganguro since the beginning, I wrote to their blogs, those Ganguro’s I met were my entry-point to the culture, it's liberating to connect with like-minded people and we all became fast friends. I've been part of this community for fourteen years. Some people have really taken to the Ganguro aesthetic, they'll see us on the street and rush over in amazement. The whole package is key but the most important is having dark skin, there is the showy makeup, hairdos, and nails. If you don't show skin, you're not a gal, Japanese people like tanned skin, it’s unusual. Our style wouldn’t be able to continue if we cared about how others thought of us all the time. ‘You only live once’ - there is quite a bit of this kind of mind-set in Gyaru’s – this idea that you only have one life, so you have to ‘seize the moment’ and enjoy it to the full without worrying about how you look to others. I just want to stay true to myself. However we're a minority and we are misunderstood by society. We are used to people hurling abuse and even garbage at us. I guess you could say we all have great skill for just not caring about those kinds of things. It's as though we're treated as sub-human, even though we have hearts, some people really think we're strange. People judge by appearances and those who want to spend time with the real me don't care about that. My boyfriend is a normal guy, so there have been problems. He doesn't mind introducing me to his seniors, but some people might think he's an odd-ball but he's dating me for the person I am inside. Thanks to the internet, there are girls all over the world who admire Gyaru fashion. I would be thrilled if someone told me that meeting me has changed the way they appreciate our culture.”

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: In the quiet of the night, wrapped in Joel’s warmth, you finally let yourself feel everything—the weight of the past, the love in his touch, the promise in his arms. 

The night air is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth beneath the heavy quilt draped over the both of you. Joel is beside you, stretched out on his back, his body bare, loose and relaxed, the way it only ever is in these rare, stolen moments. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his arm resting lazily across your stomach, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles over your skin.

You shift slightly, turning onto your side to press yourself closer to him, your fingers brushing along the rough edge of his jaw. He tilts his chin down to look at you, a small, satisfied hum vibrating low in his chest as you trace along his collarbone, feeling the warmth of him beneath your palm.

“Comfortable?” you murmur, voice soft, teasing.

His lips quirk up at the corners, eyes half-lidded as he pulls you in tighter, letting out a slow sigh. “Mm. Feels pretty damn close to perfect.”

You smile, fingers absentmindedly following the faint scar that runs along his shoulder. He lets you touch him now. Not just like this, not just when your bodies are tangled together in the dark, but in the daylight, too. When you pass him in the kitchen. When you brush your hand against his as you walk through town. When you sit on the couch after dinner, his hand finding its way to your thigh without a second thought.

These moments—this life you’ve built together—still feel fragile sometimes, like something you could wake up from.

But then he looks at you like this, like you are his world, and you remember that it’s real.

You shift slightly, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, your lips brushing his collarbone.

He hums, amused. “That an accident or you gettin’ greedy?”

You smile against his skin. “Mm. Maybe both.”

Joel chuckles, his fingers tightening on your hip for a moment before relaxing again. “Gotta say, you’re persistent.”

You tilt your head up, grinning. “Oh, I am?”

He smirks, eyes half-lidded, still looking contently wrecked from the last hour. “Yeah, sweetheart. Kinda relentless.”

You huff, shifting onto your side, resting a hand against his chest. “Must be a character flaw.”

Joel exhales a soft laugh, his hand trailing along your back, grounding. “That right?”

“Mhm.” You let your fingers drum idly against his chest, smirking. “Pretty sure I used to piss my dad off all the time with how much I pushed things.”

Joel hums, amused. “That don’t surprise me one bit.”

You laugh, the memory coming back clearer now. “One time, I convinced him to let me drive his truck.”

Joel lifts an eyebrow. “How old?”

You wince dramatically. “Thirteen.”

He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn. You any good?”

“Oh, I was awful.” You grin, resting your chin on his chest as you continue. “I barely made it down the dirt road outside our place before I took a turn too fast and nearly sent both of us into a ditch.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. “Christ.”

“My dad slammed the brakes so hard I thought we both got whiplash. He wouldn’t let me near the driver’s seat again for another two years.”

Joel smirks, running a hand down your back. “Guess that explains why you still drive like you got somethin’ to prove.”

You gasp, shoving at his chest playfully. “I do not.”

You feel the laughter vibrate through his chest, the warmth of his skin still lingering from where he’d been pressed against you. It’s easy like this. The whole world fades away, leaving only the quiet, the weight of his arm around you, the safety of his body against yours.

Then—something stirs in the back of your mind. It’s the thought of your dad, stirring something deep from the depths of your memory. The letter.

You inhale softly, shifting against him. “Oh,” you murmur, pulling back slightly. “I almost forgot—”

Joel stills for half a second, then his brow lifts, something curious and cautious flickering across his expression.

“What is it?”

You hold up your finger as you push the blankets back just enough to slide out of bed, your body immediately protesting the loss of warmth. You cross the room to where your backpack still sits near the dresser, kneeling beside it as you dig through the contents.

Your fingers brush over fabric, the grit of the water it was plunged into still clinging to the edges of things, and you frown as you pull out crumpled, water-stained pages of Joel’s letter, carefully unfolding them.

Joel shifts behind you, leaning up onto his elbows, watching you with a lazy sort of interest.

“Stealin’ my mail now?” he teases, voice rough with sleep.

You glance at him over your shoulder, rolling your eyes. “I wasn’t stealing it. I just… forgot to give it back with everything that happened.”

He hums in response, but there’s something else in his expression—a quiet sort of hesitation. Like he’s wondering if you read it. If you know what Bill wrote.

Before you can reassure him, your fingers brush over something else.

Another letter.

Your breath catches.

It’s still unopened, still tucked neatly away. Your name is on the front.

Your chest tightens. Your hands feel unsteady as you pick it up, staring at the familiar handwriting that shouldn’t be here. That you shouldn’t have missed.

“Sweetheart?” Joel’s voice is lower now, softer.

You swallow hard, blinking down at the paper, your thumb running along the rough edges of it.

You don’t remember packing this. You don’t even remember finding it.

It must have been buried deep in your bag this whole time. Hidden beneath the weight of everything else, waiting.

Joel shifts in bed, moving to sit up fully, his expression shifting from teasing to something more serious. His gaze flickers to the letter in your hands, then back to your face.

His voice is quiet when he asks, “You never…?”

You shake your head, unable to say it out loud, and you move back to the bed, handing him his back and getting under the covers again.

Joel watches you for a long moment, then moves, about to get up, to give you space, but before he can, your arm presses lightly against his.

“Please stay,” you whisper. “Read it with me?”

His expression softens instantly, and without hesitation, he nods.

You crawl back into the bed beside him, settling into the warmth of his side as he pulls the covers over both of you. His hand finds yours, steady and sure, as you unfold the letter together, letting the words of a man who raised you finally reach you.

And as the inked lines blur slightly from where the water warped the page, you take a deep breath and begin to read.

The letter trembles in your hands.

You read it again and again, but the words don’t settle, unsure of where to sit in your broken heart. They tangle together in your chest—grief, love, loss, longing.

Your father’s voice is so clear in your head, like he’s speaking from somewhere just out of reach. I was wrong about a lot of things. Especially about you. I’m proud of you. You don’t have to be alone.

Tears blur the ink on the page, warping the edges, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone. That he left. That all the things he’s saying now, all the things you needed to hear—he never said them when he was alive.

A sharp breath shudders through you, but it gets stuck halfway, trapped beneath the weight of everything.

He was proud of you. He loved you.

But he still left you.

A sound breaks from your chest before you can stop it—somewhere between a sob and a gasp. Your hands tighten around the letter, your shoulders curling inward.

Joel is there in an instant. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask questions. He just pulls you in, arms wrapping around you, pressing you into the steady warmth of his body.

That’s when you break completely.

The sobs wrack through you, sudden and overwhelming, years of holding it in, of pushing forward, of pretending you were okay crashing down all at once. You clutch onto him, fisting your hands into his skin, like you need him to hold you together.

“He—he was proud of me,” you gasp against his chest, your breath uneven, broken. “He—he said—”

Joel hushes you gently, his hand smoothing over the back of your head. “I know, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick, aching for you. “I know.”

You shake your head against him, your hands gripping at his back. “But—he still left. He still—they still made that choice.”

Joel exhales slowly, his hold on you tighter, firmer. “I know,” he says again, his lips brushing against your temple, his touch grounding, real. “But you weren’t a choice, baby. He loved you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the truth of it too big, too much. You let out another broken sob, burying yourself into him, into the only solid thing you have left.

And he lets you. For what feels like forever, he just holds you—no rushing, no telling you to stop, just letting you fall apart inside the safety of his arms. His hands move up and down your back, his lips pressing against the side of your head, into your hair, whispering nothing but warmth.

Eventually, the sobs fade into slow, hiccuping breaths. Your body is still shaking, but you’re here. The weight is still there, but so is Joel.

You sniffle, rubbing your face against his chest, trying to pull yourself together.

Joel shifts, cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs wiping away the damp trails of tears on your cheeks. He tilts your head up, his eyes soft but so damn fierce, like he’s looking right through you, like he’s trying to make sure you feel every word before he says them.

“I got you,” he murmurs. “You hear me, sweetheart? I got you. You ain’t alone.”

A fresh wave of tears pricks at your eyes, but you nod, because you believe him.

And then he’s kissing you, not on the mouth, but instead, he kisses your forehead first, lingering there like he’s pressing the promise into your skin. Then your temple. Then your cheek. Your nose. Everywhere he can reach, slow and deliberate.

By the time he pulls back, you’re breathless. Shattered in a way that feels less like breaking, and more like being glued back together with every press of his lips.

"I got you," Joel murmurs, his hands cradling your face, his thumbs wiping away the damp trails of tears on your cheeks. He tilts your head up, forcing you to see him, to hear him.

"You hear me, sweetheart?" His voice is steady, unshakable. It’s a vow. "I got you. You ain’t alone. You ain’t ever gonna be alone again."

The weight of it slams into you, a fresh sob breaking loose from your throat. It’s too much. It’s everything you’ve ever needed to hear, everything you’ve spent your whole life pretending you didn’t want.

And it’s Joel. The only man you’ve ever known like this, the only man you’ve ever wanted and needed and craved with every fiber of your being.

Your fingers clutch at his arms, trying to ground yourself, but he’s already anchoring you. His lips continue to press into your skin, everywhere around your face until he places on gentle brush against your lips like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he needs you to feel it.

When he pulls back, his hands still framing your face, his breath still warm against your lips, he whispers—so soft, so certain:

"I love you."

The End.

Hey, you beautiful, amazing people.

I don’t even know where to start, but thank you. Seriously. From the bottom of my heart: to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, screamed in the tags, sent me messages, or just silently followed along—you made this story so much more than I ever imagined.

Every comment, every reaction, every little freak-out over a scene made my day (and honestly fueled me to keep going). The way you connected with this story, these characters—it means everything. Writing this was one thing, but experiencing it with all of you? That was the best part.

So, to everyone who stuck with me, whether from the beginning or just recently—thank you for being here. Thank you for caring. Thank you for making this so special.

I would love to hear your thoughts! Please comment or message me any of your thoughts— the good the bad the ugly ❤️

I love you all. Truly.

[steven-g-rogers]

Steve turned back to him.  He felt so defeated.  But finally - finally - Tony seemed to be willing to let go of his resentment.  He swallowed and nodded.  “I was wrong,” he said.  He had said that already. Multiple times.  Sometimes with excuses.  Sometimes with explanations.  On a few occasions, just straight out, but Steve was going to mention that now.  He was just glad that Tony was open to hearing it.  “And I’m sorry.  I will try to do better.” 

Part of him wanted to slip right back into Captain America.  To puff out his chest and come over and shake Tony’s hand and move on with it.  But this argument had gotten right into the scared boy inside and poked around where it hurt most.  So while he was there, he was going to be honest with the other man.  Really truly vulnerably honest.  “Thank you.  Thank you for your forgiveness.  I did mean it when I said I’d understand if you weren’t ready to grant it,” he said.  “You’re right.  We do want the same thing, and I don’t want to do it on my own.  I know you put me in charge of running things here, and I appreciate your faith.  I am angry at myself that I let you down this badly.  But Tony, I know you love teasing me about being an old man, but hearing you talk about me, I think you’ve forgotten - I’m not.  I didn’t live that life.  I fell asleep and woke up and it was the next day.  Only it wasn’t.  It was sixty years later and almost everyone I knew was dead.  Not everyone though.  No - that might have been a mercy.  There were two people still here, the woman who I thought I might marry, only she was an old woman with dementia and a whole family that had grown up and started their own families, and my childhood best friend who had been tortured and used for the entire time I was asleep.”  He wiped his eyes with the balls of his hands, determined not to actually try now.  “I’m twenty-seven, Tony.  I’m twenty-seven.  You looked up to me growing up, and I’m fourteen years younger than you.  Think about the you you were when you were twenty-seven and ask yourself, would you expect that young man to behave as infallibly as you expect me to?  I’m going to make mistakes.  I will always try to learn from them, but they’re going to happen.  If you could do me the grace of understanding, I promise, I’ll try to do the same if you ever mess up.” 

He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height again, drawing in Captain America around himself like a protective blanket.  “And with that, I’ll leave you to it.  I’m exhausted and I need a drink.”  Not that it would do anything for him, but sometimes the ritual helped.

"You want to talk about who's being childish?" The inventor said as his arms were crossed defiantly over his chest, a cocky smirk plays on his face as he stares down the super soldier with all the bravado of his usual presence. "Insulting me certainly is a childish move, Rogers. How about you start acting your age and stop hiding behind personal attacks? While you're at it could you stop acting like you're not in the wrong here? Maybe if you didn't have this holier-than-thou attitude all the time then we would actually be getting somewhere with this, and you say I'm the egotistical one."

Letting out a deep exhale does the mechanic bow his head down as emotional exhaustion overtakes him, taking a second to think before deciding to speak up once more in hopes to get through to the other. "I will accept your apology and I will work with you if, and only if, you start treating me like an equal." No more lies or secrets, and certainly none of Rogers treating him as if he were just some spoiled child. They were supposed to be a team, and if the Captain was going to constantly look down on him then there was no way in hell Tony would stand for that. "Stop telling me what I think I'm angry about, it's belittling when you talk like that."

There is a new wave of calm that Tony settles into, an understanding that Steve is clearly shaken by the conversation and the last thing the Iron Avenger wants is for the old man to resent him. Toast Masters lessons his dad got him were finally going to come in handy, Rogers wasn't going to peacefully discuss it with him if the soldier stormed off in a huff. "I know HYDRA has the scepter, I meant when we do get it that I plan on dismantling their entire organization so they can't regroup. We both want the same thing here, I don't want to fight with you anymore. This is me offering an olive branch here, okay? Can you meet me half way?"

[anorlondo00]

I do not care at all about sports and the sum total of my knowledge about American football is what I remember from reading Eyeshield 21 fifteen plus years ago, BUT. I am now invested in the football AU. Ace and Luffy are the mascots of the team and everyone loves them. They can do no wrong in Oyaji's eyes and he will let them get away with murder. In return, both of them are seriously devoted to making the team The Best EverTM. The first time the Whitebeards saw Ace throw a hail mary pass they swore it was going way too wide until Luffy tore down the whole length of the field, leapt like the monkey he is higher than anyone thought possible and slammed that ball down. Now the Whitebeards know to expect anything.

Also in my head Ace is the canon 2-3 years older than Luffy, and while he only became his legal guardian upon turning 18, he has helped raised him and the Whitebeards do a double-take every time responsible Ace comes out. Before Luffy joins the team Ace has to beg early off practice to go to a parent-teacher conference. After they're both on the team Ace still makes him PB&J sandwiches after practice, unruffled by doing it in front of everyone in the locker room.

Bootleg Marineford is a game where everyone (and especially Ace, under a lot of pressure) has been physically and mentally wrung out. The Marines team keep trying to sack Ace and get closer and closer, but Marco digs in his heels and makes an impassable barrier of himself. Until there's a crack in the line... And a small opening forms where Teach, who has been fighting with everyone recently, but especially Whitebeard and Ace, stands. Offensive player Akainu, who probably weighs twice what Ace does, hits him like an avalanche. Ace goes down. When Akainu is finally dragged off him, he stays down.

Luffy and Whitebeard are sprinting across the field toward Ace, but Marco's mind has hit the blue screen of death. There's nothing but static behind his eyes as he stares at his fallen quarterback.

The game is suspended and put up for a rematch. Neither Ace nor Marco, who did his level best to murder Akainu right there on the field, play.

(Ace is eventually fine, but now knows up front and personal the effects of a long-term concussion).

Claims not to know that much about American football, proceeds to clearly and accurately describe the exact plot I was also imagining—

YES! Are you KIDDING ME? This is perfect, I’ve got more

They don’t call him ‘Fire Fist’ for nothing, the kid throws missiles. The way Ace and Luffy find each other across an entire football field drops most people’s jaws.

Luffy will track the ball wherever Aces throws it. If Luffy get’s hurt in a collision catching the ball, Ace firmly believes that’s his fault.

That being said, Luffy is notoriously indestructible.

Bootleg Marineford: (That’s a hilarious thing to call it btw)

There was a flag thrown the second Ace got hit. Yes, it was Teach’s fault for leaving an open window. And. Akainu was needlessly brutal. Whitebeard was cursing him out before they even hit the ground.

Luffy was incredibly protective over Ace while he was unconscious. There were cameras everywhere.

Marco needed three people to pull him off Akainu. Instead of apologizing, he later told the media he’d gladly do it again.

Ace is out for the rest of the season. He’s absolutely devastated. That being said, he stood on the sidelines for every game.

Physical and neurological therapy were a bitch. Lots of ‘long talks’ with Pops.

Of course, Ace comes back to the field as soon as he’s better. Now, playing with the most overprotective offensive line you’ve ever seen in your life.

Thank you for writing this, it was so much fun to read!! And there’s a lot I didn't even mention like the adjusted age gap (perfect for this) and parent teacher conferences— I love it all!

[cloverapple]

hiii! i came across your blog yesterday, and i love your advice. that's why i feel like you would be the best person to ask these questions that I've been having for the longest time (sorry, long read ahead).

I've studied LOA for the past 2 years or so, and even though i have a good understanding of it, there are some things that always trip me up when it comes to shifting.

how do i deal with waking up to the 3d? yes, by assuming that you are in your dr and that you shifted last night. that's the most logical answer. but even though i know that, sometimes it is a lot easier said than done. for example, a few days ago i wanted to manifest shifting by simply deciding i could shift on command and that i am there. i could be 100% sure the day before that it would happen. the whole day, and even a few days after that I'd stay in that state of being a master shifter, and i would feel amazing because of it. but it's like there always comes a point where i wake up to the 3d and i get discouraged (yes, i acknowledge that i am manifesting that reality by saying this, but i finally have to get this off my chest). my thoughts get all messed up and i start spiraling, returning to my previous state. i start questioning myself a bit and feel down. the main reason for that being time.

it took me so so long to figure out this issue about myself. I'd be like: how long is it gonna take? when will it happen? i know i have it in the 4d but when will it appear in the 3d? having it in the 4d isn't enough, i need to have it in the 3d right now. stuff like that. i find it very difficult to formulate my thoughts, but basically I'm in a spiral of:

watching a video/reading a post about LOA/shifting that reminds me of how easy it is -> applying LOA to shifting/any desire in a way that feels good for a few days at most -> starting to question myself after a few days because it hasn't shown up yet in the 3d (which is caused by me forgetting the role the 3d plays and how LOA works) even though i did everything "right" (e.g. letting go of control or the outcome, deciding, not wavering, etc.) -> falling back into a state where i question how i can shift, what i am doing wrong, etc. -> repeat

how can i break out of this cycle?

i think the main problem here is time and in general the 3d.

i know that the 3d is not a measure of my success, only made up of my current assumptions etc. i know that. but it's like i forget it once i step into the state i wanna be in and stay there for an extended period of time.

i always hear people say that "time isn't real" but i still don't really know what that means, how to apply it or how to internalize it. i really need that mental "click" to finally understand it and use that concept in my favor. because my problem is that with manifesting/shifting, after a while i start asking questions about why it's taking so long the 3d. for example, most nights i fall asleep with the assumption that I'll wake up in my dr (while letting go of control and not wavering) the next morning. but when it doesn't happen eventually, i start to question why, because since time comes from consciousness aka me, it should work in my favor.

I'm honestly so lost right now and i would really appreciate some help because I'm spiraling again. I've known about shifting since 2020 but only realized how ridiculously easy it is after joining tumblr this year and yup, i acknowledge that i am desperate to shift, preferably right now. it's not something i admit to anyone or myself because that's basically continuing to tell a story i don't want to experience (a surefire way to fail), but it is unfortunately the truth as of right now.

thank you for reading, i know this was a lot to get through!! (*^^*)

So pause for a second, because I’m going to tell you something I hope to ingrain in the mind of everyone who sends me an ask—and that you need to remember before reading everything I’m about to say:

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO SHIFT. The ability is inside you right now. The moment you read this, your mind already knows how to shift. Everyone does.

The moment you accept this, you solve half of your problems.

And then you tell me, "But if I know how to shift, why isn’t the 3D reflecting that?"

Well, yeah. You painted the house, and now you’re sitting there watching the paint dry.

Look, watching the 3D closely and looking for results isn’t a problem for some people. Some can assume, “I’m already in my DR,” open their eyes, and BAM—they’re in their DR.

Some people assume, “I will shift tonight,” and just like that, they shift that night.

Some people let go of their DRs, stop putting them on a pedestal, and they shift.

Some people clutch their DRs close to their heart until their knuckles turn white—and they shift.

It sounds a lot like you’re forcing yourself into a method of applying the Law of Assumption that doesn’t serve you. Why?? If you recognize that your issue is focusing on time and constantly checking the 3D, work around it. Remove time from your shifting journey.

I don’t like assuming I already have something, then checking the 3D and not seeing it there. Hell, I can shift on command, and yet, if I were to lay in bed right now and tell myself, “I’m in my DR,” I guarantee you I wouldn’t shift. Why? Because that doesn’t work for me.

My dude, change the way you affirm. If affirming in the present (“I already shifted”) doesn’t work for you, change it! Say, “I’m going to shift.” If even that hasn’t been working, let go of implementing time into your affirmations.

Change “I’m going to wake up in my DR in the morning” to “I’m going to wake up in my DR at some point because I KNOW I can shift.”

Change “I’m in my DR right now” to “I can’t wait to be in my DR.”

Remove time from your affirmations and assumptions, because that’s clearly the problem here. Instead of trusting that you’ll shift tonight, trust yourself because you already know how to shift. Or trust your mind because it knows how to shift. Trust your awareness because it knows how to shift.

“I fall asleep with the assumption that I'll wake up in my DR (while letting go of control and not wavering) the next morning.”

If this were completely true, you wouldn’t be sending me this ask. You wouldn’t be doubting yourself as much as you just did in everything you typed. Truly letting go means releasing the need to see results in the 3D.

So, take time out of your assumptions. From now on, say “I will shift.” Or say, “I already know how to shift.”

Your brain then goes: “……???….uh….” looking at the 3D all confused “When? We haven't shifted!”

And you tell it, “It doesn’t fucking matter because I’m going to shift eventually.”

Now, let’s say hypothetically, one week passes and you haven’t shifted. One month passes, and you haven’t shifted. Two months pass, and you haven’t shifted.

And then you come back and say, “Clover, why the heck haven’t I shifted yet? It’s been (insert amount of time). You told me to remove time as an expectation, so why haven’t I shifted yet??”

And I’ll smile at you and ask, “So you’ve been counting the days?”

Let me tell you something about letting go—and hypothetically, ignoring the 3D.

Treat your ability to shift like your fortune. You have a fortune sitting in your bank account right now, and you’re rich. Do you think a rich person checks their bank account every hour to confirm they’re still rich?

"Well yeah, Clover, because a rich person’s reality already reflects that, they’re sitting in a mansion with all their riches."

Your fortune, what makes you rich, is your ability to shift. You already know how to shift. Shifting isn’t something you learn how to do, just like breathing isn’t something you learn how to do. Just like chewing isn’t something you learn how to do. It is an integral part of every human being. If you have awareness, then the ability to shift exists within you.

You don’t learn shifting—you learn yourself.

You learn what makes you shift. What makes you manifest easily. What makes you assume easily. What kind of affirmations your subconscious doesn’t argue against. What makes your self-concept skyrocket.

Because everyone is different, everyone shifts differently. What works for Person A might not work for Person B. What works for Person B might not work for Person C, and so on.

Even my reply to you, it might not resonate with you. But that’s not my fault, and it’s not yours. If that's the case, your job is to look elsewhere—and, in the best-case scenario, look internally because that’s where the answers always are.

Let’s go over your fix options because I just yapped a lot:

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO SHIFT.

Remove time from your affirmations and assumptions. Removing time from your shifting process makes it so you have nowhere in the 3D to look.

Stop paying attention to the 3D and pay attention to yourself because what’s going to shift is your awareness, not the damn 3D. Every time you catch yourself thinking, “Oh, but it’s not showing up in the 3D,” remind yourself:

A) You already know how to shift.

B) Shifting is something you can do.

C) It could happen at any moment, so why should anything else matter?

If you were promised a million bucks from a 100% trustworthy source, would you spiral?

One more thing before I wrap this up:

It could be that actively using the Law of Assumption isn’t what works best for you. Maybe you work better with visualizing. Maybe you induce the feeling of being in your DR or being a "master shifter." Maybe subliminals work better for you. There is a world of options out there, and it is completely useless to force yourself to do something that's only bringing frustration in the end. Because there is no singular way to shift. There is no singular way to manifest. And sometimes—for some people—while the Law of Assumption is always true, focusing on it directly isn’t what serves you.

[lyslsstuff]

jendo-overstim 😊

freaks.....the both of them...i love them so much....

Jensdo + overstimulation for this kink meme list

word count : 718

Jenson's stamina wasn’t what it once was, not after all these years of retirement. He could still do things, still move, still give—but it came with a cost. A deep, bone-heavy exhaustion that settled in his limbs, in the dull ache of muscles that once thrived under the constant demand of high-speed performance. His body, once sculpted by years of precision and endurance, now betrayed him in the aftermath.

And yet, having Lando Norris in bed was like signing a contract with the devil.

A very unsatiated devil.

Jenson had already given him everything tonight. He had taken Lando apart piece by piece, had worked him into that sweet, breathless place where pleasure blurred into something close to delirium. He had spilled inside him, their bodies slick with heat and sweat, their breaths mingling in the dim light of the room. He should be done. They both should be done.

But Lando never wanted to stop.

Jenson barely had a moment to catch his breath before Lando was moving again. A shift, a press of warm skin, a weight settling over him that made him groan in overstimulated protest. His body begged for rest, but Lando had other plans.

“Come on,” Lando murmured, voice sweet, coaxing. He always had a way of making demands sound like requests, always had a way of getting what he wanted without ever having to ask outright.

Jenson barely had time to respond before Lando was straddling his hips, fingers gripping his still-sensitive cock, lining it up with an ease that spoke of how many times they’d done this before. Jenson hissed, breath stuttering as Lando sank down in one smooth motion.

His whole body jerked at the over-sensitivity, his nerves firing off sharp, raw signals of pleasure and pain all tangled together.

“Fuck—Lando,” Jenson gritted out, his hands instinctively reaching to grip the younger man’s hips, trying to still him, trying to make him pause.

But Lando didn’t pause.

Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he rolled his hips, his head tilting back as a pleased sound left his lips.

Jenson could feel him tightening around him, could feel the way his body was working to coax him back to life, to keep him inside, to take more even when there was nothing left to give.

Lando always wanted more. Always needed more.

It wasn’t lost on Jenson why.

Lando had always been a man of control. He had to be. In a world where every milliseconds determined your fate, control was everything. And when the track took that control away from him—when the car failed him, when the team’s decisions put him in places he shouldn’t be—he needed this. Needed to be the one in charge, needed to dictate the pace, needed to take what he wanted without waiting for permission.

Jenson understood that. Understood it better than anyone.

So he let him have it.

Even if it meant enduring the slow, teasing grind of Lando’s hips. Even if it meant the agonizing mix of pleasure and overstimulation that left him shuddering beneath Lando’s weight.

Jenson exhaled shakily, fingers tightening on Lando’s hips. “You’re insatiable.”

Lando only smirked, rocking forward, pressing his hands against Jenson’s chest for balance. His nails bit into skin, not hard enough to hurt but just enough to ground him, to remind him who was in control here.

“You love it,” Lando murmured, leaning in close, breath ghosting against Jenson’s lips. “You love how desperate I am for you.”

Jenson swallowed thickly, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. He wouldn’t admit it—not out loud—but Lando was right.

He loved it. Loved the way Lando took what he wanted. Loved the hunger in his eyes, the way he chased pleasure, the way he refused to let the night end simply because Jenson had finished.

And, despite himself, despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs, Jenson could feel his body responding.

Lando hummed, pleased. “See?” His voice was smug, teasing, his pace unhurried as he worked Jenson back to hardness. “You’re not done yet.”

Jenson groaned, head tipping back against the pillows, surrendering to it.

Lando always got what he wanted.

And Jenson was happy to give it to him.

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

There's No Way

Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Loosely based on "There's No Way" by Lauv. Slow-burn, friends-to-lovers. Featuring sort of modern-day / old money Steve (there are phones but also VHS? :D)

One.

The smell of charcoal and lake water hung thick in the air as cicadas hummed in the distance. Lover’s Lake glittered under the golden haze of the setting sun, a familiar scene that somehow still felt special every time summer rolled around.

Robin tossed a burger onto the grill with a practiced flick of her wrist, the sizzle of meat filling the quiet space between them. “Alright, I’m just gonna say it - Steve, you are officially the most bougie of all of us. The Hamptons? Really?”

Eddie snorted, taking a swig of his beer. “Yeah, Stevie, how was your luxurious East Coast retreat? Tennis with the Kennedys? Yachting with the Rockefellers?”

Steve rolled his eyes, reclining in his fold-out chair. “Oh, bite me. It was a family thing. Not my fault my parents have weird rich-people traditions.”

Nancy smirked over the rim of her cup. “So no secret country club scandals? No whirlwind summer romance?”

“Yeah, Harrington, tell us the truth. Did you break some poor heiress’s heart?” Eddie waggled his eyebrows.

Steve scoffed. “I spent most of the time avoiding conversations about future investments and trying not to die of boredom.”

Robin gasped dramatically. “Tragic.”

Steve shot her a look but grinned anyway, shaking his head. This was nice. Comfortable. Everyone had been scattered all over the place over the past year - college, jobs, moving in and out of Hawkins - but somehow, summer always brought them back.

“So,” Eddie leaned forward, “what about you, Buckley? How’s college treating you?”

Robin’s face lit up. “Amazing. My roommate and I went to this killer concert a few weeks ago - front row, totally insane.”

“Wait, the roommate?” Nancy asked, smirking.

“Yes, the roommate,” Robin confirmed, rolling her eyes.

Steve sat up straight, sensing an opportunity. “Oh, you mean the one you’re secretly obsessed with?”

Robin groaned. “I am not obsessed -”

“You totally are,” Eddie cut in. “You bring her up constantly.”

“Okay, maybe because she’s cool as hell? She’s from New York, she’s got this whole effortless vibe going  - like, she walks into a room and people just can’t help but stare. And she’s stupidly nice on top of that. It’s unfair, really.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone’s got a little crush.”

“Shut up,” Robin muttered, but her ears turned pink.

Eddie laughed. “Nah, Steve, she’s right though. I’ve met New York - she’s a cool kid. Got the whole leather jacket, sharp wit thing going, but she’s not an asshole about it. Makes you feel like the uncoolest person in the room, but in, like, a friendly way.”

Nancy grinned. “I like her already.”

“Good,” Robin said solemnly. “Because she’s coming to visit next week. And I expect all of you to be nice and welcoming.”

Steve smirked. “I don’t know, Robin. What if I feel intimidated by her overwhelming coolness?”

Robin snorted. “Oh, I am so counting on it”.

---

Later that night, as the fire crackled and the group dwindled into smaller conversations, Robin found Steve alone by the lake’s edge. The water lapped gently at the shore, moonlight catching in the ripples.

“So,” she started, nudging his arm. “How’s the single life treating you?”

Steve exhaled, staring at the water. “Fine, I guess.”

“You and Nance good?”

“Yeah. It was mutual.” He glanced back at Nancy, who was laughing at something Eddie was saying. “We want different things. No drama, no hard feelings.”

Robin nodded. “Good. I mean, you know I love you both, but… it was kinda inevitable.”

Steve huffed a laugh, shaking it off. “Yeah, yeah.”

She hesitated, then said, “So, uh… just a heads up? About New York?”

Steve frowned. “What about her?”

Robin’s lips twitched as she paused as if mentally fighting with herself. Biting on her bottom lip, she threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, screw this. I just know you, Steve. And I know she’s exactly your type. And I’m telling you, please, for the love of God - keep it in your pants.”

Steve choked on a surprised laugh. “Oh, come on now, Buckley!”

“No, I mean it,” Robin insisted. “You’re gonna take one look at her, and it’s gonna be all heart-eyes, and I just - Steve, I need this friendship to not be ruined by your tragic inability to control yourself around beautiful women.”

Steve grinned, placing a hand over his chest. “Robin, I can handle myself. Cross my heart.”

Robin didn’t look convinced. She gave him an unimpressed look. “Mmm-hmm.”

Across the fire, Eddie caught the tail end of their conversation and smirked.

“Yeah, no,” he muttered to himself. “No way Harrington’s not going there.”

-

Two.

The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, streaks of gold reflecting off Lover’s Lake as the sun dipped lower. The gathering was bigger this time—more voices, more laughter, a familiar kind of chaos. Someone had brought a speaker, and music floated through the warm air, blending with the crackling of the bonfire and the distant splash of the younger kids skipping rocks at the water’s edge.

Steve stood by the shore, his Ray-Bans perched on his nose, arms crossed as he exchanged lazy jabs with Dustin.

“I’m just saying,” Henderson grinned, arms flailing for emphasis, “it’s honestly embarrassing how bad you are at Mario Kart. Like, actually humiliating.”

Steve scoffed. “Oh, shut up. Those blue shells are rigged, and you know it.”

“Excuses, excuses - ”

Dustin stopped mid-sentence, his mouth still open but his eyes widening. “Uh, who is that?”

Steve frowned at the interruption. “Who’s who—”

Then he turned.

And there you were. Walking down the beach, the glow of the fading sunlight catching in your beautiful loose hair, making it look almost unreal. Effortlessly cool in the most casual outfit, like you hadn’t even tried but still managed to steal the entire scene. 

Conversations around Steve stuttered, people’s eyes drifting toward you like a magnet.

You didn’t even notice. 

You smiled, your confidence radiating as you made a beeline for Robin, pulling her into a tight hug.

Steve barely registered Dustin saying, “Dude, you’re staring.”

“That’s New York,” Steve muttered, still watching as you and Robin swayed in your hug, laughing.

“That’s New York?” Dustin hissed, his eyes following your every move. “That’s the girl Robin’s always talking about? She somehow forgot to mention that she looks like she just stepped out of a movie.”

Steve huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Dude, she’s like super old for you. She’s also too cool for us mere mortals.”

Eddie, standing nearby, caught sight of you and broke into a grin. “Oh, hell yeah — New York!”

You turned, eyes lighting up as you spotted him. “Munson!”

Eddie opened his arms. “Come here, you leather-clad menace.”

You laughed, walking straight into his hug. “Still trying to make the whole ‘cult leader’ thing work?”

“Uh, duh?! And you still out here making the rest of us look like fashion disasters?”

“Uh, duh?” you mirrored, smirking at him. 

Robin grinned, turning toward the rest of the group. “Alright, everybody, this is New York. Be nice, or I’ll personally kick your asses.”

You were introduced around, your sharp wit balanced by a genuine warmth that made it impossible not to like you. Steve, still watching from the sidelines, felt that weird pull in his chest, the kind that came with meeting someone you know is going to matter.

Dustin slowly grinned from ear to ear, catching the look on his face. “Uh oh. What’s with the look?”

Steve scoffed, frowning. “What look?”

“You know what look,” Dustin rolled his eyes.

Before Steve could argue, Robin dragged you toward him. “And this —” she gestured dramatically, “this is Steve.”

You tilted your head, a smile sleeping on your lips, your eyes scanning over him - in a way that made his pulse spike. “Ah. The infamous Steve Harrington.”

Steve snickered. “Infamous, huh? That how Robin describes me?”

Your lips twitched. “Not exactly. But lucky for you, second-hand opinions are not my thing”.

He let out a low chuckle, gazing at you. “Well, how’s the first impression, then?”

The group around you went silent, subtly watching, like they could feel something happening.

You tilted your head ever so slightly, as if considering him. “I think the jury’s still out.”

Steve grinned. “Good”, he said, running fingers through his hair. “I love a challenge.”

That surprised a soft laugh out of you - and Steve wasn’t sure if it was the orange hue of the setting sun or something else entirely, but your eyes lit up. And he thought he’d very much love to see more of those little sparkles dancing in the your irises. 

---

A couple of hours in, the party had settled into a comfortable rhythm — some people gathered near the bonfire, others sprawled out on blankets near the lake. Max and Lucas were in the middle of a heated argument about something, while Robin and Eddie had started an impromptu debate over the best concert they’d ever been to.

You sat on a log near the fire, sipping from a plastic cup, when Dustin plopped down beside you.

“So,” he pushed, grinning mischievously, “what’s your deal?”

You turned to face him, curious. “My deal?”

“Yeah, you know. The whole mysterious, effortlessly cool, sarcastic but somehow also really nice thing you have going on.”

You smiled at him softly, taking a gulp of the drink you’ve been nursing. “Ah. Well, I think that’s very cool of you to come up and ask”, you winked at him. “Please, go ahead and inspect away. I’m an open book”. 

Dustin hummed in approval. “Okay, think we got the “really nice” part validated.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Cute.”

Eddie and Steve, who had been lingering nearby talking about Harrington’s BMW that’s been acting out lately, turned their attention towards you.  

Munson snorted, jumping in. “Kid, she grew up in New York. She’s got at least a decade of experience in making people cry with one sentence. I would hold off on any sort of validations for now.”

You rolled your eyes at him kind-heartedly. “It’s a weapon I seldom use, Eds, you know that.”

Paying Eddie’s antics and your comeback no mind, Dustin continued. “And you sure know how to make an entrance. So that also sorta checks the coolness box?” He then pointed at Steve. “I gotta say, I think you’re the first person I’ve ever met who might be able to outmatch the good old King Steve in the coolness department.”

Steve scoffed. “Different sides of the spectrum, Henderson. There’s cool and then there's douchebaggery”. 

You smirked at his auto-derision. You might have heard a couple of things about King Steve before coming here. “Robin told me you put the crown behind you?”

Steve scratched the back of his head, lowering his gaze. There was something vulnerable about him then. 

“Never had one to begin with”, he simply said, his brown eyes seeking out yours. 

You held his stare for a moment, and it was like everything else dimmed slightly — the music, the laughter, the conversations around you.

Seconds before the electricity started cracking between you, Steve took a sip of his drink, breaking the spell. Clearing his throat, he asked, “So. How’s Hawkins treating you so far?”

You released a breath and shrugged. “From what I’ve seen so far today, it’s… different. Quieter than I’m used to, but nice. I can see why Robin likes it here.”

“Yeah, it’s not New York, but it grows on you,” he pushed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping closer.

You studied him. “You ever been?”

He shook his head. “Nope. But I feel like I’d get eaten alive.”

That unexpected honesty granted him a smile. You bit the inside of your cheek, pretending to think about it. “Yeah, maybe. But at least you’d have had fun first.”

Steve laughed. “If you say so”. It’s not before he moved to seat beside you that you realized both Dustin and Eddie were nowhere to be seen. For a brief second, you wondered how long they’ve been gone for.

But then your eyes met Steve’s again. “I think you’d like it more than you think.”

The conversation continued, flowing easily between you. You talked about music, the best dive bars you both have been to, about how Steve still couldn’t figure out how to properly work a jukebox (you stared at him in disbelief and promised to teach him - because that was no way to live).

At some point, Robin, watching from a distance, leaned toward Eddie and muttered, “Oh, this is bad.”

Eddie didn’t miss a bit, taking a sip of his drink. “No - this is inevitable.”

—

By the time the fire had burned low and the night air had cooled, you and Robin found yourselves making your way to the cars, spotting Steve next to his BMW. “I can’t drive”, you told her, eyeing your Jeep parked under the trees on a side of the road. “Shouldn’t have dangled that G&T in front of my face, Buckley”. 

Before Robin could deny all fault, Steve waved you both over. 

“I’ll drive you guys back,” he offered casually. 

Robin shot him a suspicious look. “Didn’t you drink whiskey, Harrington?”

Steve scrunched his nose. “That shit Billy brought? Come on, Buckley, pretty sure he sucked that thing outta his gas tank.”

Before either you or Robin could protest, he swung open the passenger door, beckoning you in with a nod. 

The drive was quiet, comfortable. With her temple pressed against the window, Robin passed out before you even crossed the city line. 

You stared out the backseat window, house watching as white facades rolled by. Steve’s car smelled nice. Something sweet and heady, with a hint of wood. 

As your gaze slid across the back of the leather seats, you caught Steve’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He gave you a soft smile, before switching his attention back to the road. 

When you reached Robin’s place, Steve stepped out of the car and walked around to open the door for you. You carefully shook the girl awake and slid out first against the background of her sleepy muttering. Your arm brushed against Steve’s as you moved past him.

It was the smallest touch. Barely there.

But even with her eyes misted with sleep, Robin saw the way Steve’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for more.

She saw the way you hesitated for a second, like you felt it too.

And as you said your goodbyes and walked toward the door, Robin exhaled, shaking her head.

She’d be surprised if Steve and you didn’t end up going there. Not with the way you were already looking at each other - and you’d only just met.  -

Three.

“You drive like an old man.”

Steve shot you an incredulous look as he pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Harrington,” you teased, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Ten and two, checking your mirrors every five seconds… I’m shocked you didn’t use a blinker in the parking lot.”

Robin snorted from the backseat. “He totally did.”

Eddie leaned forward between you and Steve, grinning. “I hate to agree with New York, but yeah, dude, you drive like you’re taking your driver’s test every time.”

Steve scoffed, throwing the car into park. “It’s called being a responsible driver. Sorry I don’t drive like a lunatic.”

You smirked. For some reason, you loved getting a rise out of him. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, Grandpa, let’s get the snacks.”

Harrington rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto his face as he followed you inside.

There was something easy about being around you. Like you had fallen into step with each other without even realizing it.

Robin noticed.

Eddie noticed.

But neither of them said anything.

Both watched the two of you dance around each other instead, like you had known each other forever. Usual knowing smirks plastered across their faces as you and Steve bickered over which snacks to get for the movie night happening at his house.

“We have to get Twizzlers,” Steve insisted, tossing a pack into the cart.

You wrinkled your nose. “Come on, Harrington. They taste like wax.”

Steve gasped in mock horror. “Take that back.”

You smirked, plucking the pack out of the cart and putting it back on the shelf. “I refuse to enable bad choices.”

Robin covered her mouth, stifling a laugh watching Steve gape at you wide-eyed. “Oh, and who made you an expert ? You just picked up —” he glanced at the bag in your hand, “—what even is that? Trail mix?”

“With chocolate,” you supplied pointedly, throwing it into the cart.

Steve groaned. “You’re a menace.”

“Thank you.”

Eddie leaned over to Robin. “They flirting, or am I having a stroke?”

Robin grinned. “Flirting. Hard.”

Steve, blissfully unaware of their commentary, was still watching you with an exasperated but amused expression. “Tell you what, let’s compromise. I get my Twizzlers, you get your weird health snack.”

You pretended to consider it. “Alright, deal.”

Steve tossed the Twizzlers back into the cart, shooting you a victorious look. “Sucker.”

You just rolled your eyes, but the way you smiled at him made something flip in Steve’s chest.

Huh. That was new. 

---

All groceries paid and loaded (Steve all but blocked your access to the cashier, refusing to let any of you pay) - you headed over to Family Video for the movie selection.

Robin, boasting her ex-employee knowledge just a bit, took charge immediately. “Alright, we need something good—”

“Oh, I get a say in this,” you interjected immediately, scanning the shelves. “Last time I let you pick, we ended up watching some—” she glanced at Steve and Eddie, “—very artistic foreign film that was just two hours of sad people staring out of windows.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“Excuse you!” Robin scoffed. “That movie had depth.”

“...of a mud puddle,” you supplied, ignoring her.

Steve grinned at you. “Okay, definitely letting you pick the movie for tonight.”

Before you could reply, someone stepped into the aisle, their presence immediately shifting the air.

Steve noticed Jason Carver before he could make his presence known, but didn’t react. With a bit of luck, Jason would just get on with his mission to make someone miserable today. So Steve just leaned against the shelf and watched.

Jason’s eyes swept over the group before landing on you.

No such luck, then. 

“Hey,” he said cheerfully, stepping closer with that too-polished, practiced smile. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

You barely glanced up from the VHS tapes in your hands. “I’m visiting.”

Jason leaned against the shelf beside you. The guy wasn’t great at taking a hint, apparently. “From where?”

“New York,” you said absently, your fingertips grazing the VHS as you hesitated. 

Jason let out a low whistle. “Damn. Bit of a change coming to Hawkins, huh?”

You hummed in vague agreement, still not looking at him.

Steve watched from a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself he wasn’t annoyed.

Robin, standing next to him, called bullshit. 

She smirked. “You ok there, Harrington? Want me to press down on your hair so you don’t blow the top off?”

Steve forced a nonchalant smile. “I’m actually enjoying this”.

Robin grinned and nodded in agreement. “Like watching a car accident happen right in front of me.”

Meanwhile, Jason, undeterred by your clear lack of interest, kept talking. “So, what do you do in New York? Model?”

That got your attention. Looking up, you blinked at him, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

Jason smirked, encouraged by you finally looking at him. “Hey, just saying”, he threw his hands in the air. “You sure got the look.”

Before you could respond, Eddie popped his head in the aisle, holding what looked like a good old comedy. “Alright, I’ve got the winner—”

Carver turned to look at him then, his expression instantly shifting. “Oh, great. The freak’s here.”

You stilled.

The change in your demeanor was drastic. The air cracked with tension. 

You slowly turned to fully face him, fixing Jason with a look so sharp and cold that it could’ve sliced through glass.

“Are you actually for real now?” you said flatly.

Jason scoffed. “What? Just stating facts.”

Your lips curled in a dangerous smile. There was no stopping you now. Dude has crossed the line. “Here’s another fun fact for you, dickhead. They say a frightened dog barks the loudest. I can ask the store manager to call your mom. She’ll come get you.”

Jason’s jaw tensed. “I was just—”

“Don’t bother, we get it,” you continued, merciless eyes still locked onto him. “You peaked in high school. You’re clinging to relevance by being a jackass to people who actually moved on with their lives. Get the fuck on with your miserable existence somewhere else.”

Jason opened his mouth - just to shut it again. Eddie, grinning, casually handed you the VHS tape he found.

You took it without looking, brushing past a flabbergasted Carver as you made your way to the front of the store.

Robin followed, biting back laughter - just barely.

Steve, who had been watching without even trying to conceal his amusement, exhaled, shaking his head as he pushed off the shelf.

Eddie, still smirking, clapped Jason on the shoulder. “Tough break, man.”

Jason glared daggers at him. “Fuck off, Munson.”

Feeling ten feet tall and generous, Eddie gave him a tiny goodbye wave, leaving him biting the proverbial dust.

---

By the time you piled into Steve’s car, the tension had dissolved into laughter.

Eddie sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “I love being a damsel in distress. Might get used to it.”

You smirked at him in the rearview mirror. “You’re welcome, Princess.”

Steve glanced at you briefly as he pulled out of the parking lot. But you still caught the awe in his eyes. 

“You do that often? Publicly humiliate douchebags?”

You shrugged. “This one needed a reality check. Thought I’d do the Hawkins community a favor.”

Robin grinned. “You should’ve seen his face. I’ll be living off that moment for weeks.”

Eddie sighed, leaning back. “You are now my favorite New Yorker, by the way.”

You chose to ignore the fact that you were probably the only New Yorker Eddie really knew. “I better be.”

Steve forced himself to focus on the road, trying - and failing - to ignore a twisting sensation in his chest.

He thought back to Robin’s warning.

“Don’t go there.”

But as you sat in his passenger seat, casually flipping through the VHS tape like you hadn’t just verbally emasculated Jason Carver in public, Steve knew—

Robin was right.

He was pretty much halfway there.

And he wasn’t sure there was any turning back.

-

Four.  

Steve’s house was, as advertised, big and empty.

Robin and Eddie wasted no time sprawling blankets and pillows across the floor in front of the massive TV, with Steve helping arrange everything while you ran upstairs to the bathroom.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Robin refused to miss a beat. “So, Steve, wanna talk about how you’re pining?”

Steve sighed dramatically, throwing the last pillow he just brought from a guest room into the pile on the floor. “Jesus Christ.”

Eddie grinned, flopping onto the makeshift giant bed they built. “No, no, it’s cute, man. I mean, I knew you’d be toast the second you laid eyes on her, but this whole slow-burn thing? Didn’t see it coming. Thought you’d be making a move by now.”

“There’s no slow-burn!” Steve exclaimed, exasperated. “Just drop it already, guys, dead serious. Nothing’s going on.”

Robin snorted. “Sure, Steve. And I’m the Queen of England.”

“Bow to your majesty,” Eddie said, throwing a pillow at Steve’s head.

Steve caught it easily, shaking his head as he tossed it back. “You guys are so annoying.”

Robin and Eddie shared a look, their smirks identical.

Giving up on the pair, Steve glanced at the staircase, realizing you had been gone for a while.

“I’m gonna check on her,” he said, waving off their knowing glances as he headed upstairs.

---

He found you in the foyer, standing still in front of the only framed photo of him as a kid.

It was an old, staged portrait — him, no older than five, dressed like a perfect little country club baby in a polo and khakis, standing stiffly in front of a white column. No smile. Just blank, polite obedience.

He stopped a few feet away, watching you.

“That’s the only one in the whole house,” he said quietly.

You turned to look at him, then back at the photo. “No baby pictures?”

Steve shook his head. “None on display, at least.”

You studied the photo for a moment longer before glancing at him again. Your voice was soft when you asked, “Were you that serious as a kid?”

Steve let out a bitter breath of a laugh. “No. I mean, not naturally. But when the only times your parents want a picture is when they’re forcing you into one, you learn to stand still and shut up.”

You frowned slightly, your gaze thoughtful.

Steve surprised himself by continuing. “They were… cold, I guess. Still are. Always busy. Always away. They had expectations, and I followed them. For a while.” He huffed. “Didn’t last.”

You didn’t blink, watching him closely. “And now?”

Steve swallowed. “Now, I just try to do things my way.”

There was something knowing in your expression. A small, almost timid smile grew on your lips. “That’s why I think you’re kind of amazing, you know.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

You turned to fully face him, leaning casually against the wall. “You could’ve turned out like that—” you gestured to the framed, lifeless photo, “—but instead, you’re… you.”

Steve let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I’m all that impressive.”

“You’re kind,” she said simply. “Given everything, that’s impressive.”

There was a shift in the air. The kind that made Steve suddenly hyper aware of how close you were standing. You held his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Felt like words were not necessary. Your bodies ached for their turn to take control.

Then —

“HEY, GUYS! MOVIE’S STARTING!”

Robin’s voice echoed up the stairs, breaking the spell.

Steve cleared his throat, looking away as he took a step back. “We should — uh — head down.”

You nodded, pushing off the wall. “Yeah.”

You descended the stairs in silence, and Steve begged whoever listened that you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest.

---

By the time you settled in for the movie, Steve barely knew what was happening on the screen. You were squished between him and Robin, and even though he wasn’t technically touching you, Steve could feel your warmth beside him.

He tried to focus, but every time you shifted, every time you laughed at something on screen, every time you adjusted the blanket around your shoulders, he felt it. All the way deep in his bones.

Then, at some point, you shifted closer, tucking your legs up and leaning against him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder.

Steve froze.

A quick glance around the room told him Robin and Eddie were already half-asleep.

You were breathing evenly against him, surrendered to a peaceful sleep.

Steve swallowed hard, staring blankly at the TV.

The thing was — he knew, deep down, this was going to be history — sooner than later.

But right now, at this moment, it didn’t seem to matter all that much. What mattered was him not moving. Because if he moved, you might wake up.

Right now, you curled against him, trusting and warm and peaceful - that's what mattered.

So Steve stayed still, staring at the screen without really seeing it.

Because nothing except for your warmth and your sweet breath mattered that much - if at all. 

-

Five.

Benny’s Diner was buzzing with the late breakfast crowd, but at your booth near the window, the four of you had carved out your own little world.

The vibe was soft and easy, filled with sleepy laughter and clinking coffee mugs.

Steve sat across from you, his arm draped over the back of the booth, pretending to listen as Eddie and Robin bickered over their orders. But in reality, his focus kept drifting.

To you.

To the way your knee kept brushing his under the table. To the scent of your perfume—something warm, slightly sweet, and completely distracting. To the way you tucked your silky hair behind your ear as you read the menu, biting back a smile at whatever dumb joke Robin had just made.

He was aware of you in a way that made him feel off balance - and it wasn’t just this morning.

It was how you’d woken up still tucked against him, completely unbothered by the fact that you’d spent the night like that. You had blinked up at him with that sleepy, bright smile and murmured, “Morning, Harrington. Sleep well?”

And he had lied through his goddamn teeth. Because the truth was, he hadn’t slept at all.

Too afraid to move. Too afraid to wake you up. Too aware of every shift of your breath.

The memory was so distracting that he barely registered it when you said his name.

“Steve.”

He blinked, snapping back to reality. “Huh?”

You smiled suspiciously, tilting your head to a side. “You good over there? You spaced out.”

Eddie giggled like a gremlin, looking at him knowingly.

Steve cleared his throat, shifting. “Uh, yeah. What was the question?”

You laughed. “I was asking if you were gonna come with us to Eddie’s uncle’s cabin today.”

Steve barely had time to process before Eddie jumped in, looking far too pleased. “Yeah, Stevie-boy. Thought we’d spend the night upstate, get out of town for a bit.”

Robin nodded sagely. “No parents. No civilization. Just us, a questionable cabin, and probably a family of raccoons.”

You grinned. “What do you say, Harrington? You in?”

Steve opened his mouth — only to groan as he remembered. “Shit. I can’t. My parents’ White Party. Annual bullshit. I have to go, or they’ll have an aneurysm.”

Robin immediately covered a very obvious “Bougie” with a cough.

Steve shot her a look.

You pouted, resting your chin on your hand. “Lame.”

Eddie sighed dramatically. “Gone too soon. Taken from us before his time.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything else, you leaned in and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Come find us after,” you murmured into his ear. “If you survive.”

Steve barely found the brainpower to breathe, let alone respond, before you pulled back and stood up.

Robin and Eddie followed you to the checkout counter, already making plans for the evening.

Steve just watched you go - completely smitten.

---

The White Party was exactly as soul-sucking as expected.

Steve leaned against the marble bar, nursing a whiskey, his white linen shirt sleeves rolled up as he endured yet another conversation about investment portfolios and European boarding schools.

Jason Carver was here, of course.

Leaning smugly against the bar with his usual crew, talking too loudly, probably making some poor girl miserable.

Steve ignored him.

He didn’t even have to put too much effort into the “ignoring” part - all he could think about was this morning.

Your voice. Your laugh. Your stupid perfume that was still somehow all around him.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face -

And then his phone rang.

He frowned, glancing at the unknown number before picking up. “Hello?”

“Steve?”

He immediately straightened. “New York?”

You exhaled, relieved. “Oh, thank god, you picked up. Listen, I—hold on—Robin, stop laughing, this is serious— okay, sorry, our car may have gone off the road—”

“What?”

“—into the mud.”

There was a cackle in the background.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “You crashed?”

“No, Eddie got us stuck,” you corrected. “I was just the unfortunate passenger.”

There was more muffled laughter in the background.

You sighed. “We tried pushing it out, but we’re just making it worse. And I hate to bother you while you’re at your elite socialite gathering, but, uh… we’re kinda screwed.”

Steve didn’t even hesitate.

“Where are you?”

“Halfway up to the cabin. Robin can text you the mile marker—”

“I’ll be there soon.”

There was a pause, then a smile in your voice. “Really?”

Steve just shook his head, already heading for the door. “Like I’m gonna leave you guys stranded.”

Behind him, Jason called something snide, but Steve didn’t care.

He was already leaving. 

-

Six.

By the time Steve arrived, it was pitch black except for the high beams of Eddie’s car reflecting off the trees.

And the mud.

So. Much. Mud.

Steve swore under his breath as he pulled up in his very much not made for off-roading BMW, still dressed in white. He really should have gone home to change first.

Up ahead, Robin was in the driver’s seat, revving the engine as you and Eddie pushed from behind, your shoes sinking into the slop.

He barely had time to assess the situation before Robin caught sight of him.

“Oh thank God! STEVE!” she cheered—right as her foot slipped off the gas.

The car lurched backward.

You and Eddie went flying.

Straight into the biggest, deepest, grossest puddle of mud on the whole damn road.

Steve’s heart stopped.

He didn’t think. He leaped from his car, sprinting towards you without a single regard for his white linen pants.

You were lost in a fit of hysterical laughter. Or, rather, cackle, as you propped yourself up on your elbows in the muck.

Steve waded in without hesitation, his thighs instantly soaked, reaching for you. “Jesus Christ — come on, New York, give me your hand.”

You grinned up at him mischievously, and before he could do anything else, you launched yourself into his arms.

He caught you on instinct, arms wrapping around your waist as you completely ruined the last clean part of his clothes.

“Can’t believe you came,” you laughed into his shoulder. “I knew you would.”

Steve barely registered the fact that you were getting mud everywhere — your arms locked around his neck, your body warm against his, the scent of damp earth and your lingering perfume filling his senses.

“Yeah,” he murmured, holding you just a second too long before finally setting her back on her feet. “Course I did.”

A few feet away, Eddie struggled to his feet, arms outstretched in exasperation. “Oh yeah, don’t worry about me, guys. I just love being ignored while I drown in filth.”

Robin, still in the car, had her forehead against the steering wheel, laughing so hard the roof of the thing was shaking.

Steve pulled back, brushing a stray, mud-caked strand of hair from your cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You looked up at him teasingly, lips quirking up. “Sweetheart, huh?”

Steve’s stomach flipped.

Eddie let out an exaggerated gag. “Oh my god, I’m the one covered in mud, but that was somehow filthier.”

Steve had the decency to lower his eyes, biting back a smile as he let his hand drop.

Robin threw the door of the Eddie’s car open, finally catching her breath. “Okay, people — let’s get this stupid car out so we can go warm up before Steve actually cries about his ruined Ralph Lauren outfit!”

—

It took a combination of teamwork, Steve’s BMW, and a lot of swearing, but you eventually got Eddie’s car unstuck and back on the road.

By the time you reached the cabin, the mud had dried to an uncomfortable crust on your skin.

You unloaded Eddie’s car and scattered inside, everyone getting cleaned up and settling in.

Steve took the fastest shower of his life, scrubbing away every last trace of white linen Steve Harrington until all that was left was damp hair, Eddie’s spare band tee, and a pair of worn-out jeans.

When he stepped back into the room, he spotted you crouched over your backpack, searching for something.

The warm glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across your skin, catching in the loose tendrils of your still-drying hair.

Steve halted. You glanced up, pausing when you saw him.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Your gaze flicked over his borrowed shirt, his wet hair, the way his jeans hung low on his hips.

Then you met his eyes.

Something shifted in the air. The kind of shift that was slow, deliberate. Like the exact moment before a fire starts.

Steve’s throat went desert-dry.

You slowly got up to your feet to level with him, your lips parting slightly like you wanted to say something —

When the door slammed open with a bang.

“Harrington!”

Steve honest-to-god jumped.

Eddie leaned against the doorframe, completely oblivious. “Need an extra pair of hands for the wood pile before we all freeze to death.”

Steve exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

Eddie nodded, then flicked his gaze between the two of you.

His smirk couldn’t get more obnoxious.

You rolled your eyes at his antics, and went back to your bag - like nothing happened.

Steve followed Eddie out, hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the way his pulse pounded in his throat.

Whatever that was - it could have been a wildfire. Even without the goddamn wood.

---

The cabin kitchen smelled amazing—garlic, tomato, and cheesy lasagna bubbling away in the oven. But the state of the place? An absolute disaster.

Robin had sauce on her cheek. Your sleeves were covered in ricotta. There was a suspicious amount of flour on the counter that neither of you had actually used.

You pointed at Robin with a wooden spoon. “I don’t even wanna ask how you got cheese in your hair.”

Robin swiped at it half-heartedly. “Cooking is an art, alright?”

You snorted, shaking your head as you went back to layering noodles. You and Robin moved easily around each other, the kind of teamwork that came from months of rooming together and effortless friendship.

And then, Robin — who had clearly been waiting for the perfect moment — casually ventured, “Sooo… what do you think of Steve?”

You didn’t pause. Didn’t look up. Didn’t even blink.

But you smiled.

Robin grinned. “Oh, now that’s a look worth a thousand words.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. “He’s just…” You let out a small laugh, biting on your bottom lip. “I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone like him before.”

Robin made a suggestive noise. “Yeah, no kidding. Who else has a hair routine longer than my entire shower?”

“Nothing wrong with good hair”, you defended. “Yeah, well,” Robin scrunched her nose. “He also wears loafers without socks, so. Trade-offs.” You nudged her with your hip, hard. “He’s—” you bit on the inside of your cheek, searching for the right words. “He’s good. In a real way. Not in a look at me, I’m a nice guy kinda way. Just good. Kind.”

Robin leaned against the counter, smirking. “Yeah, he’s a big ol’ softie. Tries to act all cool, but we all know he’d risk it all for a bunch of kids who tease him mercilessly.”

You laughed, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

Robin gave you a stare-down. “You like him.”

You didn’t argue. “I really wanna get to know him better.”

Buckley grinned. “You should,” and then added, after a beat with half-mock seriousness: “Just… y’know. If you hurt him, I will have to kill you.”

You barked out a laugh. “That’s fair. I like that you’d defend him like that”, you confessed, approval dripping from your voice.

Robin gave a serious nod. “I will commit crimes, New York.”

You laughed as you opened up the oven, checking on lasagna… 

…Neither of you noticed Steve in the doorway - standing there with a big, stupid grin on his face.

He’d just come in from outside, shaking the cold from his hands, when he caught the tail end of the conversation. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But man, oh man, was he happy that he did. 

He ducked out before you could see him, his cheeks burning, his chest full, the “I really wanna get to know him better” bottled up in his mind to get back to in months to come, like a hidden treasure only he knew about.

--- 

Dinner was warm. Easy. 

The four of you ate too much lasagna. Robin somehow got more cheese in her hair. Eddie cheated at board games - and didn’t even bother to hide it. 

Laughter filled the cabin as you went over the mud incident from earlier. 

You turned to Steve, propping your chin on your hand. “Your folks pissed you left?”

Steve, still in Eddie’s borrowed band tee, rolled the dice and shrugged. “They probably didn’t even notice.”

You scrunched your nose in disapproval. “Their loss, our gain.”

Steve stared at you for a second too long, something tight and aching curled in his chest.

Before he could even process your words and the meaning behind them, you casually tossed a game piece at Eddie catching him red-handed as he tried to cheat - yet again. Steve vaguely registered Munson yelling something about “disrespect” and “absolute betrayal.” It didn’t matter. The more time Steve spent getting to know you, the less everything else mattered. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that yet.

---

Eventually, things slowed.

Steve found himself sitting on the floor by the fireplace - next to you.

The flames flickered, warm light casting soft shadows as you talked, voices hushed.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Steve couldn’t help but wanted to learn everything about you. Especially the little things. Like how you always needed to drink something before bed. How you grew up listening to your dad’s old rock records. How you once broke your arm jumping from a tree.

He took in every single detail like he was trying to memorize you - like a favorite song. An all-time classic. 

“Let me get this straight. You jumped out of a tree because a boy dared you to?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

You grinned. “Yeah. Not my proudest moment”.

Steve huffed a laugh. “Please tell me you at least got to rub it in his face.”

“Oh, no.” You laughed too, leaning back against the couch. “He screamed. Thought I died. I was too busy crying.”

Steve shook his head in half awe, half disbelief.

“You’re wild.”

You smirked. “You like it.”

Steve’s heart skipped - because you weren’t wrong. You weren't wrong at all.

He didn’t know what to do with the feeling swelling in his chest. It felt dangerous - like falling from the edge of a cliff. It scared him, but not enough to make him want to stop. 

At the kitchen counter, Robin and Eddie watched. Buckley sipped from her drink. “He’s so gone.”

Munson grinned. “Told ya.”

Completely oblivious to them watching, you stretched, covering your mouth as you yawned. You got to your feet, stretching your arms over your head, and Steve swallowed hard, noticing your shirt riding up just a little.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” you finally said, voice warm and sleepy. “I’m crashing.”

You turned to Steve, eyes soft.

“Night, Steve.”

Steve barely managed to get out, “Night,” before you disappeared down the hall.

Oh, he was so screwed. 

-

Seven. 

Steve wasn’t avoiding you - not really.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

His schedule had just been busy. Running errands for his dad. Taking care of bullshit he didn’t actually care about.

But the truth? The truth was that he’d gotten used to you - to the way you smirked at him when you knew you were getting under his skin. To the way you laughed, loud and carefree, with Eddie and Robin. To the way you just… fit - like you’d always been there. 

And that scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

So he stopped answering every message in your group chat. He stopped saying yes when Robin, Eddie and you planned something new.

He was running away - and straight-up hiding at a coffee shop this morning pretending to ignore his phone going off every 5 seconds. 

Goddamn, you guys were relentless! 

The Group Chat - The Chaos Crew

ROBIN: Steve.

ROBIN: Steven.

ROBIN: Stevie Boy.

EDDIE: Holy shit, Robin, let the man breathe.

ROBIN: He doesn’t deserve to breathe. He’s been ignoring us.

YOU: He probably died in a tragic hairspray accident.

EDDIE: A fallen soldier.

ROBIN: A hero.

YOU: Rest in peace, big guy.

STEVE: Jesus Christ, I’M BUSY.

EDDIE: Oh wow, he lives.

ROBIN: It’s a miracle!!

YOU: Huh, I was just about to hold a séance.

STEVE: I hate all of you.

ROBIN: Lies. You love us.

EDDIE: And yet, he keeps bailing on everything.

ROBIN: Right? The audacity.

YOU: I was kinda hoping he wasn’t all talk, but…

STEVE: …

STEVE: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

YOU: No big deal, Harrington. Just… y’know. Disappointing.

EDDIE: Ohhh, she’s calling you out, Harrington.

ROBIN: SHE’S CALLING YOU OUT, HARRINGTON.

STEVE: I hate all of you.

EDDIE: You said that already.

ROBIN: So, does that mean you’re coming to movie night?

STEVE: No.

ROBIN: YOU ACTUAL LOSER.

EDDIE: Disgraceful.

YOU: You’re breaking my heart, Steve.

STEVE: …

STEVE: We only just met, New York, come on!

YOU: And yet, here I am. Heartbroken.

EDDIE: Oof.

ROBIN: Cold.

YOU: This is on you, Harrington. 

Steve groaned, rubbing his face.

He didn’t like the way his stomach twisted at your words. Even though you were obviously joking - trying to get a rise out of him, as usual. 

He didn’t like the way his fingers hovered over his phone longer than necessary before finally setting it down.

He missed the four of you. Better yet, he missed you - just you, and that was the problem. 

Burying his face in his hands, he ran his aching fingers through his hair for the thousandth time, when he heard a familiar voice calling for him.

He looked up to see Nancy, already halfway to his table with a small smile. He straightened. 

“Hey, Nance.”

Wheeler hesitated, giving him a once over. Latching on to the strap of her bag, he saw it on her face as she made up her mind. Nancy nodded slowly to the chair across from him. “Mind if I sit?”

He shook his head, leaning back into the chair. “Not at all.”

Nancy slid into the chair opposite of him, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup.

She tilted her head at him. “You look… pensive.”

Steve huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. That’s one word for it.”

Nancy smiled knowingly into her cup. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke, years of history hovering silently over the table. Years of being tangled up in each other’s lives; of being young and dumb and thinking forever was easy.

Nancy sipped her coffee. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she mentioned matter-of-factly. 

Steve snorted. “I wouldn’t say that.”

She arched a brow at him.

Steve sighed, giving her a surrendering look. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Nancy smirked. “Figured.”

Another pause made up of silence that wasn’t empty. It was filled with bittersweet memories, with the ghosts of past arguments and stolen kisses, with the weight of what was and what will never be again. 

Steve tapped his fingers against his cup, thoughtful.

“Did we ever stand a chance?”

Nancy blinked. The question didn’t surprise her. Steve actually asking it did. 

She let out a slow breath, watching him carefully.

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “At a different time. If we’d been different people back then.”

Steve nodded, staring at the table. “Yeah.”

“But we weren’t,” she said gently, wishing for him to look at her. “And I don’t think we were ever supposed to be.”

Steve exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “I think I knew that, too. Even when I didn’t want to.”

It felt good to say that out loud. 

Nancy smiled, soft. “I don’t regret us, though.”

Steve finally looked at her then, his fingertips tapping softly against his cup. “Me neither.”

After a beat, Nancy bit her bottom lip - she looked like she was weighting what she planned to say next. 

“I do regret not letting myself feel things fully, though. When I had the chance.”

Steve frowned slightly, watching her closely. “What do you mean?”

Nancy stirred her coffee, thoughtful. “I feel like I spent a lot of time afraid - of making the wrong choice, or - of saying the wrong thing. Of getting it all wrong.” She waved her hand in the air. “I was so focused on the thing between us potentially breaking me, that I didn’t realize I was hurting you in the process”. 

Nancy met Steve’s eyes, while he listened. “If I could do it again, I’d let myself be all in. And maybe, you know, embrace it, instead of writing an elegy for the relationship I didn’t even give a proper chance to. ”

Something in Steve’s chest tightened - because it all hit pretty close to home. He knew exactly what Nancy was talking about - hell, he knew all along why he’d been keeping his distance from you.

Because this thing — whatever it was — was starting to feel big, starting to feel real.

And what if it didn’t last? What if it all fell apart? 

That would hurt like a fucking bitch.

Nancy smirked, seeing it all play out on his face. “You’re falling for someone, aren’t you?”

Steve opened his mouth —

Then closed it.

Nancy laughed. “Oh my God, you totally are.”

Steve groaned, leaning back. “Jesus, Wheeler. Can’t a guy just have an existential crisis in peace?”

She grinned in response, but her voice was gentle when she said: 

“Don’t run from it, Steve. Don’t ruin it before you give it a chance.”

Steve exhaled, shaking his head. “Easier said than done.”

Nancy pressed her lips together, swirling now cold coffee in the cup. “Yeah, well. I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Steve gave her a long, appraising look. Maybe in some other life, things would have been different between them. But in this one? Nancy Wheeler was just his friend.

And right now, she was giving him the kind of advice that only a good friend would.

Steve offered her a sincere smile. “Thanks, Nance.”

Nancy nodded, softly. “Anytime, Harrington.”

Sliding from the booth, Steve made his way to the counter and pulled out his wallet to pay for their coffees. While waiting for change, he fished out his phone from the front pocket of his jacket and found your name in his contacts.

Before he could press “Call”, his phone buzzed in his hand, a message popping up on the top of the screen.

This wasn’t a part of a group chat, you name winking at him next to a simple text. 

Hey stranger. Up for a drink tonight?

Steve stared at it. Felt the words settle in his chest.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. Hey, stranger. Like it was nothing. Like the days of silence between you had been a pause, not an ending. Like you haven’t been the last thing on his mind every damn night.

His thumb hovered over the screen. His chest swelled with hope.

Steve swallowed hard, then typed:

“Time and place?”

And hit send before he could talk himself out of it - precisely why, just seconds ago, he had wanted to call. 

-

Eight.

Steve wasn’t nervous.

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

It was stupid to be nervous. You and him had spent so much time together by now - it felt like you’d known each other for ages. He knew how you took your coffee, the exact way your mouth curled when you were about to say something cutting but hilarious, how you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were listening to someone talk. He knew you.

But tonight felt different. 

It was the first time you’d be hanging out alone, just the two of you, without Robin or Eddie and the constant buffer of two loud, teasing friends. Steve wasn’t sure if Robin knew, wasn’t sure if she and Eddie were somewhere right now making bets on how this would play out.

He didn’t know why it felt like his whole world was shifting, but it did.

So he sat at the bar, still in his white linen shirt and tailored slacks from an excruciatingly dull day at the club with his father’s associates, feeling wildly out of place. He stirred the ice in his glass of water, staring at the condensation as he forced himself not to check his watch.

(He did not trust himself to drink tonight.)

The door to the bar swung open, letting in a burst of summer air, and his stomach flipped before he even looked up. He knew it was you. He felt it before he saw you, like a change in the atmosphere, an invisible pull tightening in his chest.

And then — there you were.

Steve forgot how to function as a human being.

You weren’t trying to turn heads, but you did.

The dress was simple. Black, thin straps, something that barely brushed against the tops of your knees. But it clung in all the right places, shifted around your thighs as you moved, your bare shoulders illuminated by the dim bar lighting.

You were like a shot of whiskey in a crystal glass. Smooth. Lethal.

And Steve was dying of thirst. 

Your eyes found his - and you just smiled like you knew exactly what was happening in his brain.

It wasn’t fair.

Steve straightened instinctively, hands pressing against his thighs as if that would stop them from fidgeting. He swallowed hard, watching you weave through the crowd. Your perfume - cashmere, jasmin, maybe apricot? - wafted around as you placed a hand on his shoulder, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek before sliding into the seat next to him. 

Steve could still feel the warmth of it, searing into his skin.

“Hey, stranger,” you greeted, flagging down the bartender. “You’re early.” Your voice was light, teasing, but your eyes flickered over him, curious.

“Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Didn’t wanna keep you waiting.”

Your lips twitched, amused, but there was something else there too—something Steve couldn’t quite name yet.

“Huh. I thought maybe you’d skipped town.”

“I’ve been busy,” he said, and it was pathetic how quickly he could hear the lie in his own voice.

You hummed, amused. But decided to still give him a chance - to further embarrass himself. “Busy?” Steve shifted in his seat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “Yeah. Y’know. Family stuff. Work”. He sucked on his water, only to stop himself from talking. 

“Right”, you nodded. “Family. Work. The two things that keep people from answering texts.”

He winced. There it was.

“I didn’t mean to—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

You took a slow sip of your drink, watching him over the rim. Then, finally: “Okay.”

That was it. No argument. No pressing for an explanation. Just that single, unreadable word.

And somehow, that was worse.

Steve leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar. “I swear I wasn't. I just… my parents have been around more lately. Making me sit through business dinners and all that bullshit. You know how it is.”

Steve remembered your offhand comments about your dad, about growing up with people who only cared about wealth and status. It was one of the first things you’d connected over, how empty it could all feel.

You gave a slow nod, swirling the drink in your hand - because you did know. 

Feeling encouraged, Steve cleared his throat and then added: “And I needed to clear my head.”

Your expression didn’t change, but you set your glass down a little too carefully. “And? Is it clear now?”

He swallowed hard. He could lie again, keep pretending this was just another casual night out, but the truth was sitting in his throat, thick and insistent.

“No,” he admitted. “Not even close.”

Your fingers curled around your glass, but you didn’t look away. “So why did you come?”

Steve let out a quiet laugh, mostly at himself. “Because I’m an idiot.”

That made you smile, but it wasn’t the easy, teasing one he was used to. It was softer, something a little more careful.

“And I owe you an apology,” he finally said, his eyes sincere and bright. “I’m sorry I’ve been pulling back. The truth is - I -” he bit down on his lip. “I’ve been trying to put some distance between us, because the way I feel about you scares me, and I don’t know how to best deal with this, I - I just don’t know”. 

His voice was raw and uncertain - and in that moment, under the dim lights of the posh, expensive bar - Steve Harrington was the most goddamn authentic, beautiful thing, illuminating the room. “Steve,” you said, soft but calling for attention. Calm but determined. You set your drink down. 

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours, and for the first time tonight, he didn’t try to look away.

“I missed you,” you continued, voice steady. “So I don’t want distance. I don’t want you to run from this. I don’t want to play games, Harrington.”

His throat bobbed, something shifting behind his eyes.

“What I do want,” you said, voice dipping just slightly, “is to kiss you.”

Steve’s brain short-circuited. For a second, he just stared, like he was trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining this.

“But I won’t,” you added. “Not unless you truly want it too.”

Steve sucked in a breath, sharp and uneven.

His pulse was a drum against his ribs, hammering in time with the words you’d just said. What I do want is to kiss you.

His mind scrambled for something — anything — coherent to say, but nothing came out. Because fuck, he wanted that too. Wanted it so badly it almost knocked him flat.

He could still feel the weight of your gaze, steady and patient, giving him space, letting him decide. And that was what did him in. Not the way you looked at him like he was something worth waiting for, not the way your lips had wrapped around those words like a promise — but the fact that you gave him the choice - to either go all in, or not at all. 

He exhaled shakily, a slow, almost disbelieving smile curling at the edges of his mouth. “You really don’t like to make things easy, huh?”

Your lips twitched, amused. “What’s the fun in that?”

Steve didn’t answer. He reached for you, slow but certain, his fingers grazing the warm skin of your arm as he pulled you in.

You just watched him, eyes dark and searching, your lips parted slightly as if waiting, daring him to make the next move.

And he did.

His hands came up, cupping your face gently, like you were something precious, something he had no business touching but couldn’t resist. His thumbs traced the edges of your jaw, his fingers slipping into your hair, feeling the silk of it against his knuckles.

You exhaled, and he felt it - your breath, warm and steady against his mouth.

The moment your lips met, the world shrank.

Everything - the noise of the bar, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the weight of all the time you had wasted - fell away.

Steve’s touch was reverent, like he was memorizing the feel of you beneath his palms, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

You leaned in, pressing closer, and Steve swore he felt the earth tilt beneath him. His lips moved against yours, slow at first — hesitant, savoring, like he was trying to make up for every second he had spent denying himself this.

Then you sighed into his mouth, and something inside him snapped.

His hands tightened against your cheeks, pulling you in deeper - and you let him. Met him, matched him. The kiss deepened, turned desperate - finally, finally, finally - like a dam breaking, like something inevitable, something that had been building for longer than either of you wanted to admit. ---

Group Chat – The Chaos Crew

EDDIE: [a blurred photo of you and Steve walking out of the bar, hand in hand.]

EDDIE: Pay up, Buckley.

ROBIN: WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL??

ROBIN: I WAS OFFLINE FOR TWO HOURS. TWO. HOURS!!

STEVE: Picture’s blurry, man. But pretty straightforward.

YOU: But, damn, we look good. 

ROBIN: OH SO YOU’RE A TEAM NOW?? 

ROBIN: JUST DROPPING BOMBS CASUALLY??

EDDIE: Lmao she’s spiraling.

ROBIN: I AM NOT SPIRALING. 

STEVE: Robin. Breathe.

STEVE: If that’s any consolation, you’re still our first choice for best woman 🙂 EDDIE: I can be the flower girl. 

EDDIE: @Robin, told you there’s no way this wasn’t going there. 

YOU: Maybe a little too soon for the wedding though?

STEVE: Yeah - let’s agree on the dog first. 

EDDIE: Oh, you’re done for, Harrington.

ROBIN: Absolutely wrecked.

STEVE: Yeah. I am :)

The End.

[xoxochb]

Sweet girl diary entry!!!!!!! Pls pls pls. Just like, a lil ficlet as if Sweet Girl is writing in her diary. The whole

“dear diary. Today at camp…”

I just wanna find out more abt my baby’s life 🥺

I’ve never wrote something from first person but this is actually soooo criminally cute 🥹🥹

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

dear diary journal,

diary sounds too girly.

well I am a girl. but it sounds too 2000s romcom starring anne hathaway where her love interest his chad michael murray the y2k it boy.

he’s pretty sexy though, I won’t lie. we’ll switch it back to diary tomorrow when I find the motivation to erase and rewrite it.

it’s monday, february third. I hate mondays. but not as much as I hate sundays I freaking HATE sundays with a passion. percy always makes fun of me when I talk about my deep loathing for sundays. so I pull his hair in retaliation. I won’t tell him I half do that just to touch his soft hair because then he’d just make fun of me even more.

this morning it took me 2 whole hours to get out of bed. and it wasn’t necessarily my fault because percy wanted to dilly-dally per usual. and he also bribed me with twenty dollars and the best half an hour long make out session so I think it might’ve been worth it.

but I finally managed to get him out of bed following this. I stayed at his cabin again because I think it’s my new home at this point. we showered— and after ten minutes of trying to keep his hand out from between my legs we dressed and went to lunch because we had skipped breakfast.

and I was sad because I like breakfast. but percy made up for it and made me french toast for lunch. he even put confectionery sugar on it!!!!!!

after I ate lunch I left him and found annabeth. we had an hour long debate over historical arguments it was kinda epic. percy doesn’t like when I say epic he says it makes me sound like a five year old boy. so I say it to make him angry. but I don’t think he could ever be angry with me so I guess I win either way.

I left cabin six around three o’clock and ran into grover and juniper. they were weaving stick bracelets for the younger campers so I helped them for a while. and when I finished I gave all my bracelets to little lucille she’s an angel. she gave me a kiss on the cheek.

after I dropped off the bracelet I went back to cabin three. but percy was fast asleep. and when he’s asleep I’m sure he could be out through an entire war. he doesn’t even have a blanket on— the blue blanket I had bought him specifically because it’s his favorite color.

I managed to retrieve the blanket from beneath him and put it above him. then I joined him in his nap and I think I was out for like two hours to be honest. he was still asleep when I woke up though.

so I laid with him until he woke up just before dinner. unsurprisingly, we skipped it like breakfast. we stayed in bed until eight. or I did at least. I forced percy to get up and get me ice cream, and bring the loving boyfriend he is, he brought me back my favorite peanut butter + oreo ice cream combo. I love him.

I ate it within the next five minutes and then complained to him about being cold. percy is the only person who’ll listen to me complain so I take advantage of it.

he recommended having a ‘special way’ to make me warm. by his smirk alone I knew what he meant. but I would’ve known without seeing him at all, he’s predictable sometimes.

and not to anyone’s surprise, I let him show me his special way. and to say I was warmed up would be an understatement. but I won’t go into details because I’m not my boyfriend— who would, without a second thought go into graphic detail.

and then a half an hour later he crashed. and then that brings me to now. it’s not that I can’t sleep but I’d much rather prefer to have time to catch up on reading for a bit since my day had been busy. but then I saw my journal/diary and got sidetracked so I guess that didn’t really work out.

but overall my day was pretty good!! and… I should probably go to sleep soon because it’s…. I’ll be back in a second.

it’s one thirty two in the morning. off to bed I go!

until tomorrow, xoxo sweet girl.