#the rest of the song is the ‘soft’ guitar

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you are nothing short of everything

It started on a Tuesday.

Paige hadn’t meant to stop. She’d only been cutting through the west wing of the student center to get to the library faster. That shortcut had never led her anywhere interesting before—just past a few empty classrooms and the occasional music practice room. But that day, as her sneakers squeaked across the linoleum floor, she caught the faintest sound of singing.

Not the kind you’d hear through a phone or headphones someone forgot to mute. It was live. Pure. Like honey in tea.

She slowed, head tilting. The notes floated through the cracked door, spilling like light onto the floor. A soft voice, low and aching, wrapped around the lyrics like it was holding something close. Paige’s hand paused on the strap of her backpack. Her heartbeat slowed.

She didn’t recognize the words, didn’t even try to. She just listened. Maybe a minute. Maybe three. Long enough for her chest to feel tight in a way she couldn’t explain. And then—just as suddenly—she left. Shaking it off. She had things to do. Conditioning at four. Film at six.

But the voice stayed.

It happened again. Two days later. Same hallway. Different song.

Again. 

And again.

It became routine. Paige would find herself lingering, walking a little slower when she reached that stretch of floor. Sometimes she’d stop completely, standing still like an idiot with her ear tilted just enough toward the door.

She never peeked in. That felt too personal, too much like crossing a line. She didn’t want to know what the singer looked like. Not yet. There was something sacred about the not-knowing.

The voice didn’t just sing—it felt. Like it lived every word.

She started timing her library trips around it.

Azzi nudged her shoulder one day at the dining hall. “You’ve been real quiet this week. What’s going on in that deep brooding brain of yours?”

“Nothing,” Paige mumbled.

“Liar,” KK chimed in, tossing a grape at her.

Aubrey raised a brow but didn’t press. She never did. She just watched Paige like she already knew.

Paige didn’t say it, didn’t want to explain why her chest ached a little every time she walked away from that hallway. Why she kept hearing the same voice when she lay in bed at night, headphones in but volume off, trying to match it in her head.

She didn’t even know the girl’s name.

The open mic night wasn’t her idea.

Azzi found the flyer. “It’s across town. Cute cafe vibe. Candlelight. Coffee. Poetry. Music. Let’s go.”

KK looked at her like she was insane. “You lost me at poetry.”

“You can just sip your overpriced matcha and be hot in the corner,” Azzi said, batting her lashes. “C’mon. It’s Friday. No practice tomorrow.”

Even Aubrey nodded. “Might be fun.”

Paige didn’t argue. She had no reason to. A night out would be good. Distract her. Maybe even help her forget.

The place was packed.

Paige slouched in her seat, hoodie half-zipped, sipping a lukewarm vanilla latte KK swore she’d love. The lights were low, the stage small and intimate. People performed slam poetry, a jazz duet, and someone recited something about the moon and loneliness.

Paige’s attention drifted in and out. Nothing gripped her.

Until she heard it.

The first note.

She straightened. Her latte almost slipped.

There you were.

Stepping onto the stage like you didn’t even know you were changing someone’s life.

A guitar rested in your hands. A simple mic. A shy smile.

“Maybe I came on too strong…”

Paige didn’t breathe.

Her fingers curled tight around the paper sleeve of her cup. The world blurred. The clinking cups, the murmured chatter, the coughs and shifting chairs—they all disappeared. It was you. That voice. That voice. Her voice.

And now you had a face.

Lit soft by the string lights, your lashes low, your expression a mirror of the ache in the song. “Dive” by Ed Sheeran. Paige recognized it now. Had never liked it much before. But you—you made it yours. Every lyric lived in your throat like it belonged there.

When you got to “So don’t call me baby… unless you mean it,” Paige’s chest burned.

You weren’t even looking at anyone in particular, just singing into the dark. But Paige felt like it was only her in that room.

Her mouth went dry.

The song ended too soon.

You strummed the last chord, gave a little smile, and walked off stage like you hadn’t just left someone breathless in the third row.

Paige didn’t move.

Her eyes followed you—wide, stunned, quiet.

Azzi leaned over. “Dude. Are you okay?”

KK squinted. “What happened to her? Her face looks like she just saw God.”

Paige opened her mouth.

No words came out.

Aubrey leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, thoroughly entertained. “She’s in love.”

“I am not,” Paige finally snapped, but it came out too fast. Too defensive.

Azzi laughed. “You’re stuttering.”

KK grinned. “You’ve been bewitched.”

Paige stared across the cafe where you stood by the bar, your guitar now slung across your back, chatting with someone and smiling softly.

“I’ve heard her before,” Paige mumbled, finally. “Like… a bunch of times.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“In the student center. Some music room or whatever. I didn’t know what she looked like. I just—heard her. Singing.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” KK practically shouted.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Paige muttered, eyes still on you.

Azzi elbowed her. “Well, say something now. She’s right there.”

“Nope,” Paige said, panicking a little. “No, no, no. I can’t. What would I even say?”

Aubrey raised a brow. “Hi would be a start.”

“I can’t,” Paige repeated, now looking genuinely distressed.

KK laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone. “Basketball superstar, national icon, but she can’t talk to a girl with a guitar.”

“You don’t get it,” Paige said, still watching you. “I—I’ve been hearing her voice for weeks. I built this whole idea of her in my head and now she’s real and she’s right there and what if she doesn’t live up to it? What if I don’t?”

Azzi softened. “Or what if she’s even better?”

Paige didn’t answer.

She just sat there, pulse racing, legs bouncing under the table, until you turned slightly and your eyes scanned the room, then landed on her.

For one second, just one—you smiled.

Right at her.

And Paige smiled back, dazed, like she forgot how to be cool.

You looked away.

She didn’t.

Paige didn’t move for a full five minutes.

Your smile had burned a hole into her brain, and she sat in that little café chair like someone who had just time-traveled. The lights buzzed. The next performer came and went. The chatter picked up again. But Paige only heard the echo of your voice.

KK, predictably, had pulled out her phone and started typing. “I’m making a list of icebreakers. What about… ‘Are you a magician? Because whenever I hear you, everyone else disappears.’”

Azzi groaned. “Please don’t let her say that.”

Aubrey took a sip of her tea, then muttered, “She won’t say anything. She’s gonna sit here and spiral about it for three months.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Paige muttered, eyes still trained on you as you made your way through the crowd with your guitar case, waving at the barista. “I’m… calculating.”

“Calculating?” Azzi echoed, eyebrows raised.

Paige shrugged. “My odds.”

“Your odds of what? Getting her number?” KK grinned.

“My odds of surviving when I get to say hello.”

She stood up before she could overthink it. Hands slightly clammy, hoodie sleeves tugged down over her knuckles. Her sneakers felt too loud as she crossed the room, weaving through chairs and tables, trying not to trip on someone’s tote bag.

You were alone now, leaning against the far wall near the bathroom hallway, on your phone.

Paige slowed. Stopped. Took one shallow breath.

You looked up.

Eyes met.

You smiled again—so effortlessly kind it made her ribs hurt.

“Hey,” she said, voice softer than usual.

“Hey,” you replied, sliding your phone into your pocket. “You’re Paige Bueckers, right?”

Her stomach flipped. “Uh—yeah. Guilty.”

“I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen you on the court.” Then, with a playful smirk, “Didn’t expect to see you here, though.”

“I didn’t expect to hear you here,” Paige said, and immediately wanted to smack her forehead. “I mean—I did, obviously, you were on stage, but—what I meant is…”

Your head tilted slightly. “You okay?”

“I’ve heard you before,” she blurted. “In the student center. You sing sometimes—room 205, I think? Every Tuesday. Or Thursday. Or both. I wasn’t… I wasn’t being creepy or anything, I just—your voice—it always stopped me. I didn’t know who you were until tonight.”

The words tumbled out of her like they’d been waiting weeks.

You blinked. “You’ve been listening?”

Paige nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. Every time I walked by.”

Something shifted in your eyes—curiosity, then warmth. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Paige said quickly. “You always looked so into it. Like it was just you and the music.”

“It usually is,” you admitted. “It’s kind of my favorite part of the day.”

“Mine too,” Paige said before she could stop herself.

You smiled again, and this time it lingered.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Y/N.”

Paige repeated it under her breath. Like a secret.

You leaned back against the wall and looked at her, fully now. “So. You like Ed Sheeran?”

“I didn’t,” Paige said honestly. “Until you sang that.”

You laughed, and damn—Paige swore she could live off the sound.

“Well,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks for listening. For… noticing.”

Paige rocked on her heels. “Would it be okay if I… came by next time? I mean—on purpose. Not just walking by.”

“Room 205,” you said. “Tuesdays and Thursdays. Four p.m.”

She grinned. “Noted.”

You glanced down at your shoes, then back at her. “You know… if you’re free after this, there’s this late-night taco truck a block away. I always go there after these open mics.”

Paige’s heart flipped. “Really?”

You gave a tiny shrug, smile shy now. “You could come. If you want.”

She nodded—too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I want.”

From the other side of the room, KK spotted her and dramatically mimed fainting. Azzi and Aubrey gave each other knowing looks.

You followed Paige’s glance and laughed again. “Your friends?”

“The very loud ones,” she deadpanned.

You zipped up your guitar case. “Then let’s sneak out the side door.”

Paige blinked. “I love you.”

You froze, eyebrows raised.

Paige turned red instantly. “I mean—I—not love-love. I mean I love that idea. Sneaking. Not… okay, yeah, I’m gonna shut up now.”

You laughed so hard she thought she might combust and reached over, hand brushing her forearm. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m never nervous,” Paige lied.

You raised a brow. “You are with me.”

Paige opened the door for you, heart pounding, wondering how it was possible to feel this much after a single song and one very overdue hello.

And just like that, she followed you into the night.

The air was colder outside the café than Paige expected.

She stuffed her hands into her hoodie pockets, trying to ignore the way her heart still hadn’t settled since stepping out with you. The sidewalk was mostly empty—just a few people loitering near parked cars and someone locking up a bike. You walked a step ahead, guitar case slung over your shoulder like it was second nature.

“You sure this taco truck is real?” Paige asked, mostly to fill the silence.

You glanced over your shoulder with a grin. “It’s very real. And very good.”

Paige nodded. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”

You didn’t say anything, just smiled to yourself and kept walking.

The truck was parked on the corner of a quiet intersection, half-lit by a flickering streetlamp. Bright red paint. A little speaker sitting on the counter playing soft reggaeton. The guy running it looked like he’d seen it all and didn’t care anymore.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said without even looking up.

“Hey, Manny.” You stepped up and started reading the chalkboard menu like you didn’t already know what you were getting.

Paige hovered behind you, awkwardly peering over your shoulder. “What’s good?”

“The carnitas,” you said instantly. “Or the lengua. If you’re brave.”

“I’m not brave,” Paige said, then winced. “I mean—like—I could be. If I had to be. But probably not for… tongue.”

You smiled again, but didn’t tease her. “Carnitas it is.”

Manny raised an eyebrow. “For both?”

You glanced at Paige, who nodded. “Yeah.”

Manny scribbled something on the notepad and disappeared inside the truck.

Paige shuffled a little closer to the side of the truck where the heat was spilling out from the open window. “You come here every week?”

“After every open mic,” you said, stepping up beside her. “It’s kind of my thing.”

“That’s cool,” Paige mumbled, unsure of what else to say. “I don’t really… have a thing.”

You looked at her. “Basketball’s not your thing?”

She tilted her head. “I mean—yeah. That’s kind of my whole thing. But it’s… different. It’s not like tacos after singing. That feels more like a… soul thing.”

You were quiet for a second. “Singing is my thing, yeah. But only when no one’s really watching.”

Paige blinked. “You just performed in front of like fifty people.”

“Exactly.” You smirked. “Not enough to feel real. But enough to hide in.”

She didn’t get it—at least not fully—but she liked the way you said it. Like there were layers underneath everything. Paige wasn’t used to layers. Most people just said what they meant. You made her want to ask better questions.

Manny handed you two paper baskets stacked with tacos and napkins.

You walked over to a low brick wall nearby and sat, setting your guitar down beside you. Paige sat a careful foot away. Not too close.

She watched you take a bite and hum in appreciation.

She took a bite too. “Oh, damn.”

You grinned. “Told you.”

The silence wasn’t awkward—but Paige didn’t know how to fill it, either. She picked at her tortilla, chewing slower than usual.

After a while, she asked, “So you majoring in music?”

“Nope,” you said between bites. “Creative writing.”

“Cool. That’s… cool.”

You sipped your drink. “You’re not very good at small talk, huh?”

Paige groaned and flopped backward against the wall. “Is it that obvious?”

“Kinda.”

She covered her face with one hand. “This is why I don’t talk to people.”

“But you walked over,” you said softly.

Paige peeked at you through her fingers. “Yeah. I don’t do that either.”

“Why’d you do it tonight?”

She didn’t have a good answer. Not one that wouldn’t sound stupid.

“I think I just had to,” she said finally. “I heard your voice before I saw you, and it got stuck in my head. Like… really stuck. You made everything else quiet. That’s hard to do.”

You looked down at your basket of tacos. Paige worried she’d overstepped.

But then you said, “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my singing.”

She flushed and went back to chewing.

“You have a really… still energy,” she said out of nowhere.

“Still?”

“Yeah,” Paige shrugged. “Like… not in a boring way. More like—when I’m near you, I feel like I don’t have to rush. Like I can just sit and not be anyone for a second.”

You blinked. “You’re really bad at flirting.”

“I’m not flirting,” Paige said instantly, then looked horrified. “I mean—not that I wouldn’t—if I was! But I’m not! I just meant that like, platonically… your vibe is chill. Not that I only want it to be platonic. Wait. I’m gonna eat this taco now.”

You buried your face in your hands and shook your head, laughing.

Paige took the biggest bite she could manage just to shut herself up.

You let her flail for a moment before nudging her arm with your elbow.

“You’re weird,” you said gently. “But I like it.”

Her face turned red again. “Thanks.”

“Same time next week?” you asked.

She blinked. “Like, here? After the open mic?”

You gave her a look. “Room 205. Tuesday or Thursday. Four p.m. You listen. I sing.”

Paige nodded too fast. “I’ll be there.”

You stood and tossed your napkin into the nearby trash can, guitar swinging easily over your shoulder again.

“I’ll see you around, Bueckers,” you said, walking off into the cold without needing to look back.

Paige sat there, chewing slowly, staring after you, heart thrumming under her hoodie.

Yeah. She’d definitely be there.

It felt strange walking into Room 205.

She wasn’t used to being on the inside of the door.

Every time Paige had passed by before, it was just a fleeting pause in the hallway. A quiet moment stolen between practice or meetings or pretending like she didn’t hear the music. But now—now she was invited.

She arrived early.

Fifteen minutes early, actually.

She stood outside the room for five of them, pacing the hallway like an indecisive freshman, wondering if she was going to seem too eager. Too intense. Too weird. She considered texting you that she couldn’t make it—just to bail before she embarrassed herself.

But then she heard it.

A strum. A single note. The guitar.

You were already in there.

So she slipped inside.

The room was small—barely more than a practice box with beige walls, a dusty upright piano in the corner, and a few mismatched chairs. You were sitting on the little stool with your guitar, hunched over it, tuning quietly.

Your head lifted when you noticed her. “You came.”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “You said four.”

You smiled. “You’re early.”

“I… like to be on time,” she said, awkward as ever.

You nodded, eyes flicking back to your guitar. “You can sit.”

She took the seat closest to the wall. Sat stiffly. Backpack still on.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

You played a few chords without singing—simple, steady, like muscle memory. Then your fingers stilled.

“I don’t usually have an audience in here,” you said.

“I don’t usually be the audience,” Paige replied.

You gave her a small look. “Want me to stop?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. Please don’t.”

You smirked to yourself. “Alright then.”

And you began.

No microphone. No stage. Just you. Your voice.

It was quieter in this space—more intimate. Like you weren’t performing. Like you were just being. Paige hadn’t realized how different it would feel up close. The way your eyes softened when you got lost in a lyric. The tiny creases between your brows as you focused on your fingers. The breath you took before each new line, like it mattered.

She forgot to breathe sometimes.

You sang something she didn’t recognize—a song you wrote, maybe. Paige didn’t ask. She wouldn’t know how.

She just listened.

And when you finished, you didn’t ask for applause. You just looked over.

Paige was staring.

You tilted your head. “What?”

She blinked. “Nothing.”

You laughed lightly, setting the guitar down against the stool. “You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem.”

“I’m just thinking,” she said.

“Dangerous.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re really good.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice soft this time. The cocky teasing gone. “I don’t usually let people hear this part of me.”

Paige’s smile faded into something more sincere. “That’s kind of how I feel when I play ball.”

You leaned back on your palms. “Is that why you didn’t tell your friends about me? About hearing me sing?”

She shifted in her chair. “Honestly… yeah. It felt… mine.”

Your eyes met hers.

There was a long pause.

Paige suddenly felt like she’d said something too honest, too soon.

But you didn’t flinch.

You nodded. “I get that.”

You didn’t press her. Didn’t make a joke. You just let it be what it was.

And Paige relaxed.

You ended up sitting on the floor, legs crossed, the guitar leaning between you both. The air was still but light. No expectations.

“What kind of music do you usually write?” she asked after a while.

You shrugged. “Sad stuff. Melancholy acoustic girl things.”

Paige laughed. “So you’re the reason people cry in coffee shops.”

You smirked. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

She leaned back against the wall, watching you tap your fingers absentmindedly on your knee like there was always a song playing in your head.

You turned to her suddenly. “Do you sing?”

She choked. “God, no.”

“C’mon,” you nudged. “Just a little?”

“I’m an athlete,” she said defensively. “We don’t do that.”

You smiled. “Tell that to the UConn locker room.”

“Okay, yeah, but that’s different. That’s shouting lyrics in a group of sweaty girls, not—this.”

You gave her a mischievous look. “Afraid I’ll judge you?”

“No,” Paige lied.

You grinned wider, but didn’t push.

Eventually, the sun started to dip through the narrow window, turning the room gold. Paige didn’t realize how much time had passed. She checked her phone—Azzi had texted “where r u???” about 30 minutes ago.

“I should go,” she said, but didn’t move.

You were lying flat on the carpet now, arms spread, eyes closed.

You opened one eye. “Then go.”

She didn’t.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to get attached.”

“I’m not.”

You closed your eyes again. “Mmhm.”

Paige stood slowly. Her legs ached from sitting so long on the hard chair, but she didn’t really mind.

“Same time Thursday?” you asked, eyes still shut.

Paige hesitated. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not,” you said, quiet now. “It’s nice, having someone listen.”

She looked down at you. Your features soft in the fading light. At peace.

“I’ll be here,” she said.

And she meant it.

Two weeks later, Paige didn’t even need to check the time.

It was just automatic now—Tuesday, Room 205, you.

She still pretended like she wasn’t waiting for it every week, but her body gave her away. She’d get antsy around 3:30, check her phone three times, leave whatever gym or classroom she was in by 3:45. No one questioned her anymore.

Not even Azzi.

She didn’t even knock anymore. Just walked in, gave you a soft nod, and sat down while you tuned your guitar like clockwork.

You’d started calling her your “favorite audience.”

She said she preferred “only audience.”

You said, “Still counts.”

On a random Friday afternoon, Paige texted you:

Paige: “You like Mario Kart?”

“I’m not bad at it.”

Paige: “You just said you’re good without saying you’re good.”

“Do you wanna lose or what?”

She didn’t expect how easily you fit into her living room.

You were curled into the corner of her couch in a hoodie she swore used to be hers, holding the controller like it was part of your hand. Your eyes narrowed at the screen. Paige had just blue-shelled you at the finish line. You threw your head back and groaned.

“I hope your joy-cons drift forever,” you muttered.

Paige cackled. “Don’t hate the player.”

“I do, actually.”

“Wow.”

You smirked and tossed a popcorn kernel at her face. She caught it in her mouth. Show-off.

Eventually, the game was paused and forgotten. The controller batteries started dying. Neither of you bothered to fix them.

Instead, you sprawled across the couch, shoes off, half under a blanket. Paige leaned against the opposite armrest, socked feet crossed near your hip.

“What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever believed as a kid?” you asked randomly.

Paige blinked. “Uh… that the moon followed me specifically? Like it was my thing.”

You snorted. “Narcissist.”

“You asked!”

You told her yours was that if you swallowed watermelon seeds, a full vine would grow out your throat.

“You were dramatic from the start,” Paige said.

“Still am,” you agreed.

The night drifted on. You didn’t leave until close to 2 a.m. Neither of you realized how late it had gotten. Paige watched the front door close after you, a little stunned at how easy the silence had felt.

The next night, you invited her over.

“Movie night,” you said. “My pick.”

Paige said, “What are we watching?”

You smirked. “It’s a surprise.”

That was the warning. She should’ve known.

It was The Notebook.

Of course it was The Notebook.

You acted like you didn’t care much about it, even made jokes during the early scenes.

“Wow, nothing says romance like threatening to kill yourself if a girl won’t go on a date,” you quipped.

“Yeah,” Paige muttered, “real healthy.”

But somewhere around the boat scene, you stopped talking.

And when Allie’s mom gave her that box of letters, Paige looked over.

You sniffed. Subtly.

She blinked. “Wait… are you crying?”

“No,” you said immediately. Too fast.

You wiped your cheek with your sleeve and kept your eyes glued to the screen like if you just didn’t look at her, she wouldn’t know.

But Paige was already scooting closer.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m not.”

“You said this movie was stupid.”

“It is.” Your voice cracked a little. “It’s manipulative. There’s rain and kissing and Alzheimer’s. They’re cheating on people. It’s a mess.”

Paige didn’t say anything. Just watched as another tear slipped down your cheek.

She reached over slowly, gently brushing it away with her thumb.

Your breath caught slightly, but you didn’t move away.

“Shut up,” you whispered.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Her hand hovered for a second longer. Warm against your skin.

You turned toward her slightly, chin tilted. “You’re enjoying this.”

Paige smirked. “A little.”

You narrowed your eyes, then shifted under the blanket and muttered, “Fine. But I get to pick next time too.”

“And you won’t cry this time?”

You shoved her shoulder lightly. “No promises.”

She stayed until the credits rolled.

You didn’t talk about what happened.

You didn’t need to.

But Paige smiled the entire drive home.

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no sudden realization. No thunderclap. No internal monologue screaming oh my god I’m in love with her. Paige kind of wished it had been like that—quick, clean, definite.

But instead, it was slow.

Annoyingly slow.

Like a song that changes keys so gradually you don’t even notice until you’re standing there, listening, heart in your throat, and everything sounds different.

It was the middle of a Wednesday when she noticed it.

Not a moment, really—just a text from you. No punctuation. No context.

“it’s raining”

That’s it.

Not come outside, not listen to this, not I’m sad and need you.

Paige stared at them for way too long before replying.

“window’s already open”

You sent back a voice memo—just a few seconds of rain hitting the windowsill. A soft hum. Your laugh in the background.

And that was it.

Paige had to sit down.

Azzi was the first to say something.

“You’re smiling at your phone again.”

“I always do that.”

“No you don’t.”

KK chimed in. “You used to smile like that when you watched highlight reels of yourself.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. “Now it’s a girl who plays sad songs in practice rooms.”

“I don’t—” Paige started, but even she didn’t sound convincing anymore.

They didn’t tease her the way they usually would. Azzi just looked at her gently, then asked, “Have you told her?”

Paige blinked. “Told her what?”

Aubrey leaned in. “That you like her.”

Paige went quiet.

“Exactly,” KK mumbled.

It’s not that Paige was afraid of feelings.

She was just… unfamiliar with them.

Romance had never been easy for her. She didn’t like being vulnerable. Didn’t like people seeing her shaken. She was used to control. To focus. To knowing the outcome before she took the shot.

But this?

You?

She didn’t know where it was going. Or if it was even going anywhere.

She just knew that things were changing.

Because she started noticing everything.

The way your voice got quiet when you were tired. The way your hoodie sleeves were always a little too long. The way you never asked for help, but always showed up for everyone else.

The way she missed you on the days she didn’t see you.

That was the scariest part.

On Sunday, you came over again. No Mario Kart this time. No movies.

Just you, barefoot on her couch, eating leftover pasta out of a tupperware like you owned the place.

Paige sat on the floor beside the coffee table, legs stretched out, head tilted lazily against the couch cushions.

“What if,” you said suddenly, “you were born in a world where music didn’t exist?”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“No sound. No songs. Nothing but silence. You’d still play basketball, sure. But no rhythm. No hype songs. Just… empty air.”

“That’s depressing,” she muttered.

You nodded. “I think I’d lose my mind.”

“Yeah,” Paige said after a moment. “You would.”

You glanced down at her. “Would you miss music?”

“I’d miss you,” she said.

Then froze.

You looked at her.

And smiled.

But didn’t say anything.

Didn’t tease her. Didn’t make it weird.

Just said, “Good.”

And kept eating your pasta.

That night, Paige laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

She tried not to think too hard. Tried not to name it.

But every time she blinked, it was you.

Laughing on her couch.

Crying during The Notebook.

Singing in Room 205.

And suddenly… Paige wasn’t so sure if just being friends would ever feel like enough.

Room 205 felt different today.

It wasn’t the weather—though the windows were foggy from the spring drizzle. And it wasn’t the time—4 p.m. sharp, like always. Paige walked in with the same hoodie, the same messy bun, the same slightly anxious energy she always brought when she didn’t know what you were about to play.

But the air felt heavier. Like something was hanging in the corner, waiting.

You sat cross-legged on top of the piano bench, strumming a quiet chord progression you hadn’t played before. Paige closed the door gently behind her, dropped her backpack in the usual spot, and slid into the chair by the wall.

You didn’t look up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, slower than usual.

She watched your fingers move. You were quieter today too—not in a bad way. Just… focused. Like your mind was somewhere far away and also nowhere at all.

“You okay?” she asked, voice soft.

You nodded. “Just… thinking.”

She didn’t press. Just let the silence settle between you.

After a few minutes, you finally looked up. “Can I play you something?”

Paige sat up straighter. “You always play me something.”

“No, I mean—something I haven’t shown anyone. Ever.”

That made her heart beat a little faster.

She nodded.

You exhaled, fingers settling into place.

Then you began.

We'll play Nintendo though I always lose

‘Cause you watch the TV while I'm watching you

There's not many people I'd honestly say I don't mind losing to

But there's nothing like doing nothing with you

The first line hit Paige like a whisper to the chest.

She froze. Eyes fixed on you. Your voice was soft—not performed, just spoken in melody. You weren’t doing anything fancy with the chords. It didn’t need it.

Paige heard every word.

Dumb conversation, we lose track of time

Have I told you lately I'm grateful you're mine

We watch "The Notebook" for the 17th time

I'll say it's stupid, then you catch me crying

Paige’s expression shifts as the song continues. The lyrics are simple, but the meaning is clear. The way the words flow feels like a quiet confession. Each line hits a little harder than the last. Paige, who’s been so used to guarding herself, begins to feel something stir in her chest. Her heartbeat quickens, the truth behind the words sinking in.

You’re not just singing about love, about waiting for something you want but can’t have. You’re singing about her. The way you feel when you’re around her, the longing, the quiet frustration that she’s been unaware of, or maybe avoiding.

She barely noticed when the song ended. You let the last note linger like it didn’t want to leave either.

Then there was silence. A thick, full silence.

You finally looked at her.

“I know it’s not flashy,” you murmured. “But it’s real. For me, at least.”

Paige didn’t speak right away.

Because something had snapped into place.

All this time, she thought maybe she was imagining it. That maybe she wanted it too much to see it clearly. But this song—your song—was proof.

Not a maybe.

Not a coincidence.

It was her.

It was you seeing her.

And loving her in your quiet, unspoken way.

Her chest felt too full. She didn’t know how to hold everything you’d just given her.

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Sorry. I probably made it weird.”

Paige shook her head fast, voice low. “No. You didn’t.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “It’s just… I didn’t expect to hear myself in it. In your words.”

You smiled, finally letting yourself look directly at her.

“Well,” you said quietly, “you’ve been in my head for weeks now. Felt fair to put you somewhere else too.”

Paige didn’t know what to say to that.

Her brain was screaming: Say something. Do something.

But she just stared at you, heart pounding, realizing…

This isn’t nothing.

The walk back was quieter than usual.

Not awkward. Just... full.

Like something sacred had been left unspoken between them after you played her that song. The words still clung to Paige’s ribs. They echoed every time your hand brushed against hers as you walked side by side on the sidewalk, neither of you talking, both pretending not to notice.

Your guitar case was slung behind you. Paige carried your notebook. She didn’t ask—you just handed it to her like you trusted her not to drop what was inside.

The sky was dark now, the streets humming with distant traffic and warm porch lights.

“Paige,” you said softly as you reached the last block before your building.

“Yeah?”

You didn’t stop walking, but your voice dropped. “You haven’t said much since the song.”

She looked over. You weren’t anxious, just… open. Waiting. You’d handed her something vulnerable, and now you were giving her the space to either hold it or step away.

Paige took a breath.

“I haven’t said much because I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing,” she admitted. Your lips quirked. “You already told me I’m your favorite audience. I think the bar’s pretty low.”

She smiled with you, but then quieted again.

“I meant what I said,” she continued. “Every line of that song—it was like watching us from the outside. It was weird. And beautiful. And a little terrifying.”

You turned toward her slightly, walking slower now.

“Terrifying?”

She nodded. “Because I didn’t know you were seeing me like that. I thought I was the only one…” Her voice softened. “...feeling all this.”

You stopped walking.

So did she.

The streetlamp above you buzzed faintly. The wind picked up. The moment cracked open.

Your voice was quiet. “You’re not the only one.”

Paige looked at you.

And this time, she didn’t flinch from it.

She took one slow step closer. Her voice barely above a whisper. “You make everything quieter, Y/N. And I didn’t know how much I needed that until you.”

You tilted your head, eyes full and soft. “Are you sure?”

Paige nodded, closer now.

“I’m sure.”

Your breath caught.

She looked at your mouth for just a second.

Then she said, like a confession. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in first.

So she did too.

It was soft. Barely even a press at first. Just the meeting of two people who had spent weeks circling something sacred.

Paige moved slowly, gently, like she didn’t want to startle whatever this was. Your hand came up to rest on her wrist, anchoring her.

She deepened the kiss—just a little—and it felt like everything she’d been holding in finally exhaled.

You pulled away first, barely.

Paige kept her forehead resting against yours.

“I was scared,” you whispered. “That if we crossed this line, it’d stop feeling easy.”

Paige smiled. “It still feels easy.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

You stayed like that for a while. No rush. No pressure.

Just breathing in the space that had finally, finally opened.

Then you said, “Wanna come upstairs?”

Paige blinked.

You grinned. “Just to hang. I wanna write more. You could help.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

She followed you inside, heart steady, hand brushing yours.

This wasn’t nothing. This never had been.

[sugardollcurse]

Hiii !!!! I love your hcs sooo could you maybe do how the boys would show you a song they've written about you ? :3

𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x reader, john lennon x reader, george harrison x reader, ringo starr x reader

꒰ note ꒱ hi!! love!! thank you so much!! this idea is so cute and just perfect... they were all sensitive and passionate in their own ways when it came to songwriting hehe

꒰ JOHN ꒱

“It’s nothin’, just a little tune. You’ll like it. I know you will.”

John is cocky about it in theory.

He talks a big game for hours beforehand.

But when it comes time to actually show you, he gets… weird.

He makes you sit on the sofa, then paces around the room, guitar in hand, trying to find the least awkward way to start.

“It’s not finished, right?"

(It is finished. He’s been tweaking it for weeks.)

Then, he starts playing. And every word is so undeniably about you. Not subtle at all.

It’s got little things only you two know about.

He sings with this tight-lipped grin like he’s trying not to look too pleased with himself.

When it’s over, he barely looks at you. “Well? S’alright, innit?”

But he does sneak a glance from the corner of his eye, and the moment you smile, that’s when he breaks.

“Knew you’d like it,” he says, grinning wide now.

“Catchy, right? Might put it on the next record. Whole world’s gonna know how much I fancy you.”

꒰ PAUL ꒱

“Close your eyes, love, I want you to hear it like the world would.”

Paul adores writing for you.

You inspire him constantly!

Little melodies, turns of phrase, half-songs humming in his head while you wash the dishes or laugh at his awful jokes.

He’s very showy when he reveals it.

He dims the lights.

Sets the mood.

He's very dramatic.

Sits at the piano and gives you a wink.

“Right then, this one’s got you all over it.”

He watches your face the entire time, waiting for your reaction.

“You like it?” he asks, breathless, still playing the last chord.

You nod, stunned.

He leans over, resting his forehead against yours. “Good. ‘Cause I meant every bit of it.”

꒰ GEORGE ꒱

“It’s... just something I had floating around. Don’t laugh, alright?”

George doesn’t say much when he gives it to you.

He’s a bit shy about it, quietly earnest, his heart hidden in metaphors and strings.

He acts like it’s nothing:

“Just a little idea. Doesn’t even have a proper bridge yet.”

But when he starts to play it, soft fingerpicking, gentle vocals, it’s obvious it’s about you.

In the way he describes warmth, peace, belonging. I

t’s not flashy. It’s real!!

He doesn’t name you, but he doesn’t need to.

It’s in every note.

When it’s over, he just kind of shrugs, eyes down.

“Could be better, I guess.”

You tell him it’s perfect.

He smiles.

Not big, just a quiet lift at the corner of his mouth.

꒰ RINGO ꒱

“It’s a bit silly, but it’s got you in it, so that makes it gold.”

Ringo’s song for you is adorable.

It’s bouncy, sweet, and full of little in-jokes no one else would catch.

He doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

The lyrics are so you, your weird habits, the way you snort when you laugh, how you always steal the covers.

And yet somehow it’s the cutest love song you’ve ever heard.

You’re laughing before it’s even halfway through.

“See?” he says proudly. “Told you it’d make you smile.”

It’s pretty much a scrapbook in melody.

Every detail says: I see you. I love all of it.

But when you hug him afterward, he goes all pink. “Y’really liked it, then?”

“You wrote me a song, Ringo.”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[forthechubbies]

Our Tiny.

(Longlost)Bf. Song Mingi | Chubby Reader | (Longlost) Bf. Jeong Yunho

If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.

Yunho’s mind was still tangled in that whirlwind of memories, struggling to keep his cool. I know her, he kept thinking, the words looping in his head like an old song he hadn’t heard in years but could hum every note. Those big, innocent doe eyes and that soft, honey-sweet voice. Was it really her?

“Ahjussi?” A tiny voice tugged at his attention like a polite little yank on his sleeve, and he snapped back to the present moment. His class of kindergartners—all two feet of squirming, giggling energy—were staring at him expectantly. One of his students peered up at him with a curious tilt of the head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, you stop talking very fast,” another kid chimed in with an exaggerated nod. “Like you saw something scawy.”

Yunho’s cheeks flared up like he’d been caught doing something embarrassing—like dancing in front of the mirror or losing a thumb war to a five-year-old. He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound slightly shaky.

As if sensing his mild panic, the other kids jumped in with teasing remarks, little giggles and pokes that turned into an all-out giggling session.

“He’s got a pink face!” one of the kids declared, pointing and grinning as the rest of the children joined in, their laughter echoing around the small café.

Yunho took a deep breath, ruffling his hair with a bashful smile as he tried to play it cool. But his heart? His heart was doing little flip-flops. " Um. Okay." He clapped his hands. "Who wants a chocolate croissant?"

"Me!!!"

...

Princess: Hyung, I saw your missed calls. what's wrong?Are you alright?

Mingi had his ear to his phone throwing his guitar casing over his shoulder while gripping the neck of his guitar dashing off to the kindergarten around the block from the music shop.Mingi pressed his phone tightly against his ear as he slung his guitar case over his shoulder, gripping the neck of the guitar with one hand. He hurried down the street, weaving through the evening crowd, heading toward the kindergarten just around the corner from the music shop.

Yunho had called him three times already and even sent a text that read, "Call back. Slight midlife crisis." Mingi had laughed it off—midlife? Yunho wasn’t even close to middle-aged yet. The thought brought a small grin to his face as he approached the kindergarten doors, only to find them locked. The lights inside were off, and the place was completely silent.

Home? Mingi guessed, turning on his heel and picking up his pace. His long legs were finally useful for something as he made it to Yunho’s front door in record time. There, he found Yunho staring intently at his phone, scrolling through something—probably his passcode. Mingi had seen this habit enough to know it only surfaced when Yunho was upset.

Before Mingi could speak, Yunho fumbled, nearly dropping his phone.

“Gah!” Yunho exclaimed, catching it just in time. His wide eyes flicked up to Mingi, and a sheepish chuckle followed. “Princess, you scared me.”

"What's wassup with the not answering my calls." Mingi huffed, putting his hand on exposed hips, a result of his tattered "Rocker" pants hanging by a thread or a shoelace rather - keeping his pants loosely on hips. " And you locked up the kindergarten early." He sighed, "I didn't even get to say goodnight to the kiddos. " Mingi pouts.

Yunho then smiled softly till it faded completely, his brows soured after hearing beautiful humming that was familiar to his ears. It's you! He didn't give much notice before shaving himself aggressively against the railing to catch a glimpse of you. He knows it's you

His eyes widen over your soft features; you've grown beautifully. The church boy's heart flutters as he recognizes those big doe eyes, cute nose, and chubby cheeks. You look so cuddled and cozy in your winter attire.

A dreamy sigh left Yunho's lips. You grab your keys to open the door when a blonde-haired man approaches you from behind. Yunho's eyes widen at the large man being his boyfriend.

"Mingi! No!" If Yunho's yelling didn't startle you then your feet leaving the sweet ground did.

You gasped struggling against his firm grip. "Ah! You big-!" a powerful donkey kick brought agony as he hiss in pain. A window of opportunity present itself as you manage to struggle yet even in pain his grip was strong.

[0ogiebo0gie]

Sally face x

Pregnant!Reader

headcanons!

Request from @larrrrryjohnson! I had a lot of fun writing this, thankyou!

Another lil bit, I know Travis is canonically gay, and i'm a she/they so in my mind, Pregnant!Reader is a surrogate for him. But transmascs exsist, so i never outwardly said that was what's going on. Implement yourself however you please! Anyway 🔽🔽🔽

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︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Sal Fisher:

The pregnancy wasn’t planned. You both had agreed on a kid-free life—or so you thought.

Deep down, Sal always wanted to be a dad. He just didn’t think he deserved to be one.

He cries for days after you tell him. Happy tears. Overwhelmed tears. Soft, silent, endless tears.

Becomes ridiculously protective—he’s always been gentle, but now it’s extreme caretaking mode. I’m talking he won’t let you carry anything heavier than a sock. Overdresses you if it’s even slightly cold: “Just in case.” Spoon-feeds you. Puts you on “bed rest” even when you insist you’re fine.

Likes pressing the scarred side of his face to your belly so the baby can “feel” him before they see him.

Secretly terrified the baby will be scared of him. Never says it directly, but you know. Sometimes you wake up at night and he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, deep in thought, quiet and anxious.

“You’re doing it again,” “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” “I don’t mind,” you say. “But you should come back to bed. I'm cold without you behind me.” “I was just... thinking.” “C’mere, Sal.” He crawls back under the blankets without protest, but you tug him into a proper hug, his body fitting around your bump like a puzzle piece. He rests his forehead against yours. “I’m scared they’ll be afraid of me,” he whispers. “When they see me.” “Then they’ll learn to see you the way I do,” you whisper. “They’ll grow up hearing your voice, feeling your hands, and knowing your heart. That’s what they’ll know first. Not the mask. Not the scars. You.” “…I sing to them,” he admits, sheepishly. “When you’re asleep.” “I know,” you say with a little smile. “I pretend to be asleep so you’ll keep doing it.” He groans and buries his face in your shoulder, embarrassed and pink at the tips of his ears. You guide his hand to your stomach, where a gentle flutter stirs under the skin. “They know you, Sal. Already.”

He goes to Henry (his dad) constantly for advice—especially about your cravings. Henry shows him recipes Sal’s mom used to love while pregnant. It becomes a bonding ritual.

Sal sings to your bump all the time. Quiet lullabies, soft melodies. He hopes his voice will comfort the baby.

Gives you full-body massages every night. From your feet to your scalp. No skipping, no exceptions.

Likes sleeping as the big spoon so he can wrap his arms around the baby bump—it calms him.

If you even hint at discomfort, he’s already adjusting pillows, making tea, or Googling something with terrifying intensity.

Refuses to let you feel guilty for anything—your moods, cravings, sleep schedule. "You’re building a person. You win. Every time."

Keeps a small music player on your belly sometimes so the baby can hear his guitar playing, calling it “band practice.”

He starts writing songs again—soft, private things he never plans to share. Some are for you, some for the baby, some just for himself.

He pulls out old tapes from the band and plays them quietly for the baby—even the rough demos—just so they can “hear Uncle Larry.”

Labour and Birth!

The first sign something’s happening is a sharp gasp and a hand on your belly—Sal’s immediately at your side, asking “Are you okay?” on repeat, fumbling with his phone and the hospital bag in a panic. But before you can even answer, there’s a sudden gush—your water breaks right there. He freezes. Then he starts crying—tears of excitement, fear, love—all while rushing around trying to get ready.

In his panic, he forgets a few minor essentials: his prosthetic mask, his shoes, and oh yeah, his pants. So there you are, in your sleep shirt, soaked in amniotic fluid, and Sal, in just a hoodie and boxers, barefoot and frantic as he speeds down the road well over the limit. You're breathing like the books told you, and Sal's knuckles are white on the wheel.

The second you arrive, he picks you up bridal style and bolts inside, still pantless. When you’re in the delivery room, he doesn't leave your side for a second. He's holding your hand, breathing with you, whispering affirmations through tear-choked words. When the moment finally comes and you’re handed your baby girl—tiny, crying, with tufts of thin blue hair—Sal places a trembling hand on your arm.

She’s crying… but as soon as her head rests against your chest, she stops.

Then a shadow crosses his expression—fear. What if she’s scared of me? What if the scars… what if it’s too much?

But you meet his eyes and silently beg him to come closer. Your daughter opens hers, looking between you both—no fear, no tears, just quiet wonder. He reaches out, hand shaking, and gently touches her head.

She’s perfect.

And as he finally cradles her in his arms, the weight of the world seems to fall away. It’s clear in that moment—he was born for this.

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︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Larry Johnson:

The pregnancy was kinda planned, but also kind of not—it started with, "Hey, babez, do you wanna have a kid?" and you were just like "I wouldn't mind a kid." Then BAM! baby is conceived.

He was right there in the bathroom when you peed on the test. When it came back positive, you both jumped for joy—until he promptly told you to stop, "We want a baby, not a milkshake! you're giving little dude-or dudette, motion sickness, bea."

From then on? Feet up, snacks ready, Larry’s your loyal servant. Except for cooking. Cooking is not his ministry.

Constantly has his ear on your belly. If the baby kicks? He weeps into your stomach like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Told EVERYONE immediately—bounding up like a puppy, showing you off like you’re Peter Steele’s bass guitar.

He constantly puts headphones on your belly and plays Sanity Falls. “Gotta teach ‘em the classics,” he says, totally serious about it.

Every two weeks, he paints you nude—capturing the way your body changes, worshipping every detail. You were shy at first, but over time, it became your favourite kind of love letter.

You tug at the edge of your robe. “Larry, I really don’t feel like—my skin’s all weird today and I’ve got that stupid puffy face thing going on—” “Babe.” He kneels in front of you, resting his warm hands on your thighs. “I need you to understand something.” You raise an eyebrow, suspicious. “I’m not painting you because you’re some perfect porcelain goddess or whatever,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours, “I mean—don’t get me wrong, you are—but that’s not the point.” “Then what is the point?” He leans forward, presses a kiss just under your belly button. “It’s you. Us. All of this. Your stretch marks, the way your body’s changing, the little frown you get when you’re feeling insecure. I love it all. I want our kid to grow up and see these paintings and know how much I adored you through all of it.” You blink at him, heart all gooey and sore. “And if I don’t keep doing this,” he adds, half-smiling as he grabs the brush again, “I’m gonna forget what this exact version of you looked like—and that would be the real crime.” You sigh, loosen the robe. “You’re lucky I love you.” Larry grins, already sketching. “I know.”

Your expanding belly button sends him into hysterics. He pokes it constantly and kisses it every time he walks by, like it’s your stomach’s little nose.

Skincare days stay a common occurrence(if not more often)— but now he puts a face mask on your bump and wraps a headband around it like it's a spa guest.

When he told his mom, he broke down crying. Not from fear—but because he realised this was something he’d dreamed of giving her since he met you.

He always sleeps facing you, one hand under your cheek, one hand on your belly. He says it helps him feel close to both of you.

If you even think you’re having contractions, he’s dropping everything and sprinting home. He’ll ghost friends, call in from work, climb out a window if he has to.

When you’re throwing up from morning sickness, he’s right there holding your hair and whispering you through it. You’re flushed, sweating, miserable—and still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

He makes everyone touch your belly if you’re okay with it. He wants the whole world to know how special this is.

He paints a mural in the nursery—stars, skeletons, and one massive sun—just like the ones he used to draw with his mom. It’s his way of passing childhood magic forward.

Labour and Birth!

Somehow, Larry just knows. He’s been saying for days, “Babez, I think it’s gonna be soon,” and obsessively checking the hospital bags by the door. Then, in the middle of the night, you bolt upright—and Larry’s instantly awake.

“Larry… I think you were right.”

No panic. Just game face.

He throws on the outfit he’s dubbed “Meeting Mini Bae,” helps you clean up and change into something comfortable, and hauls the bags to the car like he’s trained for this moment. The whole drive over, he’s grinning, throwing out “WOO!”s between red lights, and hyping you up like you're on your way to a concert. Once at the hospital, he doesn’t bother parking straight—he’s too busy carrying you through the doors like Simba, shouting, “I need the doctor who's gonna make me a daddy!”

In the delivery room, he’s glued to your side. Hand in yours, smiling like a maniac, cheering you on between pushes. And when your baby boy is finally in your arms—with a full head of hair and a little mole on the opposite cheek from Larry’s—he breaks out into a full-blown victory dance. Headbanging. Jumping. Nearly slipping on the tile.

You’re about to ask why the baby isn’t crying—but instead, you hear soft laughter. Your son is laughing, watching his dad like he’s the funniest person in the world.

Larry doesn’t wait long. He gently takes him from your arms, cradles him close, and starts humming the lyrics to Sacrifice by Sanity Falls under his breath. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t so tired.

Larry eases onto the bed beside you, still in awe, as if he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He lifts the baby boy up with a reverent grin, whispering, “Babez. Look at him. He’s perfect.”

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︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Ashley Campbell:

You weren't sure if Ash wanted kids, but the day you brought it up, she agreed so fast, it shocked you! And when you told her you were pregnant, her eyes widened with wonder—she hugged you so tightly you almost fell over. She whispered, “We’re gonna be so good at this,” like she already knew your baby was in good hands.

Ash is endlessly sweet, but she takes charge in the best way. She brings you snacks before you know you're hungry and organizes doctor visits with militant precision—but all out of love. You never have to ask for anything, because she's already halfway done doing it.

She loves massaging your back and feet, but never makes a show of it. It’s just part of her routine now—grabbing lotion, propping your legs up, quietly kneading the day’s stress out of your body while humming to your bump. She thinks your comfort is non-negotiable.

When you get emotional or anxious, she’s the calm to your storm. She wraps you in her arms, talks in a soft voice, and reminds you that you're allowed to feel whatever you're feeling. Her gentle reassurance is like a weighted blanket for your soul.

Ash is obsessed with your baby bump. She’ll cuddle up to it like it’s a separate person already, holding conversations with the “little one” while rubbing circles on your skin. Sometimes she even tells your bump secrets, like “Your mama is the bravest person I know.”

She’s a bit superstitious about health stuff. Like making you wear socks on cold floors because “pregnant feet are sacred,” and buying every fruit that supposedly helps with brain development. You’re not sure it works—but you’ve never eaten this well in your life.

Ash starts knitting. Badly. She's never knit a thing in her life, but she insists your baby will wear a handmade hat, even if it looks like a squished jellyfish. It's endearing as hell watching her cuss under her breath with pink yarn tangled around her fingers.

She paints little stars and vines around the crib. It’s a soft, homey touch, and she always invites you in for feedback—“Should I add a moon here?”—but you love whatever she does. It smells like paint and lavender when you fall asleep in her lap.

She’s deeply protective of you, in quiet, feral ways. If someone makes an insensitive comment, she’ll glare them into silence. If a doctor dismisses your discomfort, she’ll be firm but respectful, and always advocate for you like a warrior with a clipboard.

Every morning, she presses a kiss to your belly and says, “Morning, starshine.” It doesn’t matter if you’re throwing up or cranky or tired—she still does it, as if to remind you both how precious this chapter is. You start to look forward to it more than coffee.

Ash gently rests her hand on your growing belly, her thumb softly tracing circles on your skin. She smiles, eyes glistening as she whispers, “Good morning, little starshine.” You chuckle, half-sleepy, and press your head back into the pillow. “Morning, hon,” you murmur, sleep still thick in your voice as she brings her lips to your temple. Ash leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your belly, “You’re gonna be perfect, you know that?” she says, voice tender but full of certainty. “Like, the perfect little human.” You grin, turning your head to meet her eyes, “Perfect little human? What, like their mom?” She laughs softly, her fingers running over your bump. “No,” she says, pretending to be serious. “They’ll be perfect because they have you to teach them everything they need to know. I’ll just be the backup dancer.” You laugh, reaching out to tug her closer. “I think you’re the main event, Ash.” Her grin is as warm as the morning light flooding through the window. “Why don’t we both take centre stage then.”

She documents the pregnancy with Polaroids. But she never forces you to pose—instead, she catches you laughing, sleeping, wearing mismatched socks and talking to the belly. The photos are messy and real, and she keeps them in a shoebox labelled “Our Universe.”

She plays soft music in the mornings, classical or instrumental post-rock. Says it helps “set the baby’s vibe for the day.” You both end up lying on the couch, her hand on your bump, half-asleep in a sunbeam while Explosions in the Sky hums in the background.

Ash will happily carry everything you even look at for more than a second. You reached for a bag of rice once and she practically threw her back out trying to beat you to it. “That’s not a craving, that’s a lifting hazard,” she muttered.

She reads every queer parenting blog she can find. Half the bookmarks on your shared browser are titles like Lesbian Moms & Lactation Tips and Raising Baby in a Gay Way: Pride from Day One. She wants your baby to grow up knowing that love built their world.

Ash insists on decorating the nursery with “you energy.” She brings home trinkets, dried flowers, little frames with quotes you’ve said. “I want them to feel you in the room, even when you’re not here,” she tells you one night while holding your hand.

Labour and Birth!

Ash has been tracking your contractions to the minute. The second they hit five minutes apart, she’s hauling you onto her bike—no protests, no hesitations. Ideally, you would’ve taken the car, but it was out of fuel, and Ash isn’t about to waste time with that. Good thing, too, because your water breaks right as she pulls into the hospital parking lot.

She secretly loves that it happened on the bike. “It’s official,” she grins, steadying you. “Baby Maker lives up to her name.”

As you walk inside, she holds you close, supporting your weight with gentle strength. When your legs start to give out, she just picks you up—no warning—cradled securely under one arm like you weigh nothing at all. She has zero patience for the slow-moving receptionist and demands a room without taking no for an answer.

During the delivery, she never once lets go of your hand. Her thumb strokes your cheek, soft and steady, as she whispers how much she loves you, how proud she is of you, how ready she is to become a mother by your side. When the doctors try to offer instructions mid-push, she waves them off—“Let them breathe, damn.”

And then, your handsome baby boy is here.

Ash immediately asks the nurses to wait for the cord to turn white before cutting it. While she’s bickering, you steal a first look—bald as a cueball, but already scrunching his face into the goofiest expressions.

Ash turned back just in time to catch that. And then she cried.

“He's gorgeous,” she whispered, pressing a trail of kisses across your face while her pinkie curled into his surprisingly strong grip. “I knew he’d be perfect.” She sat beside you, overwhelmed and glowing, whispering to him between happy sobs. When you finally passed him into her arms, she cradled him to her chest like he’d always been there.

“Welcome, little starshine,” she breathed, voice cracking. His eyes blinked open slowly, like he already knew her—her voice, that nickname, the love surrounding him.

════════════════════════════════════

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Travis Phelps:

Emotional Distance but Deeply Caring: Travis may act tough, but there’s an undeniable softness when it comes to the baby. He can’t help but care for you, and the growing bump reminds him of how much he has to protect.

Struggling with Touch: He’s used to being the tough guy, and touching, especially in this vulnerable situation, makes him uneasy. He’ll stand a little too far away, watching the way you cradle your belly. His hands shake when he wants to touch, but he doesn’t know how. You’ll often guide his hand to rest there, reassuring him with a quiet “It’s okay.”

Words Are Hard: Travis doesn’t know what to say, or how to say it. He’ll stumble over his words, usually saying something like “Uh, how’s... uh, how’s it feel in there?” He tries, but he’s never been great at being open about his feelings. Still, you can see the way his eyes soften when he watches you with the bump.

Silent Conversations: He’s not one for sappy talks, but you’ll catch him staring at your stomach in silence, like he's trying to figure out what’s going on in there. He doesn’t need words to show he cares; sometimes, he’ll just rest his hand near your belly, silently connecting with the baby, and you can tell it means a lot to him.

Reluctant Affection: When he does manage to touch your belly, it’s quick and almost hesitant, but it’s there. If the baby kicks while his hand is on your belly, he’ll freeze, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’ll mutter something under his breath, like “Damn, that’s crazy,” and then look away, still processing the whole thing.

Protective and Observant: Travis has a habit of quietly observing how you’re doing, making sure you’re comfortable or not overexerting yourself. He won’t say much, but he’ll notice when you’re uncomfortable and take a mental note to fix things. He’s always looking out for you and the baby in his own, gruff way.

The First Kick: The first time the baby kicked, Travis was mesmerized. His hand was on your belly, and he felt the movement, not realizing at first that his eyes were filling with tears. When he noticed the tears, he tried to act tough, quickly wiping them away, but his hand stayed in place, not wanting to move. It was a moment of raw emotion that he didn’t know how to handle.

Travis sat stiffly at the edge of the couch, his hand hovering awkwardly over your bump. “I don’t… I mean, you sure it’s okay?” You took his wrist and gently placed his palm against your belly. “They’re your kid, Trav. You don’t have to ask permission to feel them.” He didn’t respond at first, too focused on the stillness beneath his hand— Then a flutter. A kick. Just one. His breath caught. “Was that—?” You nodded, watching his face change in real time. Eyes wide. Mouth parted. Silent. Then… a tear slipped down his cheek. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing at his face with his sleeve like it betrayed him. “I didn’t mean to—fuck, sorry.” “Don’t be,” you said quietly. “They kicked for you.”

Protective to the Extreme: If someone bumps into you or is too rough around you, Travis doesn’t hesitate to get mad—really mad. His first instinct is to throw hands, and he’ll get in their face, fists clenched, ready to explode. But once the initial rush of anger settles, he forces himself to calm down. He knows getting into trouble would mean missing the birth, and that’s something he’s not willing to risk. After a few sharp words and a deep breath, he’ll mutter something like, “You better watch it next time,” and keep his distance from the person, but his anger doesn’t easily fade.

Secretly Reads Baby Books: He’ll act like he’s too tough for it, but Travis has been sneaking baby books when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s a weird mix of him wanting to be prepared but not wanting to admit it. It’s not his idea of fun reading, but he wants to make sure he’s not totally clueless when it comes to taking care of the baby.

The First Ultrasound: The first time you both see the baby on the ultrasound screen, Travis is hit with a wave of emotion. He’s never been the type to cry in public, but this moment hits him hard. He feels a connection, something raw and unspoken, and he can’t help but stare at the screen, a quiet "Holy shit" escaping his lips. It’s the first real glimpse of his child, and it shakes him to his core.

His ‘Big Brother’ Instincts: Growing up with his own chaotic, unpredictable home life, Travis often finds himself worried about creating a stable environment for his child. The thought of being a good dad nags at him constantly, but he’s determined to be better than what he had. He asks for advice more often than he’d admit, just to make sure he’s doing right by the kid.

Sleepless Nights: Even though he puts on a tough guy act, Travis finds himself unable to sleep at night, especially if you’re not feeling well. He’ll be up, pacing the room, trying to think of ways to help, and all the while, he's silently worrying about you and the baby. If you wake up and catch him, he’ll try to pretend he’s fine, but you can tell he’s not.

Baby Shopping with You: Travis tries to act all tough about baby shopping, but he’s surprisingly good at it. He’s picky about what the baby wears, insisting on getting only the best (but without going overboard). He’ll try to get the most practical things, but you can see the glimmer of pride in his eyes when he picks out something that looks perfect for his little one.

Belly Casting Obsession: Every time he notices a change in your bump, Travis insists on having a professional belly cast made. He’s fascinated by the process and wants to preserve every moment, from the smallest change in size to the curve of your belly as it grows. The casts end up all over his place, a testament to his odd but heartfelt desire to immortalize each stage of the pregnancy. At first, you think it’s a bit much, but the thoughtfulness behind it is something you can’t help but love.

If you ever try to do something yourself—like pick something up or bend over—Travis will immediately stop you, giving you a hard, almost scolding look. "What did I tell you about that?" he’ll say, gently but firmly. He’ll do everything for you, even if you protest, because he’s determined to make sure you don’t strain yourself. He’s very much in overprotective daddy mode and won’t hesitate to act on it.

Labour and Birth!

Travis gets the call while he’s at work. Your voice is shaky, telling him you think your water just broke. The moment you finish speaking, he doesn’t say a word—he just hangs up. There’s no time to waste. He storms out of the office without telling anyone, knowing the clock is ticking.

On his way to you, he quickly types out a message, his fingers shaking with nerves. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hang up like that... Don’t move a muscle, I’m on my way.”

He’d been preparing for this moment, keeping the bags in his car for weeks. Still, that doesn’t stop the whirlwind of anxiety tightening his chest as he drives. He mutters to himself, “Don’t panic, just breathe, don’t panic.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you, or trying to convince himself of that.

His speed? Well, it’s more than a little reckless. You end up getting tailed by a cop, and instead of slowing down, he steps on the gas. It’s a high-speed chase now. When he finally pulls up to the hospital, he swings open your door… but is immediately tackled by the cop tailing him.

The officer looks down at him, then at you, clearly understanding. He doesn’t press charges, but Travis still gets a ticket. The cop helps you into the hospital, making sure you’re seen immediately before walking off.

As you’re labouring, Travis paces the room, hands raking through his hair. Then, he hears you shriek—everything in him shifts. He’s at your side in seconds, holding your hand, reassuring you through the pain. You’ve never seen him so raw, so vulnerable.

In between your contractions, he starts to speak, voice shaking, tears slipping down his cheeks. “You’re amazing, y’know that? I don’t say it enough… but I really do appreciate you, everything you’ve done for me, and everything you’re doing for us. I love you… I’m just so grateful for you.”

When the beautiful baby girl is born, Travis doesn’t waste a second. He scoops her up, bringing her close to his chest, overwhelmed with pride. He whispers to her as he holds her, a promise forming in his voice. “I’m gonna be the best dad the world’s ever seen… You’ve got a good one, kid.”

She’s perfect—golden eyelashes, a tiny strand of golden hair sticking up at the top of her head. Travis looks at her with a love you’ve never seen before. There’s no doubt in your mind—he’s going to be an amazing father.

════════════════════════════════════

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Also had to draw Larry snotting over your baby bump, I couldn't not, it was so clear in my head.

[ilovegeorgie]

george harrison x reader where she is his muse?? love ur writing!! xoxo

i want her everywhere

george harrison x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none !

summary: sleepy confessions and a not so flustered geo at the end

a/n: aww thanks smm <33 i tried to, but i think it got more into an “im obsessed with you” kinda thing, i got a little excited with this one.. hope you like it :)

the studio was half-lit, full of the usual clutter: tangled wires, old amps, tea mugs perched on equipment cases, and the faint smell of incense from something they had lit earlier. george sat perched on a stool with his guitar in hand, head tilted to the side, tuning.

the other boys were scattered across the space, paul cheking over scribbled lyrics, ringo drumming on the floor out of boredom, and john... well, he was watching george.

“alright,” john said suddenly grinning, “what’s got you all misty-eyed over there, harrison?”

george blinked, looking up from the strings. “what?”

“you’ve been smiling at your fretboard, i dont think you like your guitar that much,” paul chimed in.

“i wasn’t,” george mumbled, immediately ducking his head. but his ears were already turning pink.

“you’ve been off in space since this morning,” ringo added helpfully. “all dreamy and quiet. it's suspicious.”

“i’m allowed to be quiet,” george huffed, fiddling with a string a little too aggressively.

john raised an eyebrow. “you’re always quiet, mate. but this is different, it´s the ‘i’ve written another song about her’ quiet.”

george’s fingers froze mid-chord.

paul’s eyes lit up. “oh! he has, hasn’t he? that’s why he was humming like a monk all through lunch.”

george buried his face in his hands. “can’t a man write a song without getting interrogated?”

“no,” they all said, “it’s us you’re talking about, c’mon” added john.

...

later that week, there was a little party at someone’s flat, someone who probably had no idea four bugs... plus their birds... and half the studio crew. they would mostly end up squeezed into their living room, laughing too loudly over a scratched record.

she was leaning against the kitchen counter, chatting with maureen, when the three troublemakers approached.

john sauntered up first, holding two drinks. “so,” he said, glancing at george across the room, “you know he’s written, like, six songs about you, right?”

she blinked. “who, george?”

ringo nodded. “we caught him grinning at his guitar yesterday. didn’t say a word for at least ten minutes.”

paul leaned in, “he’s been saying it’s about ‘the stars’ and ‘feeling centered,’ but trust me, he definetly means it’s about you.”

she laughed, a little breathlessly. “are you messing with me?”

“absolutely not,” john said. “he’s a proper romantic, that one.”

across the room, george was watching with thinly veiled panic.

“oh no,” he muttered under his breath.

he looked down at his drink, then back at her, and when their eyes met and she smiled, this soft, knowing little smile that said she heard everything, he nearly dropped his glass.

...

the party had mellowed and people were starting to leave, she found him outside, on the balcony, hands in his coat pockets, looking up at the stars like they might rescue him from embarrassment.

“you okay, georgie?”

he turned, startled. his smile was sheepish, “they told you, didn’t they?”

she stepped closer, brushing some dust off the front of his coat and adjusting it, “that you wrote songs about me?” she teased. “maybe.”

he covered his face again. “they’re never going to let me live this down.”

she laughed, getting closer to his chest, almost leaning on him “i think it’s sweet.”

he hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her gently, chin resting on her head. “i didn’t want to scare you off or anything, it may sound creppy but i just... think about you a lot.”

she giggled, “you can tell me when you, you know, think about me and that” she whispered. “or maybe sing it.”

he pulled back slightly, his hand brushing her cheek. “i’ve got one i haven’t shown anyone yet,” he said shyly. “it’s... really stupid i think.”

“i want to hear it,” she said, smiling up at him, “please?”.

he blushed again, ducking his head with a soft laugh.

“well alright, but only if you promise not to tell the others how red i go.”

...

the party had dwindled to only a few stragglers, quiet music playing as the night finally began to settle.

after that long conversation on the balcony, they both ended up in the dim glow of the living room, curled together on the old sofa while everyone else slowly filtered out.

“i’ve got it with me,” george said, taking a folded paper out of his pocket. “its the lyrics. there aren’t any instruments here, but i thought that maybe you would want me to read’em for you”

she looked up at him with tired eyes, already warm from the closeness and the late hour. “you really.. you really want to show them to me?..”

he nodded. “only if you’re awake enough.”

he looked at her, examining every little detail, she was asleep.

one hand resting near her cheek, her breathing soft and steady. he smiled, tender and stunned all over again. he didn’t move, didn’t want to disturb her peace.

“you don’t even know,” he whispered. “you don’t know what you do to me.”

he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, heart aching at how effortlessly perfect she looked. “every little thing you do...”

he paused, feeling a little foolish for talking to someone asleep, but he couldn't stop.

“you just.. you make everything better. i think sometimes, when i’m writing, its like the music’s already there, but it doesn’t make sense until i see you. and then it’s like, yeah... that’s what i meant to write.”

he smiled down at her, completely gone.

that’s when he heard it. a snort.

then a quiet giggle.

george’s eyes darted toward the hallway, and there they were.

paul, ringo, and john, piled awkwardly around the doorway like cartoon characters caught in the act.

“beautiful,” john whispered dramatically, “a true poet.”

george scrambled up so fast, his face going completely red.

“were you spying on me?!” he practicaly hissed.

“you were monologuing mate,” paul said grinning, “we could not.. uh not listen.”

“i knew you were a softie,” ringo said cheerfully. “should’ve brought tissues.”

...

she didn’t mention it right away the next morning.

the way he’d sat beside her, thinking she was asleep. the things he whispered, she’d heard every word. his fingers going trhough her hair and his voice vibrated softly in the space between them.

she didn’t open her eyes only because… well, part of her just wanted to hear it, to let it exist without him getting all shy and brushing it off, or the boys barging in and turning it into a joke.

but now, the sun was rising again, and she found herself back on the balcony where it all began. the party was somehow still going, even though it had faded to a soft buzz inside, muffled through the closed sliding door. just her, george, and the glow of the sunrise pressing gently against their shoulders.

he stood beside her, quiet, thoughtful.

“you were awake, weren’t you?”

she looked up but gave him a guilty little smile.

he huffed a soft laugh, looking away. “course you were.”

“couldn’t help it,” she murmured. “i didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“suppose i meant it all, anyway,” he said visibly flustered.

she turned towards him, her voice barely above a whisper, “you said i make everything better.”

he met her gaze, steady now, no backing away, no hesitation, “you do.”

it was silent for a beat. she stepped closer, so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her. “then i guess i should do something about that, shouldn’t i?”

his eyes searched hers, and without a word, he moved.

he kissed her like he’d been waiting for the right second his whole life.

his hands found her waist and pulled her in slowly, his lips were warm. he tilted his head just enough, her arms went up around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft ends of his hair, that’s when she felt the way his mouth curved into a smile against hers.

his grip tightened a little at her hips, pulling her even closer to him, it was the sweetest thing they’d ever felt.

when he finally pulled back, breath warm against her lips, he stayed close.

“you drive me crazy, you know that, right?”

she smiled, “i think i do now,” she whispered.

inside the house, just out of sight, the three boys were definitely watching from the window.

“well it was ’bout time,” paul muttered, sipping his drink.

john nodded, “i expect at least a ballad about this by tuesday.”

[psformybss]

Baile Inolvidable

drew starkey x bonita!reader

warnings:: playful teasing, dancing, affectionate banter, fluff

The afternoon draped itself over the apartment like a soft, sun-warmed blanket. Everything glowed gold—walls, furniture, skin. The kind of golden hour that felt like it had no end. A lazy breeze drifted in through the half-cracked window, fluttering the sheer curtains. Somewhere outside, someone was mowing a lawn. Inside, though, the world was quiet—just you and Drew, sprawled in your own slice of stillness.

Drew was stretched across the couch, his head tilted back against a throw pillow, scrolling absently through his phone. You sat next to him, your legs lazily draped across his lap, ankles crossed. Your phone was in your hand, fingers idly flipping through your playlist. You weren’t really looking for anything, just letting your thumb move on instinct.

Then you saw it.

“Baile Inolvidable,” the title glowing on your screen like an invitation.

You tapped play.

A soft guitar trickled into the room—slow, deliberate, and warm. The percussion followed, light but steady, the tempo calm and intimate. The song soaked into the silence like syrup.

Drew glanced over, one brow quirked. “What’s this?”

“Bad Bunny,” you replied, lips curling into a soft smile. “New album. This one’s called Baile Inolvidable.”

He raised a brow, letting the mellow rhythm wash over him. “Kinda slow.”

“For now,” you said, your grin widening. “Wait for it.”

As if on cue, the beat shifted. Horns burst to life, bright and buoyant. The rhythm snapped into something alive. Salsa. It hit with a pulse, electric and smooth all at once. Your hips moved instinctively, a slow sway. Your foot tapped the floor. It wasn’t a decision—it was in your blood.

Drew sat up slightly, watching you with amusement and interest. “That’s a switch.”

“That’s the thing about salsa,” you said, gaze flicking to him as your hips rolled gently to the beat. “Even if the lyrics break your heart, the music makes you wanna dance.”

The rhythm curled around you, coaxing movement. Your hand lifted, fingers snapping in time. A glint of gold from your hoops caught the light as your head tilted, eyes locked on him.

“Come dance with me,” you said, already sliding your legs off his lap.

Drew blinked. “Wait, right now?”

“Sí, ahora,” you teased, grabbing his hand and pulling him off the couch. “It’s not a performance, baby—it’s a vibe.”

He stood hesitantly, clearly unsure, clearly intrigued. “I have no idea how to salsa.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said, walking backwards, still holding his hand. “You don’t need to know the steps. You just need to feel it.”

You placed his right hand on your waist, guiding it there with delicate pressure. Your other hand found his left, fingers lacing through his. You stepped close, close enough for your perfume—sweet and warm like vanilla, spice, and something bold—to drift around him.

“Okay,” you said, resting your hand lightly on his shoulder. “Quick-quick-slow. That’s the rhythm. Watch.”

You shifted your weight with grace—left foot forward, back to center, right foot back, and again. “One-two-three. Five-six-seven. Feel the pulse. Quick-quick-slow.”

Drew watched, then tried to mimic the steps. You bit your bottom lip to hide a smile when his first attempt came out a little awkward.

“Sad lyrics,” you murmured, stepping in again, “but it makes you wanna move, right?”

He nodded, lips twitching into a smile. “Yeah. Weirdly uplifting.”

You gently adjusted his hand on your waist. “Closer,” you said, guiding. “You’re not leading a boardroom meeting. It’s just me.”

You showed him again, walking him through the basic step. Then the music swelled again, and you pulled back slightly.

“Let’s try it with the beat. Just feel it.”

This time, Drew moved with you. Still a little stiff, still focused, but better. His eyes stayed on your feet, then back to your face.

“Don’t watch your feet,” you said softly. “Watch me.”

His gaze lifted, and when your eyes met, something clicked. His grip steadied. His smile softened.

You took his hand and spun slowly under his arm, your movements fluid. You weren’t trying to impress him—you were showing him your world. A world where movement came from the soul.

Pensaba que contigo iba a envejecer

Drew laughed under his breath as you twirled again. “That means what I think it means?”

You nodded, catching his hand. “I thought I’d grow old with you.”

He blinked at the translation, then swallowed. “That’s heavy.”

“But you’d never know from the music,” you said with a soft smile.

He tried to spin you back. It was clumsy, but sweet. His hand slid from your waist to your back, pulling you in. You bumped into his chest and laughed, letting yourself fall into him.

“You’re getting it,” you said, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

He looked down at you, eyes warm. “You make it easy.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. The music spoke enough.

No, no te puedo olvidar

No, no te puedo borrar

Tú me enseñaste a querer

Me enseñaste a bailar

Your bodies moved together now—not perfectly, but in sync. His rhythm found yours. Your fingers pressed gently into his shoulder. You smiled as you spun again, and this time, when he caught you, it was smoother. You laughed softly, head tilted back, gold hoops glinting.

The final chords of the song slowed, fading like the sun outside. Drew pulled you closer, hands resting at your lower back, his forehead brushing against yours.

“You were right,” he whispered. “It’s not about getting it perfect.”

“No,” you whispered back. “It’s about letting go and feeling it.”

A moment passed, warm and weightless.

“We should do this more often,” he said, voice low.

You looked up at him with a lazy, content smile. “We will.”

Because it didn’t matter how it looked.

It mattered how it felt.

And this? This felt unforgettable.

Translations:

“Sí, ahora,” - Yes, now

Pensaba que contigo iba a envejecer - I thought I'd grow old with you

No, no te puedo olvidar - No, I can't forget you

No, no te puedo borrar - No, I can't erase you

Tú me enseñaste a querer - You taught me how to love

Me enseñaste a bailar - You taught me how to dance

an: this has been on my drafts for way too long. also if you know the beat of the song pretend my descriptions of it are accurate because i cannot for the life of me accurately describe them so I gave up.

[aura-likes-all-the-things]

Idk if anyone else has noticed this

ITHACA SAGA SPOILERS!!!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

In Would You Fall In Love With Me Again, when Odysseus gets angry at what Penelope told him to do (get rid of the marriage bed that is fucking built into a tree) THE ELECTRIC GUITAR STARTS PLAYING! The one used when Odysseus is being RUTHLESS!! But he stops immediately when Penelope says he’s HER HUSBAND! GUYS THIS IS SO-

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fanfic Idea: Gotham Gossip

Meta-human rights are a touchy topic in Gotham. While the city is known for Batman's view on them, it's also known for Bruce Wayne's viewpoint.

The Dark Knight did not welcome Metas, while the Light Knight worked tirelessly to employ charities and programs to support Metas. Both men- if Batman was a man- influenced Gotham so intensely that their viewpoints became the face of the public.

Even people outside of Gothman learned what "Are you a Dark pawn or a Light pawn?" meant when it was spoken about during national debates.

Really, it was no surprise that Batman and Wayne got caught up in a rather explosive public argument over the subject. Or rather, Wayne yelled at Batman during a hostage situation when his party boat got taken by a group of masked men.

Thankfully, Batman was able to save everyone on board, and although he didn't stick around to argue with Wayne, it was noted that Batman seemed intrigued by a few of Wayne's passionate rants. A few reporters were excited to point out there may be a chance of growth within the vigilante, but it was overshadowed by gossip rags that used this incident to make up a wild rumor of Wayne being a bitter ex with Batman.

This rumor runs for months, with various people posting online proof of a relationship. It sparks debate and anger, with other people responding by fact-checking and countering the "proof." Eventually, the argument moves away from Meta-human rights and falls into celebrity gossip, which has Wayne steaming.

People ignore his passionate activism to better the lives of Metas, only watching his speeches, marches, protests, and donations to various charities to gain new proof of his nonexistent romance that may or may have been in his early twenties when he mysteriously vanished to see the world.

That's when the video comes out.

A young teenager wrote a song parody of what was happening. A soft acoustic guitar accompanied his short words, accusing the masses of caring more about a wealthy man's pants being on or not than the lives of his people.

This young teenager is Danny Fenton, a known meta from a small town in Illinois. This quickly turned into people attacking the boy, who released another song using the hateful comments as new lyrics.

Wayne reposts one of his sons, claiming it a masterpiece, which is when one fan notices the similarities between the two. She makes a post talking about how Wayne and Fenton could be father and son as a joke, expecting people to take it seriously.

Overnight, the internet finds out that Fenton was, in fact, adopted into his current family after being surrendered at a fire station anonymously. More and more people started to notice the similar features between the rich man and the small-town singer until a video of Fenton using his powers was leaked.

Fenton's power is invisibility. This resembles another well-known Gotham dweller who can appear and disappear through the city's shadows. It's not long before Fenton is being called the love child of Batman and Wayne.

It leads to so much media attention and harassment aimed towards Fenton that Wayne steps in. He offers to take a paternity test to finally put the rumors to rest and let the young boy vanish from the limelight (should he stop writing songs).

The only problem?

The test is positive. Wayne is Fenton's biological son. The whole nation loses their minds when it's leaked by a very regrettable intern at the clinic where the test was done. (To be fair, the intern's email was hacked, so when she scanned the papers for herself, they were able to steal them)

Worse, Joker thinks it would be hilarious to kidnap Wayne's newly discovered son and, on live TV, give him another paternity test against Batman. The clown is laughing hysterically while his men prepare the results, only to become more gleeful when it's a match again.

Fenton is the son of both the Dark Knight and the Light Knight. It matters little that Batman's DNA is slightly messed up, as various people already suspected him of not being human.

This just proves Fenton is not a meta-human but rather half-human and whatever the hell Batman is. Joker is having a ball reading out the results, proclaiming he would help Fenton meet his biological grandparents with his one guarantee.

His words are cut off when Fetnon- unknown to the viewing public- escapes his bonds and swings an axe from the emergency fire station inside the aged wearhouse at Joker's neck. The clown collapses to the ground dead, the boy bathed in his blood, and the half-finished joke is cut off by the sound of choking blood etching across every screen in Gotham.

The remaining goons and Fenton stare at each other in stun silence while one is brave enough to rasp. "But Batman doesn't kill."

"Do I look like my absent father to you? Besides, Joker venom is a war crime. I'm within my rights, and if I'm not, I would have killed him again anyway."

Fenton quickly outshines his fathers in the public's eye because no matter where one stood on the Meta Rights, everyone stood on the "Kill the Joker" debate.

[heavens-whore]

SLOW HANDS

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You find Joel sitting out on the porch playing his guitar. You ask him to teach you some and he does, and he gives you a reward for each chord you get right.

A/N: This was inspired by the first pic in the collage, I saw it on this post. I wrote a little stream of thought repost on it but it deserved a full fic. @lowrisemiller Here’s the food you ordered! Enjoy !!

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: 18+, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public, cockwarming, lap sitting, riding, probably incorrect guitar terminology (sorry)

On warm nights, Joel liked to sit out on the porch. When nightmares kept him awake, or if he had drank his coffee a little too late and couldn’t sleep, it gave him a sense of comfort, a reminder of what his life used to be. That’s where you found him. Sitting on the bench he had made himself and plucking a melody you didn’t recognise on the strings of his guitar. The door creaked quietly on its hinges when you opened the door to join him, and his eyes softened with tender affection when he turned to see you barefoot in your nightdress, standing in the doorway.

He moved the guitar to make space for you when you came to sit between his legs. His lips pressed a tender kiss to your temple before he trapped you close to him with the instrument over your lap.

‘Right where you belong.’ he murmured into your hair before continuing to pluck that unfamiliar tune again, his chest vibrating against your back as he hummed along. 

‘You keep saying you’re gonna teach me.’ After the song he was playing had come to an end you traced your fingers along the smooth wood of the instrument before turning your head to look up at him.

‘I will. You wanna learn now?’

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips, and he started to show you the basics. He showed you how to hold the neck, how hard to press down on the strings, and then he showed you the chords. He showed you the easier ones first, the ones you would remember easily, to prepare your inexperienced hands for the more difficult ones. 

‘This one’s a G chord.’

His fingers wrapped naturally around the neck of the guitar, then strummed the strings, creating a clear note that echoed through the warm evening air.

‘You wanna try?’

You let him take your hand, and he delicately positioned your fingers on the strings. What looked so simple for him was harder for your unpracticed hands, and your fingers stretched unnaturally to find the right placement. When you strummed the strings, the note was quieter and more blunt but still sounded the same as Joel’s.

‘This one’s hard.’ you mumbled.

‘Yeah? S’cause you got little hands.’

Joel pressed down on the same strings and instructed you to strum. When you did, the same sound rang out clearly again, and you looked down at his rough, calloused fingers, your mind wandering at the sight of their length.

‘Daddy’s got big hands. Makes it easier.’

He took your right hand in his, completely engulfing it, and brought it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles, his soft brown eyes locked onto yours.

“You wanna try the D again?”

‘…The what?’

‘The chord, baby.’

‘Oh… Sure.’

You carefully placed your fingertips as he showed you earlier. This time it was easier, your fingers didn’t need to stretch too far, and the vibration was smooth and loud when you strummed.

“Good girl. You’re a natural.”

It all seemed innocent enough, Joel was only teaching you how to play. But from your position you could feel his length hardening against the base of your spine. While he let you strum at the chords he had already taught you, his hands found your waist and gently squeezed it while he rested his chin on your shoulder, watching your delicate little fingers pick at the instrument. His breath fanned against your neck as he observed your movements and the stubble of his beard grazed your skin, sending chills down your spine that pulled your thighs together tightly to soothe the heat that was brewing in between them.

‘Try the G again, sweetheart.’ He murmured softly, his voice low in your ear.

You tried to remember what strings to press, and on what frets, and your fingers strained uncomfortably. 

‘Don’t like this one.’ 

Joel’s lips rasped against the shell of your ear, his voice gravelly with the lust that was thickening his cock. 

‘You get it right, I’ll give you a lil’ reward.’

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth as his hands trailed from your waist to your hips, giving them a light squeeze as he watched your digits, his touch raising goosebumps on your skin. Your fingertips carefully found their place and pressed down, and the note sang out loud and clear when you strummed.

Joel’s hips rocked slightly against you, his arousal now undeniable. One of his palms travelled up from your hips to your chest and grasped your breast lightly through the fabric of your nightdress, while the other rested on your hip.

‘That was good.’ He pressed a light kiss to your neck. ‘Gettin’ good, ain’t you?’

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. ‘Got a good teacher.’

Joel’s lips curved into a smirk against the skin of your neck while his hand crept into the lacy neckline of your nightdress. ‘Show me C again, baby.’

You took a moment to remember how to, the feeling of his hands all over you making your brain start to melt inside your head. But the promise of a reward guided your hand, and when the strings vibrated, the note sounded practiced and true. 

‘Good girl.’ Joel’s lips found that sweet spot right under your jaw while his hand moved from your hip downwards and under your hemline. His middle finger traced your wet seam through your soaked panties, eliciting little gasps from you. ‘Now do A.’

Soft whines fell from your lips, frustrated by his teasing. ‘Daddy...’

‘What’s a matter, sweetheart? Need me to show you?’ He started to slowly redact his hands from where they touched you, and the loss of sensation spurred your memory- you quickly found the chord and played it hastily, desperate to keep his hands where they were. A soft laugh escaped Joel’s lips while the echo of the sound quietened. ‘Needy girl.’ His fingers returned to where they once were and resumed their gradual, teasing strokes. ‘Fast learner when you want somethin’, ain’t you, baby?’

Your head fell back against his shoulder with gasps of pleasure as his hand found its way into your panties and stroked lightly at the sensitive bud. His grip on your breast grew firmer as your hips squirmed under his touch, desperate for more. Joel’s breath grew ragged while he watched you writhe under his agonizing touch and he pushed his hips against you, wanting you to feel exactly what you were doing to him. 

His eyes scanned the surrounding houses for any sign of watchful eyes, but only saw the windows dark, covered up by drawn curtains. He rested the guitar against the bench and gently draped your legs over his knees, holding you wide open for access.

His middle finger slid down and soaked itself in the arousal that pooled at your entrance and teasingly pushed at the hole. ‘You deserve this, don’t you, baby? Been so sweet for Daddy.’ A muffled whine escaped you as he slowly pushed his long digit in, your arousal letting it glide easily. Joel shushed you and decorated your neck with feather-like kisses while his finger curled inside you just how he knows you like.

Soft whimpers fell from your lips as Joel’s finger gradually worked you open, preparing for the second one that dampened immediately with your juices when it slid inside. Your walls clenched around his digits while they stretched you out little by little. 

‘She’s so tight, darlin’,’ his breath warmed the skin of your neck. ‘Daddy ain’t been givin’ her enough attention?’ You shook your head and looked up at him while you gripped his forearms, your eyes desperate and needy.

Joel read the look in your eyes, your silent request and slid his free hand from your breast downward until it met your core. ‘Gotta fix that.’ His middle finger traced your clit lightly and slowly, his eyes locked onto yours as he watched you react to the added stimulation. Your hips squirmed more at the teasing sensation, backing into his clothed erection that strained against his jeans. He let out a low grunt and added more pressure until your legs began to shake where they rested on his thighs.

He watched you fall apart. His jaw was tense as he watched your brows furrowing and your mouth hanging open in the throes of ecstasy, your little body trembling as you came down from the high he had given you. You made him so hard it hurt. His lips grazed your ear as he murmured, ‘Up a minute, baby.’

You stood up from his lap, and turned to see him tugging at his belt buckle, the look in his eyes bordering on predatory while he watched you watch him shoving his jeans down to his knees hastily and motioning for you to sit back down. You arranged your knees on either side of his lap while he pushed his boxers down. His tip was wet with precum and he curled a fist around the base of his length, pumping it a few times while he gazed up at you.

‘You gonna be a good girl ‘n keep quiet for me?’ His voice was low and rough with lust. ‘Don’t want nobody else seein’ you like this.’ 

You bit your lip and nodded absently, distracted by the sight of him stroking himself. His other hand tipped your jaw, forcing eye contact, demanding a verbal answer.

‘Yes, daddy.’

Joel hooked his fingers into the seam of your panties and pulled them to the side, then gripped your hips and guided you, lining you up. When you slid down on his length, your head fell back. Although you’d taken his fingers, it was nothing compared to the way his cock always managed to stretch you out. His hold on your hips grew tighter, growls of pleasure vibrating from his throat as he forced himself to stay still to let you adjust. It wasn’t easy. The juices of your earlier orgasm dampened the coarse hair that surrounded the base of his shaft as you impaled yourself further down on it.

Again, Joel glanced around the quiet neighborhood cautiously, but the only sign of movement was the branches of surrounding trees swaying in the soft night breeze. He started to move your hips, pulling them into him and then pushing them back out, urging you to move, and you started to rock against him. Your already swollen bud brushed against his skin, sending sparks of pleasure through your body that elicited small whines each time. 

Before long, Joel was thrusting his hips up into you, desperate to relieve some of the pent up lust that had been building from the second he saw you standing in the doorway. Growls and grunts fell from him pursed lips while his hands glided from your hips to the hem of your nightdress and slipped underneath the light fabric to knead your breasts. His breath was ragged and laboured. He was obviously holding back, but each of his thrusts became more forceful as they met yours, until you cried out louder than you had intended at the feeling of the tension steadily rising below your hips. 

He clasped a hand over your mouth, his eyes dark and dangerous and his voice low. ‘You want everybody in the damn neighborhood to hear you?’ You shook your head. ‘Want everyone to know what Daddy’s doin’ to you right now?’ Neither of you stopped moving despite his cautionary tone. The sound of your skin slapping against his echoed off the porch, and you were certain that if somebody was listening, it wouldn’t just be your moans that gave it away. Joel growled lowly and wetted his lip, you knew he could feel how close you were from the way your walls gripped him tightly, and the way you gushed around him. ‘You gonna let it go for me?’ Your eyes were desperate as you nodded, your sounds muffling under his hand.

Your eyes pinched shut as Joel’s hips thrusted up to meet yours with more vigour. ‘Then let it go for me, baby girl. Come on.’ Your eyes rolled back behind your eyelids and your nails dug deep into his biceps as waves of pleasure crashed over you. His hand did little to mute the sweet moans of overstimulation that wracked your body. Joel fell over the edge at the same time, his thrusts grew sloppier and his head fell back while you felt his warm release fill you up from the inside. 

After coming down from your peak, you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. Joel’s hands delicately rubbed circles your back, keeping you impaled on his length that was slowly softening inside you, and he had no intention of withdrawing it. His lips pressed tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks while your breathing returned to a normal pace, and you felt the peace of the aftermath take over your body. 

‘Did so good for me, baby.’ He whispered as he watched your eyes close, and your nose nuzzle into the soft fabric of his flannel. ‘Such a good girl for me.’

He held you close in his warm embrace until he felt you relax in his lap. He watched your peaceful expression for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and picking up the guitar again. His arms wrapped around you to hold the instrument in front of your sleeping form, and he began to softly pick at the strings again, lulling you into a deeper sleep.

[hoonieyun]

dozing off... ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

when he falls asleep while you two are hanging out heeseung 𐐪♡𐑂 jongseong 𐐪♡𐑂 jaeyun 𐐪♡𐑂 sunghoon genre: fluff fluff fluff aaaand more fluff.. warnings: nothing really aside from kissing lol 18+

hoonieyun notes: some fluff before i dive into a shit ton of angst and drama for february LOL i hope you enjoy and as usual... not proofread hehe

heeseung ⋆˚ʚɞ

heeseung had promised you a movie night marathon where you'd take turns choosing the movie to watch while eating your favorite snacks. the night started with american psycho because sunghoon had been talking about it nonstop and heeseung wanted to see why sunghoon liked it so much. pretty woman, then mr. and mrs. smith followed after.

the two of you have gone through 3 bowls of popcorn, a bag of honey butter chips, and endless instant ramen as you're watching the fourth movie of the night: intersellar, which was your pick.

you were well engrossed into the movie that you hadn't noticed heeseung had dozed off until you heard him snoring during a silent part of the movie.

a part of you was a little bummed that heeseung fell asleep so early into your movie night since it was only 1am and he's stayed up way later before playing games with the guys but heeseung just looked too cute cozied up under your mymelody blanket that you couldn't get upset.

you carefully peel the blanket off of you so you could clean up and get ready for bed without disturbing heeseung but just as you're about to get up a pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back into bed and into the warm comfort of heeseung's arms.

"don't gooo" heeseung whines while nuzzling himself into your side like you were a stuffed plushy.

"baby, i'm just gonna clean up so we can sleep, let me go." you whisper and heeseung whines and you can feel him shake his head behind you on your back. "just stay, we can clean tomorrow." he says while tightening his grip on you.

"ok, fine. but you're cleaning it up tomorrow." you say and you can feel him smile into your skin as he presses a soft kiss onto your shoulder. you pull the blanket over you as the two of you cuddle up for warmth, the movie still playing in the background but soon get drowned out by the sounds of heeseung's snores and steady heartbeat.

jongseong ⋆˚ʚɞ

jay had been working late the last few days but every friday was date night and he vowed that he wouldn't ever miss date night. since his work schedule has been leading him to get home late, the two of you had just planned to have date night at home.

you prepared dinner so that you could eat right away when he arrived since he would be tired and then the rest of the night would be filled with looking through the box of vinyl's you bought from a record store who was selling surprise boxes of vinyl's from the 80s and 90s.

"wow, dinner was delicious, love. thank you." jay says while picking up the dishes and placing a kiss on your forehead. he offers to wash the dishes since you cooked but after a bit of convincing he decides that the dishes can wait until tomorrow so you two could get right into the second part of your night.

you pull out your record player as jay unboxes the vinyl's and his eyes widen at the sheer amount inside, "how much did you pay for this?" he asks and you tell him that the 30 vinyl's only cost you around $100.

the two of you took turns picking one out to see if you'd be familiar with the record. there were some you knew like donna summer, B52s, and sting; while jay was more familiar with other ones.

you had set lauryn hill's vinyl record into the player as you sifted through the rest of the vinyl's. jay was playing his guitar along with the song playing and at some point you realize that you couldn't hear the melodic strumming of jay's guitar.

looking up at jay to see what he was up to, you find that he's slightly slumped over, still holding his guitar, but his head was resting low as he slept. you figured that the soothing tunes of lauryn hill and his own guitar lulled him to sleep.

you didn't mind too much that this week's date night was cut short or nothing too special because you were just happy to spend time with jay regardless what the two of you were doing.

after carefully grabbing his guitar and setting it back in its stand and stacking the records back in the box, you grab a few pillows and blanket from your bedroom so you can jay could just fall asleep in the living room to lauryn hill.

you gently set jay's head on a pillow and let him get comfortable as you slip into the space in front of him, his arm instantly wrapping around you as you throw the blanket over your bodies.

"goodnight jay, i love you." you whisper as you cuddle up to him and to your surprise, jay responds; kissing your temple, "i love you too" he says and soon slumber takes over the two of you as nothing even matters by lauryn hill plays throughout your home.

jaeyun ⋆˚ʚɞ

its around 2am as you and jake are sitting on your bedroom floor building legos and watching cartoons on the tv. it was such an simple action but spending time with jake and doing something as simple as making legos and watching a show was enough for you to have a good time.

jake had bought several, and by several he bought six, legosets. some of them being infrastructures, flowers, animals, and whatever else they had at the store. jake had begged you to build legos with him and at first you didn't want to because you just got your nails done and thought it would just get in the way but to your surprise, it wasn't that hard to build the legos.

you had built a vase with orchids, a small fighter jet, and a lucky cat statue. your hands were getting a bit tired so you decided to take a break as jake continued. "you look a lot like this lego" he says, showing you a half completed legoset.

"what even is that?" you ask and he pouts and furrows his brows, "it's a dinosaur..." he mutters and you return the facial expression back at him. he later explains that he thought you looked like the dinosaur because you were wearing a green sweater and had long nails like the dinosaur's claws. "you're lucky you're cute.." you say, placing a kiss on his cheek as jake smiles at you.

shinchan was playing on the tv and you had gotten a bit too into the show. the little cartoon was so mischievous and cute that you couldn't help but get really into it. you're taking out of your thoughts when in the corner of your eye you can see jake's head drop and rise in the span of 2 seconds. and when you look at him he's blinking rapidly and trying to focus on his legoset in his hands. when he suddenly yawns your suspicions are confirmed that jake was getting sleepy.

"baby, do you wanna go to bed?" you ask and jake raises his head to look at you; his eyes big and bright as he thinks about your question. "but... the legos.." he says and you laugh at his cute behavior.

"aren't you sleepy? you look sleepy!" you explain and jake swears that he isn't. shaking his head and sitting up straight to make it seem like he wasn't tired. but his body ultimately fails him as he dozes off with the legoset slipping out of his hands and landing on the floor; causing some of the pieces to pop off.

jake jolts awake at the sound and instantly looks at you, "not sleepy, huh?" you say and jake pouts at you. "fine... let's go to bed." he says and the two of you get up and move to your mattress. snuggling under the covers as jake spoons you. "goodnight, jakey." you whisper and he kisses your cheek. "goodnight my trex.." jake responds.

"hey.." you whine, jake's giggling filling the room as you try to sleep.

sunghoon ⋆˚ʚɞ

you and sunghoon were similar in a lot of ways but also different. for example, the two of you were introverted and often were outgoing with those you were most comfortable with. sunghoon sleeps early while you were a night owl, and sunghoon often made comments about how you needed to sleep earlier and you'd just make a joke about how he's like a grandpa for sleeping so early.

tonight however, sunghoon had promised that he would stay up with you to see what was so special about staying up late. in all honesty, there wasn't anything special about it. you just liked the peace that the night brought and being able to enjoy the calm.

its 10pm when you realize that sunghoon was already sleepy. 10pm wasn't very late for you but to sunghoon it was way past his "bedtime" as you liked to call it. you were simply just sitting on the couch reading a book and sipping on your tea when he plops down next to you, laying his head on your lap. "how do you stay up so late, im so sleepy" sunghoon says into your thigh, dragging out the ending of sleepy.

"i don't know babe, i just can. you should sleep, i don't know why you're so adamant on staying up late with me." you respond and he explains that he just wants to spend time with you, to see what you like to do on your alone time at the wee hours of the night so that he could bond with you more and indulge in your enjoyment.

he places a kiss on your thigh before he turns around, now facing the ceiling opposed to his face being buried into the skin of your thighs. "what are you reading?" he asks and you explain the plot, maybe a bit too much because as you're talking sunghoon's snores interrupt you.

you move the book away of your vision and it reveals a sleeping sunghoon, hugging the throw pillow close to his chest and snoring while he sleeps on your lap. you chuckle and shake your head at him, finding it funny that it isn't even midnight and he's already lost his bet with himself of staying up late with you- to which you don't mind because you liked seeing sunghoon sleep like he was your sleeping beauty.

pulling your phone out and snapping a quick photo leads to sunghoon's eyes flying open, causing you to laugh as he pouts at you for taking a photo of him. "sorry, sleepyhead. you're just too cute." you say while softly patting his head.

sunghoon smiles at your comment and goes back to snoozing as you continue reading your book. it's times like this where everything is calm, quiet, and peaceful that make you appreciate staying up late where you can enjoy the silence in the presence of your loving boyfriend.

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

𐐪♡𐑂 @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13

[kyunghwannie]

Love Production💫

TWICE's Chou Tzuyu x Male Reader

➤Word Count: Approximately 18.8K+

➤Tags: Deepthroat, Outercourse, Sensation Play, Choking, Breeding, Impact Play (Spanking), Face Off, Reverse Cowgirl, Prone bone, Missionary, Doggy Style, Rough Anal Penetration, Creampie, Carry fucking, Squirting, Facial

➤Description: You have been a valuable asset of JYPE due to your contributions to their big artists like Stray Kids, ITZY. But you primarily were TWICE's main producer. And now, Tzuyu was having her solo debut "abouTZU" which is being lead produced by you. And during the recording time and production of her title track, You and her surely didn't only produce a song for her but something else in your heart as well

The hum of the fluorescent lights in the JYPE office building echoed faintly in the otherwise still night. You were seated at your desk in the producer's lounge, surrounded by an organized chaos of sheet music, sound mixers, and a half-empty coffee mug. The clock read 11:47 PM, but time felt irrelevant in the world of music production, where creativity often struck when the rest of the world was asleep.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, a soft groan escaping your lips. Another long day, but you didn't mind. Producing music for TWICE was both a privilege and a challenge, and you relished every moment of it. The group's diverse talents kept you on your toes, and their latest project-a solo album for a special someone-was no exception.

Tzuyu.

You'd worked with her countless times before, but there was something different about this project. It wasn't just that it was her first solo venture; it was her attitude. Despite being the youngest member of TWICE, she carried herself with a quiet confidence that often left people in awe. And yet, there was a vulnerability about her-something she rarely let slip but couldn't entirely hide. A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.

Y/N: "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Tzuyu stepped in, her figure framed by the warm glow of the hallway lights. She was dressed casually in an oversized hoodie and jeans, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Despite her simple attire, she radiated an effortless elegance that made you pause for a moment.

Tzuyu: "I hope I'm not interrupting."

You shook your head, gesturing for her to come in.

Y/N: "Not at all. I was just going over some tracks for tomorrow's session."

She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Her gaze flickered to the cluttered desk, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Tzuyu: "You work too much."

Y/N: "Says the idol who spends half her life in dance practice and the other half recording."

She chuckled, the sound light and melodic, as she took a seat on the couch across from you.

Tzuyu: "Touché. But at least I get breaks. When was the last time you took one?"

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

Y/N: "Breaks are overrated. Besides, someone has to make sure your album sounds perfect."

Her cheeks tinted a faint pink at your words, and she quickly looked away, pretending to study the guitar leaning against the wall.

Tzuyu: "No pressure, right?"

Y/N: "Pressure? Nah. If anything, it's exciting. You're ridiculously talented, Tzuyu. It's just about bringing that out in the music."

She glanced back at you, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to say something but decided against it. Instead, she settled for a quiet "thank you," her voice almost too soft to hear. The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with familiarity. You'd known Tzuyu for years, ever since you joined JYPE as a producer. Back then, you were just a fresh face trying to prove yourself, and TWICE was already a global phenomenon. Despite the overwhelming star power, Tzuyu had always been approachable, though reserved. Over time, you'd built a rapport-a professional camaraderie that occasionally dipped into moments of genuine friendship. You admired her work ethic and her ability to stay grounded despite the chaos of fame.

Y/N: "So, what brings you here this late?"

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.

Tzuyu: "I couldn't sleep. And I figured you'd be here."

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Y/N: "What gave it away? The never-ending coffee supply?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Tzuyu: "That, and you're predictable."

Y/N: "Ouch. Should I be offended?"

Tzuyu: "No, it's... comforting, actually. Knowing you're always around."

Her words caught you off guard, but you quickly recovered, offering a lighthearted grin.

Y/N: "Well, someone has to keep you idols in check."

She rolled her eyes but didn't respond, her gaze drifting to the window. The city lights shimmered in the distance, casting a soft glow that reflected in her eyes. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Tzuyu: "Do you ever feel like... you're not enough?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. You straightened in your seat, studying her expression.

Y/N: "Is this about the album?"

She shook her head, her hands clasping tightly in her lap.

Tzuyu: "It's everything. Being in TWICE, living up to expectations, trying to prove that I'm more than just the youngest member or 'the visual.' Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it's not enough."

Her vulnerability took you by surprise. Tzuyu was always so composed, so poised. Seeing her like this-raw and uncertain-made your chest tighten. You leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees as you spoke.

Y/N: "Tzuyu, listen to me. You're more than enough. You're talented, hardworking, and you care about what you do. That's all that matters. And anyone who doesn't see that? They're not worth your time."

Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw them glisten with unshed tears.

Tzuyu: "Do you really think so?"

Y/N: "I know so. And if you ever need a reminder, just come find me. I'll set you straight."

A small smile broke through her solemn expression, and she nodded.

Tzuyu: "Thank you, Y/N."

Y/N: "Anytime."

The tension in the room eased, replaced by a newfound sense of connection. You weren't sure what had prompted her to open up, but you were glad she had. Tzuyu was strong, but even the strongest people needed someone to lean on sometimes.

She stood up, brushing imaginary dust off her hoodie.

Tzuyu: "I should probably let you get back to work."

You shook your head, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.

Y/N: "Stay. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

She hesitated for a moment before sitting back down, her posture more relaxed this time.

Tzuyu: "Alright. But only if you promise to take a break soon."

Y/N: "Deal."

The two of you exchanged smiles, the air between you lighter now. As the rain began to patter softly against the window, you couldn't help but feel like this was the start of something different-something more.

The clock on the studio wall ticked past midnight, its hands moving steadily into the early hours of the morning. The dimly lit room was filled with the soft hum of equipment and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. You sat behind the mixing console, adjusting levels and fine-tuning the track for Tzuyu's solo song, "Run Away." The lead single from her debut mini-album, abouTZU, it was a synth-pop track with nostalgic piano melodies and a bold synth bass that evoked a sound reminiscent of the late 2000s to mid-2010s. Tzuyu stood in the recording booth, her headphones snug over her ears, and a focused expression on her face. She had been practicing the song tirelessly, determined to deliver a performance that would captivate her audience and showcase her growth as an artist.

Y/N: "Alright, Tzuyu, let's take it from the top. Remember to channel the emotion we discussed earlier. Feel the lyrics and let them guide your voice."

She nodded, her eyes meeting yours through the glass window separating the booth from the control room. The instrumental intro began to play, the nostalgic piano melodies setting the tone. As the verse approached, Tzuyu took a deep breath and began to sing.

Tzuyu: "이건 내 warning 날 향한 네 yearning. 정말 확실한 건지 널 내게 turn in, 한 후엔 no turning back..."

Her voice was clear and melodic, but there was a hint of hesitation, a barrier preventing her from fully immersing herself in the song's emotion. You stopped the track and pressed the talkback button.

Y/N: "That was good, but I think you can dig deeper. This song is about yearning and the desire to escape. Try to connect with those feelings and let them come through in your performance."

Tzuyu bit her lip, nodding slowly. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching within herself for the emotions needed to convey the song's message.

Tzuyu: "Okay, I'll try again."

The track restarted, and this time, as she sang, there was a noticeable difference. Her voice carried a depth of emotion that resonated with the song's themes. You could feel the yearning in her tone, the desire to break free and run away from the constraints holding her back.

Tzuyu: "Run, run away. I'll give you a chance before it's too late. Once you're in my arms, You will beg, beg to stay..."

As the chorus approached, she poured her heart into the performance, her voice soaring with passion. You watched, captivated by the transformation. This was the Tzuyu you knew she could be-vulnerable, expressive, and utterly compelling. When the song ended, there was a moment of silence. Tzuyu looked up, her eyes searching for your reaction.

Y/N: "That was incredible, Tzuyu. You really brought the song to life."

A shy smile spread across her face, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Tzuyu: "Thank you. I felt more connected that time."

Y/N: "It definitely showed. Let's do a few more takes to capture that same energy, and I think we'll have it."

Over the next hour, Tzuyu delivered several more stellar performances, each one imbued with the same emotional depth. As the final notes of the last take faded, you leaned back in your chair, a sense of satisfaction washing over you.

Y/N: "I think we've got everything we need. Great job tonight."

Tzuyu stepped out of the booth, her face flushed with exertion but glowing with pride.

Tzuyu: smiles at you "I couldn't have done it without your guidance. Thank you for pushing me to dig deeper."

Y/N: "It's all you, Tzuyu. I just helped you find what was already there."

She looked down, a hint of bashfulness in her expression.

Tzuyu: "Still, I appreciate it."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest at her gratitude.

Y/N: "Anytime. Now, how about we take a break? I think we've earned it."

She nodded, and the two of you settled into the studio's lounge area, the atmosphere relaxed and comfortable.

Tzuyu: "You know, this song means a lot to me. It's about wanting to escape, to find freedom. Sometimes, with all the pressures of being an idol, I feel that way."

Her admission was candid, and you felt honored that she trusted you enough to share her feelings.

Y/N: "I can understand that. It's important to have an outlet, a way to express those feelings. Music can be that escape."

She looked at you, her eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude.

Tzuyu: "I'm glad I have someone like you to help me through it."

The connection between you deepened in that moment, a shared understanding passing silently between you.

Y/N: "And I'm glad to be here for you."

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment. In the quiet intimacy of the studio, amidst the shared passion for music, something new and beautiful began to blossom. The low hum of the studio was replaced with an eerie silence after Tzuyu finished the last take for her solo track. You turned away from the mixing desk, stretching your back as the weight of the late hour finally caught up to you. Your fingers ached from adjusting levels all night, but there was a sense of accomplishment, of creative fulfillment that came with a job well done. You glanced at the clock on the wall: 2:45 AM. Tzuyu stepped out of the recording booth, her light footsteps padding softly on the polished floor. She let out a yawn, her long hair slightly messy, her face flushed with a mixture of fatigue and satisfaction.

Tzuyu: "That was intense..."

She smiled, her eyes still soft with the lingering emotion of the song. You couldn't help but admire her, the way she could pour herself into her work, the quiet intensity in everything she did. She looked a little more vulnerable tonight-tired, but still glowing.

Y/N: "You did great, Tzuyu. I think we've got a perfect take. You really nailed the emotion in that last one."

Tzuyu tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her shoulders dropping in relief. She looked like she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders during the recording, but now, there was a sense of ease in her expression.

Tzuyu: "Thank you... I was nervous at first, but... after you gave me that feedback, I felt like I could really let go."

She walked over to the lounge area, a small corner of the studio with a couple of couches and a table covered in snack wrappers and empty cups of coffee. You followed her, taking a seat across from her.

Y/N: "I'm glad. Sometimes, it's just about finding that moment where you can really connect with the music. You were amazing tonight."

Tzuyu smiled, and for a moment, the tiredness in her eyes was replaced by something else-gratitude, maybe even a little bashfulness. She picked up a half-empty bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a sip. The sound of the water pouring into the bottle felt almost therapeutic.

Tzuyu: "You know, I was kind of nervous about doing this solo album. Being a part of TWICE is one thing, but this... it feels more personal, you know?"

Y/N: "I get that. Being solo means you're fully in control of your sound, your image. It's a lot more vulnerable, but I think it's also a chance for people to see a different side of you. You've got this, Tzuyu."

She nodded thoughtfully, looking down at her water bottle. There was a pause, a quiet moment between the two of you where neither of you spoke. It felt peaceful, like a mutual understanding had passed between you. Tzuyu wasn't just the idol you worked with; she was someone who had her own fears and dreams, someone who trusted you to guide her through this new step in her career.

She leaned back on the couch, her arms resting on the back as she looked up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought.

Tzuyu: "I guess... I never really talked about how overwhelming all of this can be. The expectations, the pressure... sometimes it feels like I'm just supposed to be this perfect image."

Y/N: "But you're not just an image, Tzuyu. You're human. And that's what makes your music so special. It's your voice, your heart that comes through in everything you do."

She turned her gaze back to you, her eyes soft and appreciative. There was something about the way she looked at you, a quiet vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

Tzuyu: "Thanks, Y/N. You always know just what to say."

You could feel the weight of the moment, the quiet understanding that hung in the air between you two. It wasn't the kind of bond you usually shared with colleagues. It was different. Tzuyu was always kind, but tonight there was something more-something more open. It made you wonder how long this had been growing, this unspoken connection between the two of you.

Y/N: "Well, someone's got to keep you grounded."

You chuckled lightly, trying to ease the growing tension. Tzuyu laughed softly, the sound light and melodic, and for a second, everything felt lighter. She reached over and grabbed a packet of chips from the table, her fingers brushing against the edge of your hand as she did. It was subtle, but it didn't go unnoticed. You both pulled your hands away quickly, but the air seemed charged for a split second.

Tzuyu: "You're right. Sometimes I feel like I need someone to remind me to breathe."

You took a moment to reflect on her words. For all her success, for all the grace and poise she carried herself with onstage, Tzuyu was still someone who had to fight through self-doubt and the overwhelming weight of expectations. She was only human, after all.

Y/N: "Well, I'm happy to remind you to breathe. Just make sure you take care of yourself too, okay? Music can be all-consuming, but you need time to just... be yourself."

Tzuyu smiled, her eyes meeting yours again. There was a warmth in her gaze, something that went beyond professional appreciation.

Tzuyu: "You're right. I think I forget that sometimes."

She sat up, moving a little closer, as if the closeness between you both was starting to feel more comfortable. The studio, which had felt like a sterile work environment just hours ago, suddenly felt like a space where time could slow down.

Tzuyu: "Can we take a little longer break? I don't want this night to end just yet."

You nodded, suddenly aware of how late it was. The recording session had gone on for hours, and yet, there was still this unspoken desire to extend the time you shared together, to keep talking and to share moments in this little studio world you two had created.

Y/N: "Yeah, I'd like that too."

Tzuyu smiled, and this time, it wasn't just a polite smile. It was one of genuine affection, one that made you feel warm inside. She scooted over so she was sitting closer to you, her legs brushing against yours as she settled into a more comfortable position. There was a small, playful spark in her eyes now, something that hinted at her usual playful demeanor but softened by the quiet mood of the moment.

The world outside felt like it had slowed down, the rain creating a sense of peace that allowed everything else to fade into the background. It was just you and Tzuyu in this small corner of the studio, sharing a moment of quiet comfort in the middle of the night. As the rain continued to pour outside, the rhythmic patter on the windows grew almost hypnotic, like a gentle lullaby coaxing the world to rest. Inside the studio, the atmosphere was warm and calm, and you found yourself sinking further into the comfort of the moment with Tzuyu. Her presence beside you felt effortless, like this was where you were meant to be-two people in the quiet, simply enjoying each other's company. Tzuyu stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. She looked over at you, her expression soft, and for a moment, the exhaustion from the recording session seemed to vanish. It was replaced by something more relaxed, more human.

Tzuyu: "I think... I think this is the most relaxed I've felt in a while." She shot you a wide smile.

You turned your head to face her, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'm glad you're able to unwind. It's been a long night, and you deserve it." Her eyes met yours, and this time, there was something deeper in the way she looked at you. Her gaze lingered for a moment too long, but neither of you seemed to mind. It felt natural, comfortable, like it was a continuation of the quiet bond you had started building hours ago.

Tzuyu: "It's rare that I get time like this... just to sit and talk. I'm always running around or on stage, but moments like these, where I'm just... here, with someone who gets it, feel nice."

Her words hung in the air, and they felt heavier than anything you'd heard in a long time. Tzuyu wasn't just talking about the music industry or her work. She was talking about the moments in life when you could truly connect with someone, when you didn't have to hide behind a persona or the noise of the world around you. You were just two people, existing in the same space, sharing a quiet, honest moment. You leaned back slightly on the couch, crossing your arms, allowing the peaceful moment to settle in.

Y/N: "I get it. You know, I've always admired how well you handle everything. You make it seem so effortless. But I also know that behind all that, you have moments like this-when you just want to breathe."

Tzuyu smiled softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her coffee cup.

Tzuyu:"I think everyone has those moments, right? When they just need to catch their breath?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. It was a humbling reminder that, no matter how successful someone might seem, they too had their quiet struggles, their moments of doubt. Tzuyu had just shared one of those with you. And that vulnerability, that openness, made her even more real, more relatable than she had ever been in the studio lights.

Y/N: "Of course. And you deserve to take those moments whenever you need them."

Tzuyu let out a small, content sigh, her gaze softening as she let her head rest against the back of the couch. The way she seemed to settle into the space beside you felt... natural, as if she were finding peace in the moment, in the quiet, in your company. There was a sense of trust here, a sense of calm between the two of you that had developed over the course of the night.

Tzuyu: "It's nice to just... be with someone who understands. I feel like I don't always have to explain myself. You know?"

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat. There was an intimacy in what she had just said, a rawness that made you feel incredibly close to her in that moment. You didn't need words to convey the understanding between you two. It was there in the way she held your gaze, the way she relaxed into the couch beside you. You could feel the air between you shift just slightly, like the space between you was shrinking, becoming more charged with something you couldn't quite put a name to.

Y/N: "I get that," you said softly. "I never want you to feel like you have to explain anything to me, Tzuyu. Not about your music, not about you..."

Tzuyu blinked a couple of times, her eyes softening further. She seemed almost... moved by your words. Her hand shifted slightly, now closer to yours, and for a brief moment, your fingers brushed against each other. It was a simple touch, but it sent a shiver through your body, something unspoken passing between you both. She looked down at her hand, then back up at you, a playful glint returning to her eyes.

Tzuyu: "You know, I think I like the way you see me. Like I'm not just Tzuyu to you as in TWICE."

The quiet intensity of her gaze made your heart race. She had caught you off guard with that statement, but it also made you realize something-you had never seen her as just another idol. Tzuyu was more than that, and tonight, it was impossible to deny how strong the connection between the two of you was becoming.

Y/N: "You're not just another idol to me, Tzuyu. Though iam honoured that you like smth about me at least"

She smiled again, this time a little more coy, a little more knowing. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as if she were contemplating something. You could feel the energy shift between you, the tension building as the moments stretched on.

Tzuyu: "Good. Because... I don't think I want to be just an idol to you."

You felt your pulse quicken at her words. The underlying meaning was clear, but neither of you had openly acknowledged it yet. Still, the words hung in the air, and the more you let them linger, the more you realized that you, too, were starting to feel something stronger than just professional admiration. Something deeper.

Y/N: "I think... I don't want you to be just an idol to me either."

The words felt like a revelation, like something that had been buried beneath layers of professionalism was finally surfacing. Tzuyu's eyes softened at your confession, her lips curling into a smile that was both gentle and full of promise. She moved just a little closer, her hand resting a little closer to yours. You could feel the warmth of her proximity, the electricity that seemed to crackle between you. Her hand gently brushed against yours again, this time lingering for just a heartbeat longer. And then, her fingers curled lightly around yours, a silent invitation for you to hold her hand. And you did.

The night was winding down, but the energy between you and Tzuyu hadn't quite fizzled out. The rain had softened into a steady patter against the windows, and the dim lights of the studio illuminated the room in a soft glow. You both sat close to one another, yet there was an undeniable distance between you two-one that was begging to be bridged. Tzuyu's hand, still resting lightly in yours, felt like the spark you'd been waiting for all night. The quiet tension between you two had grown, each moment stretching the boundaries of your professional relationship, moving it into something more.

Y/N: "Tzuyu..."

You spoke her name softly, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to break the silence. She turned her head to look at you, her eyes still soft but filled with curiosity. Her hand squeezed yours lightly, an unspoken invitation for you to continue.

Tzuyu: "Hmm?"

Her voice was soft, almost teasing, like she knew you were on the verge of saying something important. The air between you two felt thick with anticipation, but you didn't know where to begin. There was an almost magnetic pull between you and her, an invisible force drawing you in. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity, stretching the space between you two thinner and thinner.

Y/N: "You're... really something else, Tzuyu."

Tzuyu's eyes sparkled with mischief at your words. She raised an eyebrow, teasingly.

Tzuyu: "What do you mean?"

You glanced at her, noting how her lips curled into that coy smile, how her fingers still intertwined with yours, almost as if she were testing the waters. Her playfulness made you want to dive deeper, but you could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on you.

Y/N: "I mean... just... you." You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck in nervousness. "I've been around a lot of people, Tzuyu. But there's something different about you. Something that... I don't know, makes me feel like I want to know you more. In a way that goes beyond just... work."

Tzuyu didn't speak right away. Instead, she regarded you with a thoughtful expression, her fingers playing gently with yours as if she were weighing your words.

Tzuyu: "I feel the same way."

Her words hit you like a wave, and your heart skipped a beat. The simple honesty of it made the room feel even smaller, more intimate. The barrier that had been there between you both-unspoken, but undeniably present-seemed to dissolve in that single sentence. The space between you two was suddenly charged. Her fingers tightened around yours, the contact sparking something deep within you. Your body leaned in just slightly, and she mirrored the movement without hesitation, closing the small gap between you. There was no longer any distance, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Tzuyu: "You're not like other people, you know that?"

You felt a soft laugh bubble up in your throat at her words. The way she said it was almost serious, but there was a hint of amusement in her tone.

Y/N: "You're not so bad yourself."

Tzuyu chuckled, her laughter melodic and warm. It made the atmosphere around you feel even more comforting. The way she was looking at you, the quiet intensity in her gaze, made your pulse quicken. She seemed to be studying you, reading the silent language between you both. And in that moment, you realized just how much you wanted to be closer to her. She leaned in, her lips just inches from your ear as she spoke softly.

Tzuyu: "Do you feel it too? The spark?"

You didn't even hesitate. Your voice was low and sincere as you nodded, your eyes locking with hers.

Y/N: "Yeah, I do."

And before either of you could say another word, the tension finally broke. Tzuyu closed the remaining distance, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tender but full of intention. It wasn't rushed or frantic-it was as if the world had paused just for the two of you. She pulled you closer, her free hand gently cupping your cheek, as if grounding her to you. Tzuyu's fingers slid up to your jaw, her touch light but deliberate. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the connection between you both intensifying with every second that passed. The world outside seemed to disappear, and it was just you and Tzuyu in that moment-two people who had been circling around each other for hours, waiting for the right time to finally close the gap. When you pulled away for a brief second, Tzuyu's eyes were wide, a mixture of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. Her lips were slightly parted, and she let out a small, shaky breath.

Tzuyu: "Wow. I didn't think it would feel like that."

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face as you leaned your forehead against hers.

Y/N: "Neither did I."

But the truth was, you both had known from the very beginning that this moment was inevitable. The sparks had been there from the start-the chemistry, the shared understanding, the quiet tension that had built up over time. And now, here you were, finally acknowledging what had been simmering beneath the surface all along. Tzuyu smiled softly, her hand now resting against your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath her palm. Her touch was gentle, but there was an undeniable warmth radiating from her that made you feel grounded.

Tzuyu: "You... make me feel something I haven't felt in a long time."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in her words made your heart race. You felt your own emotions swell as you pulled her closer again, this time not as a colleague, not as an artist and producer-but as two people who had found something unexpected in each other.

Y/N: "I'm glad I'm here with you, Tzu." Her smile was all you needed. It was a promise, an unspoken vow that whatever this was-whatever it had become-it was real. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything in your life had finally clicked into place.

As the rain continued to pour outside, you stayed there with her, savoring the quiet, the closeness, and the feeling that something beautiful was just beginning. The studio was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint sound of rain against the windows. You had been sitting in front of your computer screen, reviewing Tzuyu's recent recordings for her upcoming solo album, but you couldn't focus. Your mind kept drifting back to her-the way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she seemed to carry herself with such grace and confidence. The longer you spent with her, the more you realized that there was something about her that made everything feel right.

Tzuyu had stepped out for a quick break, giving you the time you needed to clear your head. But it hadn't worked. The quiet space only gave you more time to think, to realize just how much you cared for her, how much you wanted to be close to her. And now, with her absence in the room, you couldn't ignore the truth any longer: You were falling for her. Hard. The door creaked open, and you looked up to see Tzuyu standing there, her long hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She had changed into a more comfortable outfit-a simple hoodie and jeans-but the way she carried herself still made her look effortlessly beautiful.

Tzuyu: "I'm back," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody. "Got caught up in a few things." You smiled, though you could feel the tension in the air between you both. The moments you shared earlier had been lighthearted, playful even, but now that she was back, it felt different. The atmosphere was thick with something unspoken. You both stood at the edge of something, neither one willing to take that first step.

Tzuyu moved to sit beside you at the desk, her gaze meeting yours. There was a softness in her eyes, but also a flicker of curiosity-like she could sense the shift in the air too. Her fingers brushed against yours as she reached for the coffee cup you had placed beside the keyboard. The touch sent a shock through your body, and you had to fight the urge to pull back, to avoid the growing tension between you two. You swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. You had been so sure of your feelings before, but now that the moment had come, you weren't sure what to say. The words were stuck in your throat, and you struggled to find the courage to speak them.

Y/N: "Tzuyu, there's something I need to tell you."

She paused, her hand frozen in mid-air as she looked at you. There was an intensity in her gaze, and for the first time, it felt like you were truly seen. The playful banter and the friendly gestures from earlier were gone, replaced with something deeper. Something real.

Tzuyu: "What is it?" Her voice was soft, almost tentative, like she was bracing herself for something important.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This was it. This was the moment you had been avoiding, the moment where everything could change. You looked at her, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was the truth.

Y/N: "I've been trying to ignore it, to pretend like it's just... you know, nothing. But it's not nothing. Tzuyu, I... I think I'm falling for you. I know i said before that it was just liking and feeling the spark you talked about. But tbh, it felt like lying to myself because It's not only liking for you that i have."

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain, like they could shatter everything between you two. You watched her face closely, waiting for a reaction-any reaction. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the nerves twisting in your stomach. Tzuyu didn't say anything for a long moment. She just sat there, staring at you with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted. You couldn't tell if she was shocked, confused, or... something else entirely. You felt your anxiety rising, and before you could say anything else, she spoke.

Tzuyu: "You're... falling for me?"

The way she said it was gentle, almost like she was trying to understand it, to make sense of the words. Her voice was soft, and you could see a small blush creeping onto her cheeks even though her expression had concentration and subtle tension

Y/N: "Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know when it happened, but... it's been building up, and now I can't ignore it anymore. I care about you, Tzuyu. More than I should, maybe, but I do."

Tzuyu blinked a few times, clearly processing your confession. She let out a small, nervous laugh, her eyes not leaving yours.

Tzuyu: "I had a feeling... I mean, I've been feeling something too. But I didn't want to say anything because... well, I didn't know if you felt the same way."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You weren't alone in this. She felt it too. Her gaze finally softening as she leaned in closer. Her hand found yours again, and this time, you didn't pull away. You let her fingers intertwine with yours, the contact warm and reassuring.

Tzuyu: "I didn't want to admit it either, but... I really like you, Y/N. More than I thought I would."

The air between you two shifted again, this time in a way that made you feel lighter, more at ease. The tension had melted away, replaced by a gentle warmth that filled the room. You smiled, your thumb gently brushing against the back of her hand.

Y/N: "I'm glad... I was afraid I might have ruined everything by saying it."

Tzuyu shook her head, her smile growing wider.

Tzuyu: "No, you didn't ruin anything. I'm happy you said it."

There was a quiet moment where you both just sat there, hands still entwined, the weight of your confession sinking in. The uncertainty that had plagued the air earlier was gone now, replaced by a shared understanding. You both knew where this was going, and it felt... right.

Y/N: "So, what now?"

Tzuyu's eyes sparkled as she leaned in, her lips just barely grazing your ear.

Tzuyu: "Well... I think we should take it slow. But if you want, we can figure it out together."

You nodded, your heart swelling with happiness. She wasn't pulling away; she was leaning into this, just like you. And just like that, it felt like everything had fallen into place. You both leaned back into your seats, still holding hands, as the quiet music of the studio filled the space between you. The rain outside continued its steady rhythm, but inside, everything felt peaceful. You didn't need to rush. You didn't need to figure it all out right now. All that mattered was that, for the first time in a long time, you both understood each other-and that was enough.

---------

The quiet hum of the studio equipment fades into the background as Tzuyu’s fingers tighten around yours, her breath hitching ever so slightly. The air between you two crackles with something new—something hungry. Her dark eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up, a shy but unmistakable desire burning behind her gaze.

"Y/N…" Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with a nervous tremor. "I-I’ve never… done this before. But I want to. With you."

Your thumb strokes the back of her hand gently, reassuringly. "We don’t have to rush, Tzuyu. You did say we can take it slow. We can stop anytime—"

She shakes her head, cutting you off with a sudden boldness that surprises you both. Her free hand lifts, fingertips brushing against your jawline before sliding down your neck, over your collarbone, and finally resting against your chest. You can feel your heartbeat thundering under her palm. "I don’t want to stop, i changed my mind," she murmurs, her voice dropping lower, huskier. "I’ve thought about this… about you… too much."

Before you can respond, she leans in, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that starts soft—hesitant—but quickly deepens as her tongue swipes against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You groan into her mouth, one hand tangling in her hair as the other grips her waist, pulling her closer until she’s straddling your lap. The heat of her body against yours is intoxicating, her hips grinding down instinctively, making your cock twitch painfully against the confines of your pants.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen. "Fuck…" she breathes, eyes darting down to where your erection strains against your zipper. "I knew you’d be big, but—" Her fingers tremble as she undoes your belt, then your button, her breath coming in short, eager bursts. "Can I… see it?"

You nod, lifting your hips slightly to help her tug your pants and boxers down just enough for your cock to spring free, thick and already leaking at the tip. Tzuyu’s lips part in a silent gasp, her fingers wrapping around your shaft experimentally, giving it a slow, tentative stroke. A bead of pre-cum glistens at your slit, and before you can even process it, she leans down, her tongue darting out to lick it up with a soft "Mmmf~" that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Shit, Tzuyu—" you choke out, hips bucking slightly as her warm, wet mouth closes around your tip, sucking gently. Her doe eyes flick up to yours, watching your reaction as she takes you deeper, her lips stretching obscenely around your girth. "Fuck, your mouth feels—ahh~!"

She moans around your cock, the vibration making your toes curl, and then—without warning—she pushes further, her nose brushing against your pelvis as she takes you all the way down her throat. Her eyes water, but she doesn’t pull back, her throat fluttering around you as she gags slightly before relaxing, adjusting. "Hnngh~! Tzuyu, you’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me cum if you keep—"

She pulls off with a lewd pop, saliva stringing from her lips to your cock as she pants, her voice wrecked already. "Good," she rasps, her fingers stroking you lazily. "I want to taste you… all of you." And then she dives back down, swallowing you whole again, her head bobbing faster now, her free hand cupping your balls, massaging them as she works your length with a desperation that belies her earlier shyness. The wet, filthy sounds of her throat taking you fill the studio, her muffled whimpers of "Nggh~! Mmmf—!" sending you hurtling toward the edge. You fist her hair, not forcing, just holding, as your hips jerk up involuntarily, fucking into her mouth. "Tzuyu, I’m—I’m gonna—"

She hums in response, her eyes fluttering shut as she takes you deeper, her throat milking you as you finally spill down it with a broken groan, your cum flooding her mouth in thick, hot pulses. She swallows every drop, her tongue lapping at your oversensitive tip until you’re twitching, oversensitive, pulling her off with a gasp. She sits back on her heels, lips glistening, chin slick with spit, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she meets your dazed gaze.

"Did… did I do okay?" she asks, voice small but her eyes gleaming with something smug, something hungry. You let out a breathless laugh, dragging her into a searing kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. "More than okay. Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me." She giggles—soft, sweet, and sinful—her fingers already trailing lower, toward the button of her own jeans. "Good. Because I’m not done with you yet."

Tzuyu pulls back from the kiss with a devilish glint in her eyes, her fingers already working the button of her jeans. She stands up slowly, swaying her hips just enough to make your mouth go dry as she shimmies out of the denim, revealing toned thighs and that mouthwateringly tight ass of hers—round, plush, and begging to be gripped. The way her panties cling to her curves makes your cock twitch again, already half-hard from the sight alone. "Like what you see?" she teases, biting her lower lip as she peels off her top next, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts—not big, but perky, perfectly shaped, her nipples already pebbled under the thin fabric of her bra—make your fingers itch to touch. She unhooks the clasp with practiced ease, letting the garment drop, and your breath catches.

Goddess. Absolute fucking goddess.

She steps closer, her bare skin glowing under the dim studio lights, her abdomen soft yet toned, her hips sinfully curved, leading your gaze downward like a temptation you can’t resist. She kneels between your legs again, her fingers tracing up your thighs before wrapping around your cock, already hardening again under her touch. "Y/N…" Her voice is sweet, almost innocent, but the way her thumb swipes over your leaking tip is anything but. "Can I try something?"

You nod, swallowing hard as she leans in, her lips brushing against your shaft before she looks up at you through her lashes, doe-eyed and demure—but the words that leave her mouth are anything but.

"I want to choke on it." Your brain short-circuits. Did she just—?

Before you can even process it, she’s taking you deep, too deep, her throat fluttering around you as she forces herself down until her nose presses into your pelvis. Tears bead at the corners of her eyes, but she doesn’t pull back, her fingers digging into your thighs as she holds herself there, gagging slightly before relaxing, her throat milking you. "F-fuck, Tzuyu—!" You instinctively thread your fingers through her hair, not pushing, just guiding, your voice strained. "You don’t have to—ahh~!—hurt yourself, Tzu."

She pulls off with a wet gasp, saliva dripping from her swollen lips, her chest heaving. "I like it," she admits, voice wrecked, her fingers stroking you lazily. "Feels… good. Like you’re claiming me." Your cock throbs at her words, at the filthy way she says them—so sweetly, so earnestly, like she’s confessing something sacred. You cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear.

"You’re perfect," you murmur, heart swelling as she nuzzles into your touch. "But I don’t want you to push too hard, okay? We go at your pace." She smiles—genuine, warm—before her expression shifts into something hungrier, her tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your length. "Then let me practice," she purrs, before swallowing you down again, deeper, slower, her throat working around you like she was made for this

. And as her head bobs, her moans vibrating against your cock, her free hand sneaking between her own thighs—fuck, is she touching herself?—you realize one thing with dizzying clarity: This angel-faced, soft-spoken, Tzuyu you think you knew? She’s a fucking needy slut for you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tzuyu pulls off your cock with a lewd, wet pop, her lips glistening with a mix of spit and your cum. She looks up at you through her lashes, her cheeks flushed, her breathing uneven—and there’s something unbearably smug in her expression as she licks her lips clean. "You came so fast," she murmurs, her voice a mix of awe and pride. "Was I… that good?"

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Too good," you admit, your thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. "I didn’t expect you to be so… natural at this." She giggles—soft, sweet, but with an undercurrent of something darker, something hungry. Her hands trail up your thighs before she rises, straddling your lap again, her bare skin pressed flush against yours. The heat of her is intoxicating, her perky tits brushing against your chest as she leans in, her lips ghosting over yours. "I like it," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. "When you lose control because of me. It makes me feel… loved."

Your heart clenches at her words, at the raw honesty in them. You cup her face, pulling her into a slow, deep kiss, your tongue sliding against hers in a lazy dance. She melts into it, her fingers tangling in your hair, her hips grinding down against yours in slow, teasing circles. When she pulls back, her eyes are dark, her lips swollen. "I want to make love first," she murmurs, her fingers trailing down your chest. "Before we… fuck."

You blink, tilting your head. "What’s the difference?"

She bites her lip, her fingers hooking into the sides of her panties. Slowly, teasingly, she peels them off, revealing smooth, flawless skin, the faintest hint of pink between her thighs. Your mouth goes dry at the sight. "Making love is… slow," she explains, her voice trembling slightly as she guides your hand between her legs. "Gentle. Like you’re worshipping me." Her breath hitches as your fingers brush over her slick folds, her hips jerking slightly at the contact. "Fucking is… harder. Rougher. When you ruin me."

Your cock twitches against her thigh at her words, at the way her voice drops into something filthy despite her innocent face. But then her next words make your heart stop. "I’m a virgin," she admits, her eyes locked onto yours. "But… don’t worry about blood. My hymen tore a long time ago from using tampons." She swallows, her fingers tightening around yours. "I just… I want you to be my first. In every way." Your chest tightens, your grip on her hip unconsciously tightening. "Tzuyu…" She silences you with a kiss, her body pressing closer, her warmth seeping into you. "Please," she breathes against your lips. "I want to feel you. All of you."

You nod, your hands sliding down to grip her thighs, lifting her slightly as you shift, laying her back against the studio couch. Her breath comes in short, eager bursts as you hover over her, your eyes tracing every inch of her—her perfect tits, her toned stomach, the way her hips curve, the drenched heat between her thighs. You kiss her again, slow, deep, your hands mapping her body like you’re memorizing her. She arches into your touch, her nails digging into your shoulders as you trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone, finally taking one pert nipple into your mouth. She gasps, her back arching off the couch as you suck, your tongue flicking over the stiff peak.

"Ahh~! Y/N—!" Her voice is already wrecked, her hips grinding up against nothing, seeking friction. "P-please…" You smile against her skin, your hand sliding down her stomach, fingers dipping between her folds. She’s soaked, her arousal coating your fingers as you circle her clit, slow, teasing.

"You’re dripping, Tzuyu," you murmur, your thumb pressing down just hard enough to make her whimper. "All for me?" She nods frantically, her legs spreading wider, inviting you in. "A-all for you," she whines, her back arching as you slide a finger into her, her tight walls clenching around you. "F-fuck, more—!" You add a second finger, curling them just right, and her entire body jolts, her moans turning shrill, desperate. "Hahhh~! There, there, there—!"

You watch, mesmerized, as she falls apart under your touch, her orgasm crashing over her with a broken cry, her thighs trembling around your hand. She collapses back against the couch, her chest heaving, her skin flushed. You lean down, kissing her gently as she comes down, her fingers weakly tangling in your hair. "Ready?" you whisper against her lips. She nods, her eyes hazy but determined. "I want you inside me," she breathes. "Now."

You don’t make her wait. You line yourself up, your cock pressing against her entrance, and with one slow, agonizing thrust, you sink into her, her tight heat engulfing you.

She gasps, her nails digging into your back, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper. "Oh fuck—!" she chokes out, her walls fluttering around you. "S-so big—!" You groan, your forehead dropping to hers as you still, letting her adjust. "Okay?" you rasp, your voice strained with the effort of not pounding into her. She nods, her hips rolling experimentally, making you both groan. "M-move," she whimpers. "Please, move."

You obey, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, slow, deep, worshipping her like she asked. Her breath hitches with every thrust, her moans soft, sweet, her body melting into yours. This—this is making love. The way she clings to you, the way her lips find yours in messy, desperate kisses, the way she whimpers your name like a prayer— And when her second orgasm hits, when she screams but trying to lower it, her walls milking you, you know— You’re ruined for anyone else. Just like she wanted.

Tzuyu's tight, velvety walls clench around your thick cock as she rides you in the intimate face-off position—her forehead pressed desperately against yours, her breath hot and ragged against your lips. Every slow, deep thrust draws a whimper from her swollen mouth, her nails digging crescent moons into your shoulders as she bounces in your lap, taking you deeper with each roll of her hips. "Y/N—ahh~! F-feels so... so good inside me," she gasps, her voice trembling with each upward grind of your cock against her sensitive walls. Her slick arousal coats your length, the lewd squelch of her dripping pussy filling the studio air as she clings to you, her body trembling on the edge of another climax.

You exhale sharply, your hands gripping her waist, guiding her movements—slow, deep, worshipping—just like she wanted. The way her tight cunt grips you, the way her breath hitches every time you bottom out inside her, the way her swollen clit rubs against your pelvis with every bounce— It’s maddening.

But despite the overwhelming pleasure, you force yourself to hold back, your teeth gritting as you slow her hips. "Tzuyu—fuck, I’m close, but you’re not on birth control—" She whines, her hips stuttering, her pussy clenching around you in protest. "N-no, please—I want you to—ahh~!—finish in me!" Her voice is desperate, her thighs shaking as she grinds down harder, her walls fluttering around you. You moan your fingers digging into her hips to still her. "Tzuyu, we can’t—"

She cuts you off with a frantic kiss, her tongue sliding against yours before she pulls back, her eyes dark with need. "M-my purse," she pants, nodding toward her bag on the studio table. "I—I have had pills. Emergency ones." You blink, stunned. "You... planned for this?" Her cheeks flush crimson, her lashes fluttering as she avoids your gaze. "I... might have thought about it. A lot." She bites her lip, her hips giving a slow, teasing roll that makes you groan. "I wanted to be ready... in case we ever... did this."

Your grip on her tightens, your cock throbbing inside her at her admission. "Fuck, Tzuyu—" You crush your lips to hers, your tongue delving deep as your hips snap up, harder now, no longer holding back. "You’re gonna be the death of me." She moans, her back arching as you fuck up into her with rough, claiming thrusts, her nails raking down your back. "Hahhh~! Yes, like that—fuck me, ruin me—!"

Her words send a jolt of white-hot lust straight to your cock, your thrusts turning brutal, possessive, your forehead still pressed to hers as you pound into her dripping cunt. Her moans turn shrill, her body quivering as her third orgasm rips through her, her walls milking you desperately. "C-cum in me," she sobs, her voice breaking as she clenches around you. "P-please, fill me—!"

You snapped like clip at her words, burying yourself to the hilt, your cock pulsing as you empty yourself inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight channel. She whimpers, her body trembling as she takes every last drop, her own climax still wracking through her. When the aftershocks finally subside, she collapses against your chest, her breath coming in ragged pants, her sweat-slick skin pressed against yours. You hold her close, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her back as you both come down from the high.

After a long moment, she lifts her head, her lips curling into a shy, sated smile. "...So. That was making love and fucking." You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And we’re definitely doing both again." She giggles, nuzzling into your neck. "Good. Because I’m not done with you yet." And as her fingers trail lower, her lips finding yours again, you realize one thing with absolute certainty— You’re fucked in the best way possible.

Tzuyu pulls back from your embrace with a mischievous glint in her eyes, her fingers already reaching for her discarded panties. She slides them back on with deliberate slowness, the fabric clinging to her still-damp folds as she bites her lip playfully. "Now you," she murmurs, nodding toward your boxers. "Put them back on."

You raise an eyebrow, confused but intrigued, as you tug your boxers up over your half-hard cock, the fabric straining slightly against your renewed arousal. Before you can ask what she's planning, Tzuyu straddles your lap again, this time with the thin barrier of clothing between you. She leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "I'm going to edge you until you're begging to be inside me again."

Her hips roll forward in a slow, torturous grind, the heat of her pussy pressing against your cock through the layers of fabric. The friction is maddening—not enough to push you over the edge, but just enough to keep you achingly hard, your breath hitching as she controls the pace with teasing precision. "F-fuck, Tzuyu—" you groan, your hands gripping her waist as she rides you through your boxers, her wetness seeping into the fabric. "You're killing me."

She giggles, her breath warm against your neck as she grinds down harder, her clit rubbing against the base of your cock with each movement. "Mmhn~... You like this, don't you?" Her voice is sweet, innocent, but the way she rolls her hips is anything but. "Feeling me so close but not letting you cum?" You grit your teeth, your cock throbbing beneath her, the pressure just shy of enough to tip you over. She’s taunting you, her movements calculated to keep you right on the edge, her own pleasure evident in the way her breath hitches with each grind. Then, without warning, she stops, her body stilling as she pulls back to look at you, her lips curled into a devilish smirk. "Oops. Too close?"

You exhald sharply almost like an airy groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you pinned her beneath you. Her eyes widen, her chest rising and falling rapidly as you hover over her, your voice a low, soft whisper, "Your playing a lot, Tzu. Like fire or something?" She grins, her legs wrapping around your waist as she pulls you closer, her voice a breathy whisper. "Then burn me." And just like that, the game resets—but this time, you're in control.

Tzuyu's breath hitches as your fingers hook into the waistband of her panties once more, peeling them down her toned thighs with deliberate slowness. The air between you crackles with anticipation as you reveal her glistening, shaved pussy—her delicate pink lips already swollen and dripping with arousal.

The sight makes your cock twitch painfully against your boxers, and with one swift motion, you push them down, freeing your thick length once more. You hover over her, caging her between your arms as you brush your nose against hers, your voice low and tender. "Tell me what you want. Hard? Or slow?" Her dark eyes search yours, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she considers your question. A shy smile tugs at her lips before she murmurs, "Start... mid. Then—ah—faster when I say." Her fingers trail down your chest, her touch featherlight. "I want to feel you build up inside me."

You nod, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before guiding your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her slick folds. She gasps as you push in, her tight walls fluttering around you as you sink in slowly, giving her body time to adjust to your girth. Her breath comes in short, shaky bursts, her nails digging into your biceps as you bottom out, your hips flush against hers. "O-oh fuck—" she whimpers, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper. "Y-You feel... so big..."

You groan, your forehead dropping to hers as you begin to move—mid-paced, just as she asked. Each thrust is deep, measured, your cock dragging against her sensitive walls in a way that has her toes curling. Her breathy moans fill the studio, her hips lifting to meet yours with every roll of your hips. You watch her face—every flicker of pleasure, every bitten lip, every flutter of her lashes—as you make love to her. Your hands roam her body, memorizing every curve, every dip, your touch reverent. When your thumb brushes over her clit, she jolts, a broken cry tearing from her lips.

"Y/N—! R-right there—!. P-please, harder now—!" You obey, your thrusts growing more forceful, more urgent, but never rough—never without care. Your hips snap forward, driving into her with enough force to make the couch creak beneath you, but your hands cradle her face, your lips capturing hers in a searing kiss to swallow her moans.

She screams into your mouth, her walls fluttering wildly as her climax crashes over her, her body shaking beneath you. But you don’t stop—can’t stop—not when she’s clinging to you, her nails raking down your back as she sobs for more. "D-don’t stop—! Fuck, don’t stop—!" You won’t. Not until she’s begging you to.

Your thrusts falter for just a moment as your brain buzzes with arousal at her request—but concern still lingers at the edges of your lust-drunk mind. Your lips brush along the shell of her ear, your voice ragged but tender as you murmur, "Tzuyu... , are you sure you took the pill? It's—hnngh—it's safe? Despite me cumming in you earlier?" Her answer comes between gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair as she nods frantically. "Y-yes, yes—ahh~!—took it s-seven days ago... made sure—haah!—to be extra safe..." Her breath hitches as you grind deep, her walls fluttering around your cock as she arches beneath you. "W-wanted—wanted you to breed me... fill me up... please—!"

The raw desperation in her voice sends a jolt of white-hot need straight to your cock. You pull back just enough to see her face—her cheeks flushed, her lips parted in swollen, panting breaths, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at you with pure devotion. The sight of her like this—goddess-like in beauty, yet ruined with pleasure just for you—makes your chest ache with something deeper than lust. To the world, she is Chou Tzuyu—TWICE's untouchable visual, the ethereal maknae with a face sculpted by the heavens. But here, beneath you, she is just yours—her body trembling, her perfect tits bouncing with each thrust, her toned stomach quivering as you drive into her over and over. The way her tight little pussy grips you, so warm and dripping, as if her body was made to take you... You can't help but groan, your hips snapping forward with renewed intensity, your voice a loving murmure against her skin. "Fuck—look at you... so perfect... taking me so well—" Her answering whimper is filthy, her legs locking around your waist to pull you deeper. "M-more—! Harder—! Wanna feel you—ahh~!—cumming inside me—!"

You oblige, your thrusts turning brutal, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the studio. Her moans grow shrill, her back arching off the couch as her nails rake down your back, her pussy clenching around you like a vice. You know you won't last much longer—not when she's begging for it like this, not when her body is milking you so perfectly. But you want to savor this—savor her—for just a little longer.

So you slow, just for a moment, your forehead pressing against hers as you catch your breath. "Tzuyu... look at me." Her hazy eyes meet yours, her lips parted in a silent gasp as you roll your hips in a slow, deep circle, grinding against her sweet spot. "I love you," you whisper, the words spilling out before you can stop them. Her breath catches, her eyes widening—before she melts, her entire body going pliant beneath you as she pulls you into a desperate, sloppy kiss. "I love you too," she whimpers against your lips. "Now please—fuck me like you mean it—!"

The moment the words leave her lips, something primal snaps inside you. Your grip on her hips tightens, fingers digging into her soft skin as you pull her impossibly closer, your cock throbbing deep inside her. The knowledge that she's safe—that she wants this, planned for this—sends a surge of possessiveness through you. "Fuck—Tzuyu—" Your voice is a ragged breath, your thrusts turning feral, each snap of your hips driving into her with enough force to make her gasp. "Gonna fill you up—gonna breed you so good—"

Her answering moan is broken, her back arching off the couch as she clings to you, her nails scraping down your back. Her pussy clenches around you, her walls fluttering wildly as she teeters on the edge of another climax. "Y-yes—! Please—!" she sobs, her legs trembling around your waist. "W-want it—want your cum—want you to own me—!" The filth spilling from her perfect lips is your undoing. With a guttural groan, you bury yourself to the hilt, your cock pulsing as you spill deep inside her, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight little cunt. She screams, her own orgasm crashing over her as she milks you for every last drop, her body shaking beneath you.

You collapse against her, your breath ragged as you press feverish kisses to her neck, her collarbone, her jaw—anywhere you can reach. She whimpers, her fingers carding through your hair as she comes down, her walls still fluttering around your softening cock. After a long moment, you pull back just enough to see her face—her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes dazed with pleasure.

You brush a stray strand of hair from her forehead, your voice soft. "Okay?" She nods, a lazy, sated smile curling her lips. "Mmm... more than okay." Her fingers trail down your chest, her touch featherlight. "You... really did it, huh?" You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Yeah. Just like you wanted." She giggles, nuzzling into your neck. "Good. Because I'm definitely not done with you...for a long time~"And as her fingers trail lower, her lips finding yours again, you realize one thing with absolute certainty— this lovely night ain't over yet.

After a few moments of catching your breath, Tzuyu suddenly pushes against your chest with surprising strength—rolling you onto your back before straddling your thighs. Her smirk is downright sinful as she trails her fingertips down your sweat-slicked chest, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. "Tired already, oppa?" she teases, her thumbs circling your nipples with deliberate slowness. "And here I thought my producer-nim had... boundless stamina."You groan at both her words and the way she grinds her dripping slit against your thigh—her arousal leaving slick streaks on your skin.

Even spent, your cock twitches back to attention beneath her, betraying your hunger. "Fuck—you're relentless," you rasp, hands sliding up her toned thighs to grip her waist. Her answering laugh is pure velvet as she leans down, her breasts pressing against your chest as her lips brush yours—just out of reach when you try to kiss her properly. "You love it," she whispers before suddenly twisting her body in one fluid motion—her back now facing you as she settles into reverse cowgirl, her perfect ass pressing against your hips.

Her back is a fucking masterpiece—the elegant curve of her spine dipping into the lush swell of her ass, her shoulder blades shifting like wings with every slight movement. The studio lights catch every ripple of muscle as she lifts herself slightly, reaching behind to guide your cock back to her entrance. Her skin glows—flushed and dewy from exertion—and when she glances over her shoulder, her eyes are dark with intent. "Watch," she breathes, sinking down onto you in one torturously slow motion. "Watch how tight I take you like this."

And god —she's right. The angle makes her feel even tighter, her walls fluttering around you as she starts to ride you with shallow, experimental bounces. Her hands brace against your thighs for leverage, her back arching as she throws her head back— perfectly framing the way her silky hair spills between her shoulder blades. You can't resist sitting up slightly—one hand gripping her hip while the other trails up the ladder of her spine, making her shudder. "You're  gorgeous," you whisper, nipping at her shoulder. "Look at you—riding me like you were made for it."

She moans, her rhythm stuttering as your fingers tangle in her hair, gently tugging her head to the side to expose her neck. You lick a hot stripe up her pulse point, reveling in her gasp. "I was," she pants, her voice breaking as you thrust up to meet her next descent. "M-made for y-you—ahh~!" Her words unravel you. Your grip on her hip tightens as you help her move—guiding her into a faster, harder pace. The lewd slap of skin on skin fills the room, punctuated by her high, breathy whimpers. Every time she sinks down, her ass bounces against your pelvis—the sight so obscene you have to bite back a groan.

One of your hands slides around to her front, fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease. She jerks in your lap, a broken cry tearing from her lips as you circle the bundle of nerves in time with her movements. "Ngh~! T-too much—!" she sobs, but her hips don't stop—if anything, she grinds down harder, chasing the overstimulation.You chuckle, your lips against her ear. "You asked for this, Tzu. Wanted me to use you, remember?" Your fingers press down just enough to make her legs shake. "So take it. Take everything I give you."

Her answering whine is filthy, her body clenching around you as she nears another peak—but you slow your hand, denying her release. She whimpers, her rhythm faltering as she glares at you over her shoulder. "Y-Y/N—!"

"Oops~"

You smirk, pressing a kiss to the corner of her pouting lips. "Not yet. Gonna make you beg for it." And with that, you flip her onto her back again—her legs hooking around your waist as you loom over her, your cock still buried to the hilt. Her chest heaves, her eyes blown with lust as she realizes— You're far from done.

Tzuyu's breath comes in shallow gasps as she arches her back, her fingers gripping the couch cushions beneath her. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks, laced with both hesitation and desire."Y/N... can you...?" She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing even deeper as she glances back at you over her shoulder. "I want you to... spank me. Just—just a little. Please?"

Your heart races at her timid request, your hands immediately soothing over the curve of her ass, massaging gently before you lean down to press a kiss between her shoulder blades. "Only if you're sure, Tzu. And we stop the second you want to, okay?"She nods eagerly, her body trembling with anticipation. "I trust you."

You start slow, your palm connecting with her right cheek in a light, almost playful tap. The sound is crisp in the quiet studio, and Tzuyu lets out a surprised little gasp—more from the sensation than any real pain. You rub the spot gently, watching the faint pink bloom under your fingertips."Okay?" you murmur, your other hand still caressing her hip reassuringly.She nods, pushing back against you slightly. "Mhm... again?"

You oblige, this time a little firmer—your hand landing on the other cheek with a soft smack. Tzuyu whimpers, her fingers tightening in the couch cushions, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she rocks her hips back, silently asking for more. You continue like this—alternating between soft spanks and soothing strokes, letting her adjust to the sensation. Each strike is measured, careful, never enough to truly hurt—just enough to make her skin flush a deeper shade of pink. Her breath hitches every time your palm connects, her body growing more pliant beneath your touch.

As Tzuyu grows more comfortable, her moans become louder, needier. She starts rolling her hips in time with your strikes, her slick arousal coating your thighs as she grinds against you. "H-harder," she whines, her voice trembling. "Please, Y/N—I can take it." You hesitate for only a second before giving her what she asks for—your next spank landing with a sharper crack, the sound echoing in the studio. Tzuyu yelps, her back arching, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she pushes back, her ass now a pretty, rosy red under your attention.

You alternate between spanks and gentle rubs, your other hand gripping her waist to steady her as she starts bouncing in your lap again. Each time your cock slides back into her, her walls clench around you, her pleasure mounting with every strike. "F-fuck—!" she sobs, her rhythm growing erratic. "It feels—ahh~!—so good—!" You watch, mesmerized, as her body reacts—her skin flushed, her breath coming in ragged pants, her pussy dripping around you. The contrast between the sharp sting of your spanks and the overwhelming pleasure of your cock inside her has her teetering on the edge, her moans turning shrill with desperation.

Even as you indulge her request, you never lose sight of her comfort. Between strikes, your fingers trail over her heated skin, soothing the slight sting before building it back up again. When she whimpers, you pause, pressing a kiss to the small of her back. "Still good?" you murmur, your voice thick with concern. She nodded, clearly eager for you to go on.

You oblige, your next spank landing just a little harder, making her jolt in your lap. Her pussy squeezes around you, her orgasm crashing over her with a broken cry. Her thighs tremble, her nails digging into the couch as she milks you through her climax, her body going taut before collapsing forward, spent. You catch her, pulling her against your chest as you both catch your breath. Your hands roam her back gently, tracing the faint marks left by your touch—not bruises, just a temporary blush of pink that’ll fade soon. She turns in your lap, as she nuzzles into your neck, her voice soft and sated. "Thank you..." You press a kiss to her forehead, your heart full. "Always, Tzuyu-yah."

Tzuyu's body is still trembling from her last climax, her oversensitive walls fluttering around your cock as you continue to move inside her—slow, deep thrusts that make her whimper with every drag of your length. Her fingers clutch at your shoulders, her nails digging in just enough to leave faint crescents in your skin as she tries to steady herself. "Y-Y/N—ahh~!—i-it's too much—!" Her voice is a broken plea, her thighs quivering as you push her further into overstimulation. But you don’t stop—not yet.

You want to see just how far she can go. You shift slightly, angling your hips to grind against that sweet spot inside her with every thrust. Her back arches off the couch, a strangled cry tearing from her lips as her pussy clenches around you like a vice. "I know, baby," you murmur, your voice rough with restraint as you press a kiss to her collarbone. "But you can take it. Just a little more—"

Her response is a garbled moan, her head thrashing against the cushions as you pick up the pace—your thrusts growing faster, harder, each one driving her closer to the edge again. Her legs lock around your waist, her heels digging into your back as if she’s trying to pull you even deeper. And then— It happens. A sharp, desperate cry rips from Tzuyu’s throat as her body seizes beneath you—her back bowing off the couch, her fingers scrambling for purchase against your skin. For a split second, you think she’s just coming again—but then you feel it.

The first gush is hot, slick, flooding between your bodies with enough force to drench your thighs. Tzuyu screams, her entire body convulsing as her pussy pulses around you, her release coming in waves—not just the thick, creamy femcum from before, but something more, something primal. The scent is musky, heady, the liquid gushing out of her in a near-geyser of pleasure and desperation, soaking the couch beneath you both. Her eyes are wide, her mouth agape in shock as she squirts—her body betraying her in the most filthy, beautiful way possible. Your hips snap forward, pounding into her through the mess, your cock sliding effortlessly in the slick heat of her ruined pussy. Tzuyu sobs, her hands flying to her face as she shakes, her thighs dripping with the evidence of her surrender.

"O-oh my god—!" she chokes out, her voice wrecked. "I-I didn’t—hahh~!—I didn’t mean to—!" You lean down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, your tongue sliding against hers as you claim her moans. "Shh, it’s okay," you growl against her mouth. "You’re perfect. So fucking perfect." Her answering whimper is broken, her body yielding to yours as you fuck her through the aftershocks, her pussy still clenching around you in weak, sporadic flutters.

The squelch of your thrusts is obscene, the sound of her dripping arousal filling the studio as you push her further, deeper into bliss. And when you finally spill inside her—your cum mixing with her mess—Tzuyu wails, her nails scoring down your back as her body locks around you, milking you for every last drop. You collapse against her, both of you panting, shaking, ruined. And as you press a kiss to her sweat-slicked forehead, her dazed, sated smile tells you everything you need to know.

You slowly pull out of Tzuyu's thoroughly used pussy with a soft, wet sound, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity. Your cum spills out of her in thick, messy ropes, dripping onto the already ruined couch beneath her. Her thighs tremble as she instinctively tries to clench them together, but she’s too spent—too open after taking you so many times.

Tzuyu lets out a breathy sigh, her fingers lazily trailing through the mess between her thighs before lifting them to her lips. She licks her fingers clean with deliberate slowness, her dark, sparkling eyes locked onto yours with a mischievous glint you rarely see from her. "Mmm… delicious," she purrs, her voice still husky from exertion. Then, with a giggle that sounds almost wicked coming from someone as composed as her, she murmurs, "Think you can fill me one more time, oppa? Or are you finally tired...?"

You blink, stunned for a moment—both at her boldness and the way her usually elegant diction melts into something downright filthy in the afterglow. But then a slow grin spreads across your face as you lean in, trapping her beneath you again, your lips brushing her earlobe. "Oh, Tzu" you murmur, voice dripping with playful warning, "You’re gonna regret teasing me when I pin those pretty legs back and pound another load into you so deep you’ll taste it tomorrow." She shivers, nibbling her lip—but there’s no real hesitation in those doe-eyes. Just challenge. And when her fingers slide down to rub slow, teasing circles over her swollen clit.

Tzuyu slowly peels herself off the couch, her legs still trembling slightly as she lowers herself onto the plush carpet of the production room. She gets on all fours, her back arching elegantly as she presents her perfect, round ass to you—high, tight, and still faintly pink from your earlier attention. With a playful wiggle, she glances back over her shoulder, her usually composed face now flushed with a mix of shyness and boldness. "I... I want to try it," she murmurs, her voice softer now, less teasing—more vulnerable. "I-I brought... lube. Just in case." She nods toward her purse nearby, where a slim bottle of strawberry-flavored edible lube peeks out from the side pocket.

You blink, surprised but touched by her thoughtfulness—how she had planned for this moment, how she trusted you enough to explore this with her. Your heart swells as you reach for the bottle, your fingers brushing against hers gently before you take it. "You're sure?" you ask, your voice warm, your thumb stroking the back of her hand reassuringly. "We don’t have to if you’re not ready." She bites her lip, her eyes flickering with a mix of nervousness and determination before she nods. "I’m sure. I... I want to feel all of you."

You pop open the bottle, squeezing a generous amount of the sweet-smelling lube onto your fingers before warming it between them. Then, with deliberate tenderness, you drizzle it over her ass, watching as the pink-tinged liquid trails down the curve of her cheeks before pooling at her tight, puckered entrance. Tzuyu shivers at the sensation, her breath hitching as your fingers glide over her skin, spreading the lube in slow, soothing circles. "O-oh—" she whimpers, her hips shifting slightly. "It’s... cold." You chuckle softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the small of her back

"It’ll warm up soon," you murmur before gently pressing a slick fingertip against her rim, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. You take your time—rubbing, massaging, letting her body adjust to the foreign sensation before slowly pushing the tip of your finger past the tight ring of muscle. Tzuyu tenses immediately, her fingers curling into the carpet beneath her. "Breathe, Tzu," you remind her, your free hand stroking her hip soothingly. "Relax for me... that’s it." She exhales shakily, her body gradually loosening around your finger as you work it deeper, gently stretching her. The lube makes the glide smooth, and soon, you’re able to move in and out with ease, her walls fluttering around you in hesitant pulses. "H-how does it feel?" she asks, her voice small, uncertain. You chuckle, your fingers still moving with painstaking slowness. "Yeah, baby. Good weird." By the time you’re three fingers deep, her body is pliant, accepting, her earlier tension replaced by soft, breathy moans. She’s ready—but you still take a moment to lean over her, pressing your chest to her back as you nuzzle against her neck. "Still okay?" you whisper, your lips brushing her ear. She turns her head just enough to capture your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss before nodding. "Mhm... more than okay."

And with that silent permission, you finally—finally—line yourself up, your cock slick with lube as you press against her entrance, your heart pounding in your chest. This is going to be slow. This is going to be careful. And—if the way Tzuyu is whimpering beneath you is any indication—this is going to be perfect.

Your fingertips trace delicate patterns along Tzuyu’s spine as you hover over her, your bodies connected only by the heated anticipation between you. She shivers beneath your touch, her back arching ever so slightly—a silent plea for more. You lean down, pressing a tender kiss to the curve of her shoulder, your lips whispering against her skin: "You’re doing so well, hun… so perfect for me." Your voice is barely above a murmur, warm and thick with affection.

Tzuyu turns her head just enough to catch your lips in a slow, achingly sweet kiss, her lashes fluttering as she sighs into it. When she pulls back, her lips are glossy and slightly parted, her breath coming in soft, uneven puffs. "Y/N…" Her voice is small, vulnerable—so unlike her usual composed tone. It makes your chest tighten. "Will you… keep talking to me? Like this? It—ah—it helps." You nuzzle into the crook of her neck, your hands roaming her sides in slow, soothing strokes. "Of course," you promise, your lips brushing her pulse point. "Every second. I’ve got you."

You shift slightly, lining your cock up with her slicked entrance, your tip pressing just enough to make her tense for a fleeting moment. Instantly, you still, your hands returning to her hips in a grounding grip. "Breathe, Tzuyu," you remind her, your thumbs rubbing gentle circles into her skin. "In… and out. Just like that." She obeys, her body gradually relaxing beneath yours as you push forward—inch by agonizing inch. The heat of her is overwhelming, her walls hugging you in a vice-like grip, so tight it feels like her body is trying to fuse around you. A choked whimper slips from her lips, her fingers clawing at the carpet beneath her. You freeze. "Too much?" She shakes her head frantically, her voice shaky but determined. "N-no… j-just… full." She pants, her hips pressing back just slightly—enough to make you groan. "D-don’t stop."

You exhale a shuddering breath, your forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as you resume your slow, painstaking thrust deeper. Every movement is measured, careful, your cock sheathed in slick warmth as her body reluctantly yields to yours. When you’re finally fully seated, buried to the hilt, you both pause—breathing heavily, trembling against each other. Tzuyu’s fingers unclench from the carpet, her hand blindly reaching back to grasp at your thigh. "O-oh my god," she whimpers, her voice wrecked. "I-I can feel you… everywhere." You press a kiss to the damp skin between her shoulder blades, your hands roaming her body in slow, worshipful strokes. "You’re amazing," you murmur against her skin. "Taking me so good, so perfectly…"

She whines at your praise, her walls fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You grind deeper experimentally, earning a sharp gasp from her—but before you can pull back, she pushes against you, her hips rocking back in a silent plea for more. You chuckle, breathless, your lips curling into a smile against her back. "Greedy, huh?" you tease, your hands gripping her waist as you finally—finally—begin to move. And when she moans, loud and filthy, her body arching beneath yours, you know— You’re both ruined for anything else.

Tzuyu's ass is a work of art—high, round, and perfectly sculpted, the kind that makes your mouth water just looking at it. The soft globes are still faintly pink from your earlier spanking, the skin warm under your palms as you grip her hips. Her asshole is a tight, fluttering ring of muscle, clenching and unclenching nervously around the thick head of your cock. The strawberry lube glistens around her rim, making the stretched skin shine under the studio lights.

You move with agonizing slowness, letting her body adjust to the overwhelming stretch. Every inch you push in feels like a victory—her muscles resisting at first, then reluctantly yielding to your girth. Her breath comes in shaky gasps, her fingers twisting into the carpet as she tries to relax. "S-so big," she whimpers, her voice trembling. "F-feels like you're splitting me—"

You pause when you're halfway in, your cock throbbing inside her impossibly tight heat. Leaning over her, you press a kiss to the small of her back, your hands soothing up her sides. "Breathe, Tzuyu-yah," you murmur against her skin. "Just relax… you're doing so good." She nods, exhaling shakily as her body slowly loosens around you. You resume your slow push forward, watching with rapt attention as her ass swallows more of your length. The way her rim stretches around you is obscene—her pink flesh clinging to your shaft like it never wants to let go.

When you're finally fully sheathed inside her, you both freeze, panting. Tzuyu's whole body is trembling, her back arched beautifully as she adjusts to the overwhelming fullness. "O-oh god," she whines, her voice breaking. "I-I can feel you everywhere—" You groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you fight the urge to move. "Fuck, you're perfect," you grit out. "So tight… like you were made for me." She whimpers at your words, her walls fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You pull back just an inch before sliding back in, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has her moaning into the carpet. And as her body finally accepts you, her moans turn from pained to pleasured—her ass squeezing you just right with every thrust. She was made for this. Made for you.

Tzuyu's breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as she arches her back further, presenting her perfect ass to you in the most obscene invitation. The strawberry lube glistens around her stretched rim, her hole still fluttering from the initial penetration.

She glances back over her shoulder, her dark eyes hooded with lust, lips swollen from biting back moans. "Y/N…" Her voice is a breathy whisper, raw with need. "Start slow… but don’t be too gentle. I want to feel you—all of you " Her words send a jolt of heat straight to your cock, already buried to the hilt inside her tight heat. You lean over her, pressing your chest to her back as your lips find the shell of her ear. "Tell me if it’s too much," you murmur, your hands sliding down to grip her hips. "I’ll stop the second you need me to." She nods, her fingers twisting into the carpet beneath her as you finally—finally—begin to move.

You pull out almost completely, watching with rapt attention as her asshole clenches around nothing, trying to keep you inside. Then, with deliberate slowness, you push back in, your cock sinking into her tight heat inch by torturous inch. Tzuyu whimpers, her back arching as her body struggles to adjust to the stretch all over again. "F-fuck—" she gasps, her voice trembling. "S-so deep—" You groan, your fingers digging into her hips as you bottom out, your pelvis flush against her ass. The way her walls grip you is unreal—like her body was made to take you like this.

You pause, letting her adjust, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into her hipbone. "You’re doing so good, love" you praise, your voice rough with restraint. "Taking me so well…" She shudders at your words, her hole fluttering around you in a way that makes your vision blur.

Encouraged, you pull back again, this time setting a slow, steady rhythm—each thrust deep and measured, each withdrawal just enough to make her whine in protest. Tzuyu’s moans grow louder, her body gradually relaxing into the rhythm as pleasure begins to outweigh the initial discomfort. Her ass bounces slightly with each thrust, the lewd slap of skin on skin filling the studio. The sight is obscene—her perfect cheeks jiggling, her hole stretched wide around your cock, the lube making every movement slick and effortless.

After a few minutes of this agonizingly slow pace, Tzuyu pushes back against you, her voice a desperate whine. "Y/N—please—" Her fingers claw at the carpet, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts. "I-I can take more… harder—" You groan, your grip on her hips tightening as you oblige, your thrusts growing faster, harder. The force of your movements sends her sprawling forward, her chest pressing into the carpet as you pound into her from behind. Her moans turn shrill, her walls clenching around you like a vice as pleasure overwhelms her. "O-oh god—!" she sobs, her voice breaking. "I-It’s—ahh~!—s-so good—!"

You lean over her, your chest pressing against her back as your lips find her ear. "You love this, don’t you?" you whisper, your voice thick with lust. "Love getting your tight little ass fucked like this?" Her answering wail is filthy, her body quivering beneath yours as you ruin her. And when your hand slides around to her front, your fingers finding her dripping pussy, she screams, her orgasm crashing over her with brutal intensity.

But you don’t stop—not when she’s begging for more, not when her body is milking you so perfectly. No, you’re just getting started.

Tzuyu's body arches beautifully beneath you, her flushed skin glistening under the studio lights as she takes every deep, rough thrust—her tight hole gripping you just right as she whimpers into the carpet. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mingling with her desperate moans. Her fingers scramble for purchase, nails digging into the plush fibers as she pushes back against you, "M-more—ahh~!—p-please, more—"

But despite the ferocity of your movements, your hands remain tender—one gripping her hip possessively, the other stroking down her spine in soothing, worshipful caresses. When her moans pitch higher, her body tensing as she nears another overwhelming climax, you suddenly slow—just enough to give her a moment to breathe. "Shh, I've got you," you murmur, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "You're doing so good, baby—taking me perfectly." She whines, her hips squirming impatiently beneath you. "N-no—don't stop—!"

You smirk, leaning back just enough to admire the rosy blush already coloring her ass from earlier—but it’s not enough. Not when she’s begging so prettily. Your hand lifts, hovering just above her heated skin. "You want more?" you tease, your voice thick with affection. "Then tell me where." Her breath hitches, her body trembling as she glances back at you with wild eyes. "M-my… a-ass," she stammers, her cheeks flushing darker. "P-please…?" Your palm comes down in a sharp, stinging smack—just hard enough to make her jolt, her walls clenching around you in a way that has you groaning. She yelps, her back arching, but then— "A-ah! Again—!"

You comply, your strikes alternating between cheeks, each one landing with a crisp sound that echoes in the studio. Tzuyu’s moans grow louder, needier, her body rocking back to meet your thrusts as her skin turns a delicious shade of red. Yet, even as you mark her, your touches remain reassuring—your free hand rubbing circles into her lower back, your lips pressing apologetic kisses to every spot you strike. "That’s it," you praise, your voice a heated murmur against her skin. "Taking my cock and my hand like a good girl." She sobs at your words, her hips grinding down as another orgasm rips through her—her ass fluttering around you in rhythmic pulses. You groan, your thrusts turning erratic as her tight heat threatens to undo you, but you hold back, refusing to spill just yet.

Tzuyu whimpers softly as you guide her onto her stomach, her body stretching out in a straight line along the plush studio carpet. Her fingers curl into the fibers, gripping tightly as she presses her flushed cheek against the soft material, her breath coming in shallow pants. The curve of her back is a smooth, elegant slope, her ass still beautifully reddened from your earlier attention—just begging to be marked even more. "L-like this?" she murmurs, her voice trembling slightly as she glances back at you over her shoulder. Her dark eyes are wide, pupils blown with lust, her lips parted as she waits for your next move. You nod, running a soothing hand down her spine before settling over her, your chest pressing against her back as you line your cock up with her slick, stretched hole. "Perfect," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of her ear

The angle is unreal. With her legs together beneath you and her hips slightly raised, her ass swallows you whole, her walls clenching around you in a way that makes your vision blur. You sink in slowly, savoring every inch of her tight heat, your hands gripping her waist to keep her steady. "O-oh fuck—" Tzuyu gasps, her fingers scrambling against the carpet as she struggles to adjust. "Y-You’re—ahh~!—s-so deep—" You groan, your forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. The sensation is overwhelming—her body hugging you in a way that feels made for this position. You stay like that for a moment, letting her adjust, your lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses along her spine.

"Breathe, Tzu, " you murmur, your voice rough with restraint. "Just relax… you’re taking me so well." She nods, her body gradually loosening beneath yours, and when you finally move, it’s with a slow, deep roll of your hips—pulling out almost completely before sinking back in with leisurely precision. Tzuyu whimpers, her back arching as the new angle hits her in ways she’s never felt before. "Y/N—ahh~!" she sobs, her voice breaking. "I-It’s—different—!" You smirk against her skin, your hands sliding up to pin her wrists gently against the carpet as you pick up the pace—your thrusts growing faster, harder, each one driving you deeper than before.

The slap of skin on skin is obscene, her ass jiggling with every brutal snap of your hips. Tzuyu's body trembles beneath you, her fingers twisting into the carpet as your thrusts grow deeper, more relentless. The angle of the prone bone position allows you to reach unimaginable depths, each snap of your hips drawing out broken, breathy moans from her lips. Her skin is slick with sweat, her back arching beautifully as she takes every inch of you, her tight hole fluttering around your cock in desperate pulses.

"Y-Y/N—ahh~!" she sobs, her voice cracking as another wave of pleasure crashes over her. Her thighs quiver, her body tensing—and then, with a sharp cry, she squirts again, her release soaking the carpet beneath her as her walls clench around you in rhythmic spasms. You slow your movements, your hands immediately soothing over her heated skin, rubbing gentle circles into her hips as she gasps for air. "Shh, it's okay," you murmur, your voice soft, tender. "You're doing so good, baby. Just breathe for me." She nods weakly, her body still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm.

You press a kiss to the nape of her neck, your lips lingering against her damp skin as you give her a moment to recover. When her breathing steadies, you lean back slightly, your cock still buried inside her, and brush her hair away from her face. "Where do you want me to finish, Tzuyu?" you ask, your thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "Tell me, and I'll give you exactly what you want." She turns her head just enough to meet your gaze, her dark eyes hazy with pleasure but still so trusting. A shy smile tugs at her swollen lips as she whispers, "On my back… please? I-I want to feel it… see it." Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she adds, "And later… you can breed my ass properly."

A pause occured on you at her word. That's hot

Your heart swells at her words—not just because of the filthiness of them, but because of the trust behind them. You press another kiss to her shoulder, your voice warm as you murmur, "Anything for you." You pull out slowly, your cock glistening with lube and her arousal, and guide her onto her back. She goes willingly, her body pliant beneath your touch as you settle between her thighs. Her skin is flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she watches you with hungry eyes.

You stroke yourself lazily, your thumb swiping over the head of your cock as you admire the mess you’ve made of her—her ass still red from your spanks, her thighs sticky with her own release. When your orgasm finally hits, you groan, your release painting thick, hot stripes across her stomach and chest. Tzuyu gasps, her fingers trailing through the mess with a look of awe. "So warm…" she murmurs, her voice breathless. You collapse beside her, pulling her into your arms as you both catch your breath.

Your fingers trace idle patterns along her spine, your lips pressing gentle kisses to her forehead. "You were amazing," you whisper, your voice full of affection. "So perfect for me." She nuzzles into your chest, her body still humming with pleasure as she sighs contentedly. "Mmm… next time, breed me like you promised?" You chuckle, your arms tightening around her. "Whenever you want"

The studio air still hummed with the heat of your earlier passion, the scent of sweat and sex clinging to your skin as you both caught your breath. Tzuyu lay half-draped across your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns through the thin sheen of sweat on your collarbone. The quiet between you was comfortable, intimate—the kind that only exists when two bodies have learned each other so thoroughly that words become unnecessary.

But then her fingers trailed lower, her nails scraping lightly over your abdomen before wrapping around your half-hard cock with a playful squeeze. You groaned, your hips jerking instinctively as her thumb swiped over the sensitive head, still slick with lube and her own arousal. "Tzuyu—" you warned, but your voice lacked any real protest. She knew it too, her lips curling into that mischievous smile that always meant trouble.

"What?" she murmured, her voice dripping with faux innocence as she stroked you slowly, her touch feather-light. "I thought you were done." You caught her wrist gently, your fingers circling the delicate bones as you pulled her hand away—but not before your body betrayed you, your cock twitching in her grip. She giggled, the sound bright and infuriatingly pleased with herself. "You’re impossible," you muttered, but the fondness in your voice gave you away. She knew exactly what she was doing—knew how easily she could unravel you with just a look, a touch. And God help you, you loved it.

You sat up, pulling her with you, your hands settling on her hips as you guided her to her feet. She went willingly, her body pliant beneath your touch, but there was a glint in her eyes now—a challenge. She wanted to see how far she could push you before you snapped. And you were more than happy to oblige. The couch was still a mess—crumpled fabric damp with sweat and lube, the armrests bearing the faint imprints of her nails from earlier. You guided her toward it, your hands sliding up her back as you bent her over, her palms flattening against the leather. The position arched her back beautifully, her ass on full display—still red from your earlier attention, her hole slightly puffy from how thoroughly you’d fucked her.

You stepped closer, your cock sliding between her thighs, the heat of her skin maddening even before you lined yourself up. the head of your cock brushed against her entrance, her body remembering the stretch, the fullness. "Y-Y/N—" she gasped, her fingers tightening on the armrest. "I-It’s—" You leaned over her, your chest pressing against her back as your lips found her ear. "It’s what, baby?" you murmured, your voice low, teasing. "Too much? Or not enough?" She shuddered, her hips rocking back impatiently—her answer clear. You chuckled, your hands gripping her waist as you pushed forward, your cock sinking into her with agonizing slowness. The angle was different this time—deeper, tighter, her walls clenching around you in a way that made your vision blur.

Tzuyu cried out, her back arching as she took you, her body yielding perfectly to yours. You paused when you were fully sheathed, giving her a moment to adjust, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her hips. "Breathe," you reminded her, your voice soft despite the fire burning in your veins. "Just like that… good girl." She nodded, her exhale shaky as she relaxed beneath you.

Only then did you move—pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in with a deep, measured stroke. Tzuyu moaned, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the couch as you set a relentless pace, each snap of your hips driving you deeper than before. The sound alone was enough to undo you—the slap of skin on skin, the squelch of lube and her own arousal as you fucked her, the broken little whimpers spilling from her lips with every thrust.

And the sight—God, the sight. Her ass jiggled with every impact, the reddened skin clapping against your thighs as you pounded into her. Her back was a perfect, elegant curve, her shoulder blades shifting beneath smooth, sweat-slicked skin as she arched into your touch. And when you reached around to cup her breast, her nipple pebbling against your palm, she sobbed, her walls fluttering around you in a way that made your knees weak.

You groaned, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as you fought for control. She was ruining you—wrecking you—and she knew it. "Y-Y/N—ahh~!" she cried, her voice breaking as you hit just the right spot. "I-I’m gonna—please—" You knew what she was asking for—knew she was close again. But you slowed, your thrusts turning shallow, teasing, just to hear her beg. "What do you want, Tzuyu-yah?" you murmured, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Tell me." She whined, her hips rocking back desperately, trying to chase her release. "F-fuck me harder—please—"

You obliged, your hands tightening on her hips as you snapped forward, your cock pounding into her with brutal precision. Tzuyu screamed, her body locking around you as she came, her orgasm ripping through her with violent intensity. And when you followed her over the edge, your release spilling deep inside her, she collapsed against the couch, her body trembling from the aftershocks.

You caught her before she could slide to the floor, your arms wrapping around her waist as you pulled her close, her back pressed to your chest. She melted into you, her head lolling against your shoulder as you pressed kisses to her damp skin. "You okay?" you murmured, your voice rough but gentle. She nodded, her fingers tangling with yours as she brought your hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Mmm… better than okay."

Tzuyu's fingers still traced lazy circles on your chest, her touch feather-light and teasing. The way her lips curled into that mischievous smirk—so unlike her usual composed, elegant self—made your breath catch. She was playful, bold, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of challenge and amusement as she watched your reaction.

"What?" she murmured, her voice dripping with faux innocence as she dragged her nails down your stomach, stopping just above where your cock lay half-hard against your thigh. "You look surprised." You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I just…" Your fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear as you studied her—the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips were still slightly swollen from earlier. "I didn’t know you could be this naughty."

For a second, her smirk faltered. Your words—spoken with such open admiration—seemed to catch her off guard. The teasing glint in her eyes flickered, replaced by something softer, shyer. Her fingers stilled against your skin, and suddenly, she wasn’t the bold, demanding vixen from moments ago. She was Tzuyu again—the Tzuyu who got flustered when complimented too directly, the Tzuyu who hid her face in her hands when the members teased her.

Her gaze dropped, her lashes fluttering as she bit her lower lip. "I…" She hesitated, her voice suddenly small. "I didn’t mean to be too much." Your heart squeezed. God, she was adorable. One second, she had you wrapped around her finger, and the next, she was blushing over it. You cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to meet your eyes. "You weren’t," you assured her, your thumb brushing over the apple of her cheek. "I love when you’re like this. When you’re… confident." Her breath hitched, her eyes searching yours—as if she couldn’t quite believe you meant it. Then, slowly, a shy smile tugged at her lips. "…Really?" You grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Really."

She giggled—a soft, girlish sound—before burying her face in your neck, her arms winding around your waist. You could feel her smile against your skin, the way her body relaxed into yours. And just like that, the moment shifted. The air between you wasn’t charged with lust anymore—just warmth, affection, the kind that made your chest ache. But then her fingers danced lower again, her touch light, testing—and when you groaned, she laughed, the sound bright and triumphant. "…So," she murmured, her lips brushing your ear, "does that mean I can be naughty again?" You groaned, tipping your head back against the couch as her hand wrapped around you, her grip firm, knowing. Yeah. You were doomed.

The moment Tzuyu's hands fisted in your shirt and yanked you upright, you barely had time to process the sudden movement before her legs were wrapping around your waist, her bare thighs squeezing your hips with surprising strength. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you instinctively braced your hands under her ass, her weight settling against you as she clung like a koala—her lips already seeking yours in a messy, impatient kiss.

"Tzuyu—!" you gasped against her mouth, your voice equal parts exasperated and fond. But she just giggled—that breathy, mischievous sound that always meant trouble—and ground her hips down against yours, the slick heat of her already making your cock twitch back to full hardness.

"Carry me," she demanded between kisses, her teeth nipping at your lower lip. "Fuck me like this. Please."

you pushed into her in one smooth, deep stroke. The angle was unreal—her legs spread wide around your hips, her body stretched open as you filled her completely. Tzuyu arched off the wall with a sharp cry, her head falling back as her walls fluttered around you, adjusting to the sudden stretch.

You paused, your forehead dropping to hers as you both caught your breath. Her panting breaths fanned across your lips, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks. Up this close, you could see every tiny freckle dusted across the bridge of her nose, the way her pupils were blown so wide her irises were nearly swallowed by black. She was beautiful—wrecked already, and you'd barely even moved.

"Okay?" you murmured, your thumb brushing over her hipbone in slow, soothing circles.

She nodded frantically, her fingers tightening in your hair. "M-move—please—"

You obliged, pulling out almost completely before snapping your hips forward again, the force of it driving her harder into the wall. Tzuyu yelped, her legs tightening around you as you set a brutal pace, each thrust jolting her higher up the wall. The sound alone was filthy—the wet slap of skin on skin, her gasping moans, the way the wall creaked slightly with every impact.

And the feel—God, the feel of her.

Her walls clenched around you in rhythmic pulses, her body milking you with every inward stroke. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her nipples pebbled and begging for attention. You ducked your head, capturing one in your mouth, your tongue flicking over the stiff peak as she sobbed above you.

"Y-Y/N—! Ahh~!" Her back arched, her thighs trembling around you as her orgasm crept up on her. "I-I'm gonna—hnngh~!"

You groaned around her nipple, your hips stuttering as her walls fluttered around you. But you held back, focusing entirely on her pleasure, on the way her body tightened, on the broken little noises spilling from her lips.

When she came, it was with a scream—her body locking around you, her nails scoring down your back as she shook in your arms. You held her through it, your thrusts turning shallow, gentle, prolonging her pleasure until she was whimpering from overstimulation.

Only then did you still, pressing her firmly against the wall as you both panted, your foreheads resting together.

And as her dazed, sated eyes met yours, you knew—

You'd do anything for her.

Tzuyu's back arched as her palms flattened against the cold surface of the production room table, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth metal edge. The shift in position made her gasp—her legs still locked around your waist, but now her upper body was braced against the table, giving her just enough leverage to rock her hips at her own pace. You could feel the tremors running through her thighs, the way her inner muscles fluttered around your length as she adjusted to the overwhelming fullness. Her breath came in short, uneven pants, her lips parted in a silent 'O' as she experimentally rolled her hips, testing the angle.

"S-slow…" she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyelashes fluttering like delicate butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks. "It's too… ahh~… too much right now…"

You immediately stilled, your hands moving to cradle her hips, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the dip of her waist. The way she looked in this moment—her usually pristine hair tousled and sticking to her damp forehead, her lips swollen from kisses, her chest rising and falling rapidly—it made your chest ache with something far deeper than lust. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt of her sweat on your tongue.

"Take your time," you murmured against her skin, your voice rough with restraint. "However you need me… I'm here."

She exhaled shakily, her fingers flexing against the table as she began to move—tiny, experimental rolls of her hips that gradually grew more confident. The drag of your cock inside her was exquisite, the wet heat of her almost too much to bear. You bit back a groan, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as you let her set the rhythm, your hands remaining gentle but firm on her waist, guiding but never forcing.

The production room around you was silent save for the sound of your mingled breathing and the occasional creak of the table as Tzuyu shifted. The overhead lights cast a soft glow over her skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat along her collarbones, the way her small, perky breasts bounced ever so slightly with each shallow thrust. They were perfect—not overly large, but beautifully shaped, the pink nipples pebbled and begging for attention. You couldn't resist leaning down to capture one in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the stiff peak as Tzuyu moaned, her back arching off the table.

"Y-Y/N—!" Her hands flew to your hair, her fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled, her hips stuttering. "T-that's—ahh~!—too sensitive now…!"

You released her with a soft pop, grinning up at her through your lashes. "But you taste so good," you teased, your voice dripping with affection. "Like honey and salt… perfect."

She whined, her cheeks flushing an even deeper pink at your words, but her hips didn't stop moving—if anything, they grew more desperate, her thighs tightening around your waist as she sought more, deeper.

As much as you wanted to let her take the lead, the feel of her—her tight heat, her trembling thighs, the way her walls clenched around you with every tiny movement—was pushing you dangerously close to the edge. Your fingers dug into her hips, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you fought to hold back.

"Tzuyu…" you warned, your voice strained. "I'm close… so close…"

Her eyes—dark with lust but still so clear, so trusting—met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Then, with a suddenness that stole your breath, she pushed against your chest, her legs unwrapping from your waist as she slid off your cock and dropped to her knees in front of you. You barely had time to process what was happening before her small, delicate hands were wrapping around your length, her fingers just barely meeting around your girth as she began to stroke—fast, firm, her thumb swiping over the leaking tip with every upward motion.

"Ah-ah," she chided, her voice breathless but playful, her dark eyes glinting up at you through her lashes. "My turn."

Your breath caught as she leaned in, her pink tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe from base to tip, her lips wrapping around the head with a filthy pop. The contrast was staggering—one moment, she was a trembling, oversensitive mess beneath you; the next, she was devouring you with a confidence that made your knees weak. Her free hand cupped your balls, her fingers massaging gently as she took you deeper, her throat fluttering around the tip in a way that had you seeing stars.

You groaned, your fingers tangling in her hair—not to guide her, just to feel, to anchor yourself as she worked you over with single-minded determination. The sight of her like this—Chou Tzuyu, the ethereal visual of TWICE, on her knees for you—was enough to send you spiraling. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, her tongue pressing against the sensitive vein on the underside of your cock, her moans vibrating through you like electricity.

And then, just as you were about to lose it, she pulled back, her hand stroking you rapidly as she tilted her face up, her lips parted in invitation.

"Come here," she whispered, her voice hoarse from use.

Your hips jerked involuntarily, your release barreling toward you with unstoppable force., your release coming down across her face in thick, pulsing ropes. The first stripe splashed across her cheekbone, glistening against her flawless skin. The second landed on her chin, dripping down toward her throat. The third—God, the third—painted her lips, her tongue darting out to catch the last drops with a smug little hum.

She looked ruined—her hair mussed, her face glazed with your cum, her eyes dazed but triumphant. And yet, she was still beautiful, still Tzuyu, still the girl who made your heart stutter with just a smile.

Someone really needed to give you the "Luckiest Guy on Earth" title.

"Pretty?" she asked, her voice lighter now, playful.

You choked on a laugh, your fingers trembling as you brushed a stray drop from her chin. "So pretty," you breathed, your voice wrecked. "The prettiest."

She beamed up at you, her nose scrunching in that adorable way it always did when she was happy, and in that moment, you knew—

You were the luckiest man alive.

[ultimate-shipper-blog]

My Darling

"Who even is that guy?"

"That's my darling"

----

It starts with a post.

Eddie had posted a photo on Instagram holding his acoustic guitar, cross legged on a chair.

Recently he had been front cover of a magazine of 'him' wrapped around a young woman. Living the Rockstar life.

His agent had suggested he show a more domestic side to him, a softer side.

Hence the acoustic.

It was summer so Steve was off of work and sleeping on the couch behind him, blankets up to his ears. The only thing visible was his hair peeking out and his arm hanging over the side of the couch. A sleeve of tattoos running down it all the way to his knuckles. Eddie loved that arm. He loved the way the tattoo curved around his knuckles like water. His nice, big. veiny hand that-

WOAH off topic.

He had done half the tattoos himself and made sure he payed for it all.It was the least he could do for all Steve has done for him.

They met eight and a half years ago, Steve had seen Eddie play at shitty clubs and recognized his mop of hair getting hit in the alleyway.

Eddie thought he was a goner for sure until Steve ripped the guy off him.

Steve just shot him a smile and complimented his guitar skills.

Eddie fell to his knees. He was gone for him.

He invited Steve to band practice as a thank you since he didn't have much to offer.

Two weeks later they were dating and Steve has been their number one fan since.

When Eddie got the record deal he dedicated everything to Steve.

Everything always was for him. As it should be.

Anyways,

Eddie posted the photo excited to promote the acoustic cover of his hit song 'My Hero, My Darling'.

The comments instantly went ballistic asking who the random man behind him was. He definitely wasn't in the band and why would notorious lady killer Eddie Munson have a man in his house...he couldn't possibly have friends.

Eddie responded to one comment only, knowing the rest would sort itself out.

"That's my darling ❤️"

----

"Eddie," Steve was frowning at him, poking his side with his foot.

"Eddie look at me this is serious."

"Yes my love?"

"You outed yourself. You were doing such a good job keeping this a secret. This will change everything."

Eddie turns over until his holding Steve close to him, his face in his hands.

"Good. I'm tired of hiding you my darling. I'm tired of the accusations."

"But Eddie you OUTED yourself."

"I won't say anything about you, I'd never out you Stevie. But I'm done hiding that I'm a simple man in love."

"...me too. I'm done too."

"Darling are you sure? This is a big deal. What about your school? Your principal?"

"I don't care. Everyone important to me knows. My family, my real family, know and don't care. They do wonder why I've been single for eight years but they'll get over it."

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me oh my god that's the hottest thing I've ever heard. I love you so much please I can't live another moment not having you mine. Besides, if you get fired that's definitely a lawsuit and you know I've been pleasing for you to quit so I can take care of you, but you love those damn kids. Just...be mine...please."

"I've been yours. Since the start. Since always." They both have tears in their eyes.

"Yes?"

"YES OF COURSE YES!"

They're giggling through their kisses.

---

"Heeeeyyy everyone thanks for joining my live. I have something super important to inform you on! I'm getting married!!!!!"

The comments instantly flood in questioning him on moving too fast, asking if he's on drugs. The usual.

"Oooooh you guys have no idea."

----

The photo goes up an hour after the live ends.

It's Steve sitting on the couch, glasses on, red pen in his mouth. He's wearing a thick sweater and grumbling grading papers.

He looks so soft, so smooth, it's Eddie's favorite picture. The next picture in the carousel is Steve backstage at his concert. They're holding onto each other like they need each other to breathe.

The last picture is a selfie taken minutes after. Eddie with his stage makeup sweating off his face smiling brightly at the camera. and Steve kissing his cheek. Eyes squinted shut and eyeliner thick, he had worn it as a treat for Eddie.

It was well received.

The caption reads:

"I'm so happy to announce I'm marrying my best friend and partner of eight years! Everyone meet my darling. Steve is a local middle school teacher who has literally saved my life more than once. He saved my heart. God, I love him so much.

P.s. yes the tours are in the summer so Stevie can travel with us. I'd never leave him."

---

Bonus engagement edition:

"YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED TO EDDIE MUNSON?!"

"Yes. We've been over this."

Eddie stuck out his hand to shake, "hi, Eddie Munson, nice to meet you."

"YOU HID THIS FOR EIGHT YEARS?!"

"Yes."

"I'M BASICALLY YOUR BROTHER! HE'S MY FAVORITE CELEBRITY!"

"Yes Dustin and you can't keep a secret."

"...fair...welcome to the family."

*inspired by my friend only learning her cousin was marrying someone famous when he showed up to Thanksgiving and she lost her mind

[theetherealbloom]

It Only Falls Into Place When You're Falling To Pieces

Summary: There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ HEAVY ANGST, Fluff, Crying, Tears, Sadness, Apocalypse, Cordyceps, Infected, Major Character Death(s), Funerals, Grief, PTSD, Depression, Kissing, Blood, Morgue, Star-Crossed Lovers, TLOU 2 Spoilers,

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: Fml. I know that you know I don’t usually write angst, but fuck man, I need to mourn and maybe so do you… God I'm so sad. Like we knew the story and how it would end for Joel. Even if you think you're ready... But I know this from experience, even if you've braced yourself, brutality like this... will hurt a lot.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Still by Noah Kahan

Joel Miller Masterlist | MAIN MASTERLIST |

WYOMING, JACKSON — 2029

The mornings were slow in Jackson. Slow in a way that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t living in the end times anymore.

Joel had a habit of waking up before you. Not out of routine or discipline, but out of muscle memory. The kind that sticks even when the world’s long since changed.

Sometimes, he made coffee. Sometimes, he just sat at the table, plucking at his guitar in soft, incomplete chords while the sun started to push through the windows. The house you shared wasn’t big or fancy. But it was warm. It was quiet. It had his coat always draped over the same chair, his boots by the door, the scent of cedar and pine from the little woodworking studio in one of the rooms.

It had Joel.

You found yourself drifting toward him more often than not. Whether he was sanding a piece of maple or trying to shape a leg for a rocking chair he swore he’d finish someday, he let you linger. You’d sit on the bench next to him, fingers curled around a warm mug. He’d hand you scraps to practice carving, smiling softly when you accidentally broke off a corner.

“‘S alright,” he’d murmur, brushing sawdust off your cheek with a thumb. “Takes time.”

Everything with Joel took time.

Loving him. Learning him. Earning the space between his heart and the pain he never quite put into words.

But the quiet in Jackson gave you time. Time to laugh with him over burned dinners, to slow dance in the kitchen when he played a familiar tune, to lay on the couch with your head on his chest while he told you about old country songs and the guitar he lost in Austin.

And it gave him time, too.

Time to lower his walls. To see you not as a danger, but as something steady—something soft he could rest in. Time to share pieces of himself he rarely offered to anyone, fragile corners he'd kept locked away.

He would look at you and think, If I were braver. If I could just say it.

He’d imagine the words on his tongue, how they’d change everything the second they left his mouth. But he wasn’t ready—not brave enough, not honest enough.

So he just looked at you instead.

And maybe you knew. Maybe you always knew.

Because he did love you.

In quiet, consistent ways. In the way he made your coffee just how you liked it. In the way he memorized the sound of your laugh. In every glance, every softened breath, every moment where he didn’t walk away.

He didn’t love you because he was lonely—Joel had long since learned how to survive in the silence.

He loved you because your light made the dark seem less like a prison and more like a place he could leave behind.

It started small.

A found thing—half-buried in the snow behind the stables. You’d been looking for spare nails in a busted old toolbox when you saw it: a film camera. Dusty, scratched up, but the click still worked. You brought it back like a prize.

Joel looked up from the guitar he was restringing, brow furrowed. “You went diggin’ around in that old junkyard again?”

You grinned, breath fogging the air. “Found treasure.”

He squinted at the thing in your hand like it might bite him. “You sure that ain’t just some broken plastic?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He watched you tinker with it all afternoon, wiping the lens clean with your sleeve, warming the roll of film between your palms to bring it back to life. You caught him staring more than once—chin propped in his hand, fingers idle on the frets of a guitar he’d been meaning to finish tuning.

When it finally worked, you snapped a picture of the sunset from your porch. Then one of his back as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration, sleeves rolled up, calloused hands steady over the worn wood.

You took one of his profile too. He’d been humming low under his breath, unaware.

“Hey,” he said, catching the click. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re handsome when you’re focused.”

He huffed a laugh, but he didn’t stop you when you raised the camera again.

Later that week, you asked him for one together.

“C’mere,” you said, tugging at the front of his jacket. “Just one. You might like the memory someday.”

He looked reluctant, like the idea of being frozen in time made him itch. But he let you lead him into the light. You kissed him on the cheek just as the timer clicked. He smiled, wide and surprised and real.

The photo came out a little blurry. But your mouth was pressed to his skin, his eyes crinkled with something close to joy. You kept it in your coat pocket like it might keep you warm.

Sometimes, he came into the kitchen just to touch you.

No reason. No words. Just drawn to you like muscle memory.

You’d be standing at the counter, elbow-deep in something mundane—rinsing mugs, slicing vegetables, stirring whatever was bubbling in the pot—when suddenly there’d be a shift in the air behind you. A warmth. A quiet presence.

Then, Joel’s arms would wind around your waist, firm and steady, palms pressing low on your stomach, right through the thin fabric of your shirt. His chest would settle against your back like it belonged there, like you were meant to carry each other’s weight.

“You makin’ somethin’ good?” he’d mumble into your hair, voice rough with sleep or fresh air or maybe just the softness you always brought out of him.

You barely had time to answer before you’d feel it—his nose brushing just beneath your ear, his scruff scratching tender against your neck. The kind of touch that made the air feel thick with heat and memory.

“You smell like cinnamon,” he whispered one evening, lips grazing the spot where your jaw met your throat.

You stilled, blinking down at the spoon in your hand. “You been sniffin’ me, Miller?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, slow and sweet, like molasses in summer. “You’re intoxicatin’, darlin’. Makes a man forget what he came in here for.”

His mouth followed the curve of your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse. Slow. Patient. Like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

You laughed then, breath catching in your throat. It wasn’t loud—it didn’t need to be. Just a soft, breathless sound that filled the space between your bodies as you leaned back into him, hips settling against his.

The laughter didn’t last long. It never did when his hands started to move—one curling around your hip, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.

The spoon slipped from your fingers and clattered into the sink, forgotten.

You turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes, and whispered, “The stew’s gonna burn.”

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, smiling just enough to be trouble.

“Let it.”

One night, he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

It was late, storm tapping at the windows, fire burning low. You were tucked beneath his arm on the couch, legs over his lap, your hand tucked into the worn flannel of his shirt. He kissed you once, then again, then a hundred more times.

Short, sweet little things.

He kissed your cheeks, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. You giggled, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling.

“Joel,” you whispered, nose scrunched, lips twitching. “What are you doing?”

His palms cradled your face like you were something delicate. Like he’d break if he didn’t touch you just right.

“Memorizing you,” he said. Then he kissed the giggle right off your lips.

Your hands curled in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, lips sliding together like they belonged there.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice came out low and honest, barely above a breath:

“You’re everythin’ darlin’.”

He didn’t say he loved you.

Not with words.

But in every quiet moment, every gentle touch, every photo you took that he let you keep—he showed you.

And somehow, that meant more.

Love shows up in the quiet moments with Joel. Always has been.

Not in grand declarations or fireworks. Not in promises whispered beneath starlight or etched into stone. No, with Joel, love slips in softly—through the cracks of everyday life, in the pauses between sentences, in the silence he lets you share without needing to fill it. It’s there when the world is loud, and he chooses to be quiet with you. When everything aches and he doesn’t try to fix it—just stays.

It’s the way your hand always finds his, especially when he’s got that look about him—brows drawn low, eyes shadowed, body still as a storm about to break. You’ve come to know it well, that kind of tension that settles in his shoulders like he’s bracing against something only he can see. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel like peace, but like he’s waiting to run or fight or fall apart.

So you reach for him.

You don’t announce it, don’t make a show of it. Just slide your hand into his, palm against his rough calloused skin, fingers curling between his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is. Because you’ve done this before, countless times. Every time the ghosts get too loud or the silence feels too sharp. You hold his hand and he lets you, and that’s how you know—how you always know—he’s letting you in again.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. Just breathes out slow, like your touch takes some of the weight off, even if it’s just a fraction. His jaw unclenches. His shoulders drop a little. You can feel it—the shift, the surrender, the trust.

“Y’okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, soft enough that it could be mistaken for wind slipping through the seams of the old house, rustling the curtains just enough to remind you that the world is still turning outside these walls.

Joel looks at you. Not a glance. A real look. The kind that lingers. The kind that says more than words ever could. His eyes are tired, but there’s something else there too—something quieter, gentler, something that only ever surfaces around you.

His thumb moves in a slow arc across your knuckles, and when he answers, it’s not just with words. It’s in the way his grip tightens slightly, not desperate, just present.

“I am now,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, frayed at the edges. Like maybe he’s been holding it in all day, maybe even longer. Like your hand in his unlocked something he didn’t know he needed to say.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You lean into him instead, resting your head on his shoulder, letting the weight of you press gently against him like a tether. Like a promise. His arm slips around you, steady and sure, palm settling at your hip. He presses a kiss into your hair—right at the crown of your head, like a seal, like a prayer, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.

The room around you is quiet save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the crackle of the fire. Outside, snow falls soundlessly, blanketing the world in soft white. And inside, it’s warm. Not just from the fire—but from him. From this.

From the way he holds you like you’re something he never thought he’d have again. Like the simple act of your hand in his might keep the darkness at bay for one more night.

With Joel, love doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to.

It just stays.

And that’s always been more than enough.

The mornings are always slow.

Time feels syrup-thick when the sun hasn’t fully crested the horizon yet, and sleep still clings to your limbs like molasses. Your body is heavy, cocooned in the tangle of sheets still warm from the man who slept beside you. The air is cool beyond the bed, but the mattress holds the echo of his heat, and it makes you reluctant to move, even as your senses start to stretch awake.

You shift lazily, one arm reaching across the bed to where Joel had been moments ago. It’s empty now, his absence a soft dip in the mattress, but the scent of him lingers—cedarwood, a trace of leather, the faint hint of salt and earth from yesterday’s long walk back into Jackson. Comforting. Familiar.

You pry one eye open, squinting into the low light. Joel’s already sitting at the edge of the bed, the muscles of his back broad and bare, catching a gentle glint from the early morning haze seeping in through the window. He’s halfway through pulling on his shirt, slow and steady, the way he always is in the mornings. A quiet man doing quiet things.

Without thinking, without even fully waking, your hand slips out from beneath the covers and finds him.

Your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist—barely a tug, just enough to let him know you’re there, still tethered to him. And then you shift closer, burying your face against the small of his back, pressing a soft, languid kiss to the warm skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Mmm... good mornin’, Joel,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, muffled by the skin beneath your lips.

He pauses. Still for a moment, like the warmth of your kiss stopped time. Then he breathes out, slow and fond, and turns slightly—just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His eyes crinkle at the corners, soft with affection, and that familiar crooked smile curves beneath the rough scruff of his jaw.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” His voice is rough and low, like gravel soaked in honey, warm enough to melt straight through your bones.

You hum in response, already halfway to sleep again, forehead resting against his back. The bed creaks softly as he shifts, brushing his hand over your tangled hair in a slow, affectionate stroke. His thumb lingers at your temple, then trails down to the curve of your cheek, gentle and grounding.

“Go on,” he murmurs, bending down to press a kiss into your hair. “Sleep a little longer. I’ll get the fire goin’.”

You don’t answer, not really. Just let out a sigh that sounds like peace and contentment all wrapped into one. He stands slowly, quietly, careful not to disturb the blankets more than necessary, and as he moves toward the hearth, you stay curled in the warmth he left behind—your hand resting in the space where his had been, eyes slipping closed again.

You listen to the familiar rhythm of him moving through the room—boots being tugged on, the scrape of kindling, the gentle snap of a match. The softest clink of metal on stone. And through it all, the quiet knowledge that this is what love is.

Not always words. Not always fire and thunder.

But this.

These mornings. These moments. Him.

Sometimes, when the world gets too loud—even in Jackson—you find yourself gravitating toward him without a thought.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the bustle of the market, the chatter of passing patrols, or just the quiet hum of a too-long day catching up with your bones. Something in your chest tightens, overwhelmed and aching for something quieter, something still. And so you find Joel.

He’s usually somewhere close—he always is. Maybe talking with Tommy, maybe checking the perimeter, maybe just standing there with his arms crossed like he’s holding up the whole damn sky on his back again. But the moment your arms circle around his middle, everything else seems to fall away.

You press yourself into him, chest to his back, arms around his waist, and your face buries instinctively in the crook of his neck. That space between shoulder and jaw where you swear the whole world could stop and you wouldn’t mind. The smell of him hits you instantly—faint cedarwood, worn leather, a trace of smoke from the fire pit, and something else too. Something warm and steady and Joel.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away or ask what’s wrong. He just lets out a quiet hum, low in his chest, and leans back into your touch. His hands find yours where they’re linked around his stomach, thumbs brushing idly over your knuckles. You feel the weight of his chin as he rests it gently on top of your head, and then the press of a kiss into your hair—soft, unthinking, like muscle memory.

It’s the kind of affection that doesn’t ask for attention. Doesn’t need an occasion. It just is.

You breathe him in like you’re trying to anchor yourself. Let your eyes flutter shut. Let the rest of the world blur into background noise.

“I missed this,” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, the words barely more than a sigh. You don’t even mean the moment, exactly—you mean the peace of it. The quiet. The him of it all.

Joel turns his head just a little, enough for the edge of his beard to scratch gently against your forehead. His voice is soft when he replies, but there’s something thick in it, something full.

“You’re right here,” he murmurs. “Ain’t gotta miss a thing.”

You shift your face closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Sometimes I still do,” you admit.

He nods once, like he gets it without needing you to explain. “Yeah,” he says, his hand trailing up to cup the back of your head. “Me too.”

And for a long moment, neither of you say anything more. You just stand there, wrapped up in each other, while the world spins noisily on around you—too loud, too fast, too much.

But here, in the shelter of his arms, in the crook of his neck, everything is quiet. Everything is enough.

Crowds were never your thing.

Too many people pressed in too close, too many voices overlapping, footsteps echoing off wood and brick. Even in a place like Jackson—safe, familiar—it could still feel like too much. You were used to being on alert, always aware of exits and shadows, always bracing for what could go wrong. Old habits from the world outside didn’t die easily.

Joel wasn’t much better with crowds. Maybe a little quieter about it, a little more practiced at hiding the way his shoulders stiffened when someone brushed past too close. But you’d seen it. The way his jaw would flex when he was trying to be polite but already had one foot out the door in his head. The way his hand sometimes hovered near his belt like he was missing the feel of his rifle.

And yet, here you were.

The town hall was full to bursting, the whole place humming with life. It was some kind of celebration—maybe a harvest, maybe a birthday, maybe people just needed a reason to dance and drink and pretend that the world hadn’t ended outside those walls. Whatever it was, it was loud. Laughter spilled from every corner. Music vibrated through the floorboards. Glasses clinked together and boots stomped in time with the beat.

You stood near the far end of the room, half-heartedly nursing a cup of water, swaying just a little in time with the song playing—more to keep your nerves from buzzing than for enjoyment. You scanned the room like you always did. Faces. Movements. That unconscious search for something familiar, something grounding.

And then your eyes found Joel.

He was on the opposite side of the room, shoulder leaning against a wooden support beam, arms folded loosely across his chest. He hadn’t joined the dance, hadn’t made a plate from the food table. Just stood there, scanning the crowd—and you knew in your bones he’d been looking for you.

When your eyes met, the noise dulled. Not all at once. It didn’t go silent or freeze like in the movies. But it faded. As if the current of the room moved around the two of you instead of through.

You were mid-sip when it happened, your fingers curled around the cool tin cup, lips barely brushing the rim. But as soon as you caught his gaze, you paused.

It wasn’t a grand thing. No sweeping declarations. Just a glance. A quiet, steady look that said you’re here, and I see you, and that’s all I need.

You tilted your head a fraction, the corner of your mouth twitching upward into the kind of smile you only saved for him—small, but true. Your chest softened. Your breath eased.

Across the room, Joel’s lips quirked into that familiar little half-smile, the one that never quite reached both corners of his mouth, but you knew what it meant. He gave a subtle nod. Nothing flashy. Nothing for show.

Just,  I see you too.

You held that look for a second longer, your body still surrounded by the warmth and noise and movement of the room, but none of it really touched you. Not in that moment. Not with his gaze wrapped around you like a thread pulled taut across the distance.

And even though no one said a word, something passed between you.

You smile again, this one a little wider, a little softer. A silent message of your own: I’m not going anywhere.

And Joel’s eyes softened like he heard it loud and clear.

You hum sometimes, without even knowing you’re doing it. It just slips out—soft and low, the way wind moves through tall grass. A half-remembered tune from before the world went sideways. Maybe it was from the radio, maybe from your childhood, maybe your mother’s voice singing over the hiss of boiling water. It’s not the melody that matters. It’s the feeling that comes with it—warmth, familiarity, something that once meant home.

Sometimes, when your mind is far away, you whistle it instead. Just a few notes, carried on your breath.

Joel never interrupts. Never tells you to stop or asks you to hush. He just listens—quietly, carefully, like the sound of your humming settles something in him too. Like maybe the song is stitching him back together in places neither of you can quite name.

He’s usually out on the porch when it happens, sitting on the old wooden steps with one of the guitars he’s been fixing up. Strings stretched taut, frets worn smooth by time and hands that once knew chords. His fingers—rough and weathered—move slow and steady as he tunes it. Every so often, he plucks a string, listens, adjusts. The sun casts a soft amber glow across his forearms, painting the scars in gold.

You’re nearby. Always. Curled up with your legs folded beneath you, back resting against one of the porch posts. A blanket draped over your shoulders. You hum like peace lives in your chest and is trying to find its way out.

Joel glances up when he hears it—mid-strum, his brow relaxed, lips parted just slightly like he’s about to say something but doesn’t. He just looks at you for a moment, and everything about him softens. His shoulders drop. The line between his brows disappears. Like the sound of you is the first deep breath he’s taken all day.

“What’s that song?” he asks after a while, his voice breaking the silence like it belongs there. Low and warm, barely above the hush of wind.

You pause, the melody tapering off in your throat. Your eyes flick toward the sky, as if the answer might be waiting somewhere in the clouds.

“Not sure,” you murmur, a smile tugging lazily at the corner of your mouth. “Mama used to sing it when she was cooking. I think it used to be on the radio, too. One of those songs that just… stuck.”

Joel nods, the kind of slow, thoughtful nod that doesn’t need words to follow. He strums another chord, something soft and sweet, and leans back on his elbows.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you with that familiar flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Keep goin’. I like it.”

There’s something in the way he says it—something that makes your chest ache in that soft, full kind of way. The kind of ache that’s not about pain at all, but about being known. About being seen and loved for the quiet parts of yourself you didn’t think anyone else noticed.

So you hum again, picking up where you left off. Joel doesn’t look away. He keeps strumming, matching your rhythm now. Not quite harmonizing. Just being there with you, in it.

And for a little while, the world feels like it’s made of nothing but warm wood, old songs, and two people learning how to feel safe again.

You’re curled up together in bed one night, everything quiet except the low pop and crackle of the fire burning in the hearth. The room glows in soft amber and gold, the shadows on the walls swaying like they’re dancing to the rhythm of your breathing. Outside, wind brushes against the windows, but inside, it’s warm. Safe. Still.

Joel lies flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped loosely around your waist. You’re pressed into his side, head resting just below his collarbone, your hand lazily combing through his hair—fingertips tracing gentle, aimless patterns. His hair’s soft tonight, freshly washed and still carrying the faint scent of cedar soap and woodsmoke.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s no need. Just the hush between heartbeats and the sound of Joel’s steady breathing, slow and even beneath your ear.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whisper eventually, your voice thick with sleep. Each word melts into the warmth of his skin. Your eyes are already slipping closed, lashes brushing his chest. You don’t even know if he hears you.

But then you feel it—Joel’s arm tightening around your waist, his hand sliding up under your shirt just enough to rest against your spine, warm and grounding.

“Then don’t move,” he murmurs, voice rough with tiredness and something gentler, deeper. The kind of softness he only ever shows in moments like this, when the world is quiet and his guard is down. “Ain’t no one tellin’ us to go anywhere.”

You smile into the dark, into the skin of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your cheek. His heartbeat thumps slow and steady, and you swear you could fall asleep to that sound alone.

Joel shifts slightly, just enough to press a kiss into the top of your head. His lips linger there—like a promise more than anything spoken.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles.

“So are you,” you say, voice feather-light.

A comfortable silence settles in again. Your fingers slow in his hair, curling around a soft wave near his temple. His hand stays at your back, thumb drawing idle shapes you’re too sleepy to name.

The fire crackles. The wind hums. And you drift off like that—wrapped up in him, hand still in his hair, the weight of his love wrapped around you like a second blanket. Nothing else matters. Not out there. Not tomorrow. Just this.

Just him.

The temperature dips before the sun even brushes the horizon. The last of the daylight clings to the sky in hazy streaks of orange and violet, but the wind has already turned sharp, biting through the seams of your jacket. You and Joel walk side by side down the path back toward Jackson, boots crunching over patches of frost-laced grass and half-frozen dirt.

You don’t say much—patrols tend to leave a certain kind of quiet between you, a silence that doesn’t need filling. But you can feel the chill starting to settle deep in your bones, your fingers stiff and cheeks raw from the cold. You try to rub your hands together for warmth, but it’s useless. The wind is relentless.

Joel notices, of course. His eyes flick over to you, worried in that subtle way he is—more tension in the jaw, more silence than usual. You know he’s about to offer you his coat or tell you he should’ve brought that extra scarf.

So before he can open his mouth, you reach out and grab a fistful of his jacket.

Without a word, you tug him in. Joel stumbles the smallest step forward, surprised but not resisting. You pull until you're chest to chest, until the warmth of his body bleeds into yours. Your frozen hands slip under the back hem of his coat and find the soft flannel of his shirt underneath, palms pressing flat against the heat of his spine.

“Jesus,” Joel mutters, letting out a breath that puffs white between you, his arms automatically sliding around your waist. “You could’ve just asked for my coat, y’know.”

“But then I wouldn’t be this close,” you reply, chin tilting up, a smile tugging at your lips despite your chattering teeth. “You’re warmer than any jacket.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh, the kind that melts around the edges. He leans in, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “You’re a damn menace,” he says—but his voice is warm and low, thick with affection.

You can feel his fingers pressing into your back, holding you tighter. His nose brushes yours as he tilts his head, and then—soft as snowfall—he kisses you. Once. Then again. And a third time, his lips barely touching yours, quick little pecks that make you laugh and shiver all at once.

“Joel,” you whisper, still grinning, your breath fogging between you both.

“I like the taste of your lips on mine,” he murmurs, the words brushing against your mouth like silk. He says it like a secret. Like it’s always been true.

Then he kisses you again—this time slower, deeper, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pours warmth into you one soft press at a time. The world falls quiet. No wind. No cold. No patrols or gates or the threat of anything waiting in the dark.

Just Joel.

Just this.

When you finally pull apart, you don’t go far. He keeps you close, your fingers still tucked against his back, his breath brushing your temple.

You smile into his collar. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

He kisses your hair, voice barely above a whisper. “Far as I’m concerned, we can stay like this forever.” 

And in that moment, time slows. Your heartbeat settles into the rhythm of his, safe and steady. Warm, despite everything. Because love—real love—isn’t just in the grand gestures. It’s in this. A quiet winter dusk. A jacket shared. The taste of his kiss. The way he holds you like you’re something worth braving the cold for.

Then there’s Ellie.

She was nineteen now. Strong. Sharp-tongued and guarded in the way Joel used to be. You weren’t her mother, and she never treated you like one—but she was curious about you. Distant at first. Then, little by little, she started asking questions. Sitting with you on the porch. Bringing you a book she found and thought you might like.

She and Joel… there were things left unsaid between them. You could feel it like a splinter under the skin. Something tender and unresolved.

He finally told you one night, long after you’d both settled into the quiet comfort of shared sheets and a life you thought might last.

It was after dinner. After the guitar and the laughter. After you’d kissed the corners of his mouth and pulled him into bed.

“I lied to her,” he said, voice hollow.

You blinked in the dark, still half-tangled in sleep. “What?”

Joel’s face was turned toward the ceiling. Still. Tense. “I lied to Ellie. About the Fireflies. About the hospital.”

The room chilled. Your fingers reached for his without hesitation.

“I killed them,” he continued. “Every last one that stood between me and her. ‘Cause they were gonna cut her open. To find a cure.”

He didn’t cry right away. He spoke through gritted teeth, like the guilt was a weight he carried every damn day and had never quite set down.

“She would’ve died. She didn’t know—still doesn’t really. I told her there were others. That she wasn’t the only one. But it was a lie. It’s all a lie.”

You didn’t speak. Just curled into him. Held his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“She hates me for it,” he whispered.

“No,” you said. “She loves you. She’s angry, but she loves you.”

He shook his head. Silent tears rolled into his hairline. You kissed his shoulder. You stayed up all night, fingers running through his graying hair until his breathing steadied again.

That was the last night he told you something he’d never said out loud.

The screams had long gone silent. All that was left now was smoke. Gunpowder. Blood soaking into snow.

Your boots crunch through it—through the aftermath. Bodies, both friend and foe, lie crumpled like broken marionettes. The streets of Jackson, once humming with quiet life, are now a graveyard.

Tommy had held the line at the south gate. You saw him, blackened with ash and soot, flames dancing in the reflection of his eyes as he lit up a bloater with the last fuel of the flamethrower. His scream—raw, furious—cut through the chaos like a knife. You’d joined the others in the streets, turning bullets on the infected… and eventually, on the bitten.

Some of them you knew by name.

You don’t remember pulling the trigger. You only remember the stillness afterward.

The quiet after the roar.

By the time the last runner was put down, your hands were slick with blood—some of it not your own. And when they called for the dead to be gathered, you helped. You counted.

You lost count.

They winched open the gates sometime after. You were still standing by the old greenhouse-turned-morgue, watching Tommy collapse into Maria’s arms, his body shaking with the weight of what he’d survived.

And then—

The hoofbeats. The shuffle of footsteps. The drag of something heavy behind them.

You turned.

Jesse and Ellie rode in first. Dina followed, all their faces hollowed out by exhaustion and something far worse. Behind their horse trailed a shape wrapped in canvas, dark with frozen blood, limp in the snow.

Ellie’s eyes met yours.

Red-rimmed. Wide. Empty.

And you knew.

You knew.

Your legs gave out beneath you before the thought could fully form. The cold didn’t register. Only the scream that tore out of your throat—animal, guttural. You clawed at the snow, sobbing into the dirt and ice, your lungs heaving like they were trying to break through your ribs.

“No—no—no—!” It came out broken. Like you could undo it just by denying it hard enough.

Tommy grabbed you. Held you back. His own face soaked with tears.

You screamed again. You didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care that you were on your knees in the blood and the snow with your heart ripped open.

Maria stood nearby. Hands pressed to her mouth. Silent.

The bag didn’t move.

He was in there.

Joel.

You want to tear the canvas open. You want it to be a mistake. You want to see his face, alive. Cranky. Loving. Whole.

But you already know.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. How long your sobs echo off the ruined walls of Jackson. You only know this: he felt like home.

And now home is just… gone.

They carry him to the chapel. Ellie disappears inside, Dina trailing her silently. Jesse catches your eye and looks away.

You follow the corpse. Your legs move on their own. There’s nothing left to protect now, no fight to win. You’ve survived—but at what cost?

The snow keeps falling.

And somehow, the world keeps turning.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. No birdsong, no wind. Just the thick, suffocating kind of silence that wraps around your ribs and squeezes until it feels like you might shatter from the inside out. The kind of silence that doesn’t leave room for breath, or hope.

The makeshift morgue is colder than outside, colder than anything should ever be. Too sterile. Too still. Too many bodies of people you once smiled at in passing. A metal table stands at the corner of the room, and he’s there—Joel—lying beneath a white sheet that feels far too thin. Like if you peeled it back, he’d stir. Grumble about the draft. Ask where his jacket went.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t fucking move.

You sink to your knees beside the table. Wood floor biting into your bones, your hands trembling as they hover just above the edge of the sheet. Your throat burns like it’s been scraped raw from the inside out, but you haven’t said anything. Not really. Not yet.

Tommy sits down beside you, legs bent awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest like if he doesn’t hold himself together, he might fall apart right here with you.

“I don’t wanna say goodbye,” you choke out, voice so broken it barely sounds like yours. Your hands finally touch the edge of the table, and you grip it like a lifeline.

“I know,” Tommy murmurs. He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t try to fix it. Maybe because he knows there’s no fixing this.

You press your forehead against the cold edge of the metal, like maybe if you’re close enough, you’ll feel his warmth again. But there’s nothing. Only the chill of a world that kept turning without him in it.

“I needed him,” you whisper. The words break on your tongue like glass. “I still do. I need his voice—I need his arms. I need him to tell me this is all gonna be okay.”

A sob claws its way out of your chest, jagged and ugly. “He was supposed to be here.”

You think about the way he used to hold you—how his hands fit so easily around your waist, how he’d tug you close like the world outside didn’t exist. You think about his voice, low and rough, whispering “I got you, baby,” when the nightmares got bad. About the way he looked at you, like you were something worth protecting. Like you were home.

He was home.

And now he’s gone. And you’re nothing but a house with the roof torn off, standing in the rain.

“I don’t know how to be in a world that doesn’t have him in it,” you admit, tears falling freely now, soaking into your sleeves. “I was never scared of tomorrow when he was with me.”

Your head turns toward Tommy, eyes rimmed red. “How do I do this?”

He doesn’t answer. He just puts a hand over yours, squeezes it tight. It’s all he can give you, and you take it, even though it’s not the hand you want.

You close your eyes, breathing in like maybe you’ll catch some trace of him. Leather. Cedar. That soap he used when he tried to be fancy. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the dull antiseptic of this godforsaken room.

“I thought I knew grief,” you whisper. “But this… this is a whole new kind of broken.”

And it is. It’s grief with no bottom. No edges. No map. Like walking into a fog and never coming back out.

You reach up, finally, trembling fingers lifting the edge of the sheet.

You don’t pull it back.

You just press your palm over where you know his heart used to beat.

And you stay there, frozen in time, whispering his name like a prayer. Like if you say it enough, he might come back.

“Joel…”

He doesn’t.

And you know—no matter how many tomorrows come—you’ll miss him in every single one.

Because he wasn’t just the love of your life.

He was your life.

And now, all that’s left is the silence.

It’s three days later when Tommy finds you.

You haven’t spoken much since that day. Just shadows under your eyes and silence on your lips. People leave flowers near the mailbox. You go through the motions—eating when someone puts food in front of you, lying down when your legs give out—but you’re not really here.

You’re sitting on Joel’s porch when he approaches. Your knees are drawn to your chest, your hands wrapped in the sleeves of a jacket that still smells like him. It’s too big, and it doesn’t make you feel any less hollow.

Tommy stands in front of you for a moment, quiet.

Then he lowers himself to sit on the step beside you.

“I ain’t sure if now’s the right time,” he says, voice low. Rough. “But he… he asked me to give you somethin’. If…”

You look at him. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to. You both know how it ends.

Your heart stops. And then starts again, slower. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small envelope—folded and worn soft at the edges like it had been carried for a long time.

Your name is on it.

Your handwriting. Joel’s writing. It’s him. It's him.

Your fingers are shaking as you take it.

“I didn’t read it,” Tommy says, eyes on the horizon. “Didn’t wanna. Figured that was for you.”

Inside the envelope is a single piece of paper, folded once.

And a gold band.

Simple. Plain. No diamonds or carvings. Just a ring. One he probably bartered for quietly. One he probably kept in his pocket, maybe touched it when he thought about you. One he never got to give you.

Your vision blurs instantly.

The paper trembles in your hands as you unfold it. The ink is smudged in one corner—Joel had probably written it with those big hands, careful and slow. Trying to say something final in a way that didn’t feel like goodbye.

Your eyes find the first words.

Hey, baby.

If you’re reading this… then I’m not where I should be. I’m sorry.

God, I didn’t wanna write this. Been puttin’ it off for weeks. But the way this world is… well, you and I both know it don’t always give you time to say things out loud.

So I’m writin’ ‘em now.

First thing—I love you. You probably know that already. Hell, I’ve said it in a hundred different ways without ever sayin’ the words. In the way I hold you. The way I listen to you hum that song. The way I breathe easier when you’re near.

You gave me something I thought I didn’t deserve. Peace. A second chance. A home.

I hope I gave you the same.

Second thing—you’ll find a ring with this letter. Nothin’ fancy. I wanted to give it to you proper. Maybe on the porch. Maybe by the fire. Just… you and me. I had all these words planned. But none of ‘em matter now.

Just know this—I would’ve asked you to be mine. Not ‘cause I needed to prove anything. But because you already were. In every way that counts.

And I wanted the world to know.

I wanted to grow old with you. Wanted to find out what your hair looks like when it’s all grey. Wanted to kiss you goodnight a thousand more times.

I wanted all of it.

But if I didn’t make it—if you’re readin’ this now—I need you to do something for me.

Live.

Please. Don’t let this break you.

You got too much light in you to burn out now.

So wear the ring, if it helps. Or don’t. Keep it in your pocket. Toss it in the river. It’s yours, either way.

You’ll always be mine.

Forever and then some,  

Joel

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until Tommy places a hand on your back, steadying you as the weight of the words crushes you from the inside out.

The ring glints in your palm, catching the dying light of the day.

You bring it to your lips, kiss it once, then curl it into your fist and press it against your heart.

“I would’ve said yes,” you whisper into the air, broken and breathless. “I would’ve said yes a thousand times.”

And the wind moves through the trees like it’s carrying the words to him—wherever he is.

Because love like that doesn’t die.

It just waits.

It lingers in the quiet. In the echo of footsteps that aren’t his. In the smell of cedar and leather that still clings to the collar of his coat. It stays tucked in the corners of every room he touched, every breath he took beside you.

You will mourn him forever. You will miss him every minute.

Your hands will grow old holding a photograph of the two of you—sunlight on your faces, his arm around your shoulders like he always meant to keep you safe. Your bones will ache with the shape of him, your soul carved hollow where he used to be.

And when your time comes, when the world fades soft and slow at the edges, you’ll go with his name dancing on your lips. A whisper. A promise.

Because some loves aren’t meant to end.

Only to be found again.

[bywons]

ROCKSTAR ★ PJS

I WILL LOVE YOU, ALWAYS────𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀

❪ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 ❫ ｡ 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝖿!𝗃𝖺𝗒 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 122O 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ── 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𓈒 𓈒 愛

스루 ܃ i love rockstar jay ^3^ !

reb𝑙ogs ꪆৎ 𝑓eedbacks 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who rules the stage like he was born for it but only ever looks for you in the crowd. under the flashing lights, drenched in sweat, guitar slung low, jay is in his element—unstoppable, untouchable. fans scream his name, hands reaching for him, but the second the song ends, his sharp gaze scans the crowd for only one person. when he spots you, his smirk softens into something more private. later, when you meet him backstage, he immediately pulls you into his arms, pressing his forehead against yours. “saw you out there,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple. “made me play even harder.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who kisses you like he has all the time in the world, even when he doesn’t. minutes before he goes on stage, his team is calling for him, but jay only has eyes for you. “one for good luck,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours. it’s soft at first—teasing—until you tug at his collar, and he groans, deepening it, hands slipping around your waist. the distant roar of the crowd is nothing compared to the way you sigh against his lips. “jay, you’re gonna be late,” you whisper, breathless. he smirks, thumb grazing your jaw. “they can wait.” but you push him toward the door, laughing. “go be a rockstar.” he huffs but obeys, stepping away with a smirk. before he disappears, he calls over his shoulder, “if i mess up, it’s ‘cause you distracted me.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who writes love songs but will die before admitting they’re about you. he sits on the floor with his guitar, strumming out a melody, humming to himself. you peek over his shoulder, reading the scribbled lyrics. “‘her smile feels like home’?” you glance up at him, teasing. “jay, is this about—” he immediately clears his throat, cutting you off. “nope. just lyrics. could be about anyone.” you narrow your eyes. “oh? so the part about ‘singing in the car off-key to my songs’ is totally random?” his ears turn red. “…next question.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who loves when you wear his clothes, but he’ll never say it outright. the first time he sees you in his oversized hoodie, fresh out of the shower, hair damp, sleeves covering your hands—he actually forgets how to breathe for a second. but instead of admitting it, he just raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms.“so you’re just stealing my clothes now?” you grin, tugging the hoodie tighter around yourself. “yep.”he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “unbelievable.” but later, when you fall asleep wearing it, he snaps a photo and saves it to his favorites.

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who takes you on midnight drives with no destination, just the two of you and the open road. after a long show, when the adrenaline is still pumping, jay grabs the car keys and drags you along for a ride. one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, he hums along to the radio, occasionally glancing at you with a small smile. “you tired?” he asks when he notices you nodding off. you mumble something incoherent, and he chuckles, squeezing your knee gently. “go ahead and sleep, babe. i’ll wake you when we get home.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who is effortlessly cool, but the second you get sick, he turns into the biggest worrywart. you sniffle, bundled up in blankets, and jay frowns like you’ve personally offended him. “you have a fever. did you take medicine? have you eaten?” you groan. “jay, i’m fine—” he cuts you off by pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, brows furrowing. “nope. you’re officially under my care now.” he disappears for ten minutes and returns with soup, tea, and—somehow—a teddy bear. you blink. “where did you even get that?” he shrugs, setting it beside you. “don’t ask questions. just let it comfort you.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who pretends he’s fine with people flirting with you, but he is not fine. you’re at an afterparty, chatting with someone a little too friendly. across the room, jay watches, expression unreadable, fingers tapping against his glass. he doesn’t storm over—no, he’s too composed for that—but he does make his way to you, slipping an arm around your waist. “hey, babe,” he says smoothly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “ready to go?” the other person quickly backs off, and as you two walk away, you smirk up at him. “you jealous?” he scoffs. “pfft. no.” but his grip on your waist tightens just slightly.

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who loves teaching you guitar but ends up just watching you instead. “okay, hold it like this,” jay says, adjusting your grip on the guitar. his hands guide yours, voice soft in your ear. you strum the strings awkwardly, wincing at the off-key sound. he chuckles, resting his chin on your shoulder. “not bad, babe. if we ever need a backup guitarist, i’ll let you know.” you nudge him with your elbow. “you’re just saying that because you love me.” he smirks, eyes twinkling. “maybe.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who sends you voice notes of unreleased songs at the most random times. your phone buzzes at 2 am—another voice memo from jay. “wrote this just now. don’t tell my manager i sent it to you first.” his voice is slightly rough, thick with sleep, but the melody is soft, intimate, unmistakably about you. the next morning, he casually asks, “did you listen to it?” when you gush about how much you love it, he just smirks, ruffling your hair. “good. it’s yours before it belongs to anyone else.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who lets you mess with his hair even though he pretends to hate it. you run your fingers through his soft strands, trying to braid them, and he groans dramatically. “babe, i am a rockstar. do i look like someone who wears braids?” you tie off the tiny braid and hold up a mirror. “yes.” he sighs, but later, when you’re not looking, he takes a picture of it and saves it.

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who always pulls you into his arms the second he comes off stage. the moment the set ends, he barely waits for the crowd to settle before he’s rushing backstage, looking for you. when he finds you, he doesn’t say anything at first—just wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “missed you,” he murmurs against your skin. when you laugh, teasing him— “jay, you were literally just on stage.” —he only holds you tighter. “doesn’t matter. it wasn’t close enough.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who sings you to sleep without even realizing it. it’s late, the two of you curled up in bed, and he’s absentmindedly humming a tune while stroking your hair. his voice is low, soothing, lulling you into a peaceful haze. “you’re humming our song,” you whisper sleepily. he pauses, then chuckles softly. “guess it’s stuck in my head. just like you.”

ROCKSTAR BF! JAY who looks at you like you’re his entire world, even when you’re doing something completely mundane. you could be tying your shoe, scrolling on your phone, or eating a snack, and jay will just… stare. when you catch him, he shrugs, smiling softly. “just making sure i remember exactly how you look.”

© bywons, 2025 | taglist open ! nets @ k-labels @k-films @kflixnet

[clarii]

Title: Just Chilling

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie Munson wasn’t your boyfriend- at least, that’s what he told people. But after one careless moment at a gig shatters everything, he realizes too late that losing you is the last thing he ever wanted. Now, he has one chance to fix it, and he’s willing to put his heart on the line to do it.

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, mild language, fluffy ending

Eddie Munson wasn’t your boyfriend.

At least, that’s what he told people.

But if you asked anyone else, they’d swear otherwise. The way he held your hand absentmindedly, thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. The way he always pulled you onto his lap instead of letting you sit anywhere else. The way he kissed your forehead before dropping you off at home, murmuring a soft “ Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

If he wasn’t your boyfriend, then what was he?

It was a question that lingered in the back of your mind more than you wanted to admit. But you never asked, because Eddie-loud, dramatic, full-of-himself Eddie- shut down when things got too real. You weren’t stupid. You saw the way he stiffened whenever the word relationship was mentioned. You heard the way he brushed off questions about love like they were ridiculous.

Still, he acted like he was yours. So you let yourself believe maybe, someday, he’d say it out loud.

Then came the night that shattered everything.

Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, had landed a gig at The Hideout- a bigger crowd than usual, packed with regulars and newcomers alike. You were there, of course, front and center like always. His biggest fan.

He caught your eye as they set up, flashing that boyish grin that made your stomach flip. You winked at him, and he tilted his head, mouthing, For me?

You rolled your eyes but nodded. He knew you hated being in crowded, sweaty places like this, yet here you were. For him.

The show was electric. Eddie was in his element- head-banging, fingers flying over his guitar, voice rough and wild as he screamed into the mic. And you? You were completely lost in him.

Then, during a break between songs, someone from the crowd called out, “Hey, Munson! That your girl?”

Eddie looked up, confused.

The guy gestured toward you, smirking. “The one you’ve been making heart eyes at all night.”

The crowd laughed. Your cheeks burned.

Eddie hesitated, glancing at you for half a second. You felt it then- that flicker of uncertainty, the moment where he could choose to claim you.

Then he shrugged.

“Nah, man. We’re just chilling.”

Just. Chilling.

The words hit harder than any guitar riff.

You barely heard the crowds reaction, barely noticed Gareth giving Eddie a What the hell, dude? kind of look. Because the only thing you could focus on was the way your stomach twisted, the way your heart squeezed so tight it physically hurt.

Eddie turned back to his guitar, ready to jump into the next song- until he saw you.

Or rather, saw your back.

You were already walking away.

His fingers froze on the strings. Panic surged through him like a bolt of electricity.

You weren’t staying to watch the rest of the show.

You weren’t waiting for him after.

You were leaving.

And that’s when he knew.

He fucked up.

—

Eddie barely made it through the rest of the set. His head wasn’t in it anymore, and he knew the guys could tell. The moment they finished, he shoved his guitar into its case and bolted out the back door, scanning the parking lot for you.

Nothing.

His heart pounded. You always waited for him after his shows, always teased him about the way he got lost in the music, always let him wrap his arms around you and press a sweaty, breathless kiss to your temple.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he was alone.

—

You ignored his calls. His knocks at your window. His voice outside your house at midnight, begging you to just talk to him.

Each day that passed without you felt like a slow, agonizing punishment.

For the first time in his life, Eddie Munson was terrified.

Because he realized something.

You weren’t his.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

—

The next Corroded Coffin gig rolled around a week later. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care. Playing didn’t feel the same without knowing you were there, watching, cheering, rolling your eyes at how much of a show-off he was.

But he had an idea. A desperate, last-ditch effort.

And he needed help.

So, he did something he rarely ever did.

He asked his friends for it.

It was Robin and Dustin who came to your house that night.

“Look,” Robin started, hands on her hips. “ you know you don’t want to see him, and honestly, he’s been a colossal dumbass, but-”

“He’s miserable”, Dustin interrupted. “Like, really miserable. And he wants to fix it.”

You crossed your arms, unmoved. “Then he can come here and say that himself.”

Robin sighed. “He wants you to come to The Hideout. Just for a few minutes. No pressure to stay. No tricks. Just…hear him out.”

You hesitated.

Going back to the place where it all fell apart? Where you felt humiliated? Where Eddie made you feel like you were nothing to him?

Yeah, no thanks.

But…if he really wanted to fix things, why would he bring you there?

Unless-

“Did he say what he’s gonna do?” you asked suspiciously.

Dustin grinned. “Nope. But I do know he’s been pacing like a lunatic and mumbling to himself all day.”

Robin smirked. “That means he’s planning something big.”

You chewed on your lip.

And against your better judgment….you caved.

—

When you walked into The Hideout that night, the first thing you noticed was how Eddie was already on stage, gripping the mic with white-knuckled hands.

The second thing you noticed?

The way his eyes locked onto you the second you stepped inside.

Everyone else faded. The noise, the crowd, the band. It was just you and him.

He took a deep breath. Then, with everyone watching, he said-

“ I lied.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, confused.

Eddie’s gaze didn’t waver from yours. “Last time we were here, someone asked me if you were my girl. And I said, ‘We’re just chilling’.

A beat of silence.

“That was the biggest lie I’ve ever told.”

The entire bar went still.

Eddie licked his lips, voice raw. “You are my girl. You always were. And I was a fucking coward for not saying it.”

Your throat tightened.

Eddie shook his head, almost laughing at himself. “ I was scared. Scared that if I made it real, you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you. That you’d leave.” His voice dropped. “But I lost you anyway.”

You swallowed hard, feeling every eye on you.

Eddie took a shaky breath. “So, I’m saying it now, in the place where I ruined it. In front of everyone.” His voice was steady now, sure. “You’re my girl. And I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

He loved you.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

Eddie’s expression softened. “ I know I don’t deserve it, but… if you’ll have me, I want to be yours. Officially.”

The silence stretched.

Then, finally-

You stepped forward.

Eddie barely had time to react before you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down into a desperate, breathless kiss.

The crowd exploded, but all you could hear was the pounding of his heart against yours.

Eddie Munson was yours.

And this time, he wasn’t afraid to say it.

[1withestars]

🛸⋆☆˚.⋆ nct dream as a significant other (headcanon)

| implied idol!dream, implied fem!reader, fluff, very cute in general

mark

would stare at you with much adoration but breaks eye contact immediately if you caught him in the act

would write songs about you and record them with a smile on his face cs you’re all he thinks about while recording it

would literally contort his body to get the perfect angle while taking a picture of you

would get cuteness aggression towards you

would give crazy tight hugs

would be the type to have a hair tie around his wrist

would love gossip sessions with you

would ask you to braid his hair

would love giving you back hugs

would share earphones with you

would play the guitar for you, knowing the sound of it calms you more than anything

would be really shy about the first kiss but pecks you everywhere once he starts getting comfortable with it

renjun

would make you custom things using his own hand drawn illustrations

would love resting his head on your shoulders if you sat side by side

would love to do your hair

would offer to do your nail

would love dressing you up and buy you outfits

would dedicate his pieces to you

would co-parent a stuffed animal with you

would sing you to sleep

would gently hold on to your clothes when walking around

would gift you stuff for no reason

would wipe your tears when you cry

would ask you about your day every day

jeno

would hold your hand and not want to let go. he just loves holding hands (your hand)

act of service KING. talk less do more typa guy

would pull you by the belt loop on your pants

would pout if he’s sulky

would rub your tummy at random times

would be the type to tickle you for fun

would hold your hand when he’s driving

waist grabber

would persuade you into coming with him on his bike rides/exercise sessions

his eye smile shows when he finds you cute

would give you massage

would send you his entire fyp but makes sure beforehand that you aren’t annoyed by it

haechan

would get shy if you do aegyo (intentional or not)

would like it if you sat on his lap

would be a hugger and love to be hugged

would love getting his hair played with

would provoke you cs he likes seeing you get worked up

would sometimes get shy when you tease him and avoids your gaze

would cook you breakfast in the morning

would let you paint his nails

would love kissing your neck

would carry your bag when you go out with him

would let you sit on his lap while he plays computer games

would give you curated playlists with different vibes

jaemin

would sneakily take pictures of you

would have an exclusive instagram account for you and post the pictures he took of you there

would stare at you with the most loving eyes and wouldn’t shy away if you caught him (continues staring at you)

would be pretty possessive

would casually flirt cs he loves seeing you get flustered

would get cute matching stuff

would love sniffing your neck

would do the corniest things together

would pamper your face with soft kisses

would play the piano for you

would set a candid picture of you as his lockscreen

would give you piggyback rides

chenle

would giggle like a madman if you tickle him (he’s so very ticklish)

would still get competitive if not more

would give you head pats

would love having you sit on his lap so he could back hug you and rest his head on your shoulder

would play with the accessories on your hand (ring, bracelet, hairtie, etc.) and fidget with it

if he was watching nba and the warriors won, he would hug and shake you like crazy

would nuzzle his head anywhere on your body

would cook for you, sometimes with you

would record himself playing the piano and send it to you

would match shoes with you

would feed you anytime anywhere

would love backhugs

jisung

would unintentionally stare at you with a very intense gaze of love

his gummy smile comes out whenever he finds you cute

would be the type to enjoy burying his face into your neck

would lend you his hoodies/zip-ups cs he thinks you look cute in them

would love kissing your forehead and hands

would share earphones with you

would teach you how to play games

would link arms while he plays mobile games

would rub circles on your knees/back

would be the type to ruffle your hair

would tie your shoelaces

would text you good morning and good night texts

first post!! very very new to tumblr and honestly i was quite lost writing this cs this was my first time writing a hc BUTTTT i hope this reaches the right audience :)) have a great rest of your dayyyy (interactions are greatly appreciated!!)