#we’re close enough in age and looks to pass for the other

[narwhalsarefalling]

my (cis) brother is using my old license to buy wine and it has the gender marker F on there. so whenever he gets asked he just says “oh i’m trans”. its literally worked every single time.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Right Here

Karina x male reader

word count: 20k

commissioned fic

You’re slouched against a flimsy folding table in the corner of the set, a half-empty coffee cup dangling from your hand, the bitter dregs gone cold ages ago. It’s day three of this chaotic shoot for Aespa’s big comeback, and as a runner—a glorified errand boy, really—you’ve been hauling gear, fetching water bottles, and dodging the AD’s barked orders like it’s some kind of Olympic sport. The soundstage is a mess of cables, lights, bodies buzzing around, and there's that distinct smell in the air, that weird mix of sweat, makeup, and overpriced perfume that clings to every MV set. You’re beat, your sneakers scuffed to hell, but then you glance up from your phone, mid-scroll through some dumb meme, and there she is—Karina. Holy shit. You’ve seen her in passing over the last couple days, sure, but this is the first time you’ve really seen her, and it’s like someone cranked the brightness on the world up to eleven.

She’s standing maybe ten feet away, under a halo of softbox lights, chatting with a stylist who’s fussing with the hem of her skirt. Her top’s this shimmery thing, all silver and plunging neckline, catching the light every time she shifts. Her hair’s dark, sleek, falling over one shoulder like she just stepped out of some high-budget shampoo ad. And her face—fuck, her pretty doll face. Big eyes that glint even from here, lips glossy enough you can’t help but wonder what they taste like. She’s unreal, the kind of stunning that makes you question if you’re awake or just hallucinating from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. You try to play it cool, sip your coffee like you’re not staring, but your eyes keep dragging back to her like she’s got some gravitational pull.

She catches you looking. Not in a subtle way either—her head tilts, those eyes lock onto yours across the room, and your stomach does a quick flip like you just missed a step going downstairs. You freeze, coffee halfway to your mouth, and she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t frown, doesn’t smirk, just holds your gaze for a beat longer than feels safe. Then the stylist says something, and she laughs—bright, loud, this sound that cuts through the hum of the set like it’s meant just for you.

She turns back to the conversation, but you’re still stuck there, heart thumping a little too hard, wondering if you imagined it. You shake it off, set the cup down, and busy yourself with untangling a spare HDMI cable nobody asked for. Gotta look useful, right? Can’t just stand there gawking like some creep.

A couple hours later, you’re hauling a crate of water bottles toward the green room when you nearly crash into her. She’s coming around the corner, phone in one hand, a half-eaten protein bar in the other, and you both do that awkward sidestep dance before she just stops and laughs again. “Whoa, careful there,” she says. Up close, she’s even worse—better, whatever. Her pale skin’s flawless, glowing under the shitty fluorescent lights. You mumble an apology, something about being in a rush, and she waves it off, popping the last bite of her bar into her mouth. “You’re the runner guy, right? I’ve seen you sprinting around. You’re fast.”

You nod, shifting the crate in your arms, trying not to drop it like an idiot. “Yeah, uh, that’s me. Just keeping the machine running.” You’re aiming for casual, but your voice comes out tighter than you’d like. She smiles, and it’s not one of those polite idol smiles—well, you’re almost sure of that. “And thanks for that. This whole thing would fall apart without you guys, trust me. We’re all dying out there.” She gestures vaguely toward the set, and you notice her nails—painted black, chipped a little at the edges.

You shrug, playing it down. “Just doing my job. You’re the one killing it, though. That choreo looks brutal.” It’s not a lie—you’ve caught snippets of the rehearsal between runs, and the way she moves is hypnotic, all power and precision wrapped in that effortless cool. She groans, rolling her eyes. “God, don’t remind me. My legs are screaming, and we’ve still got, what, ten more takes? I’m excited, though. This comeback’s gonna be huge.” There’s this fire in her voice, tired as she sounds, and it’s infectious. You grin despite yourself. “Yeah? Well, it’s looking dope already. You guys are crushing it.”

She studies you for a second, head cocked, like she’s sizing you up. “Thanks… what’s your name, anyway?” You tell her, and she repeats it, slow, like she’s testing it out. “Cool. I’m Karina, but you probably knew that.” She laughs again, softer this time, and you’re hit with how normal this feels—like she’s not Karina from Aespa, just a girl who’s tired and chatty and maybe a little flirty. You chat for a minute longer, nothing deep, just quick back-and-forth about the shoot, the coffee sucking, her joking about needing a nap mid-take. Then a PA’s voice crackles through your earpiece, barking about some lens needing to move ASAP, and you wince. “Shit, duty calls. Good luck out there.”

Karina nods, stepping back. “You too, runner boy. Don’t trip over anything.” She winks—fucking winks—and heads off, leaving you standing there with the crate, a dumb grin creeping onto your face. Later, as you’re dodging through the set again, you spot her by the monitors, going over a take with the director. She glances your way, just for a second, and there’s that look again—quick, sharp, like a secret. You’re not imagining it this time. By the end of the day, your phone’s buzzing in your pocket. Unknown number. The text just says: “Hey, it’s Karina. You free for coffee that doesn’t suck sometime?” You stare at it, brain blanking for a solid ten seconds before you save her number, thumbs hovering over the screen. “Yeah, definitely. Name the time.” You hit send, and the rest of the shoot fades into noise—because holy shit, Karina just gave you her number.

—

You’re pacing outside a little charming coffee shop she picked, the kind of place you’d walk past a hundred times and never notice. It’s a Sunday afternoon, gray clouds smudging the sky, and you’re early—way too early—because the last thing you want is to roll up late and look like a dick. Your hands are shoved deep in the pockets of your jeans, and you’re trying to play it cool, but your stomach’s doing somersaults, and your brain’s stuck on a loop: this can’t be real. Karina—fucking Karina—texted me to hang out. You still half-expect this to be some prank, like maybe one of the other crew guys snagged your phone and set this up to mess with you. But the texts were real. Her number’s saved under “K” in your contacts, and every time you glance at it, your pulse jacks up like you’re about to sprint across the set again.

You check your phone for the tenth time in five minutes—2:47. She said 3:00, but you’ve been here since 2:30, scuffing your sneakers against the cracked sidewalk, eyeballing every car that rolls by like it might be her. You’re a nervous wreck, palms sweaty, and you keep wiping them on your thighs like that’s gonna fix anything. Then you spot her. She’s stepping out of a black SUV across the street, hood up, sunglasses perched on her nose, but there’s no mistaking that walk—confident, smooth, like she owns the damn pavement. She’s in baggy sweats and a cropped tee, sneakers so white they practically glow, and somehow she makes it look effortless, like she just rolled out of bed and still belongs on a billboard. Your throat goes dry, and you straighten up, praying you don’t trip over your own feet.

She spots you, pulls the sunglasses down just enough to peek over them, and grins—fuck, that grin. It’s wide and easy, like she’s not the same girl who’s got millions of fans losing their minds online. “Hey, runner boy,” she calls, jogging across the street, dodging a bike courier with a flick of her head. “You’re early. Nervous or just obsessed with me already?” You laugh, a little too loud, and scrub a hand through the back of your neck. “Uh, maybe both? Still kinda feels like I’m dreaming this shit.” She smirks, pulling the hood down now, her hair spilling out in dark waves. “Well, pinch yourself, ‘cause I’m real. C’mon, let’s get inside before someone spots me and I’ve gotta sign napkins again.”

The coffee shop’s tiny—you could miss it if you blinked, but it's got this super cozy vibe. Worn wooden tables, mismatched comfy chairs, and shelves crammed with books. It smells like espresso and cinnamon, and there’s some lo-fi playlist humming through a speaker in the corner. It's the kind of place where the barista knows your order after like, two visits. Basically, it's perfect if you want to escape the chaos and just chill. After each of you order your drinks, you follow her to a table near the back, tucked by a window streaked with old rain marks. She slides into the seat across from you, peeling off the sunglasses and tossing them onto the table like they’re nothing special. Up close, she’s still unreal—those eyes, sharp and bright, zeroing in on you like you’re the only thing in the room. But she’s chill, slouching back in her chair, one leg kicked up on the rung of the stool next to her. “Okay, you probably already know that my name is Yu Jimin. But you can call me Rina, if you want, I particularly like being called that,” she says, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Karina’s for the stage and, like, interviews. Feels weird hearing it off-set.”

“Rina’s still kinda tied to Karina, though, isn’t it?” you say, tilting your head. “Like, it’s a nickname for your stage name. Doesn’t it ever feel weird, people calling you that all the time?” She pauses, straw hovering mid-air, and gives you this look—like she’s actually thinking about it, not just brushing you off. Then she shrugs, “Honestly? Not really. I’ve been Karina for so damn long now—years, dude—that it’s just… me. Like, if someone yells ‘Jimin’ across the room, I’d probably look around like, ‘Who the hell are they talking to?’ It’s weird as fuck to hear my real name sometimes. Feels like it belongs to someone else, you know?”

“Makes sense. Least it’s a pretty name, though. Yu Jimin’s got a nice ring to it.” She snorts, rolling her eyes, but there’s this tiny flush on her cheeks that she can’t hide. “Oh, smooth, runner boy. Real smooth. But thanks, I guess. Could’ve been worse—imagine if I got stuck with something lame.” Then she leans forward, elbows on the table, that glint in her eye turning playful. “You know who’s got it rough, though? Ningning. Her stage name’s a mess for fans. Like, do you go with Ningning, Ning, or full-on Ning Yizhuo? I bet fanfic writers are out there sweating, trying to figure out what to type without sounding dumb.”

You crack up, picturing it—some poor writer hunched over their laptop, agonizing over whether “Ning” sounds too short or “Ning Yizhuo” kills the vibe. “Oh, shit, you’re right. Ningning’s got that mysterious edge, but it’s a mouthful when you’re tryna make it normal in a story. ‘Karina’ just flows—short, punchy, hot. You lucked out.” She cackles, slapping the table hard enough that her glasses slide an inch on the table. “Exactly! I mean, I’m not saying I’m the fanfic queen or anything, but Karina’s got that main-character energy. Poor Ning’s out here like, ‘Am I a nickname or a government ID?’ It’s brutal.”

You’re both laughing now, and it’s so easy, like you’re not sitting across from a literal idol who’s got half the world obsessed with her.

"Well, I’m still just me, I guess. No stage name yet.” She smiles, and it’s like a hit of dopamine straight to your brain. “Yet? What, you planning to ditch the runner gig and take over the world?” You shrug, grinning despite the nerves still buzzing under your skin. “Maybe. Gotta start somewhere, right?” The barista calls out something garbled, and she hops up to grab the drinks—some iced thing with too much sugar for her, black coffee for you. When she’s back, she slides yours over, and you’re hyper-aware of her fingers brushing the table near yours. “So,” she says, sipping through her straw, “Aren't you curious to know how I got your number?”

“Yeah, I was gonna ask you that. Figured maybe you snagged it from the call sheet or something.” She leans forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hands, and there’s this glint in her eye like she’s about to drop a bomb. “Okay, don’t freak out, but I kinda asked one of the PAs for it. The tall one with the clipboard who’s always yelling? She’s chill, though, didn’t even blink. Just said, ‘Oh, the runner? Sure.’” You blink, processing that. “Wait, you asked for my number? Like, on purpose?” She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks pink up a little, and it’s the first time she doesn’t seem totally in control. “Duh. You think I just randomly text crew guys for fun? You seemed… I dunno, cool. Normal. Not like the usual set weirdos.”

You’re floored. Karina—Rina—went out of her way to track you down, and now she’s sitting here, sipping her drink, calling you cool like it’s nothing. Your brain’s scrambling to keep up, but you lean back, try to match her vibe. “Well, damn. Guess I owe the PA a beer or something. And here I thought you just liked my water bottle delivery skills.” She snorts, covering her mouth with her hand, and it’s so fucking cute you almost forget how to breathe. “Those too. But nah, I just… wanted to talk more. You’re interesting. Spill—what’s your deal? Like, what’s the runner life about, and what’s next?”

It’s the way she asks—genuine, not just small talk—that throws you. She’s not asking to be polite; she actually wants to know. So you start talking, fumbling at first, but then it flows. You tell her how you stumbled into the gig—fresh out of school, no clue what to do, just needed cash and a friend hooked you up. It’s grunt work, sure, but you’re good at it, and lately you’ve been paying attention, watching the directors, the DPs, how they move, how they talk. “I wanna direct someday,” you admit, stirring your coffee even though it’s already mixed. “Not, like, right now—I’m not delusional—but I’m soaking it all up. Figure if I stick around long enough, I’ll learn something worth a damn. And... well, I like to film things, when I was a kid I used to record these home documentaries about my family's routine, and in high school I used to film me and my friends doing some crazy adventure. It's all amateur stuff, but I feel like I can do something good if I put my mind to it.” She nods, eyes locked on you, and it’s not pity or boredom—she’s into it. “That’s dope,” she says. “Takes balls to start at the bottom and aim up. Most people just wanna skip the hard shit.”

You shrug, but her words stick. “Yeah, well, I’m not in a rush. Just trying to not fuck it up.” Then you flip it back. “What about you? What’s it like being… you? Like, the whole idol thing—cameras, fans, the girls. Lay it on me.” She leans back, twirling her straw, and for a second you think she’s gonna dodge it, but then she dives in. “It’s wild,” she says, voice dropping like she’s letting you in on a secret. “Like, amazing—don’t get me wrong, I love it—but it’s a lot. We live together, me and the girls, in this dorm that’s nice but kinda feels like a fancy cage sometimes. You’re never really alone, y’know? Someone’s always there—Giselle stealing my snacks, Ningning blasting music, Winter leaving her socks everywhere. It’s home, though. They’re my people.”

You laugh, picturing it—the chaos, the mess, the sisterhood. “Sounds like a sitcom. What about the rest? The schedules, the fame shit?” She sighs, but it’s not heavy—just real. “The routine’s insane. Practice ‘til your legs give out, then recording, then promo, then more practice. You’re dead tired, but you can’t stop ‘cause the fans are waiting, and the company’s breathing down your neck. And the celebrity part? It’s cool ‘til it’s not. Like, I can’t grab a burger without someone snapping a pic and saying I’m too fat or too thin or whatever. But the highs—like performing, hearing the crowd scream your name? That’s the drug. Keeps you going.”

You’re hanging on every word, and she’s got this way of telling it—raw, funny, no bullshit—that makes you forget she’s a superstar. You crack a joke about her burger struggles—“What, no secret McDonald’s runs in disguise?”—and she cackles, loud enough that the barista glances over. “Oh, I’ve tried,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Sunglasses, hat, the whole deal. Still got caught. Now I just send a manager and live vicariously.” You’re both laughing now, and it’s easy, natural, like you’ve known her forever. Her smile’s wide, teeth flashing, and it’s addictive—every time it fades, you wanna say something dumb just to bring it back.

You ask about the comeback, how she’s holding up with the stress, and she shrugs, but her eyes light up. “It’s brutal, but I’m pumped. This one’s different—edgier, y’know? I think it’s gonna fuck people up in a good way.” You tell her about catching the rehearsals, how she owned it, and she blushes—actually blushes—muttering a “thanks” that’s so quiet you almost miss it. The conversation keeps rolling—her asking about your favorite shoots, you asking what she does to unwind (turns out she’s a Netflix binge fiend)—and hours slip by without you noticing. The coffee’s long gone, the shop’s emptying out, but you don’t care. She’s got your head spinning, and you’re pretty sure you’d stay here ‘til midnight if she let you.

She glances at her phone eventually, wincing. “Shit, I’ve got practice in an hour. Gotta bounce soon.” Your heart sinks, but you play it off. “Yeah, no worries. Don’t wanna keep you from blowing minds out there.” She smiles again, softer this time, and stands, stretching a little. “This was fun,” she says, grabbing her sunglasses. “Let’s do it again. You’re not bad company, runner boy.” You grin, standing too. “You’re not so bad yourself, Rina.” She lingers for a second, eyes flicking to your mouth, then back up, and you’re this close to saying something stupid when she winks. “Text me. I’ll need more of your stories to survive this week.” Then she’s gone, slipping out the door, and you’re left there, dazed, her laugh still echoing in your head like the best kind of high.

—

That coffee shop hangout was the spark that lit everything up between you and Yu Jimin—Rina, as she’s become to you. It’s been a couple months now, and you’re still wrapping your head around how this even happened, how she happened. You’re not just some runner schlepping gear anymore; you’re the guy she’s texting at 2 a.m. about some random Netflix show she’s obsessed with or a dumb joke she heard from Ningning that she can’t stop cackling about. Your phone’s a constant buzz in your pocket—“u up?” or “this shoot is killing me, save me with something funny”—and every time her name pops up, you get that stupid little jolt in your chest like you’re a teenager with a crush. You fire back with memes or stories about the set, like the time the AD tripped over a light stand and blamed you like you’re the one who planted it there. She always responds quick, little laughing emojis or a “god, you’re such a dork,” and it’s become this daily rhythm that keeps you sane amidst the grind.

On set, though, you’re both pros at playing it cool. The Aespa comeback shoot’s in full swing, all blinding lights and thumping bass, and you’re darting around as usual—grabbing cables, hauling monitors, dodging the choreographer’s frantic waves. Rina’s out there in the thick of it, hair whipping as she nails take after take, her focus razor-sharp. You keep your distance, sticking to your corner, but it’s impossible not to lock eyes sometimes. She’ll glance over mid-break, wiping sweat off her forehead, and shoot you this tiny, crooked smile—like a secret only you’re in on. You’ll nod back, casual as hell, but your pulse kicks up a notch every time. The other crew guys don’t notice; they’re too busy griping about the schedule or sneaking smokes out back. But those little moments? They’re yours and hers, tucked away from the chaos.

Off-set, it’s a whole different game. You’ve started hanging out more, sneaking off to quiet spots—her place sometimes, when the girls are out, or yours, a cramped apartment with mismatched furniture and a fridge that’s mostly beer and takeout containers. It’s easy with her, effortless. You’ll sprawl on her couch, her legs thrown over yours, scrolling through your phone while she rants about how Giselle keeps stealing her hoodies or how Winter’s obsessed with reorganizing their kitchen at 3 a.m. You’ll tease her—“Sounds like you’re living in a zoo, Rina”—and she’ll shove you with her foot, laughing that laugh that makes your stomach flip. Hours vanish like that, her head resting on your shoulder by the end of it, her breathing soft and steady. She’s comfortable with you, she says it all the time—“You’re like my safe spot, y’know?”—and damn if that doesn’t hit you right in the chest.

Then there’s this one night—a Friday, after a brutal week where you’ve both been run ragged. You’re at her place, some low-key spot she picked because the dorm was too chaotic with the girls around. It’s just the two of you, a couple bottles of soju, and a playlist she threw together humming through her Bluetooth speaker. You’re both buzzed, the kind of loose where everything’s funny and the room’s spinning just enough to blur the edges. She’s in this oversized tee, hair messy, barefoot, pouring another shot with this goofy grin. “Okay, okay, your turn,” she says, shoving the bottle at you. “Tell me something dumb you did as a kid.” You groan, tipping the shot back, the burn sliding down your throat. “Fine. Uh, I tried to impress this girl in fifth grade by jumping off a slide. Landed flat on my face, chipped a tooth. She laughed at me for, like, a solid month.” Rina cackles, nearly spilling her drink, and you’re laughing too.

The night rolls on like that—shots, stories, her giggling at your terrible dance moves when she drags you up to sway to some slow song. You’re both sloppy, bumping into each other, and the flirting’s not even subtle anymore. She’s leaning into you, shoulder brushing yours, eyes flicking to your mouth when she thinks you won’t notice. You catch her staring once, twice, and the third time you hold her gaze, letting it linger. Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away, and fuck, the air’s thick now, electric. You’re sprawled on the floor, backs against the couch, and she’s close—closer than she needs to be—her knee knocking against yours. “You’re fun, y’know that?” she says, voice soft, a little slurred. “Like, stupid fun. I like it.” You grin, head lolling to the side to look at her. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself, superstar.”

She snorts, shoving you lightly. “Shut up. I’m serious, though. You make shit feel… normal. Not all crazy and fake like it usually is.” Her eyes are glassy, but there’s this raw honesty in them that sobers you up just enough. You nudge her back, softer. “Good. ‘Cause I’m having a blast with you. Like, all the time. Even when you’re not around, I’m just—fuck, I’m thinking about you, Rina. It’s kinda pathetic.” You laugh, but it’s nervous, like you just laid your cards out and you’re waiting for her to fold. She doesn’t. She goes quiet, staring at you, and then that smile creeps back—slow, real, lighting up her whole face. “You’re sweet,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Really sweet.”

You’re both just sitting there, the music looping in the background, and you can’t stop looking at her lips—pink, parted, glistening from the soju. She catches you, and her breath hitches, just for a second. You shift, turning toward her, and she mirrors you, her hand brushing yours on the floor. It’s like slow motion—her leaning in, you meeting her halfway, and then her lips are on yours. It’s quick, soft, a little clumsy from the alcohol, but it feels like it lasts forever. Her mouth’s warm, tastes like peach soju and something sweeter, and your brain short-circuits, every nerve lighting up at once. She pulls back first, just an inch, eyes wide like she’s surprised herself, but then she’s smiling again, and you’re grinning too, both of you breathless and buzzed and a little stunned.

No one’s around—no managers, no girls, no crew. It’s just you and her in this bubble, the world locked out. She rests her forehead against yours, giggling soft. “That was… nice,” she whispers, and you nod, still dazed. “Yeah. Really fucking nice.” She laughs again, and you’re hooked—on her, on this, on whatever the hell you just stepped into. You don’t say it out loud, but you know this is it, the shift. The moment you stop being just some guy she texts and start being something more. She grabs your hand, laces her fingers through yours, and flops back against the couch, pulling you with her. “Don’t get weird about it, okay?” she says, but she’s still smiling, still holding on. “Promise I won’t,” you say, and you mean it. You’re not sure what’s next, but right now, with her sprawled beside you, her thumb rubbing lazy circles on your knuckles, you don’t care.

—

Aespa’s comeback drops like a bomb, and suddenly Rina’s everywhere—on billboards, music shows, TikTok challenges blowing up your feed. You knew it was coming, but watching it unfold still blows your mind. She’s out there killing it, all fierce energy and flawless moves, while you’re back to the grind, no longer tied to her set. When her schedule ramped up and your runner gig on her shoot wrapped, you braced yourself for the fade-out. You’d seen it before—people get busy, life pulls them away, and whatever you had starts feeling like a fever dream. You almost convinced yourself this was it, that you and Rina were just a sweet, fleeting thing, a story you’d tell years from now over beers with the guys. “Yeah, I dated Karina from Aespa for a minute, wild, right?” But then your phone buzzes, and it’s her—“u alive? promo’s insane, save me”—and that sinking feeling in your gut? Gone. She doesn’t let it die.

She’s texting you more now, not less. Little snippets of her day—“just ate my weight in ramen, send help” or a blurry selfie mid-rehearsal, her hair damp with sweat, captioned “glamorous, huh?” She sends you pics of random shit too: a dog she saw outside the studio, a neon sign that says “Love Me” she thought was funny, a half-eaten dessert with “wish u were here to finish this” scrawled under it. You’re firing back just as fast—dumb memes, a shot of your burnt toast with “chef life”, whatever keeps her laughing.

Then the calls start. Late ones, when she’s holed up in some hotel room, voice soft and frayed. “God, I’m so tired,” she’ll say, sheets rustling as she shifts. “This bed’s huge, feels weird without you stealing the covers.” You laugh, sprawled on your own couch, the TV muted in the background. “Miss you too, Rina. Like, a lot.” Her hum on the other end is quiet, warm, and it settles deep in your chest.

While she’s out there conquering the world, you’re not just sitting still. You’ve leveled up—landed a gig on a music video for some rookie group, not as a runner this time but as a PA, a step closer to the action. You’re lugging tripods instead of water crates, actually talking to the director instead of dodging him. Nights, you’re hunched over your laptop, chipping away at an audiovisual course online—camera angles, editing software, the works. You tell Rina about it over a call one night. “It’s for Itzy—kinda chaotic, but I’m learning shit. And the course, man, I’m actually getting it.” She’s quiet for a sec, then, “That’s so fucking cool. You’re gonna be directing my videos someday, watch.” You laugh it off—“Yeah, right, I’ll just yell ‘more charisma!’ at you”—but she’s serious. “I’m proud of you,” she says, and it’s not just words. You can hear it in her tone, and it lights you up more than you’d admit.

Weeks grind by like that—her on the road, you hustling on your own path—until she finally gets a breather. A rare gap in her schedule, and what does she do? Texts you at 8 a.m.: “i’m free tonight. your place? miss u too much, it’s stupid.” Your heart does a dumb little flip, and you’re already scrambling to make your shitty apartment look less like a disaster zone. You shove takeout boxes into the trash, kick a pile of laundry into the closet, and pray the old couch doesn’t smell too much like beer. You’re not fancy—no candles or rose petals or whatever—but you order her favorite fried chicken, crack open a couple cold ones, and queue up some chill playlist she’d like. It’s low-key, but it’s you, and that’s always been enough for her.

The buzzer goes off at 7:32, and you’re at the door before it even stops ringing. You swing it open, and there she is—Rina, in the flesh, and holy shit, you’re not ready. She’s casual, just a black hoodie and ripped jeans, hair loose and a little messy, but she’s sexy in this effortless way that knocks the wind out of you. The hoodie’s unzipped enough to show a sliver of a red bralette underneath, and those jeans hug her legs like they were custom-made. She’s got this tired-but-happy glow, eyes lighting up when she sees you, and a lopsided grin that’s all trouble. “Hey, stranger,” she says, voice husky from travel or maybe just her, and she’s already stepping in, kicking off her sneakers by the door.

You barely get a “hey” out before she’s on you—not a hug, but this full-body collision, arms wrapping around your neck, her face buried in your shoulder. She smells like vanilla and something sharper, maybe the lingering edge of plane air, and you just hold her back, grinning like an idiot into her hair. “Missed you,” she mumbles against your shirt, and it’s muffled but real. “Missed you more,” you say, pulling back to look at her, and fuck, she’s gorgeous—cheeks flushed, eyes a little glassy from jet lag or maybe just the sight of you. She laughs, soft, and shoves your chest. “Liar. You’ve been too busy being Mr. Big Shot PA to think about me.”

You roll your eyes, tugging her toward the couch. “Yeah, ‘cause hauling tripods is so glamorous. C’mon, sit. Chicken’s hot, beer’s cold—your kinda night.” She flops down, legs tucked under her, and grabs a drumstick from the box on the coffee table. “God, you’re a saint,” she says through a mouthful, eyes fluttering shut like it’s the best thing she’s tasted in weeks. You settle next to her, close enough that your knees bump, and crack a beer, handing her one. “So, how’s the superstar life? Still signing napkins?” She snorts, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Worse. Some dude asked me to sign his forehead in Osaka. Forehead! I’m like, ‘Bro, don't do this to yourself.’”

You laugh, picturing it, and she leans into you, shoulder pressing against yours. “Tell me about your gig,” she says, sipping her beer, eyes on you now, bright and curious. So you do—rambling about the Itzy shoot, how the director’s a hardass but knows his stuff, how you almost dropped a lens worth more than your rent. She’s nodding, asking little follow-ups—“Wait, you’re operating cameras now?”—and it’s not fake interest. She’s into it, grinning when you tell her about the audiovisual course, how you’re messing with edits in your spare time. “Send me something,” she says, nudging you. “I wanna see your shit. Bet it’s good.” You shrug, playing it cool—“It’s just practice stuff”—but her enthusiasm sticks with you, warm and real.

The night unwinds slow and easy—chicken bones pile up, beer cans stack on the table, and you’re both looser, laughing louder. She’s sprawled against you now, head on your shoulder, one hand resting on your thigh, casual but not. She’s telling you about some hotel disaster—Giselle flooding the bathroom trying to dye her hair—and you’re cracking up, her giggles mixing with yours until you’re both just a mess of noise. Then it quiets down, the playlist looping something soft, and she shifts, looking up at you. Her eyes are softer now, lingering on your face, and you feel that pull again, the one from that drunken night months ago. “I really missed this,” she says, voice low, almost shy. “You. Us. It’s so… easy.”

You swallow, throat tight, and set your beer down. “Yeah. Me too. Like, all the time. You’re kinda stuck in my head, Rina.” She smiles at that—slow, gorgeous, the kind that makes your pulse stutter. Her hand slides up your chest, fingers curling into your shirt, and you’re hyper-aware of every inch of her—her warmth, her breath fanning against your jaw. You glance at her lips, glossy and pink, and when you look back up, she’s watching you, waiting. It’s all the cue you need. You lean in, slow, giving her time to pull back, but she doesn’t—she meets you halfway, lips brushing yours soft at first, then deeper. It’s not rushed, not sloppy like that first kiss. It’s warm, deliberate, her hand tightening in your shirt as she presses closer.

She tastes like beer and a hint of the strawberry gloss she must’ve put on earlier, and it’s dizzying, the way she moves with you—smooth, confident, like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have. Your hands find her waist, slipping under the hoodie, and her skin’s hot against your palms, soft as you slide up to her ribs. She makes this little sound, half-sigh, half-moan, and it’s enough to send your brain into overdrive. You pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, and she’s smiling again, eyes half-lidded. “Been wanting to do that for weeks,” she murmurs, and you laugh, shaky. “Same. You’re killing me, y’know?”

She doesn’t answer, But her lips crash back into yours, and it’s like a dam breaking—weeks of pent-up tension spilling out in one messy, hungry kiss. You’re both past the slow buildup now; it’s all heat and want, her tongue sliding against yours. Her hand’s fisted in your shirt, pulling you closer, and you’ve got one palm splayed against the small of her back, the other gripping her hip under that hoodie. Her skin’s scorching, smooth as silk, and every little shift of her body against yours sends a jolt straight down your spine. She’s pressed up tight, chest flush against you, and you can feel her heartbeat hammering through the thin fabric, matching the wild thud of your own.

But she needs more, straddling your lap, and doesn’t break the kiss—not even close. Her thighs squeeze your hips, firm and warm, and the weight of her feels so fucking right, like she’s meant to be there. Her hoodie’s riding up, exposing a strip of pale stomach, and your hands are everywhere—sliding up her sides, brushing the edge of that red bralette you glimpsed earlier. She gasps into your mouth when your thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, soft and full, and the sound’s so hot it’s criminal. “Fuck,” you mutter against her lips, and she grins, wicked and breathless, pulling back just enough to peel the hoodie off in one fluid motion.

There she is—hair tousled, cheeks flushed, that bralette clinging to her like a second skin, lacy and barely containing her. Her breasts are bigger than you’d imagined, pale and perfect, spilling slightly over the fabric, and you’re staring like an idiot until she grabs your jaw, tilting your face back up to hers. “Eyes up here, perv,” she teases, but her voice is shaky, needy, and she’s already yanking your shirt up over your head. You help her, tossing it somewhere—fuck if you care where—and then she’s on you again, skin to skin, her chest pressed against yours. It’s electric, the heat of her, the softness, and you groan into her neck as she shifts in your lap, grinding down just enough to make you twitch in your jeans.

“Rina,” you rasp, hands roaming her back, fingers digging into her hips. “You’re gonna kill me.” She laughs, and nips at your earlobe. “Good way to go, though, right?” Her hands are in your hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, and she’s kissing you again, messy and deep, hips rocking against you. You can feel her through the denim—warmth, pressure, the faintest hint of dampness—and it’s torture, the best kind. You slide a hand down to her ass, squeezing through those tight jeans, and she moans, soft but real, breaking the kiss to catch her breath.

“Bed,” she says, more a demand than a suggestion, and she’s already climbing off you, grabbing your hand to pull you up. You follow her, half-stumbling, drunk on her and the buzz still lingering from the beer. Your apartment’s small, the bedroom just a few steps away, and she’s kicking the door open like she’s done it a hundred times. The room’s a mess—unmade bed, clothes strewn over a chair—but she doesn’t care, and neither do you. She turns to you, eyes dark and heavy, and steps back until her calves hit the mattress. “C’mere,” she murmurs, hooking a finger in your belt loop, tugging you close.

You’re on her in a second, hands framing her face, kissing her like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. She tastes so good, feels even better, and when she falls back onto the bed, you’re right there with her, bracing yourself over her on your forearms. Her legs part, and you slot between them, jeans rough against her thighs. She arches up, pressing her chest into you, and you can’t resist—your mouth trails down her jaw, her neck, sucking lightly at the spot where her pulse jumps. She squirms, a little whimper slipping out, and you grin against her skin. “Sensitive?” you tease, and she swats your shoulder, breathless. “Shut up and keep going.”

You do. Kissing lower, you nudge the strap of her bralette down her shoulder, then the other, and she lifts her back just enough for you to unhook it. It falls away, and fuck—she’s stunning. Big, pale breasts, nipples pink and peaked, and you’re frozen for a beat, just taking her in. She catches you staring again, smirks, and grabs your head, guiding you down. “Don’t just look,” she mutters, and you don’t need to be told twice. Your lips close around one nipple, warm and soft, and she gasps, back bowing as you suck gently, tongue flicking over her. Your hand finds her other breast, kneading, thumb brushing the tip, and she’s writhing under you, little moans filling the room.

“God, you’re good at that,” she pants, fingers tight in your hair, and you hum against her, the vibration making her squirm harder. You switch, giving her other breast the same attention, and she’s tugging at your jeans now, impatient. “Off,” she says, voice wrecked, and you pull back, kneeling up to undo the button, the zipper. She’s shimmying out of her own jeans at the same time, kicking them off with a grunt, leaving her in just a pair of red panties—simple, cotton, but so fucking hot on her. You shed your jeans, boxers still on, and she’s already reaching for you, pulling you back down.

You settle between her legs again, and this time there’s less between you—just thin fabric and too much want. She rolls her hips up, grinding against your cock through your boxers, and you both groan at the friction. “Fuck, Rina,” you breathe, rutting back against her, and she’s clutching your shoulders, nails biting in. “I want you,” she says, straight-up, no games, and it’s like a match to gasoline. You kiss her hard, sloppy, all teeth and tongue, and your hand slips down, tugging her panties to the side. She’s wet—so wet—and your fingers slide through her, slick and warm, making her hiss and buck against you.

“I'll get a condom from the drawer,” you mutter, half to yourself, and she nods, frantic. You lean over, fumbling one-handed until you find a foil packet tucked between a lighter and some random receipts. You rip it open with your teeth—classy, sure, but you’re too wound up to care—and roll it on quick, hands shaking a little. She watches you, legs spread, chest heaving, and when you’re done, she pulls you back down, kissing you like she’s starving.

You line up, nudging against her entrance, and pause, looking at her. “You sure?” you ask. She nods, eyes locked on yours, soft and fierce at once. “Yeah. Fuck me.” It’s all the green light you need.

You shift, hands braced on either side of her, and nudge the tip of your cock against her entrance, just enough to feel her heat, her slickness. She’s tight already, even before you’re inside, the lips of her pussy pink and swollen, hugging you as you press forward slow—real slow—letting her adjust, letting yourself feel every goddamn inch. She gasps, sharp and quick, head tipping back into the pillow, and you freeze for a second, watching her face—flushed cheeks, fluttering lashes, the way her mouth opens in this perfect little “o.” “You okay?” you murmur, because you need her to be good—you need this to be good for her. She nods, fast, hands grabbing at your biceps. “Yeah, just—go, please.”

You push in deeper, and holy fuck, her pussy’s like a vice—tight, wet, and so hot it’s dizzying. The walls are slick, pulsing around you as you sink in, inch by torturous inch, and it’s like she’s swallowing you whole. You can see it in her too—the way her stomach tenses, the faint sheen of sweat on her collarbone, the way her thighs tremble where they’re hooked around your waist. You bottom out, hips flush against hers, and she lets out this low, broken moan that hits you square in the chest. “Fuck,” you breathe, forehead dropping to hers, and she’s panting, “I know, right?” You’re buried in her, every nerve on fire, and it’s overwhelming—the squeeze, the heat, the way she fits you like she was made for it.

You stay there a beat, letting her breathe, letting yourself feel her—really feel her. Her pussy’s pink and perfect up close, folds glistening with arousal, and you can’t help but shift your hips just a little, testing. She whimpers, soft, and her hands slide up to your shoulders, nails digging in. “Move,” she says, half-demand, half-plea, and you do—pulling out slow, watching her eyes flutter shut, then thrusting back in, harder this time. She jolts under you, a little “ah” slipping out, and you grin, feral, because fuck, that sound’s addictive. You start a rhythm—slow pulls, deep thrusts—and it’s intense, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room, mingling with her gasps and your low groans.

Her breasts bounce with every thrust, big and pale, catching the dim light from the streetlamp outside your window, and you can’t resist—you lean down, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. She arches into you, moaning louder, and you feel her pussy clench tighter, a hot, wet grip that makes you curse against her skin. “Shit, Rina,” you mutter, tongue flicking over the peak, tasting salt and her, and your hand finds her other breast, cupping it, squeezing. It’s soft, heavy in your palm, and you roll the nipple between your fingers, pinching just enough to make her squirm. She’s sensitive—every tug, every lick pulls a reaction, her hips bucking up to meet yours, driving you deeper.

“God, you’re—fuck,” she gasps, voice hitching as you thrust harder, keeping her nipple between your teeth, teasing it with quick, sharp flicks. Her pussy’s soaking now, slick dripping down where you’re joined, and it’s tight, so fucking tight, like she’s trying to pull you in and keep you there. You shift your angle, hitching her leg higher over your hip, and hit deeper—some spot inside her that makes her cry out, loud and raw, her whole body shuddering. “There?” you ask, breathless, and she nods, frantic, “Yeah, there, don’t—don’t stop.”

You don’t. You pound into her, steady and hard, the bed creaking under you, headboard smacking the wall in a rhythm that’d piss off your neighbors if you gave a shit. Your mouth’s still on her breast, sucking, licking, and you can feel her tightening, her walls fluttering around your cock like she’s close already. “You feel so good,” you growl against her, letting her nipple slip free, red and wet from your tongue, and move to the other one. You bite down lightly, and she keens—a high, desperate sound that shoots straight to your dick. Your hand’s working her too—kneading the soft flesh, thumb circling her nipple, then pinching, rolling it until she’s thrashing under you, head tossing on the pillow.

“Fuck, yes,” she’s chanting, voice wrecked, “keep—keep doing that.” Her pussy’s a furnace, wet and pulsing, and every thrust feels like you’re sinking deeper into her, the friction building, electric. You can hear it—the slick, obscene sound of her taking you, the way she’s drenched around you—and it’s driving you wild. You slide a hand down her stomach, feeling her muscles jump, and press your thumb against her clit, just a light circle, testing. She bucks hard, a choked “oh” ripping from her throat, and you grin against her breast, sucking harder as you rub her clit in time with your thrusts.

Her breasts are bouncing faster now, jiggling with every slam of your hips, and you’re obsessed—watching them, feeling them, the way they fill your hand when you grab, the way her nipples harden more under your tongue. You pull back for a second, just to look—her chest heaving, pale skin flushed pink, your spit shining on her tits. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” you say, voice low, and she moans, eyes half-lidded, reaching for you. “C’mere,” she pants, pulling you back down, and you kiss her, messy and deep, tasting her groans as you fuck her harder.

Her pussy’s tight—impossibly tight—clamping down every time you hit that spot, and it’s wet, so wet you can feel it on your thighs, hear it every time you drive in. You experiment, slowing down, dragging your cock out almost all the way—letting her feel every ridge, every vein—then slamming back in, and she’s loud now, no holding back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she’s gasping, hands clawing at your back, leaving red lines you’ll feel tomorrow. You keep playing with her tits—one hand pinching, twisting, the other massaging—and she’s losing it, body arching, hips grinding up to meet you like she can’t get enough.

“Harder,” she begs, voice trembling, and you oblige—thrusting deep, relentless, the bed shaking under you. Her breasts bounce wildly, and you catch one in your mouth again, sucking hard, teeth grazing, and she’s whimpering, “Yes, like that, oh god.” Her pussy’s squeezing you so tight it’s almost painful, pink and slick and perfect, and you can feel her slick coating you, dripping down to where your balls slap against her.

You pull back, kneeling between her legs, and grab her hips, yanking her up to meet you. The angle’s brutal, letting you go deeper, and she’s crying out with every thrust, hands fisting the sheets. Her tits are swaying, hypnotic, and you reach forward, cupping one, thumb flicking the nipple as you fuck her—hard, steady, watching her fall apart. “Look at you,” you rasp, “taking me so fucking well.” She moans, loud and shameless, and her pussy clenches again, a hot, wet pulse that nearly sends you over.

“Don’t stop,” she’s pleading, “I’m—I’m so close.” You can feel it—her walls tightening, her breath hitching—and you speed up, slamming into her, rubbing her clit faster. Her breasts jiggle harder, and you pinch her nipple, twisting just enough to push her over. She comes with a scream—sharp, desperate—body locking up, shuddering as her pussy spasms around you, wet and tight and fucking unreal. You keep going, riding her through it, mouth on her tit again, sucking hard as she shakes and gasps, “Oh god, oh god.”

You’re close too—her orgasm pulling you in, the way she’s still clenching, slick and hot—and you feel it building, fast and fierce. “Rina,” you grunt, “where—?” She’s still trembling, but she grabs your hips, panting, “My chest.” You nod, thrusting a few more times—deep, hard, feeling her pussy grip you—then pull out, ripping the condom off. She’s watching, eyes wide, as you stroke yourself once, twice, and then you’re cumming, thick and hot, spilling across her big, pale breasts. It’s messy, streaking over her nipples, dripping down her sternum, and she’s breathing hard, a dazed smile tugging at her lips as you finish.

You collapse beside her, both of you wrecked, sweaty and spent. Her chest’s rising and falling, your cum glistening on her skin, and she reaches for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours. “Holy shit,” she whispers, voice hoarse, and you laugh, shaky. “Yeah. Holy shit.” She turns her head, grinning at you, and it’s soft, romantic even, amidst the mess. “We’re so doing that again,” she says, and you nod, already hooked—on her, on this, on everything you’ve just started.

And just like that, you and Karina—Rina—are a thing. A real, official, holy-shit-we’re-dating thing. It happens a week after that mind-blowing night, when you’re both still riding the high of it, sprawled on your couch with takeout containers scattered around. You’re nervous as hell, picking at the last dumpling in the box, when you blurt it out: “So, uh, wanna be my girlfriend? Like, for real?” She’s mid-sip of her beer, and she freezes, eyes wide like you just asked her to rob a bank. Then she laughs—this bright, unguarded sound—and sets the can down, leaning over to kiss you, all soft and slow, tasting like hops and her. “Yeah, dumbass,” she says against your lips, “I’d love to.” And that’s it—sealed, done, you’re hers and she’s yours.

It’s incredible, she’s incredible, and you two fit together in this weird, perfect way that’s hard to put into words. She’s fire and chaos, all sharp edges and wild energy, but with you, she’s soft too—vulnerable in a way she doesn’t show the world. You’re her anchor, the guy who doesn’t flinch when her life gets messy, and she’s your spark, lighting up the dull corners of your days. You get her sarcasm, her late-night rants about the industry, the way she’ll blast music and dance around your tiny kitchen in her socks. She loves how you don’t give a shit about her fame, how you’ll call her out when she’s being dramatic or just sit there, listening, when she needs to vent. It’s easy, natural—like you’ve been doing this forever.

But dating an idol? That’s the flip side, the part nobody warns you about. Her schedule’s a nightmare—promo runs, overseas trips, rehearsals that stretch past midnight. You can’t just grab dinner somewhere cute; every outing’s a mission. She’s half-disguised all the time—hoodies pulled low, sunglasses even when it’s cloudy, a mask if she’s feeling extra paranoid. You’ve got to dodge fans, paparazzi, random weirdos with cameras, so your dates are sneaky—late-night drives to nowhere, takeout in your apartment, or crashing at her dorm when the girls are out. It’s a secret, this little world you’ve built, and it’s stressful as hell sometimes—waiting for her to text back when she’s stuck in a 14-hour shoot, knowing she’s halfway across the globe some weeks, FaceTiming you from a hotel room. But then she’ll call, voice all scratchy and tired, saying, “Miss you, babe,” and it’s worth it—every second of the chaos.

While she’s out there slaying it, you’re not just sitting around. Life’s moving for you too. One of your buddies, the lanky bass player with a man-bun and a vape habit, joins this indie rock band—some scrappy outfit called “Neon Howl.” They’re rough around the edges, all reverb and angst, but their sound’s got legs—think early Arctic Monkeys vibes with a dash of lo-fi grit. You’ve jammed with him since high school, so when he texts you one night—“Dude, we’re blowing up a little, need a video for our single. You in?”—you don’t even hesitate. “Fuck yeah,” you reply, because it’s him, because you dig their music, and because it’s a shot at something real, something you can sink your teeth into.

Problem is, you’re broke as shit—no fancy gear, no pro lighting kits, just your beat-up iPhone 14 and a dream. You make it work, though. You hit up a thrift store for some cheap lamps, snag a couple clip-on LED panels from Amazon with your meager savings, and borrow a foggy mirror from your neighbor for that artsy vibe. The song’s called “Static Veins,” a moody banger about chasing highs you can’t keep, and you’ve got this vision—gritty, handheld shots, neon streaks cutting through shadows, the band half-lost in a haze. You spend weeks on it, filming in the vocalist's garage, an abandoned lot by the train tracks, anywhere you can guerilla-shoot without permits. The band’s all in—your friend plucking his bass with this intense, zoned-out look, the singer, belting into a busted mic stand, drummer pounding away like he’s possessed. You’re running around, barefoot half the time, yelling, “Tilt your head back—yeah, like that!” or “Okay, jump, fuck up the frame!”

Editing’s the real beast. You’re holed up in your room, living off instant ramen and Red Bull, your laptop wheezing as you cut clips in some cracked version of Premiere you “borrowed” online. You play with filters, tweak the color grade ‘til it’s all bruised purples and electric blues, sync the cuts to the bassline so it hits like a punch. It’s scrappy, raw, but it’s got soul—every frame feels alive, restless, like the song itself. When you finally show the band, they lose their shit. Your friend slapping your back, going, “Bro, this is dope as fuck,” and the vocalist already posting stills on their Insta, hyping the drop. They upload it to YouTube, TikTok, wherever it’ll stick, and then—boom. It catches.

Not, like, viral-overnight fame, but a slow burn that picks up steam. TikTok kids start stitching it, layering their own dances or just vibing in car loops, the song’s hook—“veins full of static, can’t feel the fall”—sticking in heads. The view count ticks up—10k, 50k, then 100k—and comments roll in: “this vid is fire,” “who shot this? need more.” Neon Howl’s buzzing, gigs start popping up, and your friend’s texting you nonstop—“Dude, we owe you, this is our break.” You’re stoked, not just for them, but for you—proof you’ve got something, a spark you can build on.

You can’t wait to tell Rina. She’s in Japan when you call, some press junket—her voice crackles through the phone, sleepy but warm. “Hey, you,” she says, and you hear her shift, probably curling up in some hotel bed. “Miss me?” You grin, pacing your tiny room. “Always. But yo, I’ve got news—remember that video I was messing with for my friend’s band? It’s popping off. Like, TikTok’s eating it up.” She perks up—you can hear it, the rustle of sheets, her sitting up. “No way! The iPhone one? Babe, that’s so fucking cool—tell me everything.” So you do—rambling about the shoot, the edits, how the band freaked, how it’s actually getting traction. She’s quiet for a sec, then, “I’m so proud of you. Seriously. You made that out of nothing, and it’s killing it. You’re amazing.”

Her words hit deep, warming you from the inside out. “Thanks, Rina,” you say, softer, “means a lot coming from you.” She laughs, light and teasing. “Oh, come on, don’t get all mushy on me now.” But then her tone shifts, quieter, “I wish I was there. I’d kiss you stupid to celebrate.” You feel that ache—the distance—and flop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, me too. When you back?” She sighs. “Three days. Feels like forever.” You nod, even though she can’t see it. “It does. But you’ve got me all lovesick over here, so hurry up.”

She giggles, and it’s the best sound in the world. “Lovesick, huh? You’re such a sap.” You smirk, rolling onto your side. “Only for you.” She goes quiet again, then, “Good. Stay that way. ‘Cause I’m kinda crazy about you too.” It’s not the first time she’s said it, but it still knocks the air out of you, makes your heart do this dumb little flip. “Same,” you mutter, and you both just breathe for a sec, letting it sink in. She’s half a world away, swamped with her idol life, but she’s here—on the line, in your corner, proud as hell. And you’re in love with her, full stop—distance, secrets, all of it be damned.

—

Tonight’s a big fucking deal, and you’re still wrapping your head around it. Two reasons to pop off, and both feel like they’re punching way above your weight. First, you just got tapped to co-direct a MV—your first real swing at the helm, even if it’s alongside someone else. It’s been a wild ride getting here, a year and change since that scrappy iPhone shoot for your friend’s band, Neon Howl. That first video was a fluke that stuck, a grainy little banger that somehow caught fire. You didn’t stop there—kept at it, shooting another for them, then another, each one a step up. You abandoned your phone for a secondhand DSLR, snagged some budget lights off eBay, even scored a gimbal from a guy on Craigslist who swore it “fell off a truck.” Every job, you got sharper—framing shots tighter, cutting cleaner, trusting your gut more than the textbooks from that audiovisual course you’re still chipping away at. It’s weird how natural it feels, like you’ve got a knack for this shit, studies or not. Neon Howl’s been climbing too—gigs at bigger venues, a small but rabid fanbase—and your name’s starting to float around the indie scene like you’re somebody.

Then this K-pop gig drops in your lap. A label’s debuting a new group—some sleek, edgy four-piece called VYX—and word gets around that Neon Howl’s gritty vibe might match their sound. The singer from Neon Howl pitches your name to a contact she’s got, and next thing you know, you’re on a Zoom call with a producer who’s throwing around terms like “visual synergy” and “debut aesthetic.” They pair you with a main director—the same guy you shadowed back when you were a PA on Itzy’s set. You remember him barking orders, chain-smoking between takes, but holy shit, the dude’s a genius—every shot he called was gold. You’d hovered near him then, soaking it up, and now you’re working with him? Co-directing? It’s unreal—half mentorship, half networking goldmine, and all chance to prove you’ve got the chops.

The second reason tonight’s lit? Rina’s coming over. Your girl, your Karina, fresh off a packed schedule and a flight from god-knows-where, insisted on crashing your place to celebrate. You haven’t seen her in weeks—texts and late-night calls only do so much—and when she heard about the gig, she blew up your phone with “BABE WHAT THE FUCK THAT’S HUGE” and a string of fire emojis. She’s been hyping you up nonstop, and knowing she’s hauling ass to be here tonight has your chest all warm and tight. You’re buzzing—half from the career high, half from the thought of her walking through your door.

You’re tidying up your apartment, which is still a glorified shoebox—peeling paint, a couch with a spring that jabs your ass, a kitchen counter barely big enough for a cutting board. You’ve shoved the laundry pile into a closet, wiped down the coffee table, and lit a cheap cedar candle to mask the faint beer-and-ramen funk. It’s not fancy, but it’s home, and Rina’s never cared about the mess anyway. You’re mid-sweep of some random crumbs when the buzzer goes off, and your heart does a dumb little skip. You hit the intercom—“Yeah?”—and her voice crackles through, “Let me up, director boy, I’ve got shit to show you.” You buzz her in, grinning like an idiot, and crack the door to wait.

She rounds the corner from the stairwell, and—fuck, she’s radiant. Doesn’t matter that she’s probably jet-lagged to hell; she looks like she stepped out of a magazine spread. Hair’s loose, dark waves spilling over a leather jacket she’s got unzipped just enough to show a sliver of a white crop top underneath. Black jeans, ripped at the knees, hug her legs like they’re painted on, and she’s got these scuffed-up Docs that somehow make her look tougher and hotter at the same time. She’s hauling a cake box—pink and white, tied with a bow—and her grin’s all teeth, bright and a little mischievous. “Special delivery,” she says, holding it up like a trophy, and you’re just standing there, staring, because how is she yours?

“Get in here,” you say, stepping aside, and she breezes past, kicking off her boots by the door without breaking stride. “You didn’t bake that, right?” you tease, shutting the door as she sets it on the counter. She spins, mock-offended, hand on her chest. “Excuse you, I could’ve. I’m a woman of many talents.” You snort, stepping closer. “Yeah, like burning down my kitchen? I’ve seen you with a toaster, Rina.” She laughs—loud, unguarded—and swats your arm. “Fuck off, I bought it, okay? But it’s good—chocolate hazelnut, fancy as shit. We’re celebrating you, Mr. Big Shot Co-Director.”

You pull her in then, hands on her waist, and she melts against you, all warm and solid, her arms looping around your neck. “Missed you,” you mutter, breathing her in—vanilla, leather, a hint of plane air clinging to her. She squeezes back, tight. “Missed you more. Been dying to see you since you told me. Co-directing a K-pop MV? That’s insane, babe.” You pull back just enough to look at her, and her eyes are sparkling—proud, excited, like she’s more stoked about this than you are. “Yeah,” you say, still half-dazed she’s here, “it’s wild. The director is a legend—worked with him on Itzy’s shoot back in the day. Now I’m, like, his right hand? Shit’s surreal.”

She drags you to the couch, cake box in tow, and flops down, patting the spot next to her. “Tell me everything—how’d it happen, what’s the group like, all of it.” You sit, pulling her legs over your lap like always, and launch in—how Neon Howl’s buzz got you noticed, how the label reached out, how VYX’s sound is this dark, synthy vibe that fits your style. “They’re rookies, but hungry as fuck,” you say, hands tracing absent circles on her calf. “The main director got the reins, but he’s letting me call shots—camera angles, mood boards, even some edit input. It’s a lot, but it’s… fuck, it’s fun.” She’s nodding, hanging on every word, and when you finish, she leans over, kissing you quick but firm. “You’re killing it,” she says, voice low, “and I’m not even surprised. You’ve got this.”

You grin, tugging her closer. “Thanks, Rina. Means a lot, you hyping me up like this.” She smirks, poking your chest. “Someone’s gotta keep your ego in check.” Then she’s up, grabbing the cake box, and you’re trailing her to the kitchen, where she plops it on the counter and starts digging for plates. “Found this at some bougie bakery near the dorm,” she says, slicing into it with a butter knife because you don’t own anything fancier. The cake’s rich—dark chocolate layered with hazelnut cream, glossy and ridiculous—and she hands you a sloppy piece on a chipped plate. “To your first co-direct,” she toasts, clinking her fork against yours, and you both dig in, leaning against the counter, crumbs falling everywhere.

“Fuck, this is good,” you mumble through a mouthful, and she laughs, smearing a bit of frosting on your nose. “You’re a mess,” she says, but her eyes are soft, warm, and you grab her wrist, pulling her in for another kiss—this one slower, deeper, chocolate lingering on her tongue. She hums against you, hands sliding under your shirt, and you’re half-tempted to ditch the cake and carry her to bed, but she breaks away, grinning. “Later,” she promises, “we’ve got celebrating to do first.”

You end up back on the couch, plates balanced on your knees, some random Netflix comedy flickering in the background—neither of you are really watching. She’s got her head on your shoulder, legs tangled with yours, and you’re talking about everything and nothing. She tells you about her last trip—some whirlwind press tour in Seoul, Tokyo, Taipei—how she barely slept, how Giselle pranked Winter with a fake spider and nearly got punched. You tell her about the MV shoot—how VYX’s leader kept cracking dad jokes between takes, how the main director chain-smoked through a lighting setup debate. “He’s intense,” you say, “but chill too—kept asking my input like I wasn’t just some indie kid with a camera.”

Rina’s fingers lace with yours, sticky from the cake. “You’re not just some indie kid anymore,” she says, serious now. “You’re doing this—really doing it. I’m so fucking proud, you don’t even know.” Her voice is firm, and it hits you hard—how much she believes in you, how she’s here, halfway across the world, just to say that. You squeeze her hand, throat tight. “Love you,” you mutter, almost shy, and she smiles—this slow, radiant thing that lights up the whole damn room. “Love you too, dummy.”

The night stretches out—cake finished, plates stacked on the coffee table, the movie looping into something neither of you care about. She’s curled into you now, hoodie half-off one shoulder, and you’re tracing the line of her collarbone, talking about the future—her comeback prep, your next gig, how you’ll make it work with her insane life and yours starting to take off. It’s not perfect—there’s the distance, the secrecy, the grind—but with her here, warm and real, it feels like you can handle anything.

—

Two years, and your life’s flipped upside down in the best way possible. That co-directing gig with VYX was the spark—after that MV dropped, shit just exploded. The video racked up millions of views, the group’s debut single shot up charts, and suddenly your phone’s blowing up with emails from people who’d never given you the time of day before. Next thing you know, you’re offered a solo directing gig for a huge group—think Red Velvet-level fame—and you pour everything into it. Late nights, endless revisions, arguing with producers over lens choices, but it pays off. The MV’s a hit—sleek, moody, all your signature gritty vibes—and your name’s on everyone’s radar. You could’ve stopped there, ridden that wave, but nah, you’re not built like that. When VYX’s label floats the idea of a documentary, you jump on it. Those girls—Jiwoo, Hana, Soo-ah, and Minji—aren’t just clients anymore; they’re friends after that first shoot. You’ve seen them at their rawest, laughing over takeout, crying after brutal rehearsals, and you wanna show that to the world.

The doc’s your baby—months of trailing them through studios, dorms, tour buses, capturing the chaos and the quiet. It’s not some polished PR fluff; it’s real—sweaty practice rooms, late-night meltdowns, the way Jiwoo doodles on her lyric sheets, how Minji’s voice cracks when she talks about missing home. You weave in the creative process too—grainy iPhone clips of them brainstorming choreo, arguing over melodies, mixed with your own shots of their debut MV set. Netflix picks it up, slaps a premiere date on it, and now here you are—standing on a red carpet at some swanky LA venue, lights flashing, your name on a poster like you’re somebody. You’re in a black blazer, hair styled for once instead of under a cap, and you’re trying not to trip over your own feet while a reporter from some entertainment site shoves a mic in your face.

“So, what can we expect from VYX: Unfiltered?” she asks, all bright teeth and practiced enthusiasm. You shift, scratching the back of your neck, still not used to this spotlight shit. “Uh, it’s real as hell,” you say, keeping it loose. “No sugarcoating—just the girls, how they grind, what they go through. You’ll see the highs, the lows, the messy stuff. Like, there’s this one bit where Soo-ah’s yelling at a mic stand ‘cause it won’t stay up—funniest shit I’ve ever filmed. But it’s deep too—Hana talking about why she almost quit, Jiwoo’s whole thing about finding her voice. It’s their story, y’know? I just held the camera.”

The reporter nods, scribbling on her tablet, then pivots. “Your career’s taken off so fast—two years ago, you were co-directing an MV, now you’ve got a Netflix doc and a string of hits. How’d you get here? Where’d this talent come from?” You laugh, a little sheepish, ‘cause it still feels weird to talk about yourself like this. “Man, I don’t know—guess I’ve always been into this stuff? When I was a kid, like 11 or 12, I’d grab my mom’s old camcorder and make these dumb ‘documentaries’—my dog chewing up the couch, my cousin’s awful karaoke, me narrating like it was some Nat Geo special. Kept at it, started messing with editing software, and it just… clicked. That VYX MV opened doors, but I’ve been hustling since those home-video days. Feels less like ‘suddenly arriving’ and more like I’ve been clawing my way up, y’know?”

She’s eating it up, tapping away, then throws you a curveball. “You’ve worked with some big names already—who’s on your dream list for a music video? Any groups you’re dying to direct?” You don’t even hesitate. “Oh, tons—Stray Kids, their energy’s insane, I’d love to do something chaotic with them. Seventeen too, they’ve got that cinematic vibe. And, uh—” you pause, grinning a little, “Aespa. They’re killing it, right? I’d kill to work with them, try something dark and trippy. Their whole concept’s dope.” The reporter smirks, probably sensing there’s more to that answer, but she lets it slide, wrapping up with a “Can’t wait to see what’s next!” before moving on to the next talking head.

You’re relieved to step off the carpet, ducking into the venue—a sleek theater with velvet seats and a bar that’s way too expensive for your taste. The premiere’s a blur—VYX shows up, all glammed up, hugging you like you’re family; the doc plays to a packed house, laughs and gasps in all the right places; people clap you on the back, saying shit like “game-changer” and “raw as fuck.” It’s a high, no doubt, but there’s this gnawing ache under it all. Rina. Your Karina. You wanted her here—imagined her in some killer dress, arm looped through yours, cracking jokes about how you clean up nice. But she’s not. Aespa’s in the thick of another comeback, breaking records left and right—streams, awards, you name it—and your schedules haven’t lined up for weeks. Months, almost. You miss her so bad it’s physical, like a knot in your chest.

Later, you’re scrolling X at the afterparty—some rooftop spot with too-loud music and free whiskey—when you see it. A fan account’s posted a clip of your interview, zeroed in on that Aespa bit. “He said AESPA! Imagine him directing for the girls—insane collab potential!” It’s blowing up—retweets, heart-eyes emojis—and then your phone buzzes. It’s her. A screenshot of the clip, followed by: "Dark and trippy, huh? You tryna impress me, director boy?” Your heart jumps, a stupid grin spreading as you type back, “Always. You see the whole thing?” She replies quick: “Yeah—proud of u. Wish I was there. Miss u like crazy.” You sink back in your chair, the party fading to noise around you. “Miss u more. Been too long, Rina.” She sends a heart, then, “We’ll figure it out soon. Promise.” But “soon” feels vague, and that knot tightens.

You sip your drink, staring at the LA skyline, all glitter and smog. It’s been a hell of a ride—after VYX, you directed that big MV solo, then another, each one stacking cred. The documentary’s your crown jewel so far—Netflix execs are already sniffing around for more, and VYX’s fans are calling you “the fifth member” online, which is wild. You’re tight with the girls now; Jiwoo’s texting you memes about the premiere, Soo-ah’s begging for a sequel. But success doesn’t hit the same without Rina to share it. You’ve barely talked—snatched calls between her rehearsals and your edits, texts that taper off when one of you crashes out. Last time you saw her was a rushed weekend in Seoul, three months back—stolen kisses in her dorm, laughing over burnt toast, then her rushing off to a flight. Now, you’re both soaring, her with Aespa’s insane trajectory, you with this, but the gap’s growing, and it’s eating at you.

You wander to a quieter corner of the roof, leaning on the railing. The premiere’s a win, no question—your career’s meteoric, a rocket from that first Neon Howl vid to this. But you’re worried—about her, about you two. She’s your rock, the one who gets it, who’d be here calling you a “Netflix sellout” with that smirk you love. You pull up a pic on your phone—her in your apartment, sprawled on your couch, mid-laugh, cake frosting on her chin from that co-directing night. It’s a punch to the gut, how much you need her here. You fire off one more text: “Wish u were here to see this shit live. Love u.” She doesn’t reply right away—probably asleep, time zones screwing you again—and you pocket the phone, forcing a smile as Jiwoo drags you back to the party. It’s your night, but it’s hollow without your girl by your side.

—

It’s been a rough stretch, no lie. The last few months with Rina felt like walking on a tightrope—both of you stretched thin, juggling her skyrocketing fame with Aespa and your own career blowing up. Those late-night calls started getting tense. “I hate this,” she’d said once, muffled like she was hiding in a bathroom somewhere, “always sneaking around, stuck in the same four walls. I just wanna be with you, y’know? Out in the open.” You felt it too—the distance, not just physical but emotional, the way you couldn’t grab her hand in public or post a dumb selfie without sparking a shitstorm. It sucked, and she was pissed, and you were too, but neither of you knew how to fix it with your lives pulling you in opposite directions. So you threw out an idea—fuck it, let’s get away. Somewhere far, somewhere nobody knows you. Bali. When you pitched it, her face lit up over FaceTime like you’d just handed her the moon. “Yes, oh my god, yes,” she’d said, practically bouncing, “let’s do it. I need this so bad.”

Getting there’s a mission, though. You book the flights, a cushy hotel, the works—your Netflix money’s finally good for something—and she’s paranoid about being spotted. On the plane, she’s incognito as hell: big sunglasses, a bucket hat pulled low, a black mask covering half her face, even her hoodie’s hood up like she’s auditioning for a spy flick. You’re next to her in a plain cap and hoodie, keeping it low-key, and she’s gripping your hand under the blanket. “If anyone sees me, I’m fucked,” she whispers, half-laughing, and you squeeze back. “We’re good, Rina. Just a couple of nobodies on a plane.” She snorts, leaning her head on your shoulder, and for the first time in weeks, you feel her relax.

Bali hits you hard—humid air, turquoise water, palm trees swaying like they’re too chill to stand straight. The hotel’s a vibe: open-air lobby, infinity pool spilling into the horizon, your room with a balcony overlooking the ocean. Rina ditches the disguise the second you’re checked in, peeling off the hat and mask, shaking out her hair like she’s shedding a skin. “Fuck, I’m free,” she says, spinning in the room, barefoot on the cool tile, and you’re just watching her, grinning like an idiot because she’s happy—really happy—and it’s contagious as hell. First few days, you’re all about playing tourist. No schedules, no cameras, just you and her and a rented scooter that you’re half-sure you’ll crash. She’s in these floral dresses—flowy, bright, all pinks and yellows and blues, hugging her in just the right places, the kind of thing that makes her look like she stepped out of a postcard. You can’t stop staring, and she knows it, throwing you these sly little smirks when she catches you.

You hit up the classics—Uluwatu Temple first, perched on those cliffs with the waves crashing below. She’s snapping pics of the monkeys swinging around, laughing when one tries to snag her sunglasses. “Little bastard,” she mutters, but she’s grinning, leaning into you as you snap a selfie—her cheek pressed to yours, the ocean a blurry roar behind you. You can’t post it anywhere, not with her fans or your growing rep in the industry, but it’s yours, locked in your phone like a secret treasure. Next day’s Tanah Lot, that temple sitting pretty on its rock in the sea. She’s barefoot again, skirt hiked up as she wades into the shallow water, splashing you when you lag behind. “C’mon, slowpoke!” she yells, and you chase her, both of you soaked and cackling like kids, the salt stinging your eyes.

The beach days are where it really sinks in—how much you needed this, how much she did. You’re at Seminyak, sprawled on a couple of lounge chairs under a striped umbrella, the sand white-hot under your feet. She’s in a bikini top and one of those sarong things tied loose around her hips, floral dress swapped for something that shows off her tan lines and the way the sun’s kissed her shoulders. You’re shirtless, board shorts dripping from a dip in the waves, and she’s got her sunglasses perched on her nose, sipping some fruity drink with a tiny umbrella in it. “This is the life,” she says, stretching out, toes wiggling in the sand. “No managers, no scripts—just us and this dope-ass view.” You nod, sipping your own beer, ice-cold and sweating in your hand. “Fuck yeah. Been too long since we just… chilled.”

You grab your phone—not for work, not for some edit, but to snap her. She’s mid-laugh, head tipped back, drink sloshing as she swats at you. “Stop, I look dumb!” she protests, but she’s posing anyway—hand on her hip, chin tilted, giving you that million-watt smile that’s all hers. You take a dozen—her lounging, her splashing in the surf, her chasing a stray beach ball some kid lost. She snags your phone after, flipping through, and insists on getting you—shirtless and squinting against the sun, pretending to flex like a tool. “Gotta keep these for the scrapbook,” she says, and you both know there’s no scrapbook, just a hidden folder you’ll scroll through when you’re missing each other.

One afternoon, you’re at this hidden spot, Pantai Pandawa, a stretch of beach tucked between cliffs, less crowded, more raw. The water’s so clear you can see fish darting under the surface, and the sand’s soft, sticking to your legs as you wrestle her into the waves. She’s shrieking, “You asshole!” as you dunk her, but she’s laughing, hair plastered to her face, saltwater dripping from her lashes. You pull her up, arms around her waist, and she’s still giggling, clinging to you as the waves lap at your thighs. “You’re such a dick,” she says, but her eyes are soft, locked on yours, and you kiss her, slow, salty, the kind of kiss that says everything you’ve been too busy to say. She melts into it, hands on your chest, and for a minute, it’s just you two, the ocean, and nothing else mattering.

Back at the hotel, you’re sprawled on the balcony that night, the air warm and sticky, a faint breeze carrying the smell of frangipani. She’s in your lap, legs draped over the armrest, a beer in her hand and one of those dresses on—blue this time, thin straps slipping off her shoulders. You’re nursing your own drink, some local rum thing that burns good, and you’re just talking—about the last few months, the fights, the wins. “I hated how it felt,” she admits, voice quiet, “like we were drifting. I’d see your shit online—VYX stuff, the Netflix buzz—and I’d be so fucking proud, but pissed too, ‘cause I couldn’t be there.” You nod, running a hand up her back. “Same. Every time you’d drop a teaser or win some award, I’d be cheering from my couch, but it killed me I couldn’t tell anyone you’re mine.”

She sets her beer down, shifts to straddle you, hands on your shoulders. “We’re here now,” she says, firm, like she’s staking a claim. “No work, no bullshit—just us.” You pull her closer, kissing her neck, tasting the salt still on her skin. “Yeah,” you murmur, “just us.” The stress—the missed calls, the weeks apart, the secrecy—it’s gone, melted away under the Bali sun. You’re laughing again, her stealing sips of your rum, you tickling her ‘til she’s squirming and swearing at you. It’s light, free, the way it’s supposed to be. The pics pile up—her silhouetted against a sunset, you mid-sandcastle fail, both of you grinning over skewers of grilled fish at a night market. Private moments, locked away from the world, but they’re everything. For the first time in forever, you’re not worried—just happy as hell with your girl.

—

The hot tub’s steaming, bubbling softly around you, and the Bali night air’s got that perfect mix of warm and breezy, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere nearby. You’re sunk into the water up to your chest, arms draped along the edge, feeling the ache of the day—swimming, chasing Rina through the waves, eating half your weight in satay—melt away. She’s across from you, looking like a goddamn vision in this black bikini that’s doing work—all sleek lines and barely-there straps, hugging her curves just right. The water’s beading on her skin, catching the dim glow of the hotel’s ambient lights, and her hair’s wet, slicked back, a few strands clinging to her neck. She’s sipping some fruity cocktail she insisted on ordering—bright pink with a little umbrella—and every time she moves, the water ripples, lapping against her collarbone, making you a little dizzy. You’re both loose, buzzed from the day and the drinks, and it’s quiet out here—just the two of you, the hum of the jets, and the distant crash of the ocean.

“Today was fucking perfect,” you say, tipping your head back against the tub’s edge, letting the heat soak into your bones. “Like, I don’t think it gets better than this—beach all day, food’s unreal, and you in that dress earlier? Shit, I’m still recovering.” She grins, kicking her foot lightly against your shin under the water. “Yeah, these last few days have been clutch. I haven’t felt this chill in forever—no schedules, no one yelling at me to fix my face. Just us, vibing.” She sets her drink on the ledge, leaning forward a little, and the water shifts, giving you a front-row view of how that bikini top’s barely holding on. “I posted some pics today, by the way—those ones from the temple and the beach. They’re blowing up already, all my fans are losing their shit over the views.”

You smirk, fishing your phone from the dry spot on the ledge to pull up her Instagram. “Lemme see—oh, damn, these are fire. That sunset shot with you in the sarong? Unreal.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, proud. “Please, you’re the one snapping half of ‘em. You’ve got an eye, babe—I’m just the hot subject. Those candids you took of me at the market? I’m obsessed—way better than the pro stuff I usually get.” You laugh, tossing the phone back. “What can I say? I’ve got the best muse. Makes it easy.”

The flirting’s light, easy, the kind that’s been flowing all trip—little jabs, lingering looks, her brushing your arm when she laughs. You’re talking about the monkey that almost jacked her sunglasses yesterday, how she screeched like a banshee, and she’s splashing you, calling you a dick for not saving her. “I was busy laughing my ass off,” you say, wiping water from your face, and she sticks her tongue out, all playful and cute. It’s perfect—quiet, no one around, just you and her in this little bubble. Until your phone buzzes again, loud and insistent against the tub’s edge. You glance at it, ready to swipe it away, but Rina catches your eye, narrowing hers. “Ignore it,” she says, voice firm, pout already forming. “You promised—no distractions. We’re off the grid, remember?”

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen. “Yeah, you’re right, but—something’s telling me to check it. Swear it’ll be quick, like two seconds.” She huffs, crossing her arms, which only pushes her chest up more in that bikini, and fuck, it’s distracting as hell. “Fine,” she mutters, “but I’m timing you. Hurry up.” You flash her an apologetic grin, snagging the phone, and answer it—some korean number you don’t recognize. “Yo, who’s this?” you say, keeping it casual, expecting some spam call or a wrong number.

It’s not. It’s a producer from SM, voice crisp and straight to the point. “Hey, man, been trying to reach you—big news. We want you for Aespa’s next MV. Full creative control, your vision, no co-director. It’s yours if you’re in.” Your brain short-circuits for a second—Aespa? Her Aespa? You’re sitting there, water dripping off your elbow, staring at Rina while this dude keeps talking numbers, timelines, how they’ve been watching your VYX doc and the solo MVs, how your style’s “exactly what we need.” She’s pouting still, lips pursed, arms crossed tighter now, and you’re trying to process this bomb while she’s glaring like you just kicked a puppy. “Uh, yeah, that’s—shit, that’s huge,” you stammer into the phone, eyes locked on her, and she tilts her head, curious now despite the attitude.

The guy’s pushing for a verbal yes—says your schedule’s filling up fast since the Netflix drop, and they wanna lock you in before someone else snags you. “We’ll email the details tonight—contract, budget, all that. You’re our guy, just say the word.” You’re reeling, but you manage a “Yeah, I’m in—send it over,” and he’s stoked, promising you’ll hear from him tomorrow before hanging up. You drop the phone, still processing, and Rina’s staring, one eyebrow up, pout softening into something else—intrigue, maybe impatience. “Okay, what the hell was that?” she asks, shifting closer, water sloshing as she leans in. “You look like you just won the lottery or got hit by a truck—spill.”

You blink, then laugh, this wild, giddy sound that bursts out of you. “That—that was SM. They want me to direct Aespa’s next MV. Solo. Full control. Your MV, Rina.” Her eyes go wide, jaw dropping, and for a second she just stares, processing it like you are. Then she squeals—loud, unfiltered, splashing water everywhere as she lunges at you, wrapping her arms around your neck. “No fucking way!” she yells, laughing against your shoulder, and you’re holding her tight, both of you half-soaked and grinning like maniacs. “Babe, that’s insane—are you serious? You and me, working together? That’s, like—holy shit, it’s a dream!”

She pulls back, hands on your face, eyes sparkling with this mix of pride and disbelief. “I can’t believe it. You’re gonna direct us? My man’s out here running the game!” You nod, still buzzing, adrenaline pumping. “Yeah, they said it’s mine—my vision, all that. Been watching my stuff, said it fits you guys perfect. I’m freaking out—I mean, I talked about Aespa in that interview months ago, and now it’s real.” She’s beaming, practically vibrating, and hugs you again, water splashing over the tub’s edge. “You deserve this so fucking much,” she says, voice softer now, “I’ve seen you grind for this. And now we get to do it together? I’m losing my mind.”

You laugh, pulling her closer, her legs straddling you now in the water, and you’re both just soaking in it—literal and figurative. “I wouldn’t be here without you, Rina,” you say, dead serious, hands on her hips. “All those nights you were hyping me up, pushing me—none of this happens without that.” She smirks, brushing wet hair off your forehead. “Damn right, I’m the real MVP. But you—you’re the genius behind the lens. This is your win.” You kiss her then, deep and slow, tasting the cocktail on her lips, the heat of the tub and her body making your head spin. She hums into it, fingers tangling in your hair, and it’s perfect—until she pulls back, eyes glinting with something mischievous.

“We gotta celebrate,” she says, tone dropping low, suggestive, and you raise a brow, already feeling the shift. “Oh yeah? What you got in mind, superstar?” She grins, slow and wicked, sliding off you and standing up, water cascading off her like some goddess rising from the sea. That bikini’s clinging to her, droplets catching the light, and she knows exactly what she’s doing when she steps out, grabbing a towel but not wrapping it around herself—just holding it loose, teasing. “I had a surprise planned anyway,” she says, voice all honey and trouble, “and now’s the perfect fucking time. C’mon—upstairs.”

You’re out of the tub in a heartbeat, dripping all over the deck as you grab your phone and her drink, following her like a dog on a leash. She’s swaying her hips as she climbs the outdoor stairs to your room, that floral dress vibe long gone, replaced by this raw, sexy energy that’s got your pulse hammering. The hotel’s quiet, just the hum of crickets and the rustle of palms, and it feels like you’re stealing a moment from the universe—no one around, no interruptions, just her leading you to whatever she’s got cooking. You hit the room, a big open space with a king bed, sheer curtains fluttering by the balcony, and she tosses the towel aside, spinning to face you, all wet hair and sly smiles. “Lock the door,” she says, and you don’t need to be told twice—this night’s about to go from great to unforgettable, and you’re both all in.

“Now close your eyes,” she says, like she’s about to pull the best prank of your life. You raise a brow, smirking, but she just steps closer, poking your chest with a finger. “I’m serious, babe—shut ‘em. Trust me.” You shrug, playing along—how can you say no to her when she’s got that look?—and let your eyelids drop, plunging you into darkness. “No peeking,” she warns, and you hear the grin in her tone, the rustle of her moving away.

The sounds start quick—fabric sliding, a zipper’s faint whine, her bare feet padding on the hardwood. She’s giggling, this soft, giddy little sound that’s got your pulse kicking up because you know she’s up to something. There’s a shuffle, a muffled “shit” as she stubs her toe on something—probably the chair by the dresser—and you bite back a laugh, keeping your eyes screwed shut. “You good over there?” you call, and she huffs, “Yeah, yeah, just—gimme a sec, perfection takes time.” Your mind’s racing, trying to piece together what she’s doing from the clink of a hanger, the snap of elastic. She’s rushing, fumbling a little, and it’s cute as hell—Karina, the poised idol, tripping over herself to surprise you. Then it goes quiet, just her breathing, and your hands flex on your knees, itching to see.

“Alright—open ‘em,” she says, and there’s this edge to her voice, excited and a little nervous. You blink your eyes open, adjusting to the light, and—fuck. There she is, standing a few feet away, and your jaw drops, brain short-circuiting. She’s swapped the bikini for lingerie that’s straight-up lethal—black lace, all sheer and delicate, clinging to her like a second skin. The bra’s pushing her breasts up, the fabric stretched tight over them, her nipples just barely teasing through the pattern, and those fishnet tights? They’re ripped in all the right places, hugging her thick thighs, leading your eyes down to her bare feet, toes curling against the floor. Her hair’s still wet, dripping onto her shoulders, and she’s got this shy-but-smug grin, like she knows she’s just wrecked you.

“Holy shit, Rina,” you manage, voice rough as you stand, already half-hard and not even hiding it. You step toward her, hands itching to touch, and she’s watching you, eyes flicking over your reaction. “You’re fucking gorgeous—how am I supposed to handle this?” She laughs, this bright, bubbly sound, and then she’s on you—jumping into your arms, legs wrapping around your waist, and you catch her instinctively, hands flying to her ass to hold her up. She’s warm, solid, the lace scratchy against your palms, and you’re kissing her before you can think, lips crashing into hers. Your fingers tangle in her damp hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp into your mouth.

You stumble toward the bed, her weight shifting in your arms, and she’s grinding down a little, teasing, her breath hot against your jaw as you kiss her deeper—messy, all tongue and need. You hit the edge of the mattress and sit, her still in your lap, straddling you, and she pulls back for a second, panting, eyes dark and locked on yours. “Surprise,” she whispers, smirking, and you groan, hands roaming now—up her back, over the curve of her hips, feeling how thick she is, how every inch of her feels like a goddamn gift. The lace is rough under your fingertips, a contrast to her soft skin, and you’re obsessed, tracing where the fishnets dig into her thighs, where the bra cuts into her chest.

“Been planning this, huh?” you say, and she nods, biting her lip. “Since the hot tub—wanted to celebrate you right.” Your hands slide to her breasts, cupping them through the fabric, thumbs brushing where her nipples press against the lace, and she shivers, this tiny, needy sound slipping out. You’re rock-hard now, straining against your shorts, and she feels it—shifts her hips deliberately, rubbing against you until you hiss. “Fuck, Rina—you’re killing me.” She grins, wicked, and slides off your lap, dropping to her knees between your legs like it’s nothing.

You lean back on your elbows, watching her, heart pounding as she hooks her fingers into your shorts and yanks them down with your boxers in one go. They hit the floor somewhere across the room—she doesn’t care, and neither do you—your cock springing free, hard and aching, and she’s staring, eyes wide like she’s seeing it for the first time. “Goddamn,” she murmurs, almost to herself, and wraps her hand around you, slow and light, stroking just enough to make your head tip back. It’s electric—her touch, the way her fingers curl, cool from the water still clinging to her, and you groan, “Fuck, that’s good.” She’s kneeling there, all lace and fishnets, lips parted, and keeps her eyes on you—big, brown, full of heat—like she’s daring you to lose it right then.

“Love you like this,” she says, voice soft but sure, and it hits you hard—how much you love her too, how this isn’t just some fling. Her hand moves faster, grip tightening, and she’s leaning in, breath ghosting over you, making you twitch. “Rina—” you start, but she’s already sliding her thumb over the tip, smearing precum, and you’re gripping the sheets, trying not to buck up into her hand. She smirks, knowing exactly what she’s doing, and pumps you slow—deliberate, delicious—watching your face, drinking in every sound you make. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” she says, and it’s raw, real, the way she’s all in for you.

She doesn’t dive right in—no, Rina’s too much of a tease for that. She starts with a flick of her tongue, just the tip, brushing over the head of your cock where you’re already leaking, and it’s like a jolt straight up your spine. You hiss, hips twitching up on instinct, and she giggles—soft, bubbly, like she’s playing with her favorite toy. “Chill, babe,” she murmurs, voice low and sultry, “I’ve got you.” Then she flattens her tongue, dragging it slow and wet up the underside, tracing every vein, every ridge, like she’s mapping you out. It’s torture—delicious, mind-numbing torture—and you’re gripping the sheets, knuckles white, trying not to buck into her mouth.

Her hand’s still working the base, fingers curled tight, pumping you in this lazy rhythm while her mouth gets busy. She wraps her lips around the tip, sucking just enough to make your head spin, and the wet heat of her is unreal—soft, slick, pulling you in. She pops off for a sec, smirking, spit glistening on her lips, and mutters, “Fuck, you taste good,” before going back in, deeper this time. Her tongue swirls around you, sloppy and hot, and she hollows her cheeks, that suction hitting just right. You groan, loud and ragged, head tipping back against the bedframe, and she hums against you—vibrations shooting through your cock, making your toes curl.

She takes you deeper, lips stretching around you, and you feel the back of her throat, tight and warm, squeezing you as she gags just a little. “Shit, Rina,” you gasp, one hand flying to her hair, tangling in those wet strands, and she moans around you, the sound muffled but needy. She pulls back slow, dragging her tongue along you again, leaving you slick and aching, then dives back down, bobbing her head now—up and down, steady and relentless.

The room’s spinning, the wet schlick of her mouth mixing with your panting, her little whimpers every time she chokes herself on you. She’s drooling now—spit dripping down your shaft, pooling at the base—and she uses it, sliding her hand up to meet her lips, stroking you in sync with every suck. It’s filthy, obscene, the way she’s slurping you down, eyes watering but never breaking contact, like she’s daring you to lose it. You’re close—too close—and she knows it, feels the way you’re tensing, throbbing against her tongue. “Fuck, I’m gonna—” you start, voice wrecked, but she just speeds up, sucking harder, tongue flicking wild over the tip.

She’s relentless—lips tight, cheeks hollowed, hand twisting just under her mouth—and you’re a goner, hips jerking, groaning her name like a prayer. But she doesn’t let you finish—not yet. She pulls off with a wet pop, gasping for air, spit trailing from her mouth to your cock, leaving you glistening, hard as steel, and so fucking ready it hurts. Her chest’s heaving, breasts spilling out of that lace bra, nipples pressing against the fabric, and she wipes her lips with the back of her hand, grinning up at you like she’s won something. “Not yet, babe,” she says, voice hoarse but playful, “got more for you.”

You’re dazed, cock twitching in the air, wet and heavy from her mouth, and she’s kneeling there—black lace, fishnets, all sex and mischief—watching you like she’s plotting the next move. Your hand’s still in her hair, loose now, and you tug gently, trying to catch your breath. “You’re insane,” you manage, and she laughs, soft and wicked, crawling up just enough to hover over you. “You love it,” she shoots back, and yeah, you do—fuck, you really do.

“Ready for round two, babe?” she says, voice raspy and dripping with intent, and before you can even nod, she’s reaching back, unhooking that bra with a flick of her fingers.

It falls away, and fuck—you never get tired of seeing them. Her tits are perfect, bouncing free, full and soft, swaying a little as she shifts. She catches your stare, smirking wider, and leans forward, letting them hover just above your cock, still glistening from her spit. “Been dying to do this,” she mutters, grabbing her breasts in her hands, squeezing them together, and you’re already groaning, hips twitching up because you know what’s coming. She slides your cock between them—slow, deliberate—her skin hot and smooth against you, the wet mess she left making it slippery right off the bat. You fit right in there, snug between her tits, and she presses them tighter, trapping you in this soft, warm vise that’s got your head spinning.

“Fuck, Rina,” you breathe, watching her work—her shoulders rolling as she starts moving, sliding you up and down between her breasts. It’s filthy, the way they jiggle with every bounce, the way your cock glides so easy with all that spit and precum slicking her up. She’s grinning now, and leans her chin down, letting a fat drop of spit fall right onto the tip of your cock as it peeks out from her cleavage. “You like that, huh?” she teases, voice low and dirty, “watching your sweet little Rina turn into a nasty girl for you?” You groan, loud and helpless, because yeah, you love this side of her—the way she flips from soft and giggly to this, all cocky and filthy, owning you with every word.

She shifts her grip, pressing her tits even tighter, and starts bouncing them faster—up, down, the friction building, her skin flushing pink from the effort. “Goddamn, you’re so hard,” she says, eyes flicking down to where your cock’s nestled, the head popping out with every thrust, big and leaking. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this—fucking my tits ‘til you blow, huh? You’re such a perv for me.” Her words hit like a punch, and you can’t help it—your hips jerk up, pushing deeper into that perfect, plush valley, and she laughs, low and wicked. “Yeah, that’s it—fuck ‘em like you mean it.”

She’s leaning in now, her breath hot against your chest, lips brushing your skin as she keeps going. “You love these big tits, don’t you? Been staring at ‘em all trip, waiting to slide that fat cock right here. Bet you’re gonna make a fucking mess of me—gonna cum so hard I’ll be dripping with you.” It’s driving you wild, the way she’s egging you on, every filthy syllable making your balls tighten. You’re thrusting up now, matching her rhythm, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room, and she’s moaning like she’s the one getting off—soft little “mmhs” every time your cock hits the top of her cleavage.

She tilts her head back, letting her hair fall wild, and catches the tip of your cock with her tongue on an upstroke—just a flick, enough to make you curse and buck harder. “Shit, Rina, you’re gonna kill me,” you rasp, voice all wrecked, and she smirks, slowing down just to fuck with you, dragging her tits along you so slow you feel every inch of her. “Not yet,” she says, “I’m making you cum so many times tonight, babe—this is just the start. Gonna drain you ‘til you’re begging me to stop.” The promise—the threat—has your head falling back, a groan ripping out of you because fuck, that’s all you want right now, her taking you apart over and over.

Her pace picks up again, fast and sloppy, and she’s relentless—kneading her breasts around you, pushing them together so tight it’s almost too much. The fishnets are scratching your thighs, rough against your skin, and it’s this perfect mix of soft and hard—her tits, her attitude, the way she’s talking shit. “Look at you,” she purrs, “fucking my tits like some horny teenager—gonna blow already, aren’t you? Can’t even hold it in for me.” You’re panting, sweat beading on your forehead, and she’s right—you’re close, teetering on that edge, every bounce of her chest pulling you further in. “Do it,” she whispers, voice dropping an octave, “cum all over me—make me a fucking mess.”

That’s it—you’re gone. Your hands fly to her shoulders, gripping hard, and your hips snap up one last time, burying your cock deep between her tits as you cum, hard and wild. The first spurt’s a shock—it shoots up, high and fast, catching her off guard, hitting her chin and dripping onto her lips. She yelps, half-laughing, “Oh, fuck!�� but doesn’t stop, keeps sliding you through her cleavage as you unload—thick, hot ropes of cum painting her chest, streaking across her pale skin, pooling in the hollow of her throat. It’s a mess, a goddamn masterpiece—white splattered over black lace, dripping down her breasts, coating her nipples, sliding into the crevice where she’s still pressing tight around you.

You’re shaking, groaning her name—“Rina, fuck”—as she milks you dry, slowing her movements but not letting go, letting the last few spurts dribble out, smearing her even more. She’s grinning, triumphant, licking that stray drop off her lip like it’s a trophy, and you’re just staring, wrecked and breathless, at the sight of her—cum-soaked, flushed, that naughty glint in her eye brighter than ever. “Holy shit,” you pant, collapsing back onto your elbows, and she leans forward, resting her messy tits on your thighs, looking up at you with this mix of sweet and sinful that’s pure Karina.

“Told you I’d make you cum hard,” she says, running a finger through the mess on her chest, smearing it a little like she’s proud of the artwork. “And we’re not done—gonna fuck you senseless tonight, babe. You ready for more?” You laugh, weak but game, heart still racing. “Fuck yeah, I’m ready—bring it on.” She climbs up, straddling your lap again, cum still dripping off her.

You lean in, catching her mouth with yours, and it’s slow at first—lazy kisses, all tongue and heat, tasting the mix of her fruity drink and the salt of your release. Her lips are soft, swollen from sucking you off, and she hums into it, pressing herself closer, her sticky chest brushing yours. It’s messy, intimate, the kind of kiss that says neither of you is done yet—round two’s just getting started.

Your hands roam, sliding down her back, feeling the curve of her spine under the lace, the way her ass jiggles a little when you grab it. She’s grinding down again, subtle rolls of her hips, and you’re still sensitive as hell, but it’s waking you up fast. Your fingers dip lower, sneaking under the thin strap of her panties—black, soaked, clinging to her—and you brush her pussy, already dripping wet, hot and slick against your fingertips. She gasps into your mouth, a little shudder running through her, and you can’t help it—your cock twitches, already greedy for more. “Fuck, Rina,” you murmur against her lips, voice rough, “I’m so fucking crazy to get inside that tight little pussy—you’re killing me.” She pulls back just enough to grin. “Oh, I know you are,” she says, all teasing, “but I’ve got something different for you tonight, babe. A little upgrade.”

You blink, curiosity spiking, and tilt your head. “Different? What you cooking up now?” She smirks wider, like she’s been waiting for this moment, and nods toward the corner of the room. “See that bag over there? My black one, by the dresser—go grab it.” You follow her gaze—there’s this sleek little duffel, half-zipped, tucked against the wall like it’s been hiding secrets all trip. You slide her off your lap—she flops back on the bed with a dramatic little bounce, giggling—and you stumble over, still buzzed from the high, cum drying on your thighs. “What am I looking for?” you ask, unzipping it, digging through a mess of clothes and random shit—sunglasses, a hairbrush, some crumpled receipts. “Blue lid,” she calls, propping herself up on her elbows, watching you with this eager, mischievous look. “Bottle with a blue lid—can’t miss it.”

Your hand closes around it—a small, clear bottle, cool to the touch, blue cap screwed on tight. You pull it out, squinting at the label, and your brain catches up a second late: lube. Your eyes widen, head snapping back to her, and she’s grinning sprawled out on the sheets. “Surprise number two,” she says, voice dropping low, sultry as fuck. “You’re getting my ass tonight, babe. Been wanting to give you that for a while.” Your mouth goes dry, cock jumping from half-mast to full-on throbbing in about two seconds flat. “You—holy shit, Rina, you serious?” She nods, slow and deliberate, biting her lip. “Dead serious. Now get over here—I’m not waiting all night.”

She shifts then, rolling onto her stomach, pushing up onto her knees, and—fuck—arches her back like she’s posing for some X-rated photoshoot. Her ass is up, round and perfect, still hugged by those soaked panties, and she gives it a little shake, fishnets stretching over her cheeks, teasing you with every jiggle. You’re damn near hypnotized, cock pulsing like it’s got a mind of its own, and you stumble back to the bed, bottle in hand, already imagining how she’s gonna feel. “Go slow, though,” she says over her shoulder, voice softer now, a touch of nerves sneaking in. “Start with your fingers—ease me into it, yeah? I trust you.” You nod, swallowing hard, setting the lube down for a sec so you can crawl behind her. “Promise I’ll take care of you, Rina. Gonna make this so fucking good for you.”

She’s on all fours now, ass high, head dipping low, and you hook your fingers into her panties, peeling them down slow—black fabric sticking to her wet thighs, dragging over the fishnets until they’re bunched at her knees. The sight’s unreal—her pussy’s glistening, pink and swollen from how turned on she is, but it’s that tight little asshole that’s got your full attention now, puckered and perfect, winking at you as she shifts her hips. You pop the lube cap, squirting a generous glob onto your fingers—cold, slick, smelling faintly of something clean and sharp—and drizzle some down her crack, watching it drip slow over her hole, pooling at the base of her pussy. She shivers, a little “ooh” slipping out, and you mutter, “Fuck, you’re so hot,” rubbing your hands together to warm the lube up.

You start with her ass, spreading the lube with your thumbs, massaging slow circles over that tight ring. Her skin’s shining now—glossy and slick, catching the light—and she relaxes a bit, pushing back into your touch. “Feels good already,” she murmurs, voice muffled against the sheets, and you grin, loving how she’s melting for you. You don’t stop there—slide your hands lower, rubbing the lube over her pussy too, fingers brushing her clit, slicking her folds until she’s dripping even more, a wet mess under your palms. She moans, soft and needy, and you can’t resist—keep working her ass with one hand, the other teasing her pussy, dipping just the tip of a finger inside her to feel how she clenches.

Her ass is gleaming—lube streaked over her cheeks, pooling in that tight pink hole—and you’re rock-hard again, cock bobbing between your legs, aching to dive in. She glances back, hair falling in her face, and smirks, “You’re drooling, babe—gonna finger me or just stare all night?” You laugh, pressing a kiss to her spine. “Hold your horses—I’m getting there. Just making sure you’re nice and ready.” She hums, wiggling her hips again, and you take the hint—time to start. Your fingers are slick, poised, ready to ease her into this new territory.

You start with one finger, pressing the tip against her, slow and gentle, circling that puckered ring ‘til she relaxes. “Ready, babe?” you murmur, voice low, and she nods into the pillow, a muffled “Yeah, go for it.” You push in—just the tip at first—and she tenses, a sharp little hiss escaping her, but then she softens, her body melting into it. It’s tight—fuck, it’s tight—hot and smooth, gripping your finger like a vice as you slide in deeper, knuckle by knuckle. She moans, soft and breathy, hips rocking back just a fraction, chasing the feeling.

“Goddamn, Rina,” you say, free hand gripping her ass cheek, spreading her open more so you can watch—your finger disappearing into her, slow and steady, the lube making it glide smooth. She’s trembling now, a little shiver running through her, and you can feel her loosening up, that ring of muscle giving way. You twist your finger, curling it just a bit inside her, and she gasps—a high, needy sound that’s got your cock twitching against her thigh. “Feels weird,” she mumbles, voice thick, “but good—keep going.” You do, pumping in and out, slow as hell, letting her get used to it—every slide’s a little easier, her ass opening up, slick and greedy. Your other hand drifts lower, brushing her pussy, teasing her clit with a feather-light touch, and she jolts, moaning louder, “Fuck, that’s—yeah, do that.”

She’s into it now—hips shifting, breath hitching—so you up the ante. You pull your finger out slow, watching her hole clench around nothing, then squirt more lube onto your hand, coating two fingers this time. “Two now, alright?” you say, and she nods quick, “Yeah, I can take it.” You press them in together—middle and ring finger—slow as molasses, stretching her wider. She tenses again, a little grunt slipping out, but you pause, letting her breathe, one hand rubbing circles on her lower back. “You’re doing so good, Rina,” you murmur, “so fucking hot like this.” She laughs, shaky, “Yeah? Glad you think so—feels like you’re splitting me open.” You push deeper, past the first knuckles, and she whines, ass rocking back, taking it all the way.

It’s a sight—her tight pink asshole stretched around your fingers, lube dripping down her crack, pooling on the sheets. You start moving—slow, steady thrusts, curling them inside her, feeling the heat, the way she’s clamping down then easing up. She’s panting now, little “uhs” every time you twist, and you can tell she’s getting comfy—her moans turning softer, needier, her hips chasing your hand. “More,” she gasps, voice muffled, “add another—I wanna feel it.” You grin, pulling out slow, watching her squirm, then grab the lube again, slicking up three fingers—index, middle, ring—all shiny and ready. “You sure?” you ask, teasing a little, and she shoots you a look over her shoulder, all flushed and wild. “Don’t make me beg, asshole—just do it.”

You laugh, and press all three against her—slow, so slow, stretching that tight ring wider than before. She groans, long and deep, body locking up for a sec as you push past the resistance, lube making it slick but still a fight. “Fuck,” she hisses, fists balling in the sheets, but she doesn’t pull away—leans into it, ass tilting higher. You ease in, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around you—hot, tight, unreal—and she’s trembling, breath ragged, but moaning too, this mix of pain and want that’s got you rock-hard. “You okay?” you check, pausing halfway, and she nods fast, “Yeah, just—slow, keep it slow.” You do—gliding in ‘til you’re buried deep, three fingers knuckle-deep in her ass, and she’s clenching hard, a vice grip that’s making your head spin.

You start moving—gentle pumps, curling them inside her, stretching her out—and she’s loosening up, bit by bit, her moans getting louder, freer. “Holy shit,” she gasps, “feels so full—keep going, babe.” You do, picking up the pace just a little, twisting and spreading your fingers, and she’s rocking back now, fucking herself on you, her ass shiny and slick, lube dripping down her thighs, staining the fishnets. Your other hand’s busy too—rubbing her pussy, thumb circling her clit, and she’s soaking, wet enough that you hear it, this filthy schlick every time you move. She’s loud—whining, cursing, “Fuck, that’s good—don’t stop,” and you’re lost in it, the heat of her ass, the way she’s taking you, owning this moment.

She’s ready—you can feel it. Three fingers sliding easy now, her body’s adjusted, craving more. She’s panting, ass swaying, and looks back at you, eyes dark and blown out. “I’m good,” she says, voice wrecked but steady, “you can—fuck, you can use your cock now.” You freeze for a sec, just staring—her ass stretched around your fingers, lube glistening, pussy dripping below it—and your cock throbs, aching to take her. “You sure?” you ask, one last check, and she nods, impatient, “Yeah, babe—c’mon, I want it.” You pull your fingers out slow, watching her hole clench then relax, primed and waiting, and you’re buzzing—ready to give her exactly what she’s asking for.

You don’t need a condom—not with her, not anymore—and the thought alone’s got your blood pumping. Raw. Just you and her, skin on skin, no barriers. You grip the base of your cock, slick with her spit and the lube you’ve been slathering everywhere, and line up, pressing the tip against that tight pink ring. She shivers, and you go slow—real slow—pushing in just enough to feel her start to give. “Fuck, Rina,” you groan, “you’re so goddamn tight—holy shit.” She moans loud at that, a filthy, desperate sound, and pushes her hips back, urging you deeper. “Yeah? Tell me more,” she gasps, and you can hear it—how much it turns her on, how it makes her wetter, hornier.

You ease in further, inch by inch, and it’s like sinking into a vice—hot, slick, squeezing you so hard your head’s spinning. “Tightest fucking ass I’ve ever felt,” you mutter, hands sliding to her hips, gripping the soft flesh where the fishnets dig in. “Like you’re tryna choke my dick—fuck, you’re perfect.” She whimpers, rocking back, and you feel her open up more—still snug as hell, but taking you in, her body adjusting to the stretch. “Love that,” she pants, “keep talking—makes me so fucking hot.” You smirk, thrusting a little deeper, and she yelps, fingers clawing the sheets, but she’s grinning too—loving it, begging for it.

You’re halfway in now, her ass clenching around you like it’s got a mind of its own, and you can’t help it—your hand comes down hard on her right cheek, a sharp slap that echoes in the room. Her whole body jolts, a choked “oh fuck” spilling out, and the red mark blooms fast, lube smearing under your palm. “Yeah, you like that?” you say, voice gritty, and she nods fast, hair bouncing. “God, yes—do it again.” You do—another smack, left cheek this time, harder, and she’s moaning, loud and shameless, ass jiggling from the impact. “Such a dirty little slut for me,” you growl, and she laughs, breathy and wild, “Only for you, babe.”

You grab a fistful of her hair then—long, black, tangled—and yank, pulling her head back, her spine arching even more. She gasps, neck exposed, and you lean in, kissing the curve of her shoulder, biting down just enough to make her squirm. “Fuck, you’re so tight it’s unreal,” you tell her, thrusting again—deeper, slow and steady—and she’s trembling, ass rocking back to meet you. “Can barely move—you’re squeezing me so fucking hard.” She moans louder, a little “uh-huh” that’s all needy and wrecked, and you feel her shift—spreading her knees wider, giving you more room to work.

You’re buried now—balls deep, raw, no rubber between you—and it’s insane, the heat, the grip, the way her ass feels like it’s swallowing you whole. “Jesus Christ, Rina,” you pant, pulling back just a bit then slamming back in, “this ass is fucking perfect—tight as shit, taking me so good.” She whines, pushing back harder, and you slap her again—sharp, right across the meat of her cheek—and she yelps, the sound melting into a moan. “Fuck, yes—keep doing that,” she begs, and you oblige, spanking her in rhythm with your thrusts, her skin turning pink, then red, lube and sweat making it shine.

Your hand’s still tangled in her hair, pulling tight, and she’s loving it—arching so hard her tits lift off the bed, swaying with every pump. “You’re so fucking deep,” she groans, voice shaking, “can feel you everywhere—fuck, don’t stop.” You don’t—can’t—thrusting steady now, not fast but hard, every push stretching her more, her ass hugging you so tight it’s like she’s molded for you. “Goddamn, you’re a vice,” you say, voice raw, “I can't get enough of your ass.” She laughs, breathless, “Good—want you to feel it, want you addicted.”

Her fishnets are shredded now—one knee’s ripped through, the netting bunching up around her calves—and it’s hot as hell, the way she’s all undone, all yours. You let go of her hair for a sec, both hands gripping her hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her ass, and you pound into her—slow, deliberate, making her feel every inch. She’s loud—moaning, cursing, “Fuck, right there—harder,” and you oblige, slamming in deep, her whole body rocking with the force. Another slap—sharp, stinging—and she cries out, ass clenching even tighter, a wet schlick every time you pull out, lube dripping down her thighs, staining the sheets.

“Love this ass,” you growl, leaning over her, chest brushing her back, kissing her neck as you thrust. “So fucking tight—gonna ruin you, Rina.” She shivers, pushing back, “Ruin me then—fucking do it.” You straighten up, one hand sliding around to her front, brushing her pussy—still soaked, clit swollen—and she jolts. You don’t linger there, though—focus back on her ass, pounding steady, feeling that insane grip, the way she’s taking you raw like it’s nothing. “You’re so fucking hot,” you say, voice all gravel, “this tight little hole’s all mine.” She moans louder, ass shaking, and you know she’s loving it—every word, every slap, every deep, slow thrust driving her wild.

You’re deep in her—her tight little asshole gripping your cock like it’s trying to milk you dry—and she’s moaning your name, voice hoarse and needy. But you’ve got an itch to switch it up, see her from a new angle, feel her take control. “C’mere,” you rasp, pulling out slow, watching her hole clench around nothing, lube dripping down her thighs. She glances back, all flushed and wrecked, and you pat your chest. “On top—wanna see you ride me.”

She grins—tired but game—and scrambles up, finally taking off the panties that were still on her knees, legs shaky as she swings one over your hips. You’re flat on your back now, head propped on a pillow, cock slick and hard against your stomach, and she straddles you, knees sinking into the mattress. Her tits bounce as she moves—still streaked with your cum from earlier, nipples pink and hard—and she grabs your shaft, lining it up with her ass. “Gonna fuck you good,” she says, breathy and bold, and sinks down—slow at first, just the tip, her face twisting with that mix of stretch and want. “Fuck, you’re big,” she whines, but she keeps going, taking you inch by inch, her tight heat swallowing you whole.

You groan, hands flying to her hips, gripping where the fishnets dig into her skin. “Shit, Rina—you’re so fucking tight like this,” you say, and she smirks, loving it, her pussy dripping onto your stomach as she bottoms out—ass flush against your thighs, your cock buried deep. She rocks once, testing, and you both moan—loud, shameless, the sound bouncing off the walls. Then she starts riding—hard, fast, no hesitation—lifting up ‘til just the head’s in, then slamming back down, her ass slapping your hips with every thrust. “Goddamn,” you grunt, thrusting up to meet her, and she screams—high and raw—head thrown back, hair whipping wild. “Yes—fuck, yes—like that!”

She’s a vision—tits bouncing, abs flexing, that black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall—and she’s loud, no filter, just pure pleasure. “You feel so fucking good,” she gasps, hands braced on your chest, nails digging in. “So deep—fuck, I can’t—” Her ass is unreal, squeezing you tight, hot and slick with lube, and you’re pounding up into her now, hard and relentless, the bed creaking like it’s gonna snap. “You love this tight ass, huh?” she teases, voice shaking but still filthy, “fucking wrecking me—don’t stop.” You slap her ass again—sharp, the sound cracking through the room—and she yelps, clenching harder, driving you wild.

“Rina—shit, you’re perfect,” you growl, pulling her down by the hips, slamming up into her so deep she’s screaming, “Oh fuck, oh fuck!” Her pussy’s leaking all over you, wet and sloppy, and you can tell she’s close—body trembling, moans turning into these broken little cries. “Cum in me,” she pants, desperate, leaning forward so her tits brush your chest, hair falling in your face. “Please, babe—fill my ass, I need it.” That’s all it takes—her begging, that tight, hot grip, the way she’s riding you like she’s claiming you—you’re right there with her, heat pooling fast.

You grab her waist, flip the script—thrusting up hard, fast, relentless—and she’s gone, screaming your name, “Yes—fuck—oh my god babe, I’m cumming!” Her ass clamps down, a vice, pulsing around you as she shatters—body shaking, hips jerking, pussy gushing wet over your stomach. It’s too much—her tightness, her screams, the way she’s breaking apart—and you lose it, slamming up one last time, burying deep as you cum. “Fuck, Rina—” you groan, voice wrecked, and you’re unloading—thick, hot spurts pumping into her ass, raw and unrestrained. She sighs, this soft, blissful sound, still rocking on you as you fill her, your cum hot and heavy inside her tight little hole.

You’re both gasping, synced up in that wild, shuddering high—her ass milking you dry, your cock pulsing with every wave. She collapses forward, chest heaving against yours, and you feel it—your load starting to leak out, warm and sticky, seeping around your shaft where you’re still buried in her. She shifts, a little whimper slipping out as more spills free, dripping down her thighs, pooling on your hips, a messy, glorious aftermath. “Fuck, that’s hot,” she mutters, voice all lazy and sated, reaching back to feel it—fingers brushing where you’re still inside, smearing your cum over her slick skin. “You made a fucking mess of me.”

You laugh, winded, hands sliding up her back, tangling in her hair. “First time in your ass and you’re already a pro—shit, Rina, you’re unreal.” She grins, slow and smug, lifting her head to kiss you—soft at first, then deeper, tasting sweat and sex on her lips. “Loved it,” she whispers against your mouth, “felt so full—fuck, we’re doing this again. Soon.” You nod, still buzzing, “Hell yeah—anytime you want, babe.” She hums, content, settling against you, her ass still warm and leaking, your cock softening but not pulling out yet—just staying there, basking in the afterglow.

You’re both quiet for a minute, just breathing, the room settling—ocean waves faint outside, the sheets a disaster beneath you. She shifts, propping herself up on your chest, and looks at you—eyes soft, that post-sex glow making her even prettier. “Love you,” she says, simple and real, and it hits you square in the chest. “Love you too,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from her face, thumb lingering on her cheek. “So fucking much.” She smiles, small and genuine, then adds, “And I’m so stoked we’re working together—directing me, making something dope with you? It’s perfect.”

You grin, pulling her closer, kissing her forehead. “Yeah—gonna be unreal. You on screen, me behind the lens, and then shit like this after? Can’t wait.” She laughs, soft and tired, nuzzling into your neck. “Best team ever—work hard, fuck harder, right?” You chuckle, running your fingers down her spine, feeling the tacky mix of lube and cum still on her skin. “Damn right. Gonna kill it—on set and off.” She sighs, happy, and you just hold her—sticky, spent, and stupidly in love.

—

The MV shoot kicks off, and holy shit, it’s surreal—standing in the same room as Rina, barking directions at her and the rest of Aespa, watching them move under the lights like they’re born for this. The SM studio’s buzzing—cameras rolling, crew scrambling, the girls decked out in these futuristic, neon-drenched outfits that scream the concept: bold, glitchy, otherworldly. Rina’s in the center, all sharp angles and effortless charisma, hitting every mark you throw at her. You’re behind the monitor, calling shots—“Tilt your head a bit, Rina, yeah, perfect; Winter, step into that light”—and she catches your eye sometimes, a quick flicker of a glance, professional but charged, like you’re both in on this secret no one else can clock. The single’s a banger—synths that hit like a storm, lyrics dripping with edge—and you know it’s gonna smash charts. The vibe on set’s electric, everyone feeding off the hype, but you and her? You’re playing it cool, keeping it strictly business—well, mostly.

Outside the studio, though, shit’s getting messy. You’re running into her all the time now—SM’s hallways, the cafeteria, even the parking lot where she’s ducking into a van and you’re hopping on your car. “Hey,” she’ll say, casual but with that smirk, and you’ll nod back, “Sup,” like it’s nothing. Events too—some fashion thing here, a random showcase there—and you’re both in the same orbit, orbiting but never colliding, keeping that distance like an unspoken rule. Fans are starting to notice, though—those eagle-eyed weirdos online who live for crumbs. It starts small: Bali pics. She’d posted some Instagram shots—her in a floral dress, beach vibes, captioned with a sun emoji—and you’d dropped a couple too, just landscapes, no face, but same damn week. Coincidence, right? Except then there’s the clothes. She’s spotted in this oversized sweatshirt—gray, faded logo, suspiciously like the one you wore to a shoot last month. Then a cap—black, curved brim, the one you lost somewhere between your place and hers. The internet lights up.

Comments start popping off on X: “Yo, Karina’s rocking his hoodie—wtf is this?” “Bali pics line up too perfect, they were def together.” “Sweatshirt’s his, cap’s his, someone tell me I’m not crazy.” “SM needs to lock this down, dating rumors incoming.” Then some grainy leak drops—a blurry shot of you two at a café, her laughing, you leaning in, too close for “just friends.” Netizens go feral: “Caught in 4K, they’re fucking for sure.” “Karina’s off the market? MYs boutta riot.” “He’s hot tho, I’d ship it if it wasn’t my girl.” The clues pile up—sweatshirts, caps, Bali timestamps—and the rumors snowball, hashtags trending, fan forums dissecting every frame. You and Rina see it unfolding, texts flying between you: “They’re onto us,” she sends, with a laughing emoji. “Yeah, we’re screwed,” you shoot back, half-joking, half-panicking.

SM catches wind—of course they do—and you’re both hauled into some sterile meeting room with glass walls and stern faces. The execs are pissed but calm, like they’ve seen this shit before. “So,” one of them starts, tapping a pen, “rumors. True or not?” You and Rina exchange a look—her knee’s bouncing under the table, your hands are sweaty—and there’s no dodging it. Nowhere to run. “Yeah,” you say, voice steady but heart hammering, “it’s true.” She nods, biting her lip, “We’re together.” The room goes dead quiet, then it’s all clipped questions—how long, where, who knows—and you’re spilling it: Bali, years now, kept it quiet ‘til this. They don’t flip out—SM’s too slick for that—but you get the lecture: keep it low-key, no scandals, focus on work. You’re out of there in twenty minutes, dazed, holding her hand under the table ‘til the last second.

Back on set, it’s chaos. Word’s spread—crew whispering, some MYs online losing their shit, protest trucks rumored outside SM with LED signs screaming “Karina, why betray us?” But there’s support too—“Let her live, she’s human,” “They’re cute af, haters can choke”—and it’s a mixed bag, love and hate clashing loud. You’re calling shots through the noise—“Giselle, sharper on that turn; Ningning, hold that pose”—and Rina’s killing it, all fierce and focused, but those glances? They’re heavier now, loaded with everything you’ve just laid bare. One take, she’s in this skintight bodysuit, hair flipping, and you catch her eye mid-move—she winks, quick and subtle, and you’re grinning like an idiot behind the camera. Professional, sure, but the tension’s thick, electric, everyone feeling it.

The MV wraps—late nights, endless takes, but it’s fire. The final cut’s a neon-drenched fever dream, Aespa owning every frame, and the single drops to instant hype—streaming numbers exploding, charts bending under the weight. Boycott threats? They fizzle—fans can’t resist the bop, and the haters get drowned out. You and Rina celebrate quiet—her place, takeout sprawled on the floor, her sprawled on you, laughing about the chaos. “You fucking nailed it,” she says, kissing your jaw, “best director I’ve ever had.” You smirk, pulling her closer, “You’re the hit, babe—couldn’t have done it without you.” She’s glowing, proud, and you’re just happy as hell to see her shine.

Tour kicks off, and you’re there—traveling when you can, sneaking into shows. Tokyo’s first—Rina on stage, lights blazing, that bodysuit again, and she’s a goddamn force, voice cutting through the arena, moves sharp enough to slice air. You’re in the wings, cap low, watching her kill it, and when she spots you mid-chorus, she throws this tiny, secret smile—barely a second, but it’s yours. Backstage, she’s sweaty, buzzing, dragging you into a corner, kissing you quick and hard. “Glad you’re here,” she whispers, and you’re grinning, “Wouldn’t miss it.” You catch a few more—Seoul, LA—each one a rush, her happier every time you’re in the crowd, texting you dumb shit like “Saw u headbanging, loser” after.

You’re official now—no more hiding, but still chill about it. Low-key’s the vibe—hand-holding in private, stolen kisses off-camera, no big Insta reveal. The uproar’s settled, mostly—some fans still salty, but the love outweighs it, and SM’s cool as long as you don’t fuck up. You’re bumping into her at SM daily now—her recording, you editing—and it’s normal, easy, like you’ve slotted into each other’s lives seamless. One night, post-show, you’re at some dive bar near the venue, her in your hoodie, you in her cap, laughing over beers about the wild ride—rumors, leaks, all of it. “Brought us closer, huh?” she says, leaning into you, and you nod, arm around her. “Hell yeah—unbreakable now.” She smiles, real and soft, and you know it’s true—work, love, chaos, whatever—you’ve got her, she’s got you, and it’s all good.

After everything—the MV chaos, the rumors, the public reveal—you and Rina finally take the plunge and move in together. It’s a big step, but it feels right, like the natural next beat in your rhythm. You ditch your cramped, bachelor-pad vibes for a bigger spot—a sleek apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, a killer view of Seoul’s skyline, and enough space to breathe. Rina’s all over the decorating, turning it into this cozy-chic haven she’s been dreaming of. She’s got an eye for it—soft rugs, funky lamps, pops of color in the cushions, framed pics of you two from Bali tucked on shelves next to her awards and your random gear. The place smells like her now—vanilla candles, fresh laundry, a hint of her perfume—and it’s home, filled with this easy, messy love that’s all yours.

When your schedules aren’t kicking your asses, domestic life with her is pure gold. Mornings start slow—you blinking awake to her sprawled next to you, sheets tangled around her legs, hair a wild nest on the pillow. She’s always the first to stir, groaning something incoherent before padding out in nothing but her panties and one of your oversized tees—usually that ratty Nirvana one you’ve had since forever. It hangs loose on her, slipping off one shoulder, and she’s sexy as hell without even trying, all sleepy eyes and bare thighs. You stumble out after her, yawning, and find her in the kitchen, humming some Aespa B-side while she fumbles with the coffee machine. “Babe, you’re gonna break it,” you tease, sliding up behind her, arms around her waist, kissing her neck ‘til she squirms and giggles. “Then you make it, genius,” she fires back, elbowing you lightly, but she leans into you anyway, warm and soft.

Cooking together’s your thing now—nothing fancy, just real. She’s chopping veggies all wrong, swearing under her breath when the knife slips, and you’re manning the stove, flipping pancakes or stir-frying whatever’s in the fridge. “You’re such a show-off,” she grumbles, flicking a pepper slice at you, and you catch it mid-air, popping it in your mouth with a grin. “Just tryna impress my girl,” you say, and she rolls her eyes but blushes, tossing you a spatula like, “Fine, you’re hired.” It’s chaos—spills, burnt edges, her laughing when you curse at the smoke alarm—but it’s perfect, plates piled high on the counter, eating side by side with your knees knocking, her stealing half your food ‘til you’re fake-wrestling her for the last bite.

Then the award nomination hits—some flashy industry thing, best music video direction, tied to the Aespa MV you poured your soul into. You’re floored, texting Rina from the studio like, “Yo, what the fuck, I’m up for an award?!” She spams you back with confetti emojis and “TOLD YOU YOU’RE THE SHIT” in all caps, already planning how to flex it to her girls. The night of the ceremony’s wild—some glitzy venue downtown, with sharp suits and champagne flutes, you in a black blazer feeling half out of place but hyped as hell. Rina’s there, front row, looking like a goddamn knockout in this deep red dress that hugs her curves, hair swept up, smirking at you from her seat like she knows something you don’t. You’re nervous—palms sweaty, leg bouncing—‘til they call your name, and the room erupts.

She’s on her feet first, clapping hard, and you’re stumbling up, still processing, when she barrels into you backstage—arms tight around your neck, squeezing you like she’s trying to fuse you together. “You fucking did it,” she whispers, voice shaky with pride, and you hug her back, spinning her once ‘cause you’re too buzzed to care who’s watching. Up at the podium, lights blinding, you grip the award—cold, heavy, real—and the words just spill out. “This is for Karina,” you say, voice cracking a little, “my rock, my push, the one who’s been there since I was scratching shit out on my phone. None of this happens without her—she’s my everything.” The crowd’s all “aww” and claps, but you’re looking at her—tears in her eyes, hand over her mouth, glowing like she’s the one who won. “Love you,” you add, live, no filter, and the room cheers louder, but all you see is her, mouthing it back, cheeks wet.

Back home, it’s quiet—special, just you two. The award’s on the counter, glinting under the kitchen lights, but you’re not even looking at it. You’re on the couch, her curled into your side, still in that red dress ‘cause neither of you bothered changing. She’s got a beer in one hand, you’ve got a whiskey, and some chill lo-fi playlist hums through the speakers. “Can’t believe you said that on stage,” she murmurs, nudging you with her knee, smirking. “What, that I love you?” you shoot back, tugging her closer. “Meant every word—world can deal with it.” She laughs, soft, resting her head on your chest, fingers tracing circles on your shirt. “They’ll get over it. We’re good.”

Living together’s seamless now—she’s stealing your hoodies daily, strutting around in them and nothing else, legs bare, hair up in a messy bun, and you’re not complaining—fuck, you’re obsessed. Mornings are coffee and kisses, nights are takeout and Netflix, her yelling at you for hogging the remote, you pinning her down ‘til she’s giggling and kissing you to shut you up. She crashes your edits sometimes, leaning over your shoulder, pointing at the screen—“Cut that faster, babe, trust me”—and she’s usually right, damn it.

That night, post-award, you’re tangled up—her legs over yours, the city twinkling outside, and it’s peaceful, perfect. “We made it,” she says, voice low, tracing your jaw with her finger. “Through all the bullshit—rumors, leaks, SM’s crap. We’re here.” You nod, kissing her knuckles, feeling the weight of it—years of hustling, loving, hiding, now just being. “Yeah, we did. You and me—unstoppable.” She smiles, real and unguarded, and you know this is it—her in your life, your home, your everything. “Love you,” she whispers, and you say it back, “Love you too,” sinking into her, the world outside fading to static. It’s you and Rina, together, no fear, no limits—just this, right here, always.

[wtfsteveharrington]

don’t you want me | boyfriend!steve x reader x eddie

content & context: you and steve are tasked with checking in on eddie while he’s hiding out at reefer rick’s. 

mentions of drugs & all parties smoke, virgin!eddie, eddie gets caught masturbating by reader and steve, oral (all receiving and giving), steve accidentally initiates oral with eddie (makes sense i promise), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, steve!breeding kink, cum play, cum swapping. everyone’s a lil fruity! reader is kinda just passed around!! **emphasizing that there are sexual interactions between steve and eddie!**

she/her pronouns used for reader!

author’s note: ... i can't believe this is finally getting posted but here we are! its been ages in the making and i'm so glad to finally have it out there. if i missed something during editing pls let me know! <3

word count: 8.4k - i added plot to this one!

If you thought Steve complained about being the babysitter, you should hear the way he complains about being Eddie’s caretaker. 

In all honesty, he still wasn’t quite sure that Eddie was completely innocent in all this mess. Was he a killer? Probably not. That doesn’t mean he wants to hang around the guy, let alone have you hang around him. 

He’s protective, that’s all. 

The grocery sacks hit the floor of the kitchen while Steve shoves the case of beer into an empty spot on the counter. He’s pensively looking around the house, a grimace on his features as he takes in your... Questionable surroundings. Empty cans of food, question sticky spots on the floor, a disgusting bong on the table sat next to McDonalds wrappers. 

“Now how the hell did Munson get his hands on a Big Mac but we’re still stuck doing supply drops?” Steve’s scoffing to himself, finally looking around the room to realize - “Wait a minute. Where the hell is he?”

It’s instinct. Within seconds of acknowledging that there might be a problem here, you’re back to back with Steve while the two of you scan the room. Looking for any signs of life or, well, death. You both hone in on a sound coming from behind the door at the end of the hallway. Exchanging a quick glance before he’s looking for a weapon - Grabbing a hold of the bong to use as a weapon. You however? Decide to settle for one of the knifes on the table which Steve thinks makes much more sense but he’s already committed to this damn bong now. 

The door’s barely cracked open and as the two of you get closer you can begin to hear Heaven’s On Fire by KISS playing faintly on the radio. Considering how tense Eddie’s been lately, you’re surprised he’s being this... Sloppy? 

you drive me crazy when you start to tease

You’re peeking over Steve’s shoulder, hand instantly coming to clamp over your mouth at the sight in front of you two.

you could bring the devil to his knees

Eddie Munson’s laying back on the bed, boots planted firmly on the ground, his jeans and briefs shimmied just far enough down his thighs to free his length. He’s hard, untouched, and you’re salivating at the sight. You and Steve stand there for a second longer than you should, both of you shocked at the sight. It’s not until Eddie wraps his fist around himself, lifting his hips off the bed at his own touch and letting out a quiet moan that Steve finally breaks -

“Holy shit.”

No one knows who reacts first but within seconds Eddie’s trying to cover himself up at the same time you’re reaching past Steve to pull the bedroom door closed. You’re trying to process what you just saw, mind only able to hyper focus on the fact that he looked... No, stop. You can’t let your mind wonder like this.

“Jesus Christ! Don’t you people knock!” Eddie shrieks on the other side. 

You look over at your flabbergasted boyfriend who’s punching the air and cursing Dustin Henderson for getting involved with this Freak. If you look close enough, you can see the flush to his cheeks. “C’mon, Man. Maybe consider not jacking off while you’re on the run for murder, huh? Especially when you have people running around getting you shitty Pabst and Doritos!”

The door’s being jerked open and Eddie looks so frazzled. A far cry from the man who was just sprawled out in bed touching himself. 

He has a finger pointed in Steve’s face, “A murder I did not commit! So excuse me for trying to blow off some steam while I thought I was alone. If you’re so concerned then I’ll be sure to clear it with you next time, Harrington.” His hair is a crazy mess, shirt haphazardly tucked into his pants, and his belt unbuckled. You can’t help but spare a thought towards how pretty he looks. If Eddie would meet your eye, you’d have to look away considering just how embarrassing your thoughts were getting about him. But, in fact, the boy refuses to glance in your direction.

You turn on your heels, dragging Steve behind you in an attempt to avoid them getting into even more of a fight. Storing the fact that Eddie Munson has a pretty dick away for later. “C’mon, Idiots. I’ll cook dinner if you two can play nice for a few hours. Eddie wash your hands and zip up your fly before you come in here.”

The song continues as you walk down the hallway. Giggling to yourself and sneaking looks over at your still flabbergasted boyfriend. 

feel my heat takin' you higher. 

burn with me, heaven's on fire. 

paint the sky with desire.

✧･ﾟ:*-*:･ﾟ✧

Eddie watches as you two navigate cleaning up the kitchen in almost perfect sync. His hand on your lower back when he brings the rest of the dishes to you, the way he takes notice of your sleeve falling down your arm and rolls it up for you, then you have the audacity to sing along to Steve’s favorite lyrics as the songs shuffle through on the radio. 

He’s taken to sitting on the couch during clean up, citing his “impending doom” as the reason why he can’t help. Really, Eddie’s not sure how much more of the love birds act he can take before his carefully curated facade finally breaks. It wasn’t that you two were being over the top with the displays of affection, quite the opposite actually. If anything, it was toned down from the normal levels you showed around everyone else. 

It’s just the fact that it’s real that’s driving him crazy. Cursing every day he spent without someone who loved him that deeply.

Once the kitchen is cleaner than it likely has ever been, you and Steve wonder out of the room and finally join Eddie. Steve’s grabbing the packed bowl left on the coffee table along with the lighter, sitting back in the recliner while you perch yourself on the arm of the chair. Trying to balance yourself carefully. You watch as Steve takes a long hit, holding the smoke before holding the bowl towards you. Glancing from him to the slouched figure on the couch, “Can we spend the night with you?” 

Eddie’s shrugging, grumbling out “’Ight with me but there’s not many blankets around this place that ain’t filled with holes.”

Nodding, more towards yourself than him, you lean forward to trap the piece between your lips and Steve brings the lighter up to the bowl. 

You’re coughing. 

Like, way more than normal. 

Steve’s quickly pushing out of the chair, grabbing one of the last wine coolers for you and popping it’s top with ease before bringing it back to you. There’s a reassuring hand rubbing over your back as you work your way through your coughing fit. Cheeks burning hot with embarrassment that one little hit nearly took you out in front of Eddie Munson. 

“S’good shit, Honey. No surprise you can barely take it.” You’re giving Steve an appreciative smile as Eddie teases you, leaning into his touch for a bit of comfort. “Should be this good considering it’s been the talk of Hawkin’s that you’re raising your prices on us, Munson.” 

Eddie’s got his hands up in the air, his bright laughter filling up the room before he’s reaching out for the bowl Steve’s offering. “Hey, a man had to eat, y’know? Now a man’s gotta pay bail... Prices are gonna triple after this.” 

When Steve’s assured you’re not going to pass out, he’s going back to the table and grabbing two cans of out the lukewarm Pabst case. One’s being slid over to Eddie while Steve grabs his keys out of his pocket to begin the base of the can to chug. 

It’s some weird power play you’re pretty sure. Asserting dominance with who can chug the fastest. Eddie’s quick to follow suit, using his pocket knife to carve out his own hole..

Now you just need to figure out why it’s kind of.. Hot?

You watch as Steve and Eddie cheers their punctured cans against one another, both of them giving the other a small nod then they’re throwing their heads back, popping the tab, and chugging the beer out of the can. It’s entertaining, this dumb grin plastered on your face. The weed in your system is probably making this feel like a much more endearing sight than it actually is. They both drop the cans once they finish, an argument ensuing as they try to decide who finished first. 

“I’ve never shotgunned a beer.” 

Suddenly there’s a lot of attention on you. Steve’s confused, Eddie’s entertained. 

“King Steve Harrington’s girlfriend has never chugged a beer? Surprised he hasn’t corrupted you already.” Steve’s hitting his arm, giving the other boy a playful shove before grabbing a can out of the case and tossing it your way. 

“You wanna learn, Honey? I’ll teach you.” Spoken so sweetly. Steve’s voice always laced with this delicate tone reserved just for you.

He’s standing behind you now, chest firm against your back and holding the can properly in your hands. Steve’s digging a hole with his keys into the side of your can, his chin on your shoulder as he concentrates on making it a clean cut. “All you gotta do is tilt your head back, okay? I’ll pop the tab. Don’t feel like you gotta finish it.” 

You nod obediently, freeing one of your fingers from it’s death grip on the can to flip Eddie off. He’s laughing, grabbing the forgotten bowl from the table and getting to work repacking it. Part of you wonders what Rick would think of Eddie using so much of his stash. Then again, it’s not like it’s going to be much use to Rick for the next few years.

The can’s brought up to your mouth, tilting your head back against Steve as he keeps his promise and opens the tab once your lips wrap over the hole. There’s beer dripping from the corner of your mouth, down your chin and neck, and you’re quickly reminded that you hate the taste of beer. Especially cheap beer. But you’re putting on a show so you’re committed to finishing it. 

Steve grabs a hold of your chin as the now empty can clatters to the ground, your lips colliding quickly and he wastes no time licking into your mouth. He tasted like a mixture of weed, more cheap beer, and underlying hints of his spearmint gum. You’re giving an appreciative moan as his hand slips from your chin to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

Now, Eddie knows he should look away. He’s intruding on a personal moment, right? But there’s just something about the way that you and Steve interact that’s so addicting to him. It’s clear you’ve spent hours memorizing one another, learning what makes the other tick. There’s a sad thought that passes through his mind registering that there’s no way he’ll ever get to have a connection that intense. Even before the, you know, murderer from another dimension ruined his life. Eddie was a lot. He liked being a lot. He never found a girl who liked him being a lot and for a long time he was fine with pretending it didn’t bother him.

Then the picture of true love showed up to this damn house hours ago and he’s begun aching to feel even a tenth of that amount of passion.

He’s lighting up the bowl, finally forcing himself to look away while taking another long hit.

Your hands are firm on Steve’s chest, fisting around the soft material of his shirt and gently shoving him back. “Enough. Eddie doesn’t want to just sit around watching you devour me all night” He’s giving you a dopey grin, the hand not on the back of your neck coming up so he can use his thumb to swipe away the saliva shining on your lips.

“Munson gets it. Sometimes you just can’t help yourself, right?”

Steve’s looking over to Eddie for approval but he won’t look at either of you. Exhaling a stream of smoke from his last hit before responding.

“Nah, man. The Freak title excludes any and all sexual connotations. Made out with Elizabeth Hertz last year but that was just because she wanted free weed. Gareth kissed me after a show because he was drunk off adrenaline. Don’t really count him on the list of conquests though.” He’s blaming the high inching it’s way through his body, but for some reason he wanted to make it known that he’ll happily kiss boys too. In fact, Eddie Munson will pretty much kiss anyone who wants to kiss him.

“Huh.”

It comes out so quickly and you can stop yourself, both boys now looking your way. You give a little shrug, leaning into Steve as you respond. “Just surprised, that’s all. You’re pretty, figured someone would have thrown themselves at you by now.”

Eddie’s blushing at your compliment. Honest to God, cheeks turning pink blushing. He’s throwing a wink your way while trying to downplay how much the compliment got to him.

“Wish everyone felt that way, Sweetheart.”

You’re looking up at Steve now who just knows what’s coming next. 

✧･ﾟ:*-*:･ﾟ✧

The two of you had talked before about including someone else. You both liked girls, that came up pretty quick. Robin asked you to play fuck, marry, kill one night while you sat around at Family Video during your shift. The way you drooled over Faye Dunaway gave you away pretty quickly.

Then, late one night, Steve was a little drunk and half asleep when he asked you what it felt like to kiss a boy. You said it was firmer, that their lips were rougher. But that kissing him made you feel safe and loved, though that wasn’t the norm.

“Kinda wanna kiss a boy the same way you wanna kiss girls. Quickly followed by, “Happy if I spend the rest of my life only kissing you though. Just something I wouldn’t mind happening.”

You just laugh while pulling his sweaty party clothes off of his body, tossing them across the room to deal with tomorrow. 

“You wanna kiss a boy, huh? Well, I’m sure we can make that happen.”

✧･ﾟ:*-*:･ﾟ✧

“So - Is that like a thing then? Making out with you in exchange for free weed? Because in that case, you’ve been smoking me and Steve out all night. Pretty sure that means we’ve got a great debt to pay.”

Eddie can strike the idea down. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Mere hours ago you weren’t fully sure if Eddie was a killer and you weren’t fully sure that Steve wouldn’t kill Eddie. He’s toying with the rip in his jeans over his knee, looking over the two of you as if he’s trying to decide if this is real or not.

“You and Steve…” He’s dragging out your names, almost as though he were testing out how they taste on his tongue. You and Steve.

You’re looking back to get confirmation from Steve who’s nothing more than entertained. You’re stepping towards Eddie now, slow enough where anyone can stop you yet not surprised neither of them do. He’s not taking his eyes off of you and you can see his breathing pick up as you get closer. Your knees are sinking into the couch beside him, kneeling into the cushions and reaching over to rest your hand on his upper thigh. Giving him a small squeeze and his muscle twitches in response to the touch. 

“Do you wanna kiss me, Eddie? Kiss us?” 

His breathing cuts off completely, and if you weren’t paying such close attention to his face you would have caught the way his hand goes from playing with the rip to actually pinching himself on his thigh. There’s no way this is real. Eddie’s nodding a little too eagerly, his cool guy facade falling apart. You lean forward, the smell of your perfume ever so faint but taking over his brain, to grab his hand. Dragging it up your own chest, along the curve of your breast, bringing his hand around the front of your throat, finally directing him to cup the back of your throat instead. 

“Then kiss me.”

Eddie’s risking a glance over to Steve as he tightens his grip on your neck, half expecting to see the other boy with his fist cocked back, ready to swing and fight for you.

He’s not though. 

Just giving a small shrug of his shoulders, trying to bite down his entertained grin. You always got what you wanted, Steve’s just surprised it’s Eddie you want. He can’t blame you. Maybe it’s the mood set by the two year old Christmas lights that Rick never takes down illuminating the room, the buzz vibrating throughout your bodies, or the way Eddie keeps looking between you with those wide brown eyes... Something about the situation has Steve understanding the way you feel. 

Your hands are on Eddie’s chest now, fisting around the material as you lean in to ghost your lips against his. “Are you gonna make me ask again?” His fingers are twitching on the back of your neck, tightening his grip before finally connecting your lips together. The kiss is timid at first, you can feel the nerves practically rolling off of his body, so you take it upon yourself to take the lead. 

Eddie’s moaning into your mouth when he feels your tongue swipe along his bottom lip. He’s licking over his own lip, savoring the taste of Pabst, weed, and the sickly sweet taste of wine coolers you’d been sipping on all night. Somewhere buried under all that, there’s the taste of just you. His tongue slips between your parted lips, licking into your mouth and giving an appreciative moan once again. You delight in just how vocal he’s being.

The couch’s dipping beside you, Steve settling back into the cushions to get a better view. His hand is low on your back, sliding down to knead at the flesh of your ass as you and Eddie settle into a rhythm. You can tell he’s inexperience and it’s endearing to say the least. 

Your hand cups over the bulge in Eddie’s lap, rubbing along his growing length as he moans into your mouth. “Wanna see you, Baby. Is that okay?” His jaw goes slack, risking a glance over to Steve for approval. He’s just shrugging it off, his own hand coming to palm over his jeans as he mimics your motions on Eddie. “Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” 

Eddie’s trying to process everything going on and it takes a moment for him to respond. Finally giving an unsteady nod to the room before looking back to you and God you can tell he’s nervous. His hands are on the back of your arms now as he mindlessly rubs up and down them, trying to keep himself grounded in the moment. “Then, uh, yeah. Yeah, that’ll be.... Good.” 

Without much more convincing you get to work undoing his belt buckle. Unlatching the cold metal before giving it a firm tug, Eddie arching his hips up in order to help you remove it from his body. You pitch it under his arm and you feel his body jerk at the sudden sound. If you weren’t careful the mood could go sour quick due to the reminder of why you’re all here in the first place. 

“So no one has ever touched you before? Just me?” Eddie nods enthusiastically as you unbutton his jeans, his breath hitching when he hears the sound of his zipper being pulled down. “Just you, Princess. Kinda scared, fuck, that I’m not gonna last that long if we’re being honest.” You’re giggling at the admission and Eddie’s thanking every star in the galaxy that he took the time to actually shower and change into clean clothes when you guys showed up. 

The room fills with the sounds of both of you moaning when you finally slip your hand into Eddie’s boxers and feel his length against your hand. He’s gripping the back of your arms now, the circuit he’s been running this whole time, as he whimpers and rocks up to your touch. You make quick work of tugging his jeans and boxes down just enough to free him from his clothes. Marveling at the sight of him erect and desperate. 

You wrap your hand around the base, giving him an experiment dry tug. Eddie’s head falls back against the wall as he moans out a string of profanities. His mind has to drift off to focus on anything but your touch or he’s going to finish from just one brush of your hand. You’re proud of yourself, giving him another flick of your wrist before letting him go. You start to push off the couch, standing up and pulling your shirt off of your overheated frame. Making quick work of your bra before tossing the both of them into the corner.

Eddie’s thankful for the break but he’s so hard that it fucking hurts. The sight of you topless in front of them is not helping his cause.

Steve’s eyes are on you as you reach over to him. He’s entertained and you can tell he’s hard in his tight jeans. You hold your hand out under his mouth, “Can you spit in my hand, Baby?” Steve grabs a hold of your wrist and does as he is told. Licking a strip down your fingers before spitting into your hand. He’s giving your wrist a squeeze before pushing your hand back towards Eddie. 

You fall to your knees in between Eddie's legs and go right back to wrapping your wrist around him, lazily dragging your fist around him. Eddie’s clinging to you as you take your time exploring him, smiling down at the boy. “You’re longer than Steve. Not as thick but you’re long. Such a pretty cock, Eddie. Thank you for letting me take care of you tonight.” 

He can barely even get his thoughts together fast enough to respond before you start shuffling off of his lap. Hand still firmly around his length as you settle on your knees between his legs. Eddie finally looks down at you and there could be angel wings coming from your back as far as he's concerned considering what a heavenly sight you make.

"Can I taste you, Eddie?" You're hamming it up for him. Batting your eyelashes and pouting. Something straight out of a porno, all for him.

It's odd - Steve feels almost... Proud? Maybe that's not the best word for describing watching your girlfriend suck someone else's dick but it's the best one he can find. You gorgeous in this lighting, you're being playful, and hell it's practically charity work. Taking this poor guy's virginity as a treat while his world is falling apart. It's admirable, really.

Eddie's frantically nodding while he twitches under your touch. Reaching down to try and shimmy his pants further down his legs so you have a better angle. "Darlin', you can do fucking anything to me. Don't have to ask anymore, okay? I appreciate but whatever you want is fine by me."

You grin up at him and lean closer, sticking your tongue out and keeping eye contact while tapping the head of his cock against your tongue. There's saliva dripping off your tongue and onto him, running down the sides of your length until it meets your fist. You're leaning in to wrap your lips around the head of him. Giving an appreciative hum before sinking down further around him.

Steve's taught you well. He's laid back and let you 'practice' sucking him off for hours at this point. His fingers laced behind his head while you get your throat used to taking him further and further. Sometimes he feels bad taking up all the attention and has you straddle his face to return the favor while you suck him off.

All that training and Eddie gets to reap the rewards.

It's easy for you to build up a stead pace. Tongue swirling his tip and using your hand to jack off his exposed length before you take him back into his mouth. Your other hand comes up to cup the weight his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze as you work.

Eddie’s bucking up his length deeper into your throat, causing you to gag around the sudden intrusion. “Gotta chill out, Munson.” He’s storing away the fact that Steve Harrington chastising him makes his cock twitch in your mouth. Something about a pretty boy being firm gets under his skin. 

“Shit, my bad, Sweetheart. Just felt too fucking good.” 

Steve's scooting closer to you both while the old, thrifted and worn couch makes creaking sounds under him. He's taking your hand that isn't currently occupied with Eddie and putting it on the front of his too tight jeans. You give a hum of appreciation at the familiar feeling of your boyfriend under your touch, pulling back from Eddie's cock with a string of spit attached to your lip. You're using the same motion on the both of them while grinning up at Eddie.

"Can you get him out for me? Unless you want me to stop touching you?"

Eddie gasps involuntarily and shakes his head, pumping his cock through your fisted hand. It's slick and obscene and he's twitching in your grasp. He looks between the two of you nervously but when Steve doesn't object he decides to lean forward to move your hand out of the way, shaky fingers touching the metal of his belt. "You guys are-..." He's cutting himself off with a broken laugh as your lips press a kiss to the head of his cock, a reward for doing as he's told, "You're fuckin' insane."

Steve's beaming. He's eating this up.

His hips arch under Eddie's touch and you keep your eyes trained on the boys while lazily jacking off Eddie. Steve helps the two of you and pushes his jeans down his thighs, the head of his cock threatening to slide out of the slit in his briefs. Eddie's watching his face for a moment before hooking his fingers under Steve's boxers and pulling them down.

Steve's cock is thick and hard, dripping at the tip. You whimper at the sight of him, rubbing your thighs together as your clit starts to throb. Steve snatches up your free hand once again, spitting into your palm before bringing your hand to his cock. You wrap your fingers around the base and are back to repeating the same motions on the two boys.

You wrap your lips around Eddie's cock once again, his length sliding down your throat as he fucks into your warm mouth. You notice his fingers still linger on Steve's thigh, he's short circuiting at the combination of the both of you. "You are uh.... Fuck, she wasn't lying." Steve's chest puffs up with pride as the two of you both admire how thick his cock is.

There's a giggle coming out of you that you just can't help though the sound gets muffled by Eddie's cock.

This is crazy.

Eddie whines as you pull off of his cock once again but God are you a vision. Spit dribbling down your chin, eyes wide and dark with lust. You look over and pout at your boyfriend as your wrist starts to slow its pace on both of them. He knows exactly what that look means - You're needy. Rightfully so too.

It takes mere seconds from the moment your attentive boyfriend picks up on your queue for the situation to completely change. He's pushing back against the couch and kicking his jeans fully off before ushering Eddie away from you. Eddie who's almost skittish, desperately wanting to make sure he doesn't overstep and doing as he's told.

He watches as Steve pulls you up from the ground, a hand instantly going to the back of your neck as he pulls you into a feverish kiss. You instantly melt against his chest, a mess of parted lips and breathy moans and whimpers that are going right through him. There's a hand slipping into your pants, Steve's nimble fingers making quick work of cupping over your heat.

Steve moans into your mouth while his cock twitches against your thigh, "Baby, you let yourself get this wet without letting me know?" You pathetically nod, desperately gripping onto Steve's arms as he drags a finger between your folds. "Bet this pussy wants to be fucked so bad, huh?" That finger presses into you now without warning and Steve bucks his hips at the same time you clenched around his digit. "Fuck, can feel how needy you are."

Eddie's going to fucking combust.

Your boyfriend doesn't even look away from you as he pats his hand against your pussy, kissing you once more before just talking into the abyss. "We need a bed."

And that's how you end up down the hallway with Steve pushing you back against this shitty bed, the springs whining under you as you bounce against the thin padding. Eddie can't help but think how much better you deserve but they're working with what they've got for now. Your pants and underwear are being ripped off by Steve and Eddie nearly creams himself at the sight of your bare pussy exposed to them both.

Your feet are planted far apart, legs falling open to give them both a good look. Their gazes are intense and empowering as you reach a hand down to toy with your clit, giving them a dramatic moan as you do. Someone needs to check Eddie's pulse because he's half convinced he died the other night and this is just some weird section of Heaven.

Steve steps over to Eddie, clapping a hand against his shoulder before reaching down to tug his shirt off of his slender frame. "I'll let you go first since you've never fucked before but you better treat her, Muson. I know my girl, I'll know if you don't do a good job, yeah?"

He's stumbling over to you, jaw slack and all he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears as he watches you slide two fingers into yourself. "Jesus Christ...." You do your best to look like every man's dream porno at that moment - Pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy, fluttering your eyelashes, whining while you use your free hand to play with one of your nipples. "Need you to fuck me so bad, Eddie."

Eddie’s looking around the room on the hunt for what you can only assume is a condom. Panic playing across his face much to both you and Steve’s entertainment. Your boyfriend’s laughing besides him, “She’s on the pill.” To which you nod eagerly, “Knew from the first time Stevie and I hooked up I had to be.”

The sound of a sharp smack fills the room as Steve playfully spanks his hand against Eddie's ass before moving to stand next to the two of you at the foot of the bed. He's leaning in to press a kiss against your lips, roughly grabbing at the breast you weren't teasing while Eddie moves to kneel on the bed between your legs. "He's gonna take good care of you, Baby."

Your brain is fuzzy. Your body is needy. Something needs to give.

Eddie’s hovering over you now, his hair hanging down and tickling your face. “Here, m’gonna take care of you.” You’re pushing your fingers back through his hair, gathering it up in your fist before sliding the elastic from your wrist and giving him a haphazard ponytail. It’s the best you can do given the circumstances.

Remember how Eddie was afraid he’d never feel affection like he wanted to? That moment threw his fears out the window. You were so gentle with him, so caring. It’s making his heart have this painful flutter and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to convey to you how much this night means to him.

You’re leaning up, brushing your lips along his which brings Eddie out of his train of thought. “You sure you wanna do this? No pressure, Honey. We can all go to bed and act like none of this happened.” None of this happened? There’s no way he could ever forget tonight. He’s shaking his head, catching your lips in another kiss while lowering his hips so your bodies are flush together. Eddie’s moaning into your mouth at the feeling of your core along his length, instinctively rutting himself against you. You snake your arms around his chest, holding him close to you while he balances himself with one elbow digging into the bed, his other hand reaching down to fist around himself. 

There’s a choked out moan coming from the boy as the head of his cock pushes into you. Eddie has to pause his motions and regroup himself before starting to sink in further. This is a life altering experience for him... He refuses to be nothing more than a virgin who can only last thirty seconds in your mind. 

You arch your hips up to meet him halfway, both of you adjusting to the sensation. Eddie’s staring down at you as though he’d lasso the moon and bring it down to Earth if it would do so much as make you smile... Maybe he needs to remind himself that you’re taken and this is only happening due to the oddest set of circumstances ever experienced. 

Hey, sue him, but maybe he doesn’t remind himself at all. 

Maybe as his hips rock into you, with a motion that isn’t exactly coordinated but it’s still driving you wild, he allows himself to savor the affection you give. The way you’re trying to fight the urge to close your eyes because you don’t want to miss a second of his expression. The way his name falls from your lips. 

Like Steve said earlier, sometimes you just can’t help yourself. 

“How does she feel, Munson?”

“Like fuckin’ heaven.”

Eddie’s rutting himself up into you, trying to decide between just staying buried so deep or using every last breath he has begging you to move with him. His body is short circuiting and he just knows for a fact that this probably isn’t the best fuck you’ve ever had but as far as he’s concerned? Sex has never felt better for anyone in the world than how he feels right now. You’re warm and wet, practically soaking everything that touches where the two of you are connected.

He’s letting out a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into your sloppy pussy and Steve finds himself entertained as he watches Eddie take on the role he normally gets you in. Babbling and begging. Steve’s laughing to himself before coming to stand behind Eddie. He’s holding his hands higher on Eddie’s hips, silently directing the boy on how to fuck you better.

To his credit - Eddie is a quick learner.

He’s capturing your lips in a gentle kiss - you can tell he’s been getting better at kissing over the course of the night. Your arms wrap tight around his neck, slowly beginning to drag your hips a few inches up and almost lazily fucking yourself on Eddie.

Eddie who can’t see straight anymore and isn’t sure his heart has stopped beating.

“Holy shit, holy fuck, holy fucking shit.”

You can tell by his frantic words that he’s getting closer. You’re not sure how much longer he has left in him so you make a show of arching your back into him, grabbing ahold of his hair and his bicep with the other hand. Fluttering yourself around his length before giving a dramatic gasp and letting your ‘orgasm’ wash over you. This part of the night was about letting Eddie use you for his pleasure, you didn’t want him to look back and think you didn’t enjoy yourself.

Steve knows you, knows your body. He knows what you’re up to and will make sure you’re well taken care of.

And it does work. Eddie’s hips start sputtering while he mutters out, “Holy shit that was so hot.” He’s barely got time to fuck another few strokes into you before he’s finishing without warning. Chasing the feeling by rocking himself through his orgasm, finishing deep inside of you. Partly kicking himself in the ass because he doesn’t want this experience to be over already. 

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, leaning in to kiss you and mutter out praises and thank you’s in between every kiss. In that moment he’s no longer on the run, there’s no longer his life imploding around him. He gets to just be Eddie and there’s not enough words in the English language to convey how much that means to him. Eddie gives you one final kiss before he's whining and pulling out, the cool air against his wet and sensitive cock causing him to hiss. 

You only have but seconds to recover before you feel your boyfriend’s touch.

Steve grabs a hold of your ankles, throwing them both over his shoulders before he leans in for his turn to kiss you. It's sloppy and messy and you haven't had a coherent thought since you laid down on this bed so you can only imagine what kissing you is like but he's not complaining. He pulls back to get a good look at you, giving himself confirmation that you were still doing okay. Fucked out and blissful, he knows you're thriving probably more than you should be but you didn't feel any shame.

He pulls even further back to continue his examination, stopping at the sight of you spread open for him, marveling at the way Eddie’s cum drips out of you. He’s used to seeing his own, used to scooping it up and pushing it back inside of you, but something about seeing you filled up by another man… It’s bringing out a weird, feral part of Steve that he doesn’t quite comprehend.

You're whining and grabbing a hold of his waist as you feel the thick head of Steve's cock press against your sensitive hole, your puffy pussy throbbing even harder than you thought possible. "Getting fucked twice in one night... Just know you're happy, aren't you? Mhm, fuck, this greedy little cunt was made to be wrapped around my cock. Might share it every now and then but you know where you belong, don't you?" Your nails dig into Steve's shoulders and he chuckles as you arch your hips up, desperate to get him inside of you.

"Stevie, please. Need to feel you." And he doesn't make you ask twice. You're gasping and thrashing against the bed as Steve stretches you out. Even after Eddie fucked you it still took a second for you to adjust to how girthy he was. There's a mixture of your wetness and Eddie's cum being pushed out around his cock as he buries himself into you, the sensation driving him wild.

He’s slowly dragging himself back out of you, much to your protest. Taking the head of his cock through the cum that’s leaked out, collecting it on himself before lining up and pushing into you with one firm thrust. The sinful sound of Steve stretching out your wet pussy filling the room. He’s letting you relax under him while those strong arms hold you close to him, body going lax.

“So fucking full. Can’t think straight. Two pretty boys in me… S’good.”

Every word and sound you could make is caught in your throat, effectively rendering you dead silent. You don’t know who noticed your fingers working your clit first but Eddie’s tight grip on your wrist is keeping you from continuing. “Absolutely not.”

Eddie’s watching Steve’s expression for any hint of disgust or disapproval. There’s none. Instead he’s giving Eddie a small nod of encouragement. There’s a shift in the energy in the air.

You feel Eddie shuffle on the bed, his warm breath on your stomach, and all of a sudden you see the lights of Heaven when you feel Eddie’s tongue lapping at your clit while Steve picks up the pace of fucking into you.

Even in your turned on bliss, you’re not missing the fact that Eddie’s tongue is accidentally brushing over Steve’s cock. By the look on Steve’s face, he doesn’t quite mind the extra attention either.

“You’re both such pretty boys. Thank you for taking care of me so fucking good. No one else can treat this pussy like you two.”

Your words make Steve’s hips lose their pace, pulling out a little too far which causes him to slip between your folds and up towards your clit. Towards Eddie’s open mouth. His tongue already out for your clit when suddenly he has the firm weight of Steve fuckin’ Harrington’s cock in his mouth.

And they’re both moaning.

Neither pulling away.

Steve’s pumping himself further into Eddie’s mouth before he truly realizes what he’s doing, his balls tightening up for a second at the new sensation. You want to cry out, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing after being so deliciously filled. But you know better. You don’t want to disrupt the sight.

It’s Steve who jerks his hips back first, pulling out of Eddie’s mouth. “Fuck, bro. Sorry.” But he wasn’t sorry, not really. The only thing Eddie wants him to be sorry about is pulling out of his throat. You’re dripping wet. Like, wet spot in the bed because of your pussy wet. Steve’s losing a bit of that friction feeling and he doesn’t want you to be missing it too. That’s what he tells himself at least.

Tells himself that you need to be cleaned up so this night feels better for you.

Right?

So he’s taking a hold of his cock, fist wrapping around the base. “You uh, -… You wanna clean her up for me, Munson?” An offering to Eddie. He can either go right for your pussy and pretend that Steve wasn’t asking to suck him off.

And you’re not even offended when he picks Steve. Because the sight of Eddie Munson sucking you off of Steve’s dick?

Steve’s moaning as Eddie wraps his lips around his cock. Swirling his tongue around the tip before working on taking more length. Your fingers are back on your pussy and fuck you really did need to be cleaned up. You’ve got two fingers pushed into yourself, and while it doesn’t match how full you just felt, the view makes up for it. 

The sight doesn’t last long, Steve pulling himself out of Eddie’s mouth with a satisfying ‘pop’. “Not gonna last much longer if we keep this up.” And to his credit, Eddie’s pouting. His fingers touching his lips as he remembers the feeling but he’s nodding nonetheless. 

Your nails are digging into Steve’s back, clinging to him as if he were a lifeboat while you're drowning in all these sensations. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes and Steve’s cupping your face to wipe them away while Eddie adjusts himself until the three of you are as comfortable as possible. There’s Eddie’s lips at the back of your shoulder pressing a tender kiss as Steve speaks, “Words. How are you doing? Too much?”

It takes you a moment to collect yourself but you’re finally able to muster up a lopsided smile for him, nodding with your head bumping against Eddie’s. “Good, so good. Thank you for checking on me.” You slide a hand through the hair on the nape of Eddie’s neck, giving him a kiss as Steve pushes back into you.

You only get a few more kisses before Eddie has to pull back - He’s starting to get hard again and it hurts. He decides he has to try even harder to make sure he gets out of this alive just on the off chance you two ever invite him in again. 

Steve takes this as his chance to lean in, pressing his chest flat against yours as he bends you in half. There’s a warm hand cupping your jaw and you wait until he gets closer, your lips finally touching so you’re able to keep your voice low. “Always so good to me, Stevie. Treat me so well… Treat this pussy so good. Love belonging to you.”

He’s groaning into your mouth, savoring every word you give him. “Gonna make my pretty girl cum…. Can feel how bad you need me. Fuck, squeezing me so tight.” Steve starts to pick up the pace and jackhammers himself into you. Relentless, claiming. All you can do is lay there and take your boyfriend. He knows how bad you need to finish, how badly you need him. The coarse pubes at the base of his cock keep brushing against your overstimulated clit and you cry out, arching your back up into him as you start to black out from this level of pleasure. Spots in your vision, no thoughts in your head. Just pure pleasure taking over your body.

There’s not much warning when your orgasm finally hits your body. Your back arching off of the bed and legs starting to shake as it vibrates through every inch of your being. The loud, lewd sounds coming out of you making everyone thankful they’re so far into the woods. Steve’s slowing his pace while he fucks you through the sensation, warm arms wrapping around your body after he drops your legs to let them fall to the side of you two. He’s shushing you, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck. “That’s it, Baby. Let go, I’ve got you. Such a good girl for me.” 

Steve's orgasm comes quickly after yours, the spasms of your core milking it out of him. You know he's going to be scratched and bruised tomorrow morning from the way you're desperately clinging to him at the feeling of being so, so full. You wanna offer him the same reassurance but there’s nothing able to come out of you except a mess of ‘Love you. Love you so much’ which makes his heart tug.

He’s pulling back after the two of you have a moment to collect yourselves, looking at you all blissed out and your body fully relaxed after having been used as much as one could probably withstand. Your head is still tilted back against the pillow, his fingers pushing through your hair as it keeps sticking to your damp forehead each time you adjust. It’s kind of endearing how gentle he’s being with you considering how filthy the three of you have been. 

Your whines fill the room as Steve pulls out of you, falling flat against the bed next to you. His fingers tangle together with yours as he still craves your touch. 

Eddie had left the room towards the end of your intercourse - The moment so intimate that he felt as though he was intruding. He’s sneaking back in, giving the sight of you two sprawled out on the bed a fond little smile as he sits down cups of water on the side table. The least he could do was attempt to take care of the both of you the best he could.

He’s stepping over to stand between the two of you, a warm hand cupping your knees to give them a gentle squeeze. That’s when this sneaky little idea comes to Eddie. Your eyes are closed, giving an appreciative hum at the affection felt between Steve’s touch and Eddie rubbing his hand higher along your thighs. 

It’s quiet for a moment as Steve lays on his back next to you. One hand behind his head, the other grabbing you still the only warning you get is a shuffling on the bed before - 

“Holy fuck, Eddie.” 

His head is between your thighs, tongue dragging right between your folds. Your back is arching while your hands come down to lace in his hair. Steve’s slacked jaw, watching as Eddie begins licking you out. His cock is giving a painful twitch, still sensitive but it’s a damn fine sight.

Eddie’s dipping his tongue into you, curling it just right to collect whatever he can get. Your hips are starting to rock up against his face but the sensation is just too much. He takes your choked out whimpers as a sign. Pulling away from you with this practically pornographic pop of his lips as his suction is lost against you. His lips are shiny, eyes trained on Steve. 

You watch as Eddie shuffles forward, reaching out to cup Steve’s chin. The sight above you? It’s addicting. Eddie’s thumb drags across Steve’s lips and he’s quickly letting his jaw fall open under the touch. 

Eddie’s leaning forward and you gasp as he spits into Steve’s mouth. A mixture of you, Eddie, and Steve being shared between the two. Steve’s groaning and your eyes are trained on his neck as you watch him swallow. 

Next there’s Eddie’s warm hand around your throat. His eyes are so playful, so cocky as he looks down at you. You know what’s expected of you and open your mouth before you’re asked. The reward? Eddie’s hand tightening around your throat. You’re reaching out to grab his hip, nails digging into his flesh while he leans over you a bit more to get the angle right. Like he said earlier, he doesn’t want anything going to waste. 

Eddie’s spitting the rest of what he has into your mouth, his hand coming up from your throat so his thumb can come between your lips. You close your mouth around it, Eddie feeling as you swallow what was given to you.“Uh -“ Eddie’s cheeks go this pretty shade of pink and he refuses to look at either of you, “Not to make this all weird and shit, but thank you guys for doing that with me. Never fuckin’ expected to lose my virginity to Steve Harrington and his hot ass girlfriend. But it was good.”

[delusional-mushroom]

Aaravos x reader where reader is also a startouch elf who was Aaravos’s lover but got imprisoned at the same time he did but in a different prison so instead of trying to lead Claudia and Viren to his prison he’s insisting they save his lover (but in his own ‘No! You can’t do it on your own you need this elf’s help!’ To avoid revealing something that would break his mystery facade- maybe reader had like a pet that guards their last residence and Aaravos is just like ‘oh yeah, that’s just ___ he bites.’ Feel free to add some plot to this it’s just a lil scenario that poofed into mah brain hole.

🌟 anon

Oh hello 🌟 anon. Thanks for the request >:3

Side note: sorry this was a bit rushed, especially towards the end. I’d be happy to part two it if you guys want.

After Leola’s death, you and Aaravos shared your grief. When you had no more tears to cry, and the crater of her demise was full to the brim, you began plotting your revenge.

At first, everything was going great. No one suspected a thing.

But then, a human girl— A human girl, had the audacity to stick her nose into where it did not belong, and rat you two out to the arch dragons.

It all happened so fast, one moment Aaravos was shielding his lover from the onslaught of attacks; and then the next they were both enveloped in a crude, blinding light.

Your look of horror was the last thing he saw before he too was imprisoned.

The two of you were both granted a visage through intricate looking glasses, spared with only one shellshocked glance at each other before you were given to the arch dragon of ocean, Domina Profundis.

Every day, and every night, Aaravos cried in his prision.

First Leola, his kind and loving daughter, and now his spouse: the only thing he had left in this cruel world.

Everything seemed hopeless.

He might never hold you in his embrace.

You two might never see each other again.

That was until a middle-aged dark mage stumbled upon his looking glass. How it got from the clutches of Avizandum and Zubeia to the treasury of Katolis, he didn’t know. But old habits die hard, and Aaravos didn’t mind reusing some old tricks…

“Avizandum is dead.”

What…?

Avizandum, King Of The Dragons, the ringleader in his and his lover’s imprisonment. He was dead.

Aaravos felt a satisfaction he had not felt in a long time. Not only was this going to make his schemes easier, but hearing the news of his passing made Aaravos almost giddy with joy. Maybe he wasn’t the one to end Avizandum’s life, but knowing of his death was almost just as good.

Maybe this middle-aged, emotionally fragile man had potential. Maybe he would be a useful pawn.

Finally, after centuries in his prision, escape was within his grasp. He could leave this dreaded place. He could take revenge upon those wretched dragons and elves.

But in a final moment, he relented.

“No.”

“What do mean ‘no’? We’re this close to freeing you!” Claudia squawked indignantly, pinching her fingers together to emphasise her point.

“You need to free someone else first. Someone just as powerful, and just as essential to the plan.” Aaravos insisted, his ghost-like apparition pointing a finger to a second dot on the map.

“And who would that be?” Viren inquired, Raising and an eyebrow in suspicion.

The star touched elf resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His use for the old man was beginning to dwindle. “You will see when the time comes.”

Reluctantly, he managed to get Viren, Claudia, and Terry to agree, though the earthblood elf didn’t really put up much of an argument.

Roaring and ticketing sounded through the mountain where your prison was kept. Allegedly, the magic orb that contained you was imbedded into an ancient tree. In order to acquire it, the tree needed to be felled. Easy, right? Wrong.

The tree was guarded by a serpent-like dragon by the name of Mortem, who’s bite held enough venom to kill an archdragon.

“Don’t get bit.” Aaravos instructed.

He was so close to you. He could feel your energy radiating through the mountain.

And somehow, the earthblood elf managed to lead Mortem away and distract him long enough without getting bit for Claudia and Viren to cut down the tree and grab your prision.

The scrambled journey back down the mountain made his breath bait in anticipation. This was it. He was finally going to be able to see you again.

Once the ritual was complete, your giant form kneeled down to look the three mortals in the eye. Shrinking yourself down, his ghostly appearance caught your eye.

“Aaravos?” You ask incredulously.

“I’m here, beloved.”

I’m here…

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Roadside

Summary: On your way back from a long weekend that you got to spent with Joel, his car breaks down. While you both waited for Tommy to get there to help, Joel has some ideas on how to spend the time waiting.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 792

Rating: T

Warnings: roadtrips, falling in love but slowly, car trouble, implied smut, kissing, flirting, feelings, teasing, kinda secret dating, fourteen year age gap

A/N: I'm missing references to three pics I think, but it doesn't get better than this lol (technically I am not here, because I am on a writing break) The moodboard screamed road trip to me, so this is what I did. This is for @iamasaddie 24 hour writing challenge and I hope it does not suck 🙃

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

„What are you gonna tell him when he gets here?“ You hummed, looking up at Joel. He gave you a small smile before he stepped closer, his big, strong hands coming down to part your legs for him, stepping between them so he was towering over you, the sun slowly setting on the horizon.

You had almost made it home. 

After a long weekend of having Joel to yourself without the fear of running into someone you both knew (if you left your hotel room at all) that you had spend in a tiny town in close to Dallas, you were on your way back, just an hour out of Austin when his truck made a very sad noise until the engine went out and the car stopped on the side of the road. 

He had tried to get it to work before, with a long groan, he told you he had to call Tommy cause the something something needed a something so he could fix it. He had kept his eyes on you the whole times as he made the call, looking beyond sexy in the shirt you bought him, with his too long getting hair that you had spent all night running your fingers through as he made you cum over and over again until you both passed out. 

You had met Tommy before. You just hadn’t met him as Joel’s girlfriend.

Things between you and Joel had been… slow until they weren’t.

You’ve known each other for almost two years due to you working as an interior designer occasionally with his company. But it was six months ago that you had gotten closer as you worked on a very time consuming project where the client brought you both to the verge of insanity with how often they were changing the plans. 

He had finally asked you out one night and the rest as they say, was history. 

„Guess I’m finally gonna introduce my controversially young girlfriend to him,“ Joel smiled before he kissed you softly. You gasped in mock offence, before tilting your chin up to meet his lips with a smile, your hands running up his broad back until your fingers slipped into his hair on the back of his neck. 

„Not that controversial,“ you grinned and he chuckled before his lips kissed down your neck. 

„Fourteen years is a lot,“ he mumbled against your neck and you sighed, letting your head fall to the side to give him more access. One of his hands slowly drifted up your thighs, his fingers pushing the fabric of your skirt up. 

„Only if you care what other people think. Last time I checked, we’re both very consenting adults,“ you said and he playfully bit into your neck making your shriek. 

„How consenting are we talking about here exactly?“ He asked and you looked up at him as one of his hands slipped between your legs, his fingers brushing over your damp panties. 

You could feel your nipples harden against the fabric of the shirt you had put on this morning and Joel seemed to notice too, his other hand coming up to cup one of your tits, his thumb playing with your nipple.

Looking around you realised that you were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. You couldn’t even remember when you had seen a car drive by the last time. 

„Consenting enough to let you fuck me in the middle of nowhere until your brother gets here,“ you whispered against his ear and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against yours. 

„Atta girl,“ he grinned, before he kissed you again while his hands made quick work of your underwear. 

You could still feel him dripping out of you, your legs a little weak, when you jumped of the back of the truck, Joel taking your hand as the door of the car that had parked behind his opened and a man jumped out, looking between the two of you. 

The sun had set by now, the cold air making you shiver and Joel let go of your hand, to put an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, the warmth of his body helping instantly. 

„So this is how I get to find out the mysterious woman that makes my brother grin like a teenager with a crush when he looks at his phone is you?“ Tommy Miller approached with a wide grin. You could practically hear Joel roll his eyes and you smiled at his brother. 

„You got a crush on me, Miller?“ You teased and looked up at him. 

„Brat,“ he sighed, fighting a smile.

„You love it,“ you winked, feeling him pull you closer. 

„Yeah, I really do,“ he hummed before he kissed you softly. 

[callsign-dexter]

A Father's Heartache

Request: So Idk if your writing for twisters but I keep seeing how Tyler Owen would be if his girlfriend got hurt or something but I was wondering if you write like if his daughter got hurt 

Pairings: Tyler Owens x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, hospitals, tornados

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you to @hauntedlovecreator

Tyler Owens had been through many hardships, witnessing his first tornado when he was a little boy, many many bull riding accidents and more. However, the most painstaking hardship was losing your mom to an EF5 tornado when you were just 5 years old and almost losing you to an EF5 tornado when you were 17 years old, the age you are now. 

He has two loves, your mom and you, his daughter. Tyler and your mom were high school sweethearts believe it or not. Both of them grew up on ranches and both enjoyed doing farm work and riding horses, which was their main thing to do when they were off of school just to spend time with each other. He was a bull rider and she was a barrel racer. They married quickly, right out of high school. They stuck with each other through thick and thin. She would still barrel race while she went to college and he bull rode until he got his head stomped on one too many times and decided to go to school. They both went to University of Arkansas and studied Meteorology, due to them loving storms, where he didn't finish, she did. They soon created the Tornado Wranglers and quickly became popular on YouTube. 

His second love is you, his daughter. When you came along you were perfect, you looked exactly like him and had his witty personality. You got the love of storm chasing from them both. You were always the calmest when there was a storm going on, falling asleep almost everything. You were a pretty good baby but boy did they start having their hands full when you started to walk and talk. As long as it wasn't lighting you were outside in the storm just admiring it. As you got older the love for storms grew and when you got old enough to travel with the team you did as long as it was during the summer or on breaks. It just so happened to be summer vacation for you so here you were with your dad the crew traveling from Arkansas to Oklahoma. You were in the truck with your dad in the front seat while Boone was in the back with Ben. “So, Y/N, how old were you when you started chasing with your father?” Ben asked as you looked back at him.

“I think I was 4. Right Dad?” You asked your father as you turned to him.

“Yea, that is right. Then a year later an EF5 hit and we lost your mom.” He said 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Ben said 

“It was a long time ago. Still hurts but we never forget about her. Do we?” Tyler asked you.

“Absolutely not.” You said as you touched the necklace that your mom had given you before she passed. 

“Do you enjoy chasing?” Ben asked and you and you smiled and nodded, having turned back to him.

“Oh, I love it! The adrenaline from chasing and seeing one up close is amazing.” You said and Tyler smiled you were so much like him.

“She gets that honestly from Tyler.” Boone said as Tyler leaned over to rub you head and you pulled a face but it was all in playfulness. 

“How much longer until we are in Oklahoma?” You asked him.

“About an hour or so. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we cross state lines.” Your father said and you nodded and got comfortable and closed your eyes and almost instantly you were asleep. When you were little and wouldn’t go to sleep your mom and dad would drive you around in your dad’s truck since it gave a low gentle ‘hum’ and it would instantly put you to sleep, turns out it still can. True to his word your dad was gently waking you up by saying your name and rubbing your arm. “Sweetheart, we just crossed the state line. We’re going to make a stop first.” He said and you nodded. The short drive to the gas station was filled with chatter and getting pumped for the season. As you grew closer you smiled seeing all the cars there and knew what was about to go down. “Ready?” He asked and you smiled.

“Ready, Dad.” You said smiling.

“Turn on the music.” He said and you did and cranked it up Ain’t No Love In Oklahoma by Luke Combs blasted through the speakers as you pulled in and yelling began. Boon was doing the live stream focusing on the crowd and Tyler. You mainly blocked out the conversation as he stopped the truck and got out. You could hear him shout “If you feel it..”

“Chase it!” The crowd replied and he smiled his charming smile that hooked your mother. 

“I said if you feel it..” He said loving the attention and pumping up the crowd.

“Chase it!” The crowd shouted and you smiled, staying out of the way mostly with Dexter, Lilly and Dani. As you stood and watched the crowd and your father you looked around and spotted Storm Par and another woman that was unfamiliar. You had run into Storm Par before and while most team members were unpleasant one was nice and that was Javi. As you looked at them the unfamiliar woman caught your eye and furrowed them out of curiosity and you quickly looked away as your father was calling you over. 

****************************

Kate couldn't help but stare at the group that just rolled their way in. They really didn't impress her much and they somewhat annoyed her. As they got out and everyone crowded, she stood with Javi as she looked at everyone although one person stood out, you. She thought you looked way too young to be out chasing. “Who are they?” Kate asked Javi.

“That is Tyler Owens and his group from Arkansas they call them the Tornado Wranglers.” Javi said 

“Who is the girl? She seems too young to be out here doing this. It's dangerous.” She asked as she watched Tyler bring you under his arm and kiss you the top of your head. 

“That is Y/N. Y/N Owens.” Javi said

“Sister?” Kate asked 

“No. She would be his daughter.” Javi said “She's really a sweet kid.” He added and Kate was shocked.

“Seems like nobody would be able to settle him down long enough to have a kid.” She said exasperated. 

“She was a chaser too. She was sweet just like her daughter.” Javi said

“Was?” She asked and he nodded.

“Yea, an EF5 rolled through and the Tornado Wranglers and Strom Par were chasing it. It caught the truck and threw it like it was nothing. Everyone came, most of everyone came out unscathed besides her, they rushed her to hospital but it was too late. It wrecked Tyler and the whole team.” Javi said 

“Where was Y/N?” She asked, watching the way Tyler tended to you so carefully and with love.

“She wasn't in the truck with them. I think she was in the RV at the time.” He said and she nodded. 

“How do you know all of this?” She asked 

“She's an old friend of mine. We went to the same elementary and middle school then she moved at the start of high school.” He told her.

“Oh wow.” Kate said and he nodded then he started to ask her which tornado they should go after taking her mind off you and the group.

****************************

You watched Javi and the woman talk and then she was walking off. You looked up at your dad and saw him watching her, it stung just a bit because he hasn't looked at anyone like that since your mom but he deserved happiness. “I'll be right back, Sweetheart.” He said and kissed your head and walked off towards her direction. You watched them for a bit and watched Ben go over after a few minutes you decided to make yourself busy, really you were just sitting in the truck playing on your phone. 

“Hey, Y/N/N.” Dani said and you looked up not having paid attention to anyone.

“Which one do you think we should chase?” She asked and you got out to look at the map. You studied the sky and then the map. 

“West.” You said just about that time your dad came running up and telling everyone to wrap up. “Which way dad?” You asked, hopping into the front seat. 

“West. She tried to throw us off.” He said and you smiled.

“Damn girl! You got a talent for this.” Dani said as she ran past you and you smiled. Your dad got in the driver's seat as you watched Storm Par rush off.

“Did you call it?” He asked and you looked down smiling shyly.

“I did.” You said

“That's my girl.” He said as he took off. As you were heading towards the tornado Strom Par was coming up and past you so in your typical dad fashion, he cut them off and everyone cheered. Your dad smiled at the woman with Strom Par and then jerked the wheel going off into the field heading towards it “Harness up!” He said as he put his on and then yours. Ben said something but you weren’t paying attention to it as he stopped and sent fireworks up and you looked up at it in amazement. Afterwards you went back to the motel as everyone was outside you stayed in the backseat of the truck laying down the chase having taken the energy out of you. You were asleep in no time. You missed the little spat between your dad and the woman you saw with Storm Par. Throughout the tornado season you were chasing almost every day. You got to see twin tornados and even though you wanted to go after the one Storm Par wanted to go after you let your dad decide and even if it ended up being the wrong choice you still had the adrenaline pumping through you. When the tornado hit the town, you were right there helping. “Y/N/N you stay close to me. I don’t want you to get lost or hurt.” He said.

“Ok, Dad.” You said as you, your dad, and Boone started to help around and find people, things, or pets. Currently you were looking for a dog when your dad looked up and saw the woman coming up. 

“Stay with Boone.” He said and you nodded as he headed off to talk to her. They got pretty loud at some points and you were close enough to hear them. 

“Are you recruiting kids now?” She asked

“That kid is my daughter. She had the choice to stay at home or come along. She chose to come along because she loves chasing just like all of us.” Tyler said getting defensive of you. You chose that moment to walk away and not eavesdrop. After finishing helping out you all went back to the hotel. You and dad got into the hotel room after getting pizza and he turned to look at you. “I’m gonna head to the rodeo. You wanna come?” He asked and you looked up at him.

“No, it’s ok. I’m kind of tired. You should go and ask that woman.” You said smirking.

“Kate. Her name is Kate.” He said and it looked like he was blushing.

“Kate…. You should go and ask Kate.” You said 

“You think so?” He asked

“Oh yes. Take a pizza to her.” You said and he nodded and grabbed it as you shooed him away and out the door. You smiled like an idiot. He was so in love with her. As you were relaxing and watching some TV your phone and then the TV started to go off warning everyone that a tornado had touched down and to take shelter. Your dad had prepped you on everything and the safety of everything. You were quick to take shelter, you were scared and you wanted your dad but you knew you had this. You stayed undercover and when it was over you were coming out just as soon as your dad was coming in and taking you in his arms and hugging you tightly.

“You’re ok.” He said “You’re ok.” He said and you knew he was saying it more for him and not you.

“I’m here, Dad. I’m here.” You said holding him tighter. 

“You’re not leaving my side again. Never.” He said and you nodded. “Come on, we need to go.” He said, “Grab your stuff.” He added and you nodded and did so and then he was ushering you out and into the truck. You regrouped with everyone and while you stayed in the truck your dad was talking to Dexter and then he was getting in as the sun was coming up. 

“Where are we going?” You asked

“You’ll see.” He said and you nodded as he drove. After a few minutes he was pulling up into a driveway.

“Wait… Dad?” You asked

“Yes, we are paying her a visit.” He said and you nodded. He parked the truck and the both of you got out and a woman was coming up and greeting the both of you. She introduced herself as Cathy Carter and she was Kate’s mother. “You mind keeping her busy while I go and talk to Kate?” He asked her.

“Not at all.” She said and smiled and walked off. 

“I’m Y/N.” You said and she smiled. 

“I’m assuming you are his daughter.” She said and you nodded. 

“I am.” You smiled 

“I could tell.” She said “Come on, help me get supper ready.” She said and you nodded and did so. After talking and helping her out she said that she was going to go and get them and you nodded as you set the last bit of food on the table not very long, they were all coming up. 

“Hi.” You said as your father came over and kissed your head and sat down.

“HI, Sweetheart. Kate, this is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N this is Kate.” Your dad said and she smiled at you.

“It is finally nice to meet you.” She said and you smiled at her.

“Right back at you.” You said and then you all began to eat. Stories were told and laughs were to be had. As the supper ended you stayed behind saying you were going to get some shut eye. You were just about asleep when your father came in. “Dad?” You asked sleepily.

“Hey, Sweetheart. Go back to sleep. We’re leaving early in the morning.” He said and you nodded as you got comfortable. The next morning like he said you were leaving and as you got to the truck first and then he was coming out. He looked upset and that made you upset. He looked up at the upstairs several times and was about to start going but a knock there was a knock on the window and it was Kate. She asked your dad a question and he got excited and then the both of you were getting out of the truck. Everything was explained and then the experimenting started. You loved the thrill of it all and had the biggest smile on your face and after getting it perfect it was time to gather the crew again. Tyler turned and looked at you “Ready?” He asked.

“Born ready.” You said and he smiled.

“That is my girl.” He said and so the chase started. You were in the back with Ben, Boone, and Lily while your dad and Kate were upfront. Storm Par cut you off and you had to laugh. As you were going off towards a tornado you noticed it was getting bigger and bigger it was turning into an EF5. You were following Storm Par when the tornado hit a factory and it turned into a fire tornado. You watched the Storm Par truck get hit and flip yelling was heard and then it was hit again and turned back up it was pointed out that it was heading towards the town. You started off towards the town. When you arrived, the truck was quickly put into park and everyone started to help out and get people to safety. 

As you were helping the sheer strength of the wind was making things blow around and knocked something loose and made it come flying your way. You tried to outrun it but you were unlucky as your leg got stuck “Fuck.” You said as you started to try and lift it off your leg. Your dad heard you and turned to look and his heart plummeted.

“Y/N!” Your dad yelled as he started to try and get it off with the help of Kate.

“Go. Save the others.” You said and he shook his head.

“Not a fucking chance. I’m not losing you like I lost your mom.” He said and continued to try to get it off your leg then Javi came out of nowhere to help and get it off. As you were getting stood up with the help of your dad the water tower came crashing down and water flooded the area pushing you three down. Then you three were heading to the movie theater. “Help the people out in the back!” Your father said over the roar of the tornado and you nodded. You heard him yelling as you watched Kate run out of the theater but you knew what was happening. You bunkered down as the roof and wall started to come off. As you were waiting for the tornado to pass something came loose and you heard it but couldn’t do anything as it hit your head knocking you out. 

****************************

The tornado passed and everyone was standing up and your father was quick to notice you weren’t there and he began to panic. “Where is Y/N?” He asked and everyone started to look around for you and call out for you.

“I found her!” Javi said as he knelt down beside your unconscious form and your dad was rushing over to you.

“Shit! Sweetheart!” Tyler said kneeling down trying to wake you up but nothing was working and he was panicking. “Go check on Kate!” He hollered and everyone nodded as he stayed with you. He checked your pulse and was glad you still had one. “Come on, Baby. Don’t do this to me.” He pleaded as he started to try and arouse you. He was about to give up hope until he heard you start groaning.

“Dad?” You asked 

“I’m here, Sweetheart.” He said 

“My head.” You whimpered out.

“I know I know.” He said cradling you as you became more aware of your surroundings. “I got you.” He said as he pulled you up into his lap cradled you. Everyone came rushing to you and him.

“You’re ok.” Javi said and you nodded but winced.

“I’m ok.” You said 

“They told me what happened. I was worried about you.” Kate said and you smiled at her.

“Nothing can keep me down. I'm an Owens.” You said and everyone cracked a smiled and chuckled.

“Damn right.” Your dad said as he held you closer. Your dad kissed your head as you were recovering and getting your bearings together. Nothing could keep you down, not even an EF5 tornado. You weren’t going to leave your dad anytime soon, not now and not ever. 

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

@angenu01-blog

@twistersmaverick

@callsign-revenge

[daistea]

Alright so to answer your question, the reader is around their age but maybe slightly older than his brother, and would always reject Mithrun's advances because they think it's inappropriate

You said headcanons in the original request, I hope it’s okay that I added some writing as well! 

The name I give his brother is Arendil, totally stolen from another series with elves and kind of a cliche name, but it’s stuck with me and personally it would feel weird calling him anything else because that’s what I’m used to. 

This is a little more angsty than I expected it to be, tbh :/ Sorry if you don't like angst, I kinda just can't help but pick apart pre-dungeon Mithrun like this.

2700 words

No tw

Pre-Dungeon Mithrun x gn Reader 

●・○・●・○・●

Mithrun was probably a very good boy growing up. He tried so hard, he wanted everybody to like him, and he was a hardcore people pleaser. 

However, once he finds out that he’s the one born out of infidelity, the resentment starts to sink in. I like to think this happens when he’s in his early teens, when he actually takes a look at his family and starts to realize that he’s not truly the favorite. 

His parents treat him like he’s the favorite, and in a way they do prefer him over his brother, but in the end they’re always going to choose his brother because he’s the rightful heir and the oldest, and I think Elven culture would prioritize that more than personality. 

That probably becomes clear to Mithrun early on, just through little things. His sense of worth starts to crumble and he desperately grasps at any opportunity to be the one people prefer, which eventually turns him into the fake-nice, outwardly charming, judgmental, distrustful, bitter boy we know. 

Onto you. As a caretaker and important aspect of Mithrun’s life, he would crave your approval. I don’t think he’d be outwardly mean to servants and helpers, because despite their lower stations he would want them all to like him and think well of him. Since you’re especially close to him and Arendil, he would crave your attention even more. 

As you both get older, though, he starts noticing more about you…

I headcanon that Mithrun was pretty flirty at this point in life. He won’t open up or be vulnerable for anybody, but he will try to charm his way into your heart just to fulfill his own desire to be wanted.

Except… You don’t seem to want him. 

He first notices your rejection of his advances a year or two before he’s sent to join the Canaries.

You felt Mithrun’s eyes on your form. They were steady, intense, and held implications that you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge. You tried your best to ignore the feeling, but the hairs on the back of your neck still stood to attention, and your heart still clenched. 

Resisting the urge to comment on the situation grew more difficult the longer time passed. “Mithrun,” you sighed, “can I help you with something?”

He raised his brows and smiled pleasantly. His head was tilted, his fingers pressed into his cheekbone as he leaned against the table beside his chair. “Yes, actually, you can.”

You wanted to groan. Having basically grown up with Mithrun and his brother, you had the pass to be a little snarky with the boys. Yet the look in his eyes told you that now wasn’t the time. He would grab onto your sarcasm and use it like a rope to pull you forward, into him, into the trap he set. Mithrun’s games had only gotten more subtle with age. 

“I can’t imagine with what,” you said, keeping your voice level and disinterested, “the laundry is done, the manor is clean, and you’ve already eaten.”

Mithrun remained pleasantly unphased, “Do you really think that’s all I would need you for?”

“I don’t. However, there’s no other service I’m willing to offer.”

That was enough to break his demeanor, to shatter the glass he hid behind. His smile faltered for half a second and his shoulders tensed. “We’re friends, please don’t talk as if a caretaker is all you are.”

You knew that. Yet, at the moment, you were just a caretaker. You refused to be more to him— not out of dislike or a lack of attraction to the youngest Kerensil brother, but more because you were professional. It would be inappropriate to let yourself feel anything beyond what was platonic. 

He watched as you shifted uncomfortably. His brows furrowed, and you finally met his unyielding gaze. “We are friends, you’re right,” you said. 

Mithrun finally looked away. Relief flooded your chest as he chose to instead stare at the wall in thought. “I’ve known you all my life. You’ve never treated me lesser because of my biological father, or because I’m younger, or because I’m not the heir. You’ve always seen me and Arendil… equally.” Mithrun said the word ‘equally’ as if it was a bad thing. He only let his scowl last for half a second before he schooled his expression and continued, “You know I appreciate you, right?”

For once, he seemed genuine. You felt yourself melt a little. “I know.”

“You know, I…”

A pause for dramatic effect, of course, letting the anticipation rise so you would be appropriately charmed by his next words. You put up a hand to stop him, “I know you're just trying to get me to like you more than Arendil."

Mithrun’s eyes widened, “That’s not it.”

That was definitely it. 

“I know you. I know how you are,” you said as you turned around to continue folding laundry, an excuse to keep your nervous hands busy. 

Another pause followed your words. Then, “...You know me?”

You nodded. 

Mithrun allowed himself to frown. It was flattering, in a way, that he would let his true emotions show in front of you. 

He looked at you differently, then. There was no more charm in his stare, no more sparks of attraction. As you met his eyes, they widened slightly. His smile shook and his brows furrowed to create a little crease on his forehead. 

You realized it, then, that Mithrun was unnerved. 

Of course he was unnerved, he’d just realized you could see right through him. 

“Sorry,” you couldn’t help but apologize, though you knew you’d done nothing wrong, “I probably went too far with that comment.”

A beat of silence passed. Your hands lingered on the shirt you were folding, while Mithrun’s hands tightened as he crossed his arms over his chest, closing you off. 

Still, he seemed to prepare himself for the sliver of vulnerability that he was willing to offer. “Sometimes, I feel like you’re the only one who actually knows me.”

You had to resist the urge to say ‘well, who’s fault is that?’ 

Instead, you nodded, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Truly?”

“Truly,” you echoed. 

Mithrun leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell and he closed his eyes. A silver curl fell into his face as he tilted his head into his hand. He was letting the words sink in, the implication take root. 

All you could do was wonder what might come of this.

Mithrun falls in love slowly. He does not enjoy it. 

He goes through four of the seven stages of grief. 

Shock and denial: ‘I don’t see them in that way, their smile is just pretty and my heart only skips when they look at me because we’re friends.’

Pain and guilt: ‘I shouldn’t be feeling this way about them, they're my caretaker...’

Anger and bargaining: ‘Maybe if they weren’t so considerate and wonderful then I wouldn’t be feeling this way. How annoying. Perhaps I can convince them to choose me in the end, or at least get their attention on me.’ 

Depression: ‘They will never love me the way I love them…’

This elf is suffering. Nobody knows that, though, because he’s an expert at hiding it. 

But in the end, Mithrun shrugs it all off and decides that he wants you. 

When he sees you giving his brother attention, Mithrun feels the deep urge to rip out his brother’s throat. Then he chides himself for being so violent, the blood would make stains on the floor and you’d be angry with him…

Still, you treat them both equally. It drives him up a wall. You obviously don’t prefer his brother over him in any way, but that’s not good enough for Mithrun. He wants all of you. He wants every ounce of your love and care, with absolutely nothing left for Arendil to take, like he does with everything else. (Mithrun has very little self-awareness of how warped his view is at this point.)

Part of his desire for you stems from the need to possess, his insecurity, his desire to be loved, to be the favorite. However, beneath all of that, there’s more. Mithrun also appreciates and admires you as a person. You’re one of the few people that he trusts and can be himself around. You encourage him to be a better person— he doesn’t take that encouragement, but it’s still a nice quality of yours. 

And you make him feel important. How could he not fall in love with you?

Yet, he doesn’t quite comprehend the complexities of genuine love.

 “I think you should know that I’m—”

You clamped your hand over his mouth. It was like a door shutting in his face, barring him from treading down a dangerous path. His eyes widened and he leaned back to get away from you, but you kept your hand where it was. 

The grass beneath your knees was soft. The shade from the tree you and Mithrun sat under was pleasant. And the topic of conversation was horrifying. 

“Don’t,” you told him, “I know what you’re going to say and…”

And what? The words ‘it’s inappropriate’ sat on your tongue, but was that truly the only reason you stopped him? It was a good excuse, certainly, but the tangled knot of your relationship with Mithrun wasn’t ready to be unraveled quite yet. 

When he gave you a look that provided a slight bit of reassurance, you let him go. You sat back, folding your hands on your knees and meeting his silver gaze. His head was tilted down a little as he stared at you. His brain was working overtime, most likely churning out a myriad of thoughts like those factory lines in Dwarven cities. There was anger, betrayal, hurt, resentment, fear. You accepted each flash of emotion like a prisoner accepts the crack of a whip— which was begrudgingly, but with no choice in the matter. 

“I love you,” Mithrun whispered, despite it all. 

“I know,” was the only response you could give him. 

Yet, he had his shovel ready, willing to dig up this grave. “Why?”

“Why am I not returning your feelings?” You asked, though you already knew that was what he was asking. With a sigh, you absently twirled a blade of grass around your index finger, then continued, “Because I care about you, I really do. And I don’t want to ruin us.”

His expression hardened, “How would this ruin us?”

You looked up to meet his eyes once more, “You only want me because you want to be loved, and I’m the best candidate for that. You don’t want me for me, you want me for you.”

“How could you possibly know that?” He seethed. 

“Because I know you,” you murmured, “I know you far too well.”

Mithrun is determined to understand what you mean. However, he doesn’t really have anybody to ask for advice on that particular matter. 

He isn’t one to settle unless necessary. But it’s starting to feel necessary, with how often you stop him from confessing, with how you avoid his touch, with how you won’t hold his gaze most of the time. 

Mithrun is going mad. 

He doesn't particularly care about the girl his brother likes, since his mind is on you, but it's offensive to him that his brother thinks he has a chance with such a cute and refined girl.

It does please Mithrun, though, that Arendil is not interested in you. That makes things easier and slightly calms his boiling blood. 

However, the fact that someone actually likes Arendil back drives him a bit mad too. 

You call him out on this, saying that he’s like a toddler who only wants a certain toy when another kid is playing with it. He chooses to ignore that comparison. 

He still very much has feelings for you. He does whatever you ask, though you never ask for anything, really. If you mention that you like a certain item, he’ll get it for you. If you mention that you want to see a certain play, he suddenly has two tickets to it. 

He is doing his best to court you and you know it, his parents know it, everybody knows it. 

You try to sway him away from doing these things. It’s not proper for him to act like that. He agrees, with his desire to keep a good reputation amongst the nobility and his peers. However, that doesn’t stop him from trying to win you over in secret. (Which doesn’t actually help his case much, because you can’t help but think ‘he’s ashamed of having feelings for a servant. wow.’)

At this point in life, Mithrun does genuinely like people and can be truly cheerful and kind. He’s a social butterfly and enjoys chatting. You allow these interactions, spending hours just talking with him. It’s so easy, it’s so comfortable. Those moments are when you’re closest to being pulled into his path; when his gravity threatens to steal you, a passing comet, and hold you hostage in his orbit.

And sometimes you wonder what it would be like to give in. 

Mithrun knows you wonder that, though, because he knows you just as well as you know him. And he uses that to his advantage, of course. 

He shamelessly flirts when you’re alone together. He’ll brush your hair out of your face and let the tips of his fingers gently caress the edges of your ear. And when you shiver despite your best attempts not to, he only smiles. He knows when he's winning.

He would whisper to you a lot. He likes people-watching and has a lot to say. He can be a total Regina George when he wants to. 

But really, he does like people, he just can’t help but be distrusting and judgmental. His entire self is a result of elven society mixed with subtle emotional neglect. 

Somehow, Mithrun has both an inferiority complex and a superiority complex. It just depends on the situation. 

He’s very jealous. And he gets clingy when he’s jealous, especially if you’re paying attention to his brother. He’ll swoop in, put his hand on your back, start flirting with you, etc. I headcanon that his brother is incredibly oblivious, but kind, and just thinks to himself ‘wow I’m so happy my little brother has found love : )’

You’re not together though. You slip away from his touch often. You ignore his flirting. You maintain your dignity and position. 

Except for when his family receives the letter about the Canaries recruitment. And they announce that they’re sending Mithrun. They give this speech about how he’s bringing honor to the House of Kerensil by fighting the evil that exists in this world… Mithrun knows it's a load of crap. His parents are sending him to his death. 

It’s the biggest proof that he’s not their favorite, that he’ll never be their favorite. No matter how much they talk up his charm and looks, he’s still the bastard son. He’s a trinket on their shelf, but if they need to make room they won’t hesitate to store him in a dusty box in the basement. 

And his brother gets to live; sweet and innocent and ignorant, undeserving of all that he gets. Mithrun hates the air he breathes. 

And when he’s about to leave for the Canaries, you finally admit it. You admit that you love him. And…

His bitterness only grows. If he wasn’t sent to the Canaries… If he was the first born, the heir, the one that was wanted…

In the dungeon, he sees how his brother gets the girl. The girl doesn’t matter, it’s what that image represents that angers him. It’s what his world looks like now; he’s a slave to the government sponsored death squad, and his brother is getting all he’s ever wanted. 

And then there’s you. You love him, but can you be together? No. 

With mirror shards on the floor and the soft clop of hooves, Mithrun's life changes entirely.

[beforetimes]

OKAY I am back (sorry). I woke myself up with another question about the Shizun!LBH/disciple!SQQ au. I tried jotting myself a note and going back to sleep, but.. yea here I am.

So! Yue Qingyuan. So far it seems to have been implied that all the peak lords except Shen Qingqiu are the same. Liu Qingge for instance was implied to have a friendship (frienemies maybe?) with Luo Binghe. And I can’t remember right now but I think I saw other peak lords mentions?? I could be wrong though. It’s 4am.

Anyway, so I was sitting here thinking about how Yue Qingyuan would probably still be Sect Leader in this au based on that knowledge. But with Shen Qingqiu as a disciple, that inserts a huge age gap there, which means the couldn’t have been slaves together as children and that whole shitshow wouldn’t have happened. This is a Yue Qingyuan who never met his Xiao Jiu in his formative years and failed in his promise to go back and save him. This is also a Yue Qingyuan who wouldn’t have rushed his cultivation and had his life tethered to his sword.

So either, this au rolls with an uber powerful Yue Qingyuan without broken cultivation, orrrr… we’re gonna have to break him some other way 😈

oh no how terrible 😈

Anyway suggestions for your perusal!! I was thinking it’d be interesting if Yue Qingyuan used to feed homeless children while out and about as a disciple. Before the previous Cang Qiong generation ascended, he used to wander around every once in a while as a sort of… short vacation from work. He went out to escape the weight of responsibility he had just for a quick breath before returning, and while out he’d stumble across kids that were hungry so he’d feed them what he could to help a little before going on his way.

And that’s where he meets Xiao Jiu, a feral little homeless child who’s rude and brutally honest and will absolutely bite if you get too close. Yue Qingyuan thinks he’s the cutest little thing he’s ever seen. He lets the child hang out with him every time he’s in town and the kid grows attached. Yue Qingyuan does too. He notices the kid has a knack for cultivation, teaches him a few small tricks, and promises that when he’s old enough, Yue Qingyuan will take him to his sect and Xiao Jiu can cultivate just like his Qi-ge.

At one point, when Yue Qingyuan is visiting the town, Luo Binghe, the head disciple of Qing Jing Peak, finds him and interrupts. Don’t know exactly how it plays out here, but I know one thing, Luo Binghe insults Shen Jiu and Shen Jiu never forgets and that man can hold a grudge.

Time passes and Yue Qingyuan ascension to Sect Leader is getting nearer and nearer and he’s around less and less the but he still finds the time to visit and see Xiao Jiu. But then, one day, Yue Qingyuan shows up and Xiao Jiu is gone. Yue Qingyuan looks everywhere, but can’t find him. All that’s left of him is some rumors about slavers.

Yue Qingyuan is horrified and angry and qi deviates. It damages him in ways that’ll never quite be fixed. He feels like a failure, and hates himself for it.

When he recovers, he tries to track Xiao Jiu for years. During that time, he quietly becomes the force behind many slave trading rings being dismantled, but he never finds Xiao Jiu. He becomes resigned to the inevitability that his Xiao Jiu died.

Until of course, one fateful day, at a disciple selection some years later, a scrawny, familiar looking teenager is digging away in the dirt aggressively. And all Yue Qingyuan can do is stare and stare and stare like he’s seen a ghost. And he numbly watches as Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe good naturedly squabble over who gets to take the kid, before a gloating Luo Binghe collects his Xiao Jiu and takes him back to Qing Jing to become a disciple there.

And all he can hear is a ringing in his ears. You’re supposed to be dead. You’re supposed to be dead. I mourned you. I mourned you I mourned you I mourned you I mourned you.

.

…yea so sorry I kinda went off again 🥸 but the thought of Yue Qingyuan and Luo Binghe paralleling their reactions to Shen Jiu/Shen Yuan had me in a chokehold and I blacked out and was possessed. My hand just kinda… slipped.

[link to og au here]

all fun stuff! yue qingyuan in this au.. hmmm i feel like he'd be a tough character to write in this setting. i imagine he would grow up a slave for a short period of time—i don't remember if this is fanon or not but i like the idea of shen jiu being the more calculated and trickster-like between the two of them. managing to get them out of tight squeezes that yue qingyuan couldn't quite do himself as a child in this verse.

i also think he would grow up more isolated. a lot more lonely. he doesn't have much of a driving force leading him to become a cultivator but once he escapes from whatever family has bought him, he doesn't really have anywhere else to go, either. he ends up at cang qiong mountain and is just. kind but distant from everyone. he doesn't quite know how to get close and even with lessons from his teacher, he's skilled at politics but stumbles around smalltalk like a baby deer on spindly legs. which is why he starts retreating to the marketplace, an area he's much more used to being in, to relax and remind himself, in a way, of how far he's come?

which is where he would meet xiao jiu, etc etc etc. i like the way you described their relationship here, and it makes sense! i think that xiao jiu would also be like, the first real human connection yue qingyuan's felt since clawing his way up the ranks of qiong ding peak slowly but surely. which might feel stupid to him, considering he's talking about a street child, but! yue qingyuan both sees himself in xiao jiu but also sees a diamond in the rough. so he does advise him on some meditation he could practice to get better, even if xiao jiu turns his nose up at it, and buys him food and all. luo binghe i think would see xiao jiu exactly once and not even remember meeting him a few years later when shen jiu comes up the mountain to earn his place in the sect.

and like! i do like the idea of yue qingyuan hearing rumours and doing this systematic dismantling of these slave rings but wouldn't it be just a hint more tragic if there wasn't even a word on the wind about it? just another street kid gone missing, no one's noticed and xiao jiu's been combatitive enough that none of the other people yue qingyuan speaks to now and then have bothered to keep tabs on him either. so he's left to think he's missing or dead.

and even if he did want to go looking for him! he's promoted to sect leader as the previous generation ascends shortly after. there are too many responsibilities for him to keep up with, securing their place with new leadership in all 12 peaks, and even though he desperately wants to go find xiao jiu, he just. can't.

which is where the qi deviation comes in. and generally growing distant from the rest of the peak lords similarly to how he was when he first came to the sect.

i think even when shen jiu does come back, he'd be glad he's alive but also keep a bit of distance. like, just to protect himself emotionally, almost. if this was the canon-verse it would be extremely out of character but here—? him and xiao jiu might have bonded but it was hardly to the extent that the canon characters did. imagine more a big brother, little brother sitatution that yue qingyuan steps back from because he doesn't want to bear the hurt of losing him again and he's luo binghe's student anyway so there's no reason to go over to qing jing peak all the time, especially when luo binghe's been getting more and more irritable and chases just about every peak lord away from his home when they come over even for a moment.

trying to figure out the issue of xuan su, though—hm. i'm not entirely sure what to do about that at the moment. i think the best thing i can turn over in my mind is, like. luo binghe, after his mother dies, ends up under wu yanzi's tutelage somehow. who brings him over to the immortal alliance conference that yue qingyuan is attending. there's a fight between the pair and luo binghe manages to throw off wu yanzi's thrall of command enough to fight back, but at that point some of the demonic cultivation techniques used screwed with the bond between yue qingyuan and xuan su?

so as luo binghe enters the sect, yue qingyuan has no choice but to split time between qian cao and the ling xi caves to recover. which gives a reason for luo binghe to have his classic protagonist backstory of being bullied before rising to acclaim—disciples on the peak upset with him for hurting yue qingyuan, their friendly shixiong and future sect leader.

hope this was a good read, lol. a lot of this is unpolished and i'll have to figure out the details of xuan su a bit later, i think.

masterpost

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Gotch-yer Back

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Violence, Walker death, other TWD character death (Amy), Daryl being a bit of a jerk and then fixing it, let me know if there's anything else! Basically what seems to be regular TWD fanfic warnings. Also I believe this is only Fem!Reader because he calls Reader "girl."

Summary: A retelling of the night walkers attack at the quarry and how you and Daryl help each other deal with the aftermath.

You tried to remember the last time you’d eaten fish. It had been a while, a few weeks maybe? A few long weeks forcing yourself to eat squirrel or a rabbit if you were lucky. Or if you were unlucky, even snake. You’d eat whatever was caught if you were hungry enough, or simply to stay alive another day.

Fish was a delicacy these days. The girls- Amy and Andrea had caught a load of them in the quarry. It was white fish which had always been your favorite. It was easy to cook and fell apart in yummy flakes. Hell, you didn’t even need a fork.

It was hot in your mouth and the heat of the meal radiated in your belly. The group chewed and chattered while you were lost in your own thoughts. Your mother used to make a great dish when you lived with her. Cod with a breading on top that was made with Ritz crackers. You missed her. You missed her cooking. You wondered where she was now-

Everyone laughed suddenly and the sound made you jump.

“William Faukner,” Dale said, smiling.

Lori reached over Carl and rested a comforting hand on your arm. Understanding glowed in her eyes in the firelight. Loud noises always made you nervous these days.

By the time you saw the pan of fish that had been passed around, the last filet was being pulled out of it by a stabbing fork.

“Shouldn’t we save some?” you asked Lori. “The guys’ll be back soon.”

“We’ll catch some more tomorrow,” Andrea said to you, catching your attention from a few seats down.

“Yeah,” Amy said. “We’re pros.” 

Despite the light conversation, Lori looked grim. You and her seemed to be the only people worried about the men who’d gone off to find Merle and the bag of guns that was left in the street in Atlanta. She had her arm around Carl as he munched and grinned at Dale. You couldn’t imagine how she was feeling about her husband’s return, nevermind his volunteering to lead the charge back into one of the most dangerous places in this new age. He’d just gotten back. It was written all over her face as she gazed into the flames of the fire.

You weren’t a fan of Merle. In fact, you disliked him thoroughly. The pit in your gut surrounding his abandonment had nothing to do with his safety, or his life, but with Daryl’s. You weren’t even sure if you liked the younger Dixon either. He seemed to follow too closely in his brother’s footsteps to be safe or dependable. Or even nice. But you did respect him. After all, he’d helped to keep you safe and almost single handedly kept the group fed with his hunting and tracking skills. 

Still, no. He wasn’t very nice.

You had a feeling, however, that you had his respect in return. It only took a few crude remarks from Merle for you to fire back at him with enough force to keep him off your back for a few days. Daryl apparently hadn’t been too far away that day and had heard your reply to Merle’s degrading comments. 

“Impressive,” he’d said. “For a quiet girl.”

The next time Merle got colorful with his words towards you, Daryl was the one to take the heat for you. Told his brother to quit it. Since then, your relationship with the older Dixon was extremely minimal and even when it was forced, he left you alone.

Though you wouldn’t have missed Merle one bit, you watched Daryl take the news of his desertion when the cop- Rick- told him what had happened on the supply run. While you of course expected fury from Daryl, you hadn’t expected such emotion to fly out of him. He was a wrecking ball of threats and fists with tears running down his dirty cheeks. It was sad.

He must have seen the pity in your face then. When you called to him, tried to calm him down and move him away from Shane, he’d shoved you. “Get lost, girl.”

Needless to say, the men in this group were difficult. But at least the others were in the group. Daryl was on the outskirts of it and without his brother, it would be too easy for him to get thrust out. While you didn’t want that, you knew it was also vital for the survival of the group for him to stay. You had a feeling he wasn’t as impenetrable as the armor he wore.

You were worried about Daryl. You were also worried about Glenn and T-Dog, and Rick- Lori and Carl included. And as you sat there before the fire, you wondered what the hell would happen if Merle returned.

That was when you heard Amy scream. You didn’t recognize the sound at first, it was so sudden and so loud. It was a cry of anguish and fear. One that begged for help.

After that, it was chaos.

You turned over your shoulder, watching Amy and her assailant, even pondering for a split second who had snuck into the camp. What stranger would go after a girl just trying to go to the bathroom. But of course, it wasn’t a who. It was a what.

“Get behind me!” Shane roared. 

You knew there wasn’t time. Reaching into your pocket, you grabbed the unfamiliar hunting knife you had with you and unsheathed it. You stepped over the log you’d been sitting on, away from the fire, but also further away from Shane and the safety of his gun, towards one of the geeks. It wasn’t just ugly and rank and dead, it was terrifying. The look of it, the smell of it made your stomach sink so far, it felt like it’d fell out of your body.

It snarled and gnashed its mouth at you while its thin, wiry fingers reached for you, but all the while, you focused on its hair. It was the same in death as it was in life- long locks of protein that couldn’t hurt you. Harmless. So you aimed your knife there.

In the brain, in the brain, it has to be in the brain, don’t you know anything-

The thing stopped once your knife sunk into its skull. Its arms dropped to its hollow sides and its lifeless eyes looked at you, long enough to send a shudder through you before it dropped to the ground, taking your one and only weapon with it. 

“Get up here! Come to the RV!” you heard.

There were more screams, the thunk of childhood baseball bats slamming into hard skulls, the echoing sound of gunshots. Closer to you, though, and more urgently, there was deep guttural snarling, groaning and gurgling- the sound of the dead coming for you.

Shane had brought the children to the RV, safe, their backs leaning against the cold metal. Lori and Carol were there, Jim was at the treeline with his bat, Andrea on the ground with- with Amy. Amy’s body. You were alone. In the middle of the chaos, too far from any other living humans to take any aid.

“(Y/N)! Get up here! Jim!” Shane’s voice was hoarse.

You dove for your knife, yanking it out of the walker’s head with a squelch. You could only manage three or four steps up the hill before another undead was upon you. It was too close, its long nails a hair’s breadth away from your bare skin and its decaying teeth lunging closer with every stride. Again, you had to gather all your strength, grip your knife tight and focus- be calm enough to aim for the enemy’s brain. You had one chance, or you’d turn into one of them.

Carl would have to see it, Sophia, Lori. Daryl.

You grunted with the effort and the tip of the knife hit home and sunk into the geek’s head. This time you were able to free your knife before the thing fell to the ground. You scanned the land in front of you, looking for more threats. There were so many bodies on the ground. Bodies of people from your group, people that you’d gotten to know. They were lying still now. Leaking onto the dirt.

Then an arm wrapped around your middle and dragged you uphill. You screamed and thrashed, but whatever had you was strong.

“It’s me,” his voice rasped in your ear. 

It immediately calmed you. You held onto Daryl’s arm as if it were a buoy saving you from drowning in gray, storming waves of a murderous ocean. He led you to the others near the van and deposited you there before letting go of you.

He was back. You saw Rick, T-Dog and Glenn, all in various states of emotional disrepair, but Daryl just looked around, calmly taking in the carnage. 

“Daryl,” you said to him, “you okay?”

“Whaddah you think?” he snarled. “Ya see mah brother anywhere? Huh?”

So the moment was short lived. You ignored whatever he said next, running your hand along the outside of the RV, using it as a crutch as you moved to check on Carol and Sophia, then on Lori. You didn’t have it in you to survey much more than that. You trembled from the inside out and watched Rick hug his little boy as tears streamed down his face. 

At least they were back. 

It was somewhat painstakingly decided that you would all save the cleanup for tomorrow morning. The survivors had vans or tents to escape into. To leave the dead outside. Except for Andrea. One look at her- that was all you could handle- and you knew she wasn’t going to leave her sister any time soon.

You fell to your knees, jeans sinking into the soft dirt and stared into the flames of the campfire that was still burning strong. It was only then you found the hunting knife still in your tight grip, crusted over with brown, lumpy goo. At that point in the night, you couldn’t understand exactly what the remains were and for that, you were grateful. The bit of blade still showing reflected in the light coming from the pit, shades of orange and red glowing between your fingers. 

Shane crouched beside you and though his landing was silent and agile, you jumped.

“S’alright,” he said, taking the weapon out of your scrunched hand. “Lemme clean it.”

“I can clean it,” Daryl grumbled from above, snatching the knife from Shane. “S’mine anyway.”

Shane let it happen, concentrating on you. He carefully set a hand on your shoulder. “Ya did good,” he said.

“You too,” you answered, like a little league pitcher on the losing team. 

He stood and put his hands on his hips. “Try ta get some rest,” he said from the air.

You nodded.

Only when Shane was gone, did Daryl move closer to you. He sat on the ground and leaned back against the log the group had been using as dinner seats less than an hour ago. He sat back for a while, leaving you to watch the flames die down as he worked one of his rags into the crevices of the hunting knife. Slowly, you heard the others of the group- those living- say goodnight to each other and slide into their respective dwellings for what was left of the evening.

Distantly, though he sat just beside you, you heard Daryl speak. “S’right bout one thing.”

“Hm?”

“Ya did good. I saw ya when we were runnin’ up the hill. Doin’ what I told ya to do.”

You turned to him, but he wasn’t looking at you. Your feet stung under you, asleep after kneeling on them for so long, as you moved to sit on your bottom next to Daryl. He turned the cleaned knife in his hand before passing it you, handle out.

You shook your head. “It’s yours.”

He plopped it on your lap. “S’yours now. I gave it to ya. You’ll need it.”

You didn’t want to need it. He knew that too. All the same, it was a good thing he’d left it with you when he went to Atlanta. If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting next to him right now. Speaking to him. Feeling the heat that didn’t just emit from the fire, but from him by your side as well. 

“Thank you,” you said, sliding the knife back into its sheath and into your pocket, where you hoped it would stay, unneeded for a long time. Or at least for the rest of the night.

You turned to him, but again, he wasn’t looking at you. He rarely did. But you knew he was still there, still with you by the way his head tilted towards you. Like he was watching you out of the corner of his eye. As if you were a deer in the forest, ready to bolt away from him at any moment.

“I’m sorry you didn’t find Merle.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah right. You hate Merle.”

“Hate is a strong word,” you said.

He chuckled- a grim, gruff sound deep in his chest. 

You watched him, feeling free to do so since he so rarely looked you in the eye. He was biting the inside of his lip over and over and picking at his fingernails. 

You waited.

He peeked at you, inhaling deep. “Didn’ mean ta snap atcha. Earlier.”

When he yelled, you thought. By the RV, after he’d pulled you to safety. 

You nodded. “S’alright. It’s been a tough day all around.”

Humming in agreement, he turned back to the fire. You two were square now. But you also hoped he knew that if he snapped at you like that again, you wouldn’t be so quick to forgive. 

There was a flapping from above that shook the leaves in the trees. It was a soft, peaceful sound of nature, but after this night, in this new world, it startled you to your core.

“Just a bird,” Daryl said.

You sucked in a breath that made your lungs quake in your chest. “I’m sick of being so scared all the damn time,” you mumbled, tipping your head forward, holding your face in your hands. Things had only been like this for two months? Three? And you were already exhausted, tired of it all. How much longer could you take? Or, how much longer would it take for you to just-

Daryl stood. “Come on,” he said. He waved toward his tent. “Gotta getcha away from this damn bloodbath ‘er you’ll never calm down.”

You violently shook your head. “I can’t- I don’t wanna be alone-”

He was already walking toward the tent he shared with Merle. “Yer stayin’ with me. So I know where ya are.”

Your system went from fight or flight to frozen. He- Daryl- wanted you- where? After every shove and snap and swear towards you, now he wanted you to come with him? To be in his space? Overnight?

You stared at him. He tossed his crossbow into his tent, lifting the flap and heading inside when he turned back and saw you still on the ground in front of the fire.

“Or do ya wanna stay out here alone?”

“No.”

“Then get off yer ass.”

You scrambled to your feet and scurried to the tent’s flap. You felt like a scolded child, like your dignity had been left in the dirt, but you didn’t care. After the walker attack, you couldn’t be alone and you had been trusting Daryl with your life for weeks now, not that you’d ever tell anyone that. You felt the safest when you were with him. Tonight you needed that. Especially tonight. 

“Ya can take that side,” Daryl mumbled, pointing. 

The tent was small. Big enough to stand up in, but not very wide. There were two sleeping bags strewn out close to each other with a lumpy pillow on each. He tossed an extra blanket onto the side he told you to take. It was the one with the crossbow at its foot. And you recognized his cut off flannel shoved into the duffle beside it.

“I can’t take your bed.”

“Ain’t a bed,” he said, spreading the other sleeping bag open flat and sitting on it.

“Well, I can’t take your bag.”

“Would you rather stick your face in Merle’s pillow all night?”

You grimaced, thinking of the monster of a man and what he’d probably done to that innocent pillow.

“Thought not,” Daryl said. He grumbled it, but you heard the smirk in his voice.

“The definition of ‘pick your poison’,” you said, crouching to sit on the soft sleeping bag. 

“Girl-” Daryl said, swatting at you as he rolled over, putting his back to you.

You swung back, smacking his shoulder. “I was kidding.”

In answer, he gave another blind swat, making you giggle. 

You laid back into the double layer of sleeping bag, enjoying the way it was cool to the touch underneath you. The pillow, though thin, felt nice when you situated it under your head the way you liked it. Everything around you smelled like him- gas, grease, cigarettes- yes, but something else too. It wasn’t a bad smell, just a natural one. Just Daryl.

You were laying on your side, facing him. You watched him sink into the darkness as you spun the dial on the lantern until it turned off. Dark, though it was, you could still see his form clearly. Not sleeping yet. 

“Thank you, Daryl,” you said.

He grunted, flopping to lay on his back and folding one of his arms under his head. “Get some sleep.”

It was then you realized how small the tent really was. When he laid on his back, his leg could almost touch your knee as you curled up on your side. He was an enigma, alright, you thought. Couldn’t bear to look you in the eye, saved your life, snapped at you in front of everyone and now slept beside you like it was nothing.

You sighed, following suit and laying on your back too. “Don’t think I’m gonna be able to catch much of that,” you said.

His pillow rustled as he looked toward you. “What the hell happened there?” He took your hand from where it rested over your forehead and studied the angry red scrapes and purple bruising on your knuckles. “This happen tonight?”

“No,” you said, taking your hand from his grasp and tucking it under you, embarrassed. “Happened earlier.”

“How’d you bust it up like that?”

“I, um… I just hurt it. Against Ed’s face.”

Daryl gave a laughing hiss. “I saw his face. You did that?”

“Some of it. Shane did the rest.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“He had it comin’,” you said, barely finishing the last word and regretting saying anything at all. Ed may have deserved a few punches, hell, he deserved jail time. But what happened to him tonight- eaten alive, alone- you weren’t sure anyone deserved that. It made your stomach roll in your gut and you stung with shame.

“Fucking badass, girl,” Daryl said.

It was quiet in the dark for a long moment. 

“M’not, Daryl. I’m just fucking scared.”

There was more rustling beside you as Daryl shimmied around on his sleeping bag. 

“Turn over. That way,” he said.

You did as he told you, laying on your side with your back to him. His body moved up against yours, his heat blooming on your shoulders, bum, and the backs of your legs. A little too forcefully, he lifted your head to slide his arm underneath and cradle you close.

“Ain’t nothin’ gettin’ in this tent tonight. I gotch’yer back. You can handle your front.”

You nodded, feeling tears gather in your eyes. Your cheeks were hot, as though they were on fire as you cried, finally letting out the emotion of the evening. The death, the kills, the fear, and the relief all ran down your face and into your shirt or onto Daryl’s pillow or his arm supporting your head. As your breath caught, he reached around you with his free arm, hugging you close and rubbing his thumb on the skin of your injured hand. You grasped him hard. You needed to.

Before this night, you weren’t sure what you thought of the younger Dixon brother. He was rough and nasty and you wondered just how much he took after Merle. Before this moment, you thought he’d run for the hills if you ever touched him with one single finger, nevermind your whole body- your whole being like you were now. But he was there, still with you and unbothered. Safe.

“Sleep,” he mumbled.

You nodded, squeezing his hand again before letting it go and allowing your body to relax against his. And eventually, in his arms, listening to his steady breath, you slept.

[risuola]

SHUSH, WE'RE IN THE LIBRARY — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

cw: smut, student x teacher, age gap (reader is 18, Satoru is 28), public sex, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), little bit of cum play, reader discretion is advised — 1,8k words

a/n: since you liked the first part so much, here’s a little nsfw sequel

» FIRST PART

When you walked into the library earlier in the day, there wasn't a single hint as to how the visit was going to end. It had been a few days since your last training session with Gojo, the one where you kissed him (and punched him in the face), and everything seemed quiet after that – he left Tokyo for a couple of days on a business trip, and you had no idea he was already back. You were quickly made aware of that, when his honeyed tone reached your ears as you walked pass him, not even noticing the headful of white hair, “not even a hello? Ayy, that’s rude,” he chuckled and before you could even think of reaction, he was already behind you. You were searching for a book, somewhere in the middle of dozens of bookshelves, when he trapped you in between old medical literature and his well-build body.

“I didn’t notice you, sensei,” you admitted quietly, suddenly hyperaware of him – the sound of his voice, the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body; everything became all to close, tickling your senses and freezing you on the spot.

“I may forgive you,” he chuckled and you felt his hand snaking around your waist, pulling you flush to his torso. Breath stuck in your throat as you noticed the hard outline of his cock pressing against your back. “So, tell me, what are you looking for at that hour?”

“I forgot about homework Shoko gave me”, you responded, trying to keep your composure. “I came here to study before I meet with her.”

“Forgetting about homework? How unruly”, Gojo lowered his head, nipping at the tip of your ear and once again, you stopped breathing. It was all new to you, he was never that brave with his flirting but he had told you before he left that he’ll catch you when he’s back. That day on the training grounds, things got pretty heated, until he noticed some students approaching, what forced you two apart. “How about I give you a lesson.”

“Sens-“

“Shush, we’re in the library,” he smiled and your vision went dark, as he covered your eyes with his blindfold. Fighting with confusion, you forced your other senses to sharpen and you quickly became extremely aware of the traces his large hands were leaving all around your body, the wet marks his lips were planting on the sensitive skin of your neck and his rock-hard statue right behind you.

Satoru acted quickly, desperate to finally have you after he's been thinking about you nonstop for the last few days. He gathered your skirt up and unbuttoned your shirt a bit to get more access to your skin, while his lips never lost contact with your neck. Grateful for the early hour and the empty library, he whispered filthy little somethings into your ear, messing with your senses as you never knew from which side he'll speak next. Your little gasps and whimpers overjoyed him, the needy roll of your hips against his hardened cock made him hold his breath and he reached down, sneaking his hand under your belly and lower to tease you. The wetness that has already soaked a patch through your panties made him grin with cocky pride.

"So needy," he purred, not wasting any more time. His long fingers found their way beneath your underwear and you bit onto your lower lip, swallowing the whimper that threatened to escape your throat as you felt the circling pressure on the most sensitive bud in your body. Feeling brave, you reached back, touching his thigh and moving up to stroke his clothed member. The size hit you, a gasp left your mouth and you realized that there's no way he could fit inside you. As if sensing your hesitation, he undid the button and zipper, pushing his pants and boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free. You gasped as your palm wraped around his girth, your mind slowly spiraling about what you've gotten yourself into, but your pussy seemed to be nothing but excited. Satoru could feel the arousal underneath his fingers, he felt your clit throbbing and your hips rolling slightly to get more friction from his hand.

"Now you're going to be a good girl, yeah?" he smirked, taking away the pleasure of his digits and swiftly turning you around. "Down," he commanded, and without a second thought, you dropped to your knees. Quickly you found the magic wand, your eyes are still covered so touch was the only sense you could only rely on. As you stroked it up and down, you felt your mouth salivating, you were curious and decided that if you cannot see it, at least you can taste it. Driven by the thought, you gave the head of his cock a few experimental licks, circling your tongue around the tip and tasting the salty pre-cum that's already collected there.

You felt his hand stroke your head, wordlessly praising you and you took him into your mouth, slowly at first, almost teasingly, as you created a mental image of what you felt under your tongue – all the veins dancing around his long shaft, the sheer size of what you were working with, the way he filled your mouth completely and you still had room to use your hand. Encouraged by his palm, you picked up the pace, licking and sucking, listening to his breath hitching in his chest above you, and when the tip hit the back of your throat and you used your teeth to graze along the length, his head fell back. Few fucks left his throat and you felt him snap his hips forward. His cock was leaking, throbbing in the warmth of your mouth and you decided to tease him a bit.

Taking him out completely, you run your tongue along the underside of his hard member and Gojo felt like it's torture as your lips sucked hard on the very tip. "Enough teasing," he breathed out, grabbing you under your arms and pulling you up again, your back turned to him. The next thing you felt was his length sinking into you without warning.

He pushed himself into you painfully slowly, stretching you incredibly well, and you muffled the moan that tried to escape your chest with your hand. Satoru bottomed out, angling his hips upward, filling you just right as his palms landed on the sides of your waist, where he also kept your skirt from rolling down. Your panties were quickly torn by him, the seams giving up under the pressure of his strength, and you couldn't help but shiver at the sudden feeling of losing your underwear. "Such a good girl," he cooed directly into your ear, before pulling out almost completely, only to push back fully. He was drunk with the sight of his length disappearing inside you, the feeling of your muscles squeezing him is overwhelming and if it weren't for the grounding iron grip on your hips, he'd be completely lost here and there.

You bit down onto the heel of your palm, quieting yourself as your mind went completely blank. All your senses were focused on him – the taste that still lingered on your tongue, the musky scent of his cologne, and the way his thick cock hammered into you, twitching and flexing from time to time, successfully driving you crazy. You saw stars in the darkness of his blindfold. The force of his hips was brutal, stretching you deliciously with each thrust, kissing every sweet spot inside you, and the way your pussy squeezed him was a reward he found intoxicating.

You gripped tightly onto the bookshelves in front of you, your knuckles turning white as you tried to stabilize yourself. "S-sen-sei~," you panted, your words half coherent as Satoru ruthlessly pounded into you from behind. His hand crawled around your neck and pressed against your mouth, silencing you. "Sshh," he whispered directly into your ear and you could hear the amusement in his tone, you knew he was smiling, "you don't want anyone to hear you, do you?"

You didn’t, but how could you help it when he was abusing your cunt so well. You hummed, gritting your teeth to shut yourself up as he fucked his way right into your soul. Gojo watched with pride as you took him whole, the sound of skin slapping echoing in between shelves and the way your ass jiggled at the impact of his body colliding with yours made him go feral. You could feel yourself crumbling under the sheer power he had over you, your knees barely kept you standing, and if it wasn't for the supporting grip he had on your hip, you would have surely fallen over, defeated by the towering body that loomed over your own.

It became too much, he felt the warmth rushing through his veins and he leaned into you, burying every breathless groan into your shoulder and you could hear how fucked out he was, you felt him throbbing inside you and the dangerous wave of your release was approaching fast. The rhythmic squeezing of your pussy brought him to the edge and he babbled the most obscene praises against your neck. You felt like the temperature in the library raised, burning your skin with lust and satisfaction as you came undone, creaming around his cock and he followed closely, unable to resist the delightful twitches of your walls. Spilling his load, he filled you completely and you felt his thrusts becoming sloppier, uneven as he ride out the blissful haze and he laughed softly, his head buried in the skin between your neck and shoulder. He was overjoyed, ecstatic, he sounded almost high as he pulled out and turned you over so he could scoop you into his chest before you collapse.

Your knees were weak and you clung to him for dear life, focusing on the drumming of his heart beneath your ear. The library fell quiet, only your mingled breaths bounced off the bookshelves, quickly being absorbed by the countless pages of old literature.

You felt him pull away, smoothing your clothes back into place before zipping up his pants.

"You've been such a good girl," he praised, catching the drop running down your thigh with his fingers and then lifting it to your face. "Open," Satoru commanded and you complied, taking the digits into your mouth and licking them clean. "My favorite student."

When he finally removed the blindfold from your head, you felt the cold air hitting the damp skin underneath your eyes, Satoru smiled gently, wipes away the teary residue with his thumb and leaning in to plant a soft, tender kiss on your lips.

“I can’t wait until you graduate,” he muttered against your mouth.

“Gradua… fuck, I need to go see Shoko.”

“First you need to clean up. We’ve made quite a mess.”

“But-“

“I’ll explain you.”

“If you say so, sensei.”

[celestialgallaghers]

White Mustang: Tuesday [18+]

I don't even have a note for this one.

Prelude | Saturday | Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday

Summary: You were younger then, and it was only a crush. Something harmless born in the long hours of a studio summer. But now Noel’s here, newly divorced and quieter then you remember, sharing a house on your family’s holiday. He’s more distant, harder to read, and somehow even more gorgeous with age. Suddenly the feelings you thought had faded are back in full force. But he’s still off limits… isn’t he?

Word count: 3.3k

Tuesday

As soon as you opened your eyes, a wave of dread hit you. 

You’d kissed Noel. And he’d run off. 

The thought of facing him now made your stomach twist. How were you supposed to walk around pretending you didn’t know what his mouth tasted like? How soft his lips were. The weight of his tongue…

You groaned and rolled over, squeezing your eyes shut in the hope that sleep would come again. Anything to delay seeing him.

A knock at the door woke you again. Your heart jumped into your throat until you heard Emily’s voice call your name.

You dragged yourself out of bed and let her in, squinting at the morning light. She bounced in, bright and chipper.

“Get up,” she said. “We’re going on a yacht.”

You blinked at her. “Whose yacht?”

“Noel’s got a connection,” she grinned.

Of course he did.

You showered quickly and got dressed, slipping oversized sunglasses onto your face in the hopes they’d shield you from Noel as much as the sun. You weren’t ready to face him. To see the look on his face. You had a feeling it wouldn’t be good.

When you arrived at the dock, the yacht was already teeming with people. Noel’s friends, a few others you didn’t recognize. God, it must be nice to live like this.

The boat was big enough that you could lose yourself among the crowd, and you gratefully stuck close to Emily. There were even a few people your age milling around, easy enough to strike up conversation with. It was just enough to keep your mind busy and away from the sharp pit in your stomach.

A few hours passed. The sun was high above you, beating down. You were mid reach for another drink when you saw him. Alone at the end of the boat, staring out into the endless sea.

You hesitated for a moment. Neither of you had said a word to each other all day. But you knew you couldn’t leave it like this. And maybe it was the champagne fizzling through your veins, but you found yourself crossing the deck before you could second guess it. 

You stopped beside him, a careful distance away, and leaned against the rail. The sea stretched out in front of you, shimmering and blinding.

“Hi,” you said, speaking more to the water than him. 

Noel stiffened almost imperceptibly but didn’t turn to look at you. His eyes stayed trained ahead.

“Hey,” he replied gruffly. 

Silence hung heavy between you. You stared at the horizon, willing the words to come out.

“I’m just gonna say this,” you began, heart thudding. “What happened last night… it didn’t feel wrong. Not to me.”

He said nothing. Just lifted his drink, took a slow sip, and kept his gaze fixed on the water.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” you said, forcing a shaky breath, “but I know you’re not happy. And I know this trip was supposed to help. So if I’ve made it worse, I’m sorry. That wasn’t the point.”

Still nothing.

You swallowed hard. Every word felt heavier than it had in your head.

“I meant what I said. About a fling.” You paused, heart hammering against your ribs. “We’ve only got three more days. That’s all I’m offering. No strings. No expectations. Just...whatever this is. If you want it.”

You let the silence stretch, hoping for any sign from him. 

But Noel stayed still. Staring ahead like you hadn’t even spoken.

Your stomach sank. 

“If you change your mind,” you said quietly, “you know where to find me.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You bit down on your disappointment, turned around, and walked away, heart pounding in your ears.

You kept your distance for the rest of the day. He seemed to keep his distance too, though whether it was intentional or not, you couldn’t tell.

The boat docked just as the sun began to sink low over the horizon, casting the sky in gold and pink. As soon as you arrived at the house, you went straight to your room, claiming exhaustion. 

But really, it was just easier not to see him. 

Hours passed. You heard the others say their goodnights, voices drifting down the hall.

By midnight, you tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. Your mind spun circles, full of everything you wished you’d said differently to Noel.

By one a.m., you were still wide awake, staring at the ceiling, stomach knotted tight with regret. You were starting to lose hope, starting to believe you’d ruined it for good. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, hot and stupid, just as a soft knock sounded at your door.

You bolted upright, heart thudding against your ribs. For a second you thought you’d imagined it, but then crossed the room and cracked open the door.

Noel stood there in a loose T-shirt and sweats, hair messy, looking like he hadn’t been able to sleep either.

You stared at each other for a long moment, the air between you heavy and uncertain.

He cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”

You stepped aside without a word. He slipped in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. 

The room felt too small now. Or maybe he was just taking up all the air. 

For a long stretch, neither of you spoke.

Then, voice low, he said, “I tried to leave it alone. Tried to ignore you today.”

Your heart kicked hard in your chest. But you said nothing. 

He let out a breath, almost a laugh but not quite.

“Didn’t work.”

He looked at you then, straight on. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

You could feel your pulse in every inch of your body.

“I meant what I said,” you whispered. “I'm not trying to mess with your head. I'm not expecting anything after this trip. I just...want you. I could help you. If you want me too.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. You wondered if you'd pushed too hard, misread everything.

But then he exhaled sharply. 

“You have no idea how much I fucking want you.” 

And then he moved.

One heartbeat he was standing there, the next he was on you—hands at your hips, tugging you close, his mouth crashing onto yours.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t tentative. It was desperate. Starved. Like he was trying to erase every second he’d wasted pretending he didn’t want this.

You gasped into him, arms winding around his neck, tasting the bitter edge of the cigars everyone had smoked earlier sharp against the heat of his mouth.

You clung to him, kissing him back just as fiercely. His hands roamed your body, slower now as he deepened the kiss, tongue stroking into your mouth with a soft, wrecked sound that sent molten heat flooding your veins.

You barely registered falling back onto the bed. Mouths crashing, hands frantic. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, and Noel pulled back just long enough to yank it over his head and toss it aside.

For a moment, you just looked at him. His chest rising and falling, mouth parted slightly, eyes burning.

Then you surged back in, kissing him harder, hands exploring the warm, bare skin of his back.

He let you. Breathed hard against your lips. But you could still feel it. Tension drawn tight beneath his skin.

He wanted this. But he didn’t know how to let it happen easily. Didn’t know how to let go

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Noel,” you whispered. “It’s okay. I promise.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, then gently nudged at his shoulder. He tensed, uncertain, but let you guide him until his back was to you.

If he couldn’t get there in his head, you’d have to help get him there through his body.

You climbed onto your knees behind him, hands finding the rigid line of his shoulders. You pressed your fingers in, slow and firm, into the tight knots beneath his skin.

At first, he was stiff under your touch. Not pulling away, but not giving in either.

“Stop fighting me so hard,” you murmured near his ear, your breath warm against him. “You need to relax.”

A rough breath left him. Almost a laugh. His head dropped forward slightly, letting you in without even meaning to.

Your thighs bracketed his hips, holding him close, your chest warm against his back. He grunted softly as your fingers kneaded into his muscles, slowly working through all the tension he’d been carrying for far too long.

Your hands moved lower, pressing into the space between his shoulder blades. You leaned in, lips brushing the nape of his neck in a lingering kiss.

Noel flinched, then stilled. You caught the tremor in his breath, the way he leaned, just barely, into your touch.

You stayed patient. Steady. And slowly, he let himself sink deeper against you, his resistance softening.

You kissed along the curve of his neck, tasting salt and heat, his pulse fluttering beneath your tongue. A soft, low groan slipped from him, unguarded, and heat bloomed low in your belly in response.

Your hands drifted lower, massaging the small of his back, the tension easing with every slow stroke.

He tilted his neck, baring it for you. Offering it. You kissed the tender spot just below his ear, teasing. Another broken sound escaped him, and you tightened your thighs around his hips, aching for any friction to ease the throb building inside you.

Your nails raked lightly down his back, and he shivered so hard it echoed through your bones.

Your hands slid around to his waist, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of his stomach. The muscles there fluttered under your touch, tensing then easing as he surrendered a little more.

You leaned closer, voice low and coaxing at his ear. “Let me take care of you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Just breathed shakily. 

Then he nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Okay.”

You smiled against his skin, kissing just behind his ear. You could feel it now. The way his body had slowly yielded into your hands. How badly he needed this without knowing how to ask for it.

Your hands moved lower, fingertips brushing the waistband of his sweats, skimming lightly over the hardness straining beneath.

You felt, more than heard, the breath he let out. The way he shifted under your touch, like he couldn’t stop himself, sent heat pulsing between your legs.

His head dropped back to your shoulder, a ragged, almost soundless sigh escaping him. Relief. Or maybe just gratitude.

Carefully, you shifted around in front of him, slow enough to give him every chance to stop you if he needed to.

You sank to your knees and stopped cold.

Fuck.

He looked like something out of a dream. Chest rising and falling, eyes hooded and wrecked, his whole body humming with want. And his face… Christ. He was beautiful like this.

Then your gaze dropped, and your mouth went dry. The thick bulge straining against his sweats made your mind reel with the full weight of what you were doing. What was about to happen.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband, looking up at him.

“This okay?” you whispered, voice almost trembling with how much you wanted him.

He nodded, his eyes locked on yours. Something had shifted in him. Like he’d finally allowed himself to just feel.

You swallowed hard, dragging his sweats down and off. For a moment, you just stared, heart pounding, feeling the heat rolling off him in waves.

All worked up. All from you. 

You’d done this to him. He wanted you.

The thought made you dizzy with need. You rose up, straddled his lap, and cradled his face in your hands as you kissed him again.

Noel let out a needy sound as you settled over him, hands digging into your hips. You rocked against him, feeling the hot, throbbing press of him against your soaked center, pulling a soft gasp from your lips. 

He shuddered beneath you, and the feeling of his body against yours sent a sharp, sweet pulse between your thighs.

One hand slipped beneath your shirt, rough palm skimming up your spine. When he cupped your breast, thumb brushing delicately over the peak, it was almost too much. 

You whimpered into his mouth, a helpless sound, and his hips jerked beneath you in response, another rough groan tearing from his throat.

For a while, you just stayed there. Kissing him. Touching him. Rocking slow and lazy against him, stoking the fire between you without letting it catch all the way.

You needed to feel all of it. Everything you’d ached for. Everything you'd wanted years ago and never let yourself take.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes were dazed, shining a little in the low light. You kissed the corner of his mouth one more time, then slipped off his lap and knelt before him.

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers. You looked up at him once, just to be sure. 

He gave a shaky nod, lips parted, chest rising in shallow, desperate breaths.

You swallowed thickly and pulled them down.

When he sprang free, you went still. You couldn't even breathe.

He was... breathtaking. Flushed and heavy and beautiful in a way that made your pulse stutter. Your mouth went dry. Your body clenched with such sharp ache you nearly whimpered.

You’d felt him before, hard and pressing against you. But seeing him now was something else entirely.

It wasn’t fair, you thought dimly, half-dazed by the size of him.

You looked up through your lashes, offering him one final out. But he just stared down at you, utterly still.

Your hand curled around him slowly, feeling the heat and hardness of him throb in your palm. He was so fucking hard already, straining toward you, aching in a way that sent a fresh rush of arousal flooding through you.

Noel sucked in a breath, chest rising sharply. 

Then you lowered your mouth to him, letting the heavy weight of him settle on your tongue.

Noel let out a guttural moan that sounded torn straight from his chest. His head snapped back, eyes squeezed shut like the pleasure hurt.

“Oh—”

“Quiet,” you hissed, pulling off briefly, voice thick with amusement and desire.

You couldn’t help it. You loved how undone he already was.

His eyes flew open, wide and wrecked, and he nodded frantically, biting down on his fist to keep from making another sound.

You took him back into your mouth, moving slowly, savoring every twitch, every muffled breath. Watching him struggle to stay quiet only turned you on more.

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard. He bucked helplessly into your mouth, another broken whimper lost against his hand.

He reached down, fingers tangling tightly in your hair.

You moaned low around him, feeling him twitch on your tongue. He cursed under his breath, hips jerking again.

You pulled back, spit slick and glistening across him, and stroked him with your hand as you took him deeper, until he hit the back of your throat.

Noel's hips bucked up involuntarily and a ragged, muffled sound escaped him, like he was trying with everything he had to stay quiet for you.

You bobbed your head faster now, filthy, wet sounds filling the room as you pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

His body was trembling so hard now you could barely hold him still.

You didn’t stop. You wanted all of it. Every broken sound, every shiver. The way he unraveled for you made you ache to take care of him.

His grip on your hair tightened. He pushed at your shoulder in warning, but you stayed firm. You wanted to be the one to carry him through.

You sucked harder, tongue dragging alone the sensitive underside, and with a strangled groan, he lost it.

Noel came hard with a violent shudder, spilling hot and heavy down your throat, biting into his palm to keep from crying out. You swallowed him down, not stopping until he sagged back against the bed.

You sat back on your heels, breathless, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your heart pounding wildly as you watched him. Completely wrecked.

You couldn’t stop the small, satisfied smile that curled your lips.

Judging by the thick, staggering amount you’d just swallowed, one thought struck you hard:

How long had it been since anyone had touched him like this? 

The question hit deeper than expected, sparking something protective in you.

Your legs trembled slightly as you stood. Noel lay sprawled across the bed, chest heaving, sweat glistening at his temples. He looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

Eyes closed, body loose and heavy with satisfaction.

You moved carefully, easing his head into your lap. He didn’t resist. A low, contented sound escaped him as he settled against you.

You carded your fingers slowly through his hair, letting the silence stretch.

You tried to ignore the ache still pulsing between your thighs. Tried to ignore the way his breath against your bare skin made your body shiver.

He needed this more than you did.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The room felt heavy with the weight of what had just passed between you.

Finally, he cracked one eye open, looking up at you with a lazy, ruined sort of smile.

“I can't remember the last time I had a blowjob like that,” he muttered, voice thick and slurred from pleasure.

You laughed softly, brushing it off even as warmth crept up your neck. “That good, huh?”

Noel let out a shaky chuckle, the sound rumbling against your thighs. “Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed.

He looked lighter somehow. Less burdened. Like you’d taken something heavy from him, if only for a little while.

“Feeling better?” you teased, smoothing his hair back again.

“Better,” he echoed. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. Like a silent thank you.

Silence fell again. You wondered if you were the first person he’d touched since the divorce. The first person to touch him back.

Eventually, he stirred, like he was about to get up. But before he moved, he spoke, low and reluctant. Like it cost him something.

“Needed that,” he muttered.

Not you, not your touch. Not your mouth.

Just that. The release only you could give him.

You smiled softly, letting him keep the illusion. Your fingers slid through his hair one last time before you nudged him upright.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Get dressed. You’re about to pass out.”

He blinked up at you, sluggish but teasing. “You calling me old?”

You tossed his shirt at him, grinning. “Never.”

He dragged it over his head with a rough huff of laughter. But he paused halfway, something still on his mind.

He reached out and tugged at the hem of your shirt like he might keep going.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, even though your whole body throbbed with want.

He shifted. “I’m not usually...like this,” he muttered, not quite meeting your eyes.

“Like what?” you asked gently.

“Selfish.”

The word was gruff. A little defensive.

Before you could respond, he reached out and cupped your jaw, kissing you slow and deep.

“I'll make it up to you,” he murmured against your lips.

The promise in his voice made your stomach flip all over again. 

Before you could say anything, he ruffled your hair with a lazy smirk and slipped out the door.

You sat there for a long moment, heart pounding, staring at the closed door.

Then you collapsed back onto the bed, your body still humming, your lips tingling, the taste of him still on your tongue.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

You couldn’t wait to see what he had in mind.

[slttygeto]

SIX THIRTY | KAWATA TWINS

synopsis: you were part of their childhood, their best friend and maybe even more. but are you down to let them love you in a different way?

content warning: threesome, both nahoya and souya fuck you (not at the same time), unprotected sex, p in v, cunnilingus, pet name (baby), they are willing to share you (and you accept of course).

word count: 3,7k 

note: thank you to the lovely @mztoman​  for supporting me as an artist! commissions are still open by the way :) 2 slots are left!

Sharing is part of any twin’s life growing up. Food, toys, maybe even friends—at one point, you get used to the fact that what is yours is also your twin sibling’s. Now, Nahoya and Souya didn’t exactly enjoy that, but it did help grow their bond stronger. From joining Toman together, to having the same group of friends—the brothers grew attached to one another and even made promised to always protect the other when in danger.

You were nine when you first met the Kawatas; rebellious, a duo of troublemakers, but funny and sweet—you remember first meeting them on the playground of the apartment complex you and your parents had just moved in. Something about having orange and blue hair could never go unnoticed, and soon enough, they started a conversation with you.

“You are new here,” the orange haired is the one who speaks first, his twin brother hiding behind him. That gave you an idea on their dynamic.

Plus, he wasn’t asking you, he was stating that you were new here—that he has never seen you before, and you were nodding along to his sentence.

“I am,” you were as tall as them, confident but a little shy. Nahoya noticed how you kept wiping your hand on your skirt nervously, and cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Are you scared?” you weren’t, but they seemed so… cool. You didn’t have friends, and your parents warned you when picking who to hang out with. And when you saw the orange haired one fighting those who bullied his brother, your heart called out for them.

“No,” you start, a little unsure if you should say this next, “I just think you’re so cool.”

And that blew Nahoya’s mind away. He’s been called a troublemaker before, mainly negative stuff regarding his behavior or outbursts but…cool? Only Souya has called him that, so this felt new.

Souya on the other hand was a little jealous. His brother was getting all the attention for being the hero and coming to save the day, and what was he getting? Nothing. It made his child brain feel all fuzzy—he was upset. He always sported an angry look, but he knew that right now, he was pouting.

“Here,” you reach your hand towards the younger twin who immediately looks at what was in it. A handkerchief.

“You should wipe your face with it, or at least get your mom to clean the cuts. Mom says cuts can be ugly when they’re not treated fast.”

Even at a young age, you’ve always been such a sweetheart. So caring and full of love. You had so much to give and expected nothing in return—truly a blessing.

So it was no surprise when years passed by, and you were still friends with the Kawatas. Although ‘friends’ is far from what you would define your relationship with them.

There was a hint of a friendship there, but on the surface it seemed as the two men were completely and utterly obsessed with you (and rightfully so). They weren’t sure if you felt the same, if you would go as far as they would for you. But one thing was certain; they wanted more than just a friendship.

From your point of view, you were close to them. You’ve seen them grow into handsome, strong men. They were still doing what they always did—being in a biker gang. It didn’t seem that serious at the time, but the more you looked into it, the darker things got. They told you everything you needed to know about Toman, but they tried their very best to shelter you from the dangers of their job.

 Nahoya

Coming home for dinner

Souya

We’re bringing pizza, don’t cook anything.

 There it was again, the princess treatment.

Even a decade later, they made sure to remind you that you didn’t need to lift a finger when they were around (and you appreciated that greatly). Things happened, you grew up and moved into your own place and they still made sure that you apartment wasn’t that far from where they work. Ensuring that they could pay you a visit whenever they could.

And soon enough, they were at your doorstep. They didn’t need to knock since they had a spare key, so you didn’t bother to pause the show that you were watching when you heard the rustling of keys outside your door.

“What if I was trying to break in,” came Nahoya’s voice first, and you flashed him a smile from your position on the couch.

“Then you would be one sloppy robber,” you teased, looking behind him at his twin brother who was taking off his shoes. You noticed that he had carefully placed the pizza boxes on the counter and your eyes sparkled when you noticed that it was from your favorite place.

“Oh my god! I’ve been craving pizza from this place!” you got up from the couch, pulling them both in a hug. “Thank you both, so much.” You say before planting a kiss on each of their cheek.

They shared a knowing stare, one that you always said was creepy twin telepathy, but this time they hoped that you wouldn’t push them away or find them weird.

To put it in short words, you felt like home.

Never in a million years did they think they would sit down and talk about having feelings for the same person—hell, they even thought that they had different types.

But then you came along, like the sweetheart that you are, and proved them wrong. They were aware of how unusual it would be if they were to admit that they liked the same person and were willing to share her so casually, but they didn’t care (and it’s not like people couldn’t tell that they were infatuated with you).

And as you ate dinner, unaware of the bomb that was about to be dropped on you, the men chatted and laughed with you like it was any other day. They didn’t want to risk ruining your night, or potentially lose you as well—but liking you has been consuming them whole, taking up so much of their time and thinking and something needed to be done. No matter the outcome.

Souya would be lying if he said that he wasn’t nervous that you would pick one over the other, mainly because he thought (and was so sure) that you would pick Nahoya over him just because of how much you two bicker. You’ve shown him how much he means to you, cuddled with him after a horrible day, and even cooked his favorite meal—but the man was just so sure you would not choose him.

Nahoya stands up from the couch and turns off the TV. You are confused for a moment, even go as far as to smack his shoulder.

“What was that for? I was watching!” You were met with complete silence from both men who usually nagged you about the shows you watched.

Growing aware of how quiet the men suddenly got, your stomach twisted in a mixture of confusion and anxiety—what was going on?

“Guys?” your voice was small, and they felt so bad that they were putting you through this.

“I actually—well, we actually have been meaning to talk to you about something.” Nahoya starts, and he looks over at his twin brother to let him continue.

“Oh god, are you two moving out? Did I do something?”

“(Name),” Souya cuts you off, and this is the first time you heard him use such tone with you. He couldn’t blame you, you were nervous and things suddenly took a turn for the worst, rambling was a very natural reaction.

“You guys are scaring me,” you were near tears, and they both wanted to do nothing but hold you and tell you everything will be okay.

“We are not leaving you, we’re not moving away either it’s just—“ how was he supposed to say this now? Planning it out was easy, but saying it…fuck, he was so scared of what might happen when it finally comes out of either his or Souya’s mouth.

“We like you.”

What?

You were frozen, lips parted in shock. This was not what you were expecting to hear on movie night—it was supposed to go well, be enjoyable and fun and now they were--

“We do, and it’s not just me or just him which is really fucking unusual—we can’t really imagined letting the other have you because it’s unfair, we wouldn’t normally do this with just anyone—“ Nahoya continues. This was actually happening.

“And you’re not just anyone…I’m really sorry sweetheart,” Souya adds, sensing just how confused you were.

“You can take all the time that you need to give us an answer, we’re leaving in a bit for a work trip. And no matter your answer, nothing will change.”

“…nothing?” You ask in a small voice, and if it was any other day, they would’ve dropped to the ground. You had that much effect on them.

“Nothing, I promise. Movie nights will still be a thing, we will still come over when you’ve had a shitty day—it will still be us,”

It has been exactly five days since the last time Nahoya and Souya came over. You’ve managed to think everything through, tried to come up with reasons as to why you might not feel the same way. How it could potentially ruin the friendship, maybe you didn’t find them attractive? Bullshit. You just couldn’t find a good enough excuse.

You did like them back—craved being with them, but the idea of dating two men has always seemed new, foreign. You could only imagine the weird stared as you walk down the street holding hands with both—but then again, who cares? You knew you wanted them and no other person, you couldn’t think of anyone who could make you as happy as they do (and have done for the past decade). The thought of losing them scare you to no end.

You went with no contact with them for the past one hundred and twenty hours—you were anxious, a little scared even if you knew you had nothing to worry about. You did like them back after all.

Maybe it was the fact that you had gone out and bought yourself new lingerie to surprise them that made you so nervous. You were waiting for them to walk through your door and be pleasantly surprised when they see you, maybe a little shy and taken aback? You just knew you wanted their jaws to drop and their hands to be all over your body.

And soon enough, you were hearing a very familiar sound of keys rustling at your door. You were sat on your couch in one of Souya’s large hoodies, no bottoms and socks Nahoya that had gotten for you for your birthday, what was hiding under the large clothing would soon enough have them swooning for you.

It was silent when they walked in, the blue haired male making an entrance first and expecting you to be asleep—which you weren’t.

“Hey,” you exhaled nervously, fiddling with the hem of Souya’s baby blue hoodie. You felt exposed, vulnerable under the guy’s stare. And it only worsened when his twin brother appeared next to him.

“Hey pretty,” Souya started, a little unsure of what was going on. Nahoya on the other hand was pretty quick to catch onto your little game.

He leans against the door’s frame with a little grin that never seemed to leave his face. It was mischievous, playful—he could tell you were blushing.

“You’re such a treat, aren’t you?” Nahoya says in a whisper, and Souya’s eyes light up at the suggestive tone. So this is where things were going.

You didn’t flinch, nor stare at them weirdly when the older twin spoke, and that alone gave Souya the green light to slowly approach you. Pulling you up and towards him, you were a bit taken aback that he was the one initiating things and not Nahoya (having always thought that Souya would be a bit more submissive in bed, but you weren’t complaining).

“I’m gonna need a verbal response before I do anything,” Souya whispers, but his voice in loud enough for his brother to hear. They needed to make sure you were okay with their confession, their proposal to share you and if any of this was making you uncomfortable.

“I’m all yours,’ was what you said, before Souya’s lips were kissing yours with so much passion. His fingers quickly went up to the back of your head to gently grip your hair, pulling you closer to him.

He was such a passionate kisser, nothing like you imagined—but again, you weren’t complaining. Your hands rested on his shoulders as your lips moved against each other, it felt so perfect to have him up against you like this. His hands then traveled down to your ass, softly gripping the flesh over the fabric of your (his) hoodie before letting out a groan.

You were far too gone from Souya’s kiss to notice Nahoya slipping behind you, while you kissed his twin brother and let him feel you up, he pushed your hair away from your neck to plant gentle kisses to the skin. You’ve always been a tease with the outfits that you wore, showing off parts of your body that they craved to touch, kiss and love on the same way they were about to.

You were truly blessing them right now.

“Wanna take it to your room?” Nahouya whispers in your ear, grinning at the little moan you let out against Souya’s lips when his lips leave yours to press hungry kisses on your throat. Fuck, they were so good and you weren’t even getting to the good part.

“Bed, please.” And who were they to deny their little princess?

The trip from the couch to your room was very short, mainly because your legs were wrapped around Nahoya’s waist as you kissed, his legs getting you there faster, while Souya tagged along in the back. They didn’t bother to lock your room’s door before Nahoya was plopping you down on your mattress, and jumping back on you to kiss you again.

His kisses were a lot gentler than Souya’s, a tad more playful and definitely enjoyable. Your hands traveled up to his hair, tugging at the roots to let him know that he was doing such a good job (although you grinding up against him was enough encouragement).

Their dynamic in the bedroom was already showing, because while Nahoya was on you like a beast, Souya was taking his time ridding himself of his jacket and shirt, anything that could get in the way of feeling your skin against his. So impatient and needy, but fuck it was so attractive to watch him that eager to feel you.

Pulling away from the kiss, Nahoya’s hands played with the hem of your shirt, silently asking you if he could take it off. You didn’t hesitate as you took it off in one swift motion, watching as the men’s jaw went slack at the sight of you in the pretty lingerie set you had just bought the other day.

This is the reaction that you wanted.

“Pretty?” your voice was small, shy but you knew what you were doing. Nahoya’s hand went to the back of your neck, pulling you back into a deep kiss as his other hand went behind your back to undo your bra, freeing your boobs in the process. You felt the other end of the bed dip as Souya joined on top, his hand immediately fondling with one boob.

“Fuck, you’re such a tease.” The older one says as he pulls away from your lips, tracing his tongue over your neck and down to your chest. While Souya’s hand was massaging one of your boobs, Nahoya takes the bolder approach and licks at your hardened nipple. This makes you hiss, eyes staring down at the two men worshipping you like you were a goddess.

Souya lets go of your breast and leans down, mimicking his brother’s action and engulfing your boob in his mouth. You were growing hot and bothered, your moans were uncontrollable and filled the entire room within seconds of having their mouths on you. You could only imagine what was about to come.

It felt as though they heard your thoughts, because they were pulling away from you at the same time to fully strip themselves of their clothes. Their eyes were filled with lust, and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

Nahoya was silent as he pulled you down towards him, hands gripping the back of your thighs before pushing your knees to your chest. He admires you for a second, breath stolen from him at how fucking needy and ready you were to have them fuck your brains out. So fucking pretty.

“Think I won’t take your panties off, you look pretty good in them.” He teases you, lips brushing against your ankle before he was staring at his brother, waiting for a response.

“Push them to the side though, I wanna have a taste,” Souya’s voice added in, and Nahoya was quick to get off the bed while still holding your legs against your chest. He allows Souya some space between your legs, and watches as you eagerly try to look at how he was so eager to taste your pussy.

“You like it, hm?” You nod in response to Nahoya’s question, a shy moan leaving your lips when you felt the other one push your panties to the side and lick a stripe at your clit. His tongue felt warm and wet, pressing the right way against you. Your hips bucked with every lick, and the louder you got, the more prominent the bulge in their pants became. Your neediness sent the blood rushing south, your teary eyes and pouty lips were so tempting, but Nahoya promised himself that he would get to fuck you first and missionary. He wanted you to look at him while he fucked every single thought out of that pretty head of yours.

Your first orgasm of the night washed over you so nicely, Souya’s lips kept kissing and pressing on your clit even as you tried to push him away. He pulls away for a second to kiss your thighs, and watches intently as Nahoya takes off his boxers and lines himself at your folds. The tip of his cock teases your entrance for a moment, takes in how wet and ready you were for him, before pushing in slightly.

“Hold on tight baby,”

That was the last thing he said before everything around you started feeling fuzzy. His pace was unforgiving, sharp thrusts hitting the right spots all while groaning in your ear about how fucking good you felt wrapped tightly around him. Nahoya had a foul mouth, kissing and licking at your neck while praising you and your pussy for taking his cock like a champ. Wet sounds filled the room, the squelching of your pussy as he pounded into you was the only thing that you could focus on despite the obscene words leaving his mouth.

Souya was sat on the bed, watching as his twin brother pounded into you and left you a drooling mess. His cock sat heavy on his palm as he stroked it, letting out a few moans that caught your attention and had you taking your eyes off of Nahoya for a moment before said man was reminding you of who you should be looking at.

“Eyes on me baby, I’m not done with you.” His hand wrapped lightly around your neck, and he leaned down to press his forehead against yours to stare deeply into your eyes. His hips were driving against yours at a dizzying pace, each thrust, each stroke of his cock getting you closer to a delicious orgasm.

It only took another few strokes and a kiss to your lips before you were cumming around him with a loud cry, your thighs shaking around him. Nahoya helps you ride out your orgasm sweetly, reaching his own high right after you. He kisses you softly, brushes your sweaty hair out of your forehead. And soon enough, Souya was replacing his brother’s position between your legs.

“My turn.”

He kisses you sweetly as he pushes himself in, apologizing that he was too needy to wait and promises to make it up to you when you’re done. Unlike his twin brother, Souya takes it slow and is careful with his thrusts. They’re deep and calculated, watching every twist of your face with careful eyes to make sure he’s hitting the spots that make your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Oh baby, you feel so good.” Souya whispers against your neck, his pace getting faster the tighter you clench around him. Your hands find his hair and you’re slightly pulling at it as you feel yourself approaching your high, your high pitched squeals encouraging the blue haired guy to keep doing what he was doing.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” Nahoya comments from his position on the bed next to you, soft hands caressing your cheek as you let Souya absolutely ruin you to the last moment. Your teary eyes meet Souya’s lustful ones, so dark and filled with desire to absolutely ravish you. He wanted to make sure you knew how you made him feel, how this was nothing compared to what he wanted to do to you once you settled down. Eating you out everywhere, fingering you in the car, eating you out while you sucked his brother off—so many plans.

“So close,” you whimper out next to the blue haired male’s ear, and he’s quick to start rubbing on your clit, observing how your jaw goes slack only after a few, gentle rubs. His eyes take in how your thighs shake and your entire body lifts off the mattress as you cum around his cock. He hisses at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, pulling out to paint your thighs with his release. The sight of you with your pussy leaking Nahoya’s cum and your thighs covered in his cum was something. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your stomach and watches as Nahoya’s arms wrap around your waist to pull you towards him to cuddle.

“You did so well,” Souya kisses your arm, before getting off the bed to go grab a towel to clean you up. While cuddled up against Nahoya, you nuzzle your face in his neck and whisper something that has his heart leaping out of his chest.

“I love you both, so very much.”

2023 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

[buttahpie]

i’ve never believed in soulmates but…

there’s something two motherless boys from liverpool—of all places—stumbling upon one another like lighting catching in a bottle and instantly having this connection.

people blabber about post-war england and pre-civil rights america and how at just right the time in just the right place two teenagers miraculously met and maybe they didn’t fall in love with eachother but they fell in love with the others minds, brains and words… enough to create the biggest band on earth from just a couple of guitars and a dream.

and they were so close, attached at the hip, staring into one another’s eyes as they wrote, sang and performed. their own hands being mirrors of one another, like two halves of one soul was split into two boys and their dominant hands were the looking glass into their hearts.

“bigger than elvis” they’d say… and they were.

until eventually, people came along and two little motherless boys from liverpool grew up and one person saw that no matter how badly they needed john, as long as paul was in john’s life john could never be fully devoted to anyone.

and so they were split apart. blame it on what or who you want but it doesn’t matter,

they were split apart.

people go their entire lives searching for their soulmate and many never find them but these two souls found one another and we’re taken from the other.

years go on of pain and frustration and anger and betrayal and it isn’t until the souls start to rekindle again that john is killed.

not just passing away… but brutalized.

perhaps that’s why paul can find a way to bring john up in every interview because even forty years later he is still living with the grief that his soulmate was taken from him not once but twice and horrifically murdered. perhaps paul feels guilt… like it should have been him. he’s lived more of his life without john than he did with john. and i can imagine how that haunts him in his old age. how there’s a hole there that can never be filled.

i’ve never believed in soulmates…but if anyone were to convince me, it’d be john lennon and paul mccartney.

[pedropascallme]

Crush

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: “The door opened and you turned toward it out of impulse. The man that was suddenly in front of you was Tess’s age, you guessed. Dark hair greying, sleeves of his denim button down rolled up to the elbows, face…mean. Joel Miller in the flesh.”

Warnings: Smut (18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), age gap (reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is canon typical age), p in v sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), kinda mean!Joel, degradation, praise kink, orgasm denial/edging, I will sprinkle in queer Tess. If I missed anything please let me know!

Soundtrack: Crush by Ethel Cain

Joel had a problem with saying no.

He knew it made him seem soft, but he just couldn’t get it out. There was something about becoming a father that increased the negative connotation of the word; using it as a response meant hampering the needs of someone who trusted you. Or the wants. And it was always the wants he fell victim to. Sarah knew his weaknesses—she was his biggest one. A goldfish, extra dessert, a slumber party— “Sure, darlin’.”

Sarah was all he cared about, and he’d give her everything she ever wanted, even when it meant looking like a pushover.

But his window had passed; all will to live drained and replaced by pure survivalism. He pretended to get over it out of instinct, willing himself to push everything down in order to keep going.

He didn’t mind saying no anymore. He had nobody to say it to, anyway.

Maybe that made him a bad man.

~~~

You had befriended Tess by chance. She frequented the same spots you did—speakeasies and back allies, surrounded by men she wanted nothing to do with. 

At least you had that much in common with her.

Tess was older than you by maybe twenty years, and you knew nearly nothing about her. You knew her name, you knew what she did to get the extra rations she kept in her front pocket, and you knew she lived with Joel Miller. You had never pried about their relationship, and all you knew of Joel was that he was as gorgeous as his reputation was mean.

She had the tendency to be hot headed, there was no doubt that she could be rough, although you felt her fire was what drew you to her in the first place. Another person who had lost everything obviously wasn’t inaccessible, but it helped that she was one of the few women that you had seen around. When she had thrown a punch so hard it nearly shattered her hand, you grabbed her and walked her home while she stumbled along with you.

No matter how watered down the whiskey in the QZ was, enough of it would do the trick.

“You ok?” You grabbed her by the waist, catching her before she fell, distracted by the blood on her knuckles. You didn’t know if it was hers or the man whose bottom tooth she had loosened.

“Guys here are as bad as fucking raiders…” She mumbled, looking down at her feet. “Could’a walked home myself.” You knew she could’ve, but the thought of letting her stagger home by herself so close to curfew made you uneasy. 

Some things never change. 

“Didn’t want you to,” You kept walking, one stride ahead of her at all times. “Could’ve been dangerous.”

“They know not to fuck with me,” she was giggling now, and she looked almost girlish with her features softened. “Living with Miller has its perks.”

“Wouldn’t want your boyfriend having to exact revenge just cause I let you walk home drunk.”

“What?” Tess stopped walking.

“Aren’t—sorry, are you and Joel not—?”

Tess snorted, “Joel and I are not an item. I don’t, y’know. He’s not my type.” She had sobered almost instantly. “I like my partners…feminine.”

Oh. Oops.

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. We get it a lot. Easy living with each other cause we’re the only two that know how to empathize with the other.” She started walking again, leaving you with space to catch up. You didn’t inquire further about what she meant, it wasn’t something anybody wanted to discuss, ever. Loss and death were everywhere, there was no need to reflect on past experiences. Especially with someone like Tess who, in all honesty, intimidated you mightily. You just jogged to meet her pace. 

You followed her into the building, not that you could really explain why.

She had pushed the door open and motioned to you, silently telling you to come into what once could’ve been passed off as a $3,000/month studio apartment. She dropped her belongings on the kitchen table, getting two glasses and pouring watered-down sambuca into each one. You hated the taste, but appreciated that she seemed to genuinely want to spend time with you.

“You remember anything?” She prompted after finishing her drink.

“What?” You had barely touched yours. The anise flavored booze had a different burn than whiskey.

“Before.”

“I was little. I remember seeing Attack of the Clones. And that Scooby Doo movie.”

“I was in my thirties when those came out,” she laughed, “I fucking loved Scooby Doo.” You found yourself laughing along with her. She deadpanned after a moment, examining you.

“You’re still young. Not fair to you to have seen all that as a kid.”

“I guess. But I didn’t think episode two was all that bad.” You tried to laugh through the sudden solemnity. Tess rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the bottle to refill her glass.“But it’s not fair that anybody had to see any of that. Ever.” You could hardly call yourself eloquent, but she knew what you meant.

“What are you doing here?” She took smaller sips of her drink this time.

“Same thing as you.”

“Why?”

You didn’t know. “Gotta do something.” 

She nodded, “I want you with me.”

“Tess, I’m flattered—I am, but I don’t, I mean—”

“I want you to work with me.” She smiled into her glass, amused by your flustered response.

Oh. Oops.

“Oh. I...mean, ok. Yeah, ok.”

The door opened and you turned toward it out of impulse. The man that was suddenly in front of you was Tess’s age, you guessed. Dark hair greying, sleeves of his denim shirt rolled up to his elbows, face…mean.

Joel Miller in the flesh.

“Joel.” Tess was stern.

“What’s this?” Joel’s voice sent a shiver down your spine. You realized you had never spoken to him, never been spoken to by him. You’d only ever gawked from across the room. You felt yourself straighten your posture.

“Business. New teammate.” Tess took another sip from her glass.

Joel walked across the room, grabbing the liquor bottle and taking a swig from it before placing it back into a cabinet. He looked at you, giving you the up-and-down from where he stood at the counter.

“No.” He turned, walking into the bedroom.

Wide-eyed with concern and embarrassment, you looked at Tess. 

“Be here at nine tomorrow. PM.” She said, finishing her drink and getting up to take her place on the couch.

You let yourself out.

~~~

It was obvious when you arrived the following night that Joel was still irked by your presence. Also obvious was that Tess had made him swallow his pride. She gave you your instructions at the kitchen table while you nodded along. Joel was statuesque and showed no signs of emotion or consideration towards her words. 

And when Tess had explained that it would be you and Joel and only you and Joel, your brows furrowed and he still hadn’t budged. 

“I’ve gotta be here,” she dictated, words coming out slowly as though she was speaking to children, “Don’t need all of us gone, it’d be too much attention. I’ll cover.”

“I can cover.” You blurted out, suddenly nervous about being alone with Joel.

“No.” Joel spoke for the first time all night. You shrunk back into yourself and kept listening.

“—Into the sewer, out to the east, all we need is booze, maybe some pharmaceutical shit if you can grab any.”

You probed, “Pharmaceuticals?” 

“For us.” Tess had finished giving you the rundown, getting up from the table and walking into the bedroom, leaving you alone with Joel.

Saying nothing, he immediately started towards the door, leaving you to follow.

~~~

Contrary to popular belief, the sewers were not your ideal hang out. No matter how many times you went down there, it took days to scrub the feel and smell off of your body. If Joel cared about the dank surrounding, he didn’t show it.

When you popped the grate to crawl out, he moved to lift you slightly, but that was the only interaction you’d had on your journey. You wanted to get this over with, desperately wanted to be back in the company of anybody you could converse with. You made quick work of collecting what you needed and making your way back into tunnels below. Joel hadn’t said a word since he had objected to you taking watch, and you didn’t know why that bothered you so much; plenty of people didn’t speak to you, and you relished in it. You could walk around the QZ and not a soul would approach you—it was safer that way. Easier, too. But Joel’s silence made your head spin almost as much as his voice did. You kept looking at the way his biceps flexed under his shirt, the stern look on his face and the scar on his right temple. 

Despite his cold exterior, you felt at ease in his presence. Sure, his domineering attitude was somewhat troubling to you, but his lack of emotions made you feel less paranoid. You weren’t as preoccupied with looking over your shoulder as you would’ve been otherwise thanks to his presence, and the gun slung over his shoulder acted as additional reassurance. If anything were to happen, you doubted he’d have any trouble dealing with it.

Maybe the smell of the sewer was making you delirious. Or maybe you were experiencing a genuine attraction to him—not that you expected a man that wouldn’t speak to you to feel any sort carnal desire for you. Even so, you found your mind wandering on the route back to the QZ; you could imagine him smoking the cigarettes your grandfather used to buy, Marlboro reds that he kept in a silver case. The thought of a cigarette hanging between Joel’s lips made you shiver, though you tried to tell yourself you were just cold from the clammy tunnels. You tried to hide the curious looks you shot at him, the way you studied his hands and thought up reasons as to why they would be so calloused. It could’ve been from the work he did now, but the thought of him pre-outbreak, working with his hands in the heat, wiping the sweat that dripped down his forehead...

You heard a clang somewhere along the route. Looking up, you could make out a shadow growing larger, then smaller. An unmistakable clicking followed. 

Perhaps it was due to the unexpected encounter, or the daydreams still playing in the back of your head, but you found yourself frozen. If you could think straight, it would be embarrassing, but every noise was deafening, and you could feel your heartbeat in your skull. 

And then you were on the floor. Joel’s full weight pinning you down before he rose up again and two shots rang out. You tried your best to regain your composure, blinking rapidly and staring into nothing. Joel looked down at you, face painted with his routine grimace only inches away from your own.

“This,” he breathed heavily, voice frayed, “is why I said no.” 

But he waited for you to get up and brush yourself off before he kept walking.

“You’re a fuckin’ amateur.” He continued homewards.

~~~

You went with Tess after that. Nobody gave you an explanation—you didn’t need one. You had fucked up, made more apparent by the dismay painted on Joel’s face at your continued appearances in the apartment. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, let alone speak to him, maybe attempt to apologize. He didn’t want to hear it; you knew as much as he did. You couldn’t even crawl back like a guilty dog with your tail between your legs, because you knew you’d just get swatted by the morning paper. And, worse, despite the obvious friction, Joel was constantly on your mind. It was humiliating that a man who never spoke to you could be the focal point of your private moments. You thought of his hands entirely too often, his name slipping out between hushed gasps in the darkness of your bedroom.

Your breaking point was the night you walked into the apartment, opening the door to barking laughter that ceased on his end the moment you crossed the threshold. It was purposeful, the way he drew his mouth into a frown as soon as your line of sight had connected. Scowling, his eyes followed you. You felt heat rise in your face and pool in your stomach.

You scowled back. You wouldn’t endure his attitude anymore. 

It went on like that for weeks. You figured that if you got under his skin he’d crack, forcing him to interact with you on a higher level—even if it was shouting at you. 

Joel Miller was a bad man, a mean man. You knew as well as anybody, and it pissed you off as much as it turned you on. 

~~~

You had let yourself into the apartment, flipping through an old magazine to pass the time you spent waiting for Tess.

When the door opened, your gaze met Joel’s. You turned back to skimming a story about Ewan McGregor, brows furrowed as you internally questioned what had happened to him in all this. 

You started the countdown for the game you were playing: Who would break first? You glanced up once or twice to see where Joel was, and he remained in the same spot in front of the doorway, dark eyes fixed on you. You crossed your legs.

“Tess isn’t here.” He spoke, and you stopped your countdown, congratulating yourself as tonight’s winner.

“I know.”

“She’s not coming.”

“I’m reading.” You turned the page, eager to read about who was dating who in August of 2000. 

Joel stayed in his spot by the door before making his way to the liquor cabinet—which you had discovered were most of the cabinets in this house. He put a glass in front of you and sat across, a glass of his own in his hand as he leaned forward to put his weight on the table.

“Jared Leto and Cameron Diaz.” You mused. Joel tipped back his glass, glaring at you. “Do you ever wonder if any of these people are still out there somewhere?”

“No.”

“Imagine killing some infected schmuck and realizing it was Ryan Gosling.” You smiled, enjoying your one-sided conversation. “I’d feel kinda bad…”

“’Least you’d be puttin’ him out of his misery.”

You looked up, surveying Joel, trying to find a trace of anything that could’ve prompted his sudden embrace of your goading. “Uhuh,” you raised an eyebrow, “just don’t think I could do it.”

“You scared?”

“Of you?”

“Of surviving.”

“No. Just of an infected Ryan Gosling.” You put down the magazine. “What’s your problem, Miller?”

“What’s yours?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Then neither do I.” He got up to refill his glass, and you had déjà vu, recalling how Tess had sat you down at the table months earlier to invite you into their professional lives. She had been much friendlier even then than Joel ever was. 

“You can’t fight for shit.” You turned to see Joel leaning against the counter, a bottle of whiskey in hand. You tried not to let your frustration at him show. “Hard to get good at this shit when you freeze at the first sign of trouble.”

“Shut up.” You brushed him off. You picked up the magazine again, trying to find your place.

“You know I’m right.” He drank from the bottle. For some reason you couldn’t stop yourself from standing up and facing him.

“What?” 

“Y’know you can’t fight for shit. Couldn’t to save your own life. You know that. I know that. Why’d’ya think Tess always goes with you?” He put the bottle down and crossed his arms. Wrath boiled in your chest; you wanted to rationalize, tell yourself that he was mad you were winning the game he made you start playing so he opted to hit below the belt; but, Jesus, he had gotten you where it hurt. You had long prided yourself in having the ability to survive, taking care of yourself and doing whatever it took for you to see the next day. For him to waltz into the space you had found some form of comfort in, where Tess drank with and felt for you, to imply that you were a failure—just some fucking kid with a knife?

You put as much weight behind the punch you threw towards him as you could muster, aiming at for his face in the hopes that a black eye might help him register your dedication to staying alive. He barely moved, grabbing your wrist to stop any real strength your blow might’ve had.

“You can do better.” Joel provoked you further. You were breathing hard but not heavy, staring into the eyes of the man you wished you could see for the evil everybody said he was. “Do better.” He continued. You grabbed him by the collar, nose to nose; you could smell the liquor on his breath, and you were sure he could smell it on yours. You were far from drunk, and the seething anger sobered you more than a cold shower ever could.

So you had no excuse for kissing him, which is probably why it was a quick peck, testing the waters and feeling as though you owed it to yourself as much as to him to see if this was one-sided. 

“That’s better.” He snaked an arm around your waist and cupped the opposite hand over the back of your head. You didn’t say a word, barely breathed at his response, before you attached yourself to him again. You forgot all about testing the waters and immediately dove in; you kissed him with an open mouth, tongue, teeth and all. He licked into you, pulling you in closer. He separated from you to speak.

“Bed.” Forever and always a man of few words. You stumbled over each other as he pulled you towards the bedroom, neither of you bothering to say anything else as you were pushed onto the bed. Joel straddled your chest, looking down at you and undoing his belt, brown eyes blown out with complete exasperation and lust. 

“Y’been botherin’ me since day one,” he pulled his cock from the confines of his jeans, “bad fuckin’ attitude.” He stroked himself, still looking at you.

“Doesn’t seem to be bothering you now.” You taunted him, reaching up to wrap both hands around him and sitting up as best you could to lick across the tip of his cock. He pushed his hips forward and you took the initiative to swallow as much of him as you could; no small feat, considering his size. You managed half before you gagged. He just laughed. 

“Gonna be quiet ‘round me, might as well put yourself to good use while you’re doin’ it.” He threw his head back as you licked circles over the head of his cock, hand working every inch you couldn’t push past your gag reflex. You made a noise in response to his words, though it was unclear if you meant it as an agreement or a rebuttal. You pulled yourself off of him, placing a kiss on the vein that ran up the underside of his cock. You looked up at Joel, content with your work, his breathing heavy. His hand came up to your jaw, prying your mouth open and sliding his thumb inside. You closed your lips around it and sucked, you heard him groan. He took his thumb out after a few more seconds.

“Open.” He placed his wet thumb on your chin. You opened wide, sticking out your tongue slightly, expecting him to give you his cock again. Instead, he spit directly into your mouth, before pressing on your lower jaw to force it closed. “Swallow.” You did as you were told. He shuffled himself further down your body, leaning down to kiss you, pushing his tongue between your lips before he continued moving downwards; he pulled the buttons of your flannel apart, kissing and sucking on the skin he revealed before licking over the burgeoning bruises. You thanked whatever God was out there that you had given up bras so long ago, as if it was all in anticipation of this moment. Joel’s mouth reached the waistband of your jeans, and he continued placing open mouthed kisses over your stomach as he undid your button and fly, pulling the fabric down your legs and revealing your panties. He bent forward into you, pressing his face into your clothed core, his nose and open mouth fanning hot breath across you. 

“Need a good lay.” You weren’t sure if he was talking about you or himself, though he answered your silent question soon after; “That’ll keep you from bitchin’ over everythin’.” He licked a straight line over your folds, tasting the tangy wet that seeped through the fabric of your underwear. You let out a shrill whine when his tongue danced over your clit, and reached down to shed yourself of the final layer of clothing that covered your bottom half. He caught your wrist and pushed it aside. “No,” He looked up at you as he licked over you again, “been playin’ your fuckin’ game for weeks. S’my turn. Don’t get greedy, now.”

You moaned when he released your wrist from his grasp, only to begin rubbing circles over you. “Pl—ease, Joel!” You arched your back, lifting yourself up to him in an attempt to gain more friction.

“Say it again.”

“Please,” it was barely audible, “please, Joel. Please, please…” Your eyes were hooded as you begged for more. Either he was satisfied by your attempt or took pity on you for coming undone over practically nothing, but he slid the panties down your thighs and threw them over his shoulder. He admired your naked cunt, ghosting a finger over your slit and collecting what you’d already released. He leaned back down and attached his lips to your clit, pushing his finger into you and bending it upwards. You gasped, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging, earning a satisfied grunt from him. He rhythmically sucked your clit in time with the movements of his finger, adding another slowly and then increasing the pace. Over and over, he brushed the spongey spot inside of you that made you clench around him, tugging his hair tighter. 

“Go—ing to, Joel, fuck! Joel—!” You were panting, fist gripping his hair.

“No.”

“Please!” You were trembling.

“No.” He was unforgiving, absolutely ruthless as he fucked his fingers into you faster, licking tight and fast over your clit. You were close to tears now, grabbing onto the pillow underneath you to stabilize yourself. You were sweating, and he was the one doing all the work, but, Christ, it took effort to hold off on cumming when he was knuckle deep in your pussy like that.

“Now.” He said, pushing up against the spot you needed him to touch most, sucking hard on your swollen clit. You all but yelled, body turning to jelly, your eyes screwed tight—all while Joel continued his ministrations. He stared at you open mouthed as you trembled. He slowed once you stopped shaking, sliding his fingers out of you and licking them clean. 

“Still gonna act like a bitch now?” He peppered kisses over your thighs.

“F…fuck y—ou, Joel Miller.” You wheezed out. He laughed, standing up to remove his shirt and trousers. 

“’F’I’d known you wanted it I’d’ve done it a month ago.” He crawled over you, pressing kisses into your neck.

“Fuck you.” You finally caught your breath, and he pushed himself up enough to meet you face to face. “You’re a bad person. Everybody in the QZ knows you’re a bad man.”

“Then why are you in my bed?” He was half sincere.

“You tell me.”

“Can see the way you look at me. Terrible at keepin’ secrets. ‘Nother reason you need someone to protect you out there.” He scoffed, and you pulled him down for a kiss. Though bruising in force, you were gentler with each other. Neither of you felt inclined to use teeth this time around.

Joel pushed himself up and onto his knees, sliding his cock over your clit and pushing his tip into you slightly. You whimpered, trying to wordlessly urge him to sink into you. 

“Ask me.”

“Please.”

“More.”

“Please, Joel, need it…”

“Need what, sweet thing?” You closed your eyes, savoring the nickname as it rolled off his tongue. 

“Need your cock. Joel, please, I need you to fu—” He cut you off with one sharp thrust, pushing his full length into you and bottoming out. You felt your eyes roll back in your head, and Joel brought a hand down to rest on the side of your face.

“Atta girl,” his mouth hung open as he began shallowly thrusting into you, “take it all, darlin’.”

You whined, hands scrambling to touch him wherever you could reach; his shoulders, his chest, his thigh if you stretched down a bit further. It only spurred him on.

“Fuckin’ pathetic.” He pushed his hips into yours, attempting to get even deeper inside of your warm, inviting pussy. “Been such a bitch with me ‘nd now you’re so eager, huh? Li’l slut, needed t’get fucked s’all?” All you could do was let out a wonton moan, loving how he stretched you. “Gonna be nice from now on?” You couldn’t respond, could only think the word no as he sped up, sliding all the way out and all the way back into your cunt. “Answer me, girl.”

“F—uck, n—no!” You stammered. 

He brought a hand down harsh on your clit, pulling out so just the tip of his cock was seated shallowly inside of you. You squeezed around it. “Don’t be a bitch,” he spanked your pussy again, “tell me the truth.”

Tears pricked your eyes in frustration, and you nodded your head yes.

“Words.”

“Yes! I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, wo—won’t give you attitude, Joel, I—I won’t be such a bitch, I pr—omise.”

“I like you a li’l bitchy,” he slid his cock back into you, resuming the punishing pace, punching up into you. “Like my pretty li’l bitch. Like this tight fuckin’ pussy.” He flattened himself on top of you, chest pressing into yours with every breath he took and every rough shove of his cock against your cervix. The slight pain was worth the abounding pleasure. He reached under your midriff, sliding his hands between the flannel you still half-wore to meet your skin, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you into him further. You wrapped your own arms around his waist, completely lost in him. 

“Y’needed this as much as I did,” he groaned into your ear, “tell me, sweet thing.”

“Needed—oh, fuck, I needed it.” You whispered against the skin of his shoulder. He managed to reach a hand down between you, fingers finding your clit. You buried your face into him, suddenly very aware of what was happening; your daydreams coming to fruition, winning the game in a manner leagues above what you had hoped for. The attention was staggering. The tears you had held back during his earlier taunting escaped, spilling over your cheeks and smudging into the sweat on Joel’s skin. It was overwhelming in the best way. Anxiety inducing in the worst. 

“So good, being so—so fuckin’ good, darlin’.” He was getting sloppy with his thrusts, rhythm failing as he neared his own high. He pulled away from you, shifting positions to hold you so that you could be face to face. You couldn’t count how many times today you had found yourself staring at Joel Miller. “You’re so good.” A fully earnest sentiment, punctuated by every inch of his cock. “Want you to cum, need you to cum for me again.” He was practically begging, words coming out in moaned whispers. He kissed the tear streaks over your cheek and down to your lips, the wiry hair of his short mustache rubbing against your top lip in a manner that made your skin instantly sore, but it felt too good to be connected to him like this to complain at all. He continued his movements, fingers running over your clit at a heightened pace and cock throbbing inside of you. You squeezed around his cock, arms squeezing his torso, and you felt yourself coming undone. 

“There you go. Feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ me. Gimme one more, sweetheart.” You were pushed over the edge, once again cumming for Joel Miller in a way you had only ever imagined. He held you tight, letting you wrap yourself around him while you came, whispering his name and tangling your fingers in his hair. He managed a few more deep thrusts before pulling out and spilling across your stomach, chanting your name. Your breathing was labored, and Joel admired how he had painted you with his spend.

He stood up, walking out of the room, and you felt the urge to cry again, feeling suddenly abandoned after something so new and intimate. But he walked back in with a threadbare towel, wiping down your stomach and the wet between your thighs. You were both silent as he finished cleaning you up. He exited once more to rid himself of the towel before reuniting with you in bed. He lay beside you for a moment before turning to hold you. You turned to face him.

“It’s a shame you wiped me clean. Wanted a taste.” You failed to keep your tone even and unbothered, the crack in your voice apparent as you tried your hand at humor.

“Next time.” You looked up to find him staring at you once again. His usual scowl replaced by something softer. You fell back into a semi-comfortable silence.

“I am a bad man.” He spread his fingers out between your shoulder blades.

“Joel—”

“I am,” the words came out harsher than he had meant them to, “I’ve done bad shit just to get by. It’s fuckin’ embarrassin’ to kill someone just to see another day of this. Bad’s an understatement.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m hard on you cause I don’t want you gettin’ hurt. Don’t wanna be out with you if somethin’ happens. Don’t wanna be away from you if somethin’ happens. Wouldn’t be able to—”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know. S’fuckin’ awful. Shouldn’t have’ta fend for yourself.” He swallowed.

“Have to to survive, Joel. Made it this far.”

“No,” he countered, “shouldn’t have to survive. You should be livin’. Shouldn’t need’a run with a crowd like me ‘nd Tess.”

“Don’t you think we’re a little past that? I’d be doin’ the same thing even if I didn’t have you two to do it with.”

“I’ve seen how you freeze up.”

“I knew you’d be there.” You nearly snapped, astonished that after all this he was still hung up over the first run you did with him, despite the effortless shots he had taken. Even more astonished that he hadn’t realized that despite the external bitterness he had fashioned and the constant stream of “no” that left his mouth, you knew even then that he’d keep you protected. He looked away from you, and you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, trying to show him that for all your bite you were capable of being docile when the moment called for it.

“Shouldn’t wanna hang around bad people.” Joel’s eyes looked into the nothing of the distance as he muttered. “Shouldn’t have to risk everything just to do bad things.”

“Good men die, too, Joel,” You were firm, “I wanna be…” You trailed off. He looked back to you and traced a finger over your collar bone, admiring the marks that had formed from his kisses. “Wanna be around you. With you.” You saw a faint smile creep across his face.

“Not a good man?”

You scoffed, “Never a good man. Wouldn’t know how to handle me.” He laughed softly. You allowed his hands to roam over your body while you mirrored his movements, tracing your fingers over the scars that littered his chest. “Come with me on the next run.” You weren’t asking.

For the first time in 20-odd years, Joel was unable to say no.

[earthlyangelbby]

Cupid's Curveball Chapter 3: The Dress

Word Count: 3k

Chapters 1-2.5

Sfw Previous Chapter 2.5 Next Chapter 4

Summary: The lingering memory of a kiss, a perfect dress, and seeing each other in a new light. Will the unspoken feelings of two best friends remain just that?

February 9th 1986; After School

Eddie gripped the steering wheel, tapping his thumb against it with the rhythm of the music. He hadn’t said anything to you about it yet, but he hoped Silas didn’t exist. The thought of you looking at other guys. Guys who weren’t him. It left a strange pit in his stomach. It wasn’t like you two had ever defined things or even made a move beyond friendship. Well, except that one time.

The memory hit him hard as he turned onto your street. 

That kiss… it wasn’t just a kiss. It had started sweet and soft, your lips tasting like cherry chapstick. But it wasn’t just the kiss itself it was everything leading up to it. You had been sitting on his bed, joking around like you always did, when the conversation turned to kissing. Both of you admitted you’d never really had a serious kiss.

You had laughed, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “It’s ridiculous, right? We’re like the last people in the world who haven’t been kissed by this age.”

Eddie had raised an eyebrow, his voice playful but carrying an edge of challenge. “Well, we could always fix that,” he’d said, half-joking, half-curious, though neither of you had expected the suggestion to land so differently.

Your eyes had widened, and in that moment, something shifted. “You mean... we could kiss each other?” You said it casually, but Eddie could tell from the way your voice dropped that you were just as curious as he was.

He’d shrugged, trying to play it off, but inside, his chest had tightened. “Why not? We’ve never kissed anyone else, right? Could be fun.”

And so, it happened. You both leaned in slowly, unsure at first, but then it was just your soft lips meeting his gentle, sweet and then it deepened. You found yourself in his lap before either of you realized how close you had gotten. Your body pressed into his, his hands slipping under your shirt, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. The room closed in around you.

It was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Uncle Wayne had barged in, swinging the door open with a crash. Eddie’s heart had stopped. Wayne froze in the doorway, eyes wide. “Sorry!” he bellowed before slamming the door shut like he was fleeing for his life.

Eddie winced at the memory, but he could still hear your nervous laugh, the way you had pulled away in embarrassment. It was mortifying, mostly for you. You’d left town the next day to visit your grandparents, and by the time you came back, it felt like too much time had passed. That kiss had slipped into the realm of “a thing that happened once” a beautiful, complicated moment, but one that was now just part of the past. Too much time had passed for you both to pick up where you’d left off.

He pulled into your driveway, shaking the thoughts away just as you came bounding down the steps, your grin lighting up the whole yard. You climbed into the van, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away.

By the time you reached the mall, Diana was already waiting at the boutique, her arms crossed but smiling when she spotted you both.

“This is the place,” Diana said, ushering you inside.

The racks of dresses stretched in every direction, and you immediately felt overwhelmed. You had $100 enough for a dress and maybe some accessories if you played your cards right. You and Diana got to work picking out different dresses.

Eddie sat in the plush ornate chair, magazine in hand, feeling like the lone audience member at a private fashion show. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but it felt like an eternity as he waited for you to emerge from the dressing room. The air around him was thick with the buzz of anticipation. This is ridiculous. It’s just a dress. I should’ve brought a book or something.

The first dress you stepped into was a pale yellow number, with over-the-top ruffles and bubble-like layers. You spun around, eyes locked on the mirror, and grimaced.

“I look like a wedding cake,” you muttered, clearly unimpressed.

Eddie laughed, his voice light. “A very pretty wedding cake?”

“Next!” Diana chimed, handing you a short green dress.

He perked up when you emerged in the green dress. “That one’s not bad,” he offered, though his smile faltered when you grimaced.

“It reminds me of baby puke,” you said, wrinkling your nose. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at your bluntness.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, no. This is a ‘next.’” You disappeared behind the curtain, your voice already fading.

Diana, ever the supportive friend, handed you another dress, a deep navy one with a plunging neckline. As you stepped out, Eddie couldn’t help but notice how it clung to your body in all the right ways, accentuating your curves in a way that made his heart beat a little faster.

You looked at your reflection, shifting uncomfortably. The fabric clung too tightly to your sides, and the neckline felt like it screamed for attention you weren’t sure you wanted. Your smile faltered.

Does Eddie think I’m trying too hard?

“I don’t know,” you said, tugging at the fabric. “It’s just too much, isn’t it?”

Eddie leaned forward. “It’s bold,” he offered carefully, his eyes never leaving you. Why doesn’t she see it? She looks stunning.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Bold? That’s your way of saying ‘too much,’ right?”

He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I’m just here for moral support. If it’s not the one, then yeah, maybe it’s not the one.”

“Right,” you said, disappearing behind the curtain again.

Diana, undeterred, passed you a sparkly red dress next. The dress shimmered, all sequins and elegance, and when you stepped out of the dressing room, Eddie was speechless for a moment. The dress hugged you like it was made for you, with a daring slit up the side. You looked like you belonged at the Oscars.

You twisted in the mirror, frowning. “I can’t wear this. I look like I’m trying to win a beauty pageant.”

He’s staring. Is that a good thing? Say something, Eddie. Please.

“Or like you already won,” Eddie muttered under his breath, eyes still locked on you.

“What?” You glanced over your shoulder at him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. God, she’s gorgeous.

You gave him a skeptical look. “It’s not working for me,” you said, pushing behind the curtain and reaching for something else.

Diana gave an exaggerated sigh but helped you out of the red dress and into a lavender tulle number. “This one’s cute,” she said, adjusting the straps.

You stepped out, looking at yourself in the mirror with a sense of uncertainty. “It’s too… princessy. Like I’m about to star in a Disney movie or something.”

Eddie grinned. “You’d make a great Disney princess.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not what I’m going for.”

Finally, Diana pulled out the last dress, a powder blue number with an iridescent overlay and a flowy skirt. The fabric caught the light in all the right ways, giving it an almost ethereal glow. You stepped into it, looking at yourself in the mirror with wide eyes.

“Wow,” you said softly, a little breathless as you spun to see yourself from all angles.

Eddie was so caught off guard that he didn’t even register the words you were saying. His jaw went slack as you stepped out of the dressing room. The moment you emerged, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. The blue dress shimmered under the lights, and the iridescent overlay made you look almost like a dream. You looked... perfect. The kind of perfect that took his breath away.

He didn’t even realize he was standing until Diana said something. “Looks like we’ve found the one.”

Eddie barely even processed it. He was too busy staring, still unable to wrap his head around how beautiful you looked. You turned this way and that, the skirt swishing with each move, and he could barely think straight. His mouth had gone dry.

“Wow,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “You look… perfect.”

Your eyes flicked to him, a hint of doubt still in your voice. “You think so?”

Without hesitation, he nodded, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You seemed to soften at his words, but Diana’s grin was unmistakable. “I think we’ve found the winner.”

You glanced at your reflection one more time, fingers nervously brushing the fabric. “I feel like a princess in this,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie didn’t even try to hide his awe as you turned to face him again. She’s incredible. Why doesn’t she see it? He wanted to tell you how perfect you were, how beautiful, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he just stood there, unable to take his eyes off you, silently wishing you could see yourself the way he saw you.

Diana clapped her hands together. “Alright, I’m having them hold this at the front while we look for accessories.”

Eddie got up, deciding to help out. The walk to the counter was filled with racks of necklaces, tiaras, and earrings just everything you could imagine for a formal look. You were browsing, your fingers running over everything.

You noticed the price tag on the dress. “It’s $65,” you remarked, a relieved smile crossing your face. “That leaves me with $35 for accessories.”

They scanned the jewelry options. You stopped in front of a silver locket, admiring the tiny diamond in the center. The details were intricate, the chain delicate. You showed Eddie, your eyes lighting up.

“It’s so pretty,” you looked at Eddie, smiling.

You ran your hand up the chain, then noticed the price tag. “$55,” you whispered, your smile faltering. You put it back in its case with a soft sigh.

Eddie’s chest tightened. He couldn’t stand seeing that flicker of disappointment in your eyes. You’d told him once, months ago, how you’d always wanted a locket—how you used to imagine putting a picture of your family or your future inside one. The memory had seemed so small at the time, just another thing you’d casually shared, but now, seeing your fingers linger on the silver chain, it felt like the most important thing in the world.

He glanced down at his wallet, already knowing what he had in it. The cash from the party he’d sold at the week before. His easy, careless hustle that had put a few hundred bucks in his pocket. It felt heavier in his hands now. The thought of it unsettled him, but not for the reason most would think. It wasn’t the weed sales or the shady business. it was the idea of you wearing that locket, holding something he’d given you, something that would mean more than money could explain.

I’ve got the cash for this, he thought, the sudden sense of purpose hitting him hard. She deserves this.

You and Diana walked toward the shoes, your conversation fading as Eddie watched you. He didn’t waste any more time. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he darted to the counter, reaching for the locket. The cashier, a girl who had seen enough shady dealings by now to know what was going on, didn’t ask questions. She just nodded, understanding what he needed, and quietly rang up the purchase.

Eddie slid the cash across the counter, his fingers trembling as the transaction went through. He could feel the weight of the locket in his hand, but he didn’t let it show. The last thing he wanted was for you to catch on before he was ready. He stuffed the small box into his pocket, making sure it was safe before taking a deep breath.

He walked over to join you and Diana, his mind already on how he was going to give it to you he just didn’t know when.

On his walk over to you and Diana a store across the way caught his eye. Men’s Suit OutletI could go to the ball. No big deal. Would she want me to? I have to see her then. I’m going. 

“Hey girls, Watching you have so much fun getting ready changed my mind,” he said, his voice warm. 

“Since it took less time than we expected to pick out your dress, how about we go across the hall and get fitted for a suit?”

Your heart skipped a beat, nerves, and excitement crashing through you all at once. “A suit?” 

you asked, barely able to keep the surprise out of your voice.

Diana, already in full support mode, grinned. “You need one anyway!”

As Eddie stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the black suit, he couldn’t help but notice the difference it made. It wasn’t just the tailored fit or the sharp look it was the feeling of confidence he was starting to embrace. He looked... different. Better. And when he turned to face you, he saw your expression change. Your eyes widened as you took him in.

Your gaze didn’t leave him, and for a second, it felt like time had slowed down. You looked at him with that same awe that he had when he first saw you in the dress like you were trying to figure out how to describe what you were seeing.

Say something. Compliment him. Tell him he looks amazing. Don’t just stand here like an idiot.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You took a few steps closer, your eyes scanning him from head to toe. Your lips parted slightly, and Eddie couldn’t help but smile at the way you were looking at him.

He adjusted his tie, trying to play it cool. “You think so?”

You nodded, still in a little bit of shock, but your smile was bright. “You look... amazing, Eddie. I didn’t even know you could look like this.”

Your words hit him harder than he expected, making him feel even more self-conscious, but in a good way. He had no idea why he felt this level of warmth of pride just by hearing you say those things.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to keep it light. "Guess I clean up good, huh?"

You laughed softly, your eyes never leaving him. “You really do.”

He leaned against the counter, smiling at you, but there was a strange twist in his gut. This feels different. This is more than just a suit. This is... us.

Diana, watching from the side, rolled her eyes with a grin. “Seriously, you two are giving me a sugar rush just by being in the same room.”

Eddie chuckled. He could feel the energy between you two shift like there was some unspoken understanding now. He wasn’t just your friend anymore. There was something more there, and it was starting to feel like it was just a matter of time before it was undeniable.

He turned to the attendant and nodded. “I’ll take it. Let’s do this.”

As they went through the motions of getting the suit ready for pickup, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about your reaction. He’d never worn anything like this before, and the idea of you seeing him in it was enough to make his heart race. He couldn’t wait for the ball. It felt like an eternity away, but now that he had the suit, the anticipation was somehow even more intense.

He glanced at you, and your eyes met his. 

Your smile grew wider as you realized that this was really happening. “Five days,” you said softly, almost like you couldn’t believe it. “The ball’s in five days…”

Eddie couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah. And I can’t wait for you to see me in this.”

Your smile faltered for a split second, a nervous energy flickering across your face. But then it was back, brighter than ever. “You better be just as good as you look right now,” you teased, your eyes dancing.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat, but he managed to keep his cool. “Oh, I’m planning on looking even better!”

You walked out of the store together, both of you lost in the thought of what was to come. Eddie was already imagining the moment you saw him in the suit at the ball and holding you in a slow dance. This is all he could do because he would not be the guy taking you, and that hurt in a deep part of his chest.

After the mall, the three of you stopped at a small diner for a quick dinner. The place was cozy, with red vinyl booths and a jukebox humming in the corner. Over burgers and milkshakes, the conversation stayed light. Diana chatted about the ball while Eddie chimed in with his usual sarcastic humor that had you both laughing. At one point, Diana leaned over with a teasing grin, nudging you as she joked, “You two really are like an old married couple.” Eddie raised an eyebrow at that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, pretending to focus on your drink instead.

Eddie offered to drive Diana home, the van rumbling softly as you sat up front and Diana sprawled out in the backseat, humming along to the radio. She teased you again, saying the night felt like something out of a movie, but her voice faded into the background as you glanced at Eddie’s profile in the dim light. The winding road around Lovers Lake was quiet, almost peaceful, and you couldn’t help wondering if he felt the same undercurrent of something shifting between you. When you reached Diana’s place, she climbed out with a cheerful goodbye, leaving you and Eddie alone in the van. The air felt heavier now, charged with unsaid words as he turned the van back toward the lake.

To be continued at.......

Thanks for reading! Means so much to me :) Are you excited for the ball?

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[cheynovak]

Taking it slow

Summary: Follows up fanfiction 'Spikes and the beach city reunion' Y/N and Priestly decided to take it slow on whatever it was they just found with each other. Y/N sees it as a good thing, not knowing it's because Priestly is unsure of the age difference.

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Likes/Share/Comments are appreciated

Priestly and Y/N spent nearly every evening together after that first kiss. It started with simple hangouts—late-night drives along the coast, sharing fries at the Beach City Grill, or getting lost in old record stores. They’d talk about everything: the wild, rebellious dreams they’d both used to have and how they’d grown since then.

Though neither of them used the word “dating,” it felt like it. Priestly would reach for her hand across the table, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her palm. Y/N would lean into him, feeling a warmth she hadn’t realized she’d missed since her teenage years.

They didn’t need to label it; it was theirs, and that was enough.

But Priestly had asked one thing—to keep things under the radar. At first, Y/N understood, even agreed. It was new, and they wanted to protect this fragile, precious thing they were building.

But as the weeks passed, she began to suspect there was more to his hesitation. She caught Priestly glancing around sometimes, like he was worried someone might be watching.

Little did she know that each time Tish would catch sight of them, she’d smirk, rolling her eyes, mocking Priestly with her devilish little laugh.

One evening during closing, Tish decided to confront Priestly while Y/N wasn’t around.

She leaned against the counter, watching him with a sly smile, eyes glinting with malice. “So, Boaz...” she sneered, crossing her arms, “how’s your little sugar baby doing? Isn’t it a little… inappropriate? Old man like you, running around with a kid?" Dirty old man "

But when he didn't answered her she added. "Chasing after young women… pathetic don't you think?”

Priestly felt a flicker of irritation but kept his voice even. “Not that it's any of your business Platicia. But we’re just taking things slow." He pushed the broom in her hands and left for the back. But not before turning around.

"And Y/N’s not a kid—she’s a grown woman. A beautiful woman who sees more than just the outside. I wish I had that gift, I wouldn't be drawn in by your poison.”

“Oh please,” Tish scoffed, flipping her hair back with a smirk. “You’re just embarrassed to admit it. You know everyone’s going to look at you and think you’re just another washed-up guy trying to relive his youth through some young girl."

"Whatever, Tish, it’s… over. Grow up and let me go.”

--

Next morning Y/N walked into the Beach City Grill with a spring in her step, she wanted to surprise Priestly since he seemed a bit down yesterday and this morning. Maybe sneak in a kiss before his shift got too busy. But when she leaned in, he turned away, his body stiff, his focus somewhere else.

“Uh, the usual?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.

Y/N felt her stomach sink. “Uh… yeah,” she replied, trying to keep her voice casual, but confusion seeped in. She watched him for a moment, waiting for the easy smile he usually had for her, the little spark in his eye when he saw her.

But today… there was none of that. Instead, he busied himself behind the counter, his attention fixed on everything except her.

Piper, working the front with him, glanced between them, noticing the strange tension. “You can take a seat, Y/N. I’ll bring the order when it’s ready,” she offered, her voice softer, like she sensed something was off.

“Oh… okay.” Y/N forced a small smile, nodding as she walked over to a booth in the corner. She tried to shake off the weird feeling that settled over her, tried to remind herself that maybe he was just having an off day.

Everyone had those, right?

But as she sat there, watching Priestly avoid her gaze, that sense of unease only grew. Every now and then, he’d glance her way, but his eyes would quickly dart away, his jaw tight. She could feel the space between them widening, and her mind spun, wondering if she’d done something wrong or if he was upset about something else.

When Piper finally brought her food over, she slid into the booth across from Y/N, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Hey, everything okay with you two?” she asked gently, her voice low.

Y/N forced a small smile, but it faltered as she glanced over at Priestly, who was busying himself by cleaning the counter for the third time. “I… I’m not sure,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “He’s acting really strange. He won't even look at me.”

Piper nodded thoughtfully, glancing back at Priestly as well. “He’s been off all day, honestly. Maybe he’s just… I don’t know, going through something? Give him a bit of space. I’m sure he’ll talk to you when he’s ready.”

Y/N nodded, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Piper’s words gave her a bit of comfort, but it didn’t completely erase the ache building in her chest. She wanted to believe that Priestly was just having a rough day, but there was a tiny voice in her mind whispering doubts she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Y/N approached the counter, the uncomfortable feeling from earlier still lingering as she reached for her money. Priestly rang up her order without looking at her, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the register as she handed over a few bills.

“So… tonight’s still happening, right?” she asked, keeping her voice casual but feeling a flutter of nerves. They’d planned a movie night at her place, and Y/N had been secretly hoping that he might finally stay the night.

Priestly glanced up, a quick flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, but he nodded, answering a little too quickly. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“Okay…” She gave him a small smile, though her heart still felt heavy as she turned to leave.

Later that night, when Priestly finally arrived at her place, it was like a switch had flipped. Whatever strange wall had been between them seemed to have melted away, and he was laughing, teasing her, the easygoing Priestly she’d fallen for all over again.

They settled in for the movie, curled up close on her couch, and for the first time that day, Y/N felt like she could finally relax.

As the movie played, she let her fingers trail down his arm, then his thigh, the warmth of him beneath her hand sparking something thrilling inside her.

She leaned over, pressing her lips to his neck, tasting the faint salt of his skin. His breath hitched, but just as she leaned in to kiss him again, she felt him tense.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice uncertain. “Do you… do you ever think of me as… you know, an old, dirty man?”

She pulled back, blinking in shock. “What? Why would you even say that?”

Priestly looked down, his fingers fidgeting as he hesitated. “Tish… she kind of planted the idea in my head. Said I was some washed-up guy chasing after a young girl. Said I was—”

“Stop.” She cut him off, her voice firm.

Without hesitation, she shifted, swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him, taking his face gently in her hands so he had no choice but to look her in the eyes. “Priestly, you are nothing like that,” she said, her gaze intense, leaving no room for doubt. “You’re kind, and thoughtful, and so damn good to me. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

He swallowed, searching her face, vulnerability flashing in his eyes. “I just… I don’t want you to regret being with me. I don’t want to hold you back.”

Y/N leaned in, her lips hovering just inches from his as she whispered, “You are helping me grow, see how a real relationship works." His eyes grew wide with that word: relationship.

"I don’t want anyone else, Priestly. I want you,” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then to his lips, soft and lingering, before pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Every part of you.”

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders finally relaxing as his hands settled on her waist, pulling her closer. A faint smile curved his lips as he rested his forehead against hers. “You’re sure?” he asked, still needing just a little more reassurance.

She nodded, running her fingers through his hair, tracing the line of his jaw. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With that, Priestly closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was tender and full of all the things they’d both been holding back.

As Y/N’s fingers tangled in Priestly's hair, her lips parted as she gasped softly, feeling the heat building between them. Every kiss, every brush of his hands against her skin only made her want more. She could feel the intensity in his gaze, how he looked at her, checking in with her every step of the way, his thumb brushing along her cheek in a tender gesture that sent her heart racing.

Their eyes met, and she gave him a slight nod, her silent way of telling him she didn’t want him to stop. With a gentle but steady touch, he guided her back onto the couch, his hands sliding to her waist, his thumbs grazing her hips, making her shiver. She felt the warmth of his breath against her neck as he leaned down, his lips trailing along her collarbone, leaving a path of warmth in their wake.

Y/N’s hands found their way under his shirt, fingers gliding over the warm skin of his back, feeling the strength there as he hovered over her.

She let out a soft moan as his lips moved down over her shoulder to het stomach, and she tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded as she gave herself over to the moment, to him. The world outside faded, leaving just the two of them, wrapped up in each other’s warmth and intensity.

Priestly’s hands moved gently, fingers tracing along her sides as he slowly slid her clothes off, revealing her delicate black lace lingerie. He paused, eyes full of warmth and admiration as he took her in, his gaze lingering just long enough to make her feel both seen and desired.

He let his fingers brush over her bare skin, each touch making her breath hitch as he leaned down, taking his time. She arched toward him, pressing herself closer, seeking the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence.

The sight of this sexy man between her thighs made her moan even more. he looked up once more. "Absolutely sure you want me? Because once I have you I won'..."

"Please!" she urged him on. He smiled and dipped his head lower.

**The Next Morning**

Priestly slowly woke up, his senses overwhelmed by the warmth of the morning light and the softness of her body pressed against him.

He felt Y/N’s bare skin against his, her soft breath a sweet whisper in the quiet of the room. He had so many doubts and fear last night, but it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath his hand, the delicate scent of her hair that lingered on his pillow.

His face was nestled against the nape of her neck, and it felt like the most natural place to be. His lips, still half-dazed from sleep, traced a gentle path down her neck and across her shoulder.

He felt her stir, a soft hum vibrating through her, making his heart race. She was waking up, but she didn’t seem to mind his attention. She shifted, her body turning toward him with a sleepy smile, meeting his gaze with those tired, yet sparkling eyes.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Priestly whispered, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. She smiled softly, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was tender and slow.

“How do you feel?” he asked shyly, the words leaving him almost as a breathless question. He needed to know if last night had been as perfect for her as it had been for him.

“Like I'm on cloud nine,” she smiled, her eyes glowing as she kissed him again, this time with a little more urgency. Priestly looked at her, still unsure. His insecurities creeping in despite the warmth of her embrace. “Really?”

She raised an eyebrow, pushing herself up on her elbows, Priestly turned on his back. She crawled over him to look him in the eyes. “Really.” She paused, searching his expression for any trace of doubt.

“Did I... you know... was it OK?” Priestly still wasn't sure. Being with Tish had made him so unsure about himsel.

Y/N’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “OK?” She giggled softly, lifting her head slightly to get a better look at him. “Priestly… it was perfect.”

His brow furrowed, and he searched her face for any hint of hesitation. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

In response, she shifted, straddling him, her body now pressed flush against his, and for a moment, everything else faded. She could feel the tension in him, the way his breath hitched when their bodies aligned. Her eyes darkened with a hunger he couldn’t ignore, and the intimate silence spoke louder than words ever could.

“Babe…” she sighed softly, her lips trailing down his chest before she looked up again, meeting his eyes with a playful glint.

“I can’t get enough of you.” She kissed him deep, slow, with all the passion that was building between them. Her body moved against him, and he groaned softly, unable to resist her pull.

Priestly's heart pounded as his hands found their place against her skin, feeling the heat between them grow. His doubts melted away in the heat of her kiss, in the soft caress of her hands against him.

She was everything he had dreamed of in a woman, and now, she was here, with him.

"You're everything to me, Y/N," he whispered against her lips, as if the words were a confession, a promise. She smiled against his kiss, her lips never leaving his. "And you're exactly what I need."

--

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