#AND SOMEHOW WHATEVER BULLSHIT SHE COMES UP WITH

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

The villain of my first book seems really clever and calculating at first. But I know the rest of the series. And it immediately becomes obvious once you know the plot of like books two and three that this woman has ONE move. And somehow it ALWAYS FUCKING WORKS.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Stolen Rendezvous

Karina x Male Reader

word count: 20K

commissioned fic

There’s nothing better than this—no overprotective parents watching your every move, no ridiculous rules about “focus” and “priorities,” no feeling like a fugitive every time you even think about touching her. Just you, her, and the freedom that comes with a empty house, stretching out before you like a playground with no fences.

Because normally? Seeing Karina like this is impossible. Her parents made sure of that. They’ve been drilling the same rule into her head for years—No dating until after college. No distractions, no boys, no late-night calls or sneaking out for secret dates. She’s supposed to be focused, disciplined, dedicated to nothing but her studies and her “future.” They don’t care that she’s a grown woman, that she’s more than capable of balancing school and a relationship. To them, love is just another distraction, another thing standing in the way of their perfect, high-achieving daughter.

And when they found out about you? All hell broke loose.

They showed up at your house—uninvited, pissed off, and ready for war. Sat your parents down in the living room like they were negotiating some hostage situation, talking about “respect” and “boundaries” and how you were ruining Karina’s focus. They made it clear—they didn’t want you anywhere near their daughter. And somehow, in their effort to “keep the peace,” your parents caved. Maybe they didn’t want drama, maybe they just thought it’d be easier to go along with it, but either way, they sat you down after and gave you the same bullshit speech—no more Karina. No more sneaking around. No more chances.

So every moment with her has to be stolen. Every touch, every kiss, every second you get together—it’s always in secret. You can’t meet up at cafes or go on dates like a normal couple. You can’t hold her hand in public without looking over your shoulder. Every plan has to be airtight. Every risk calculated.

But tonight? Tonight, you don’t have to worry about any of that.

The second your parents left—bags packed, off to rekindle their love or whatever the hell couples do on their anniversary—you grabbed your phone and sent the text: All clear.

And now she's at your door. And fuck...

She looks like temptation itself wrapped in casual clothes.

She’s wearing a loose sweatshirt—oversized and comfortable—draped over those thick, juicy thighs of hers, and a pair of tiny shorts that barely peek out from beneath the hem. Her legs are smooth, soft, always irresistible, and when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the way her thighs press together has your throat tightening. Her chest strains the fabric of the sweatshirt, her curves impossible to ignore, but it’s her face that always gets you—the delicate doll-like features, the plump lips you could kiss forever, the big, expressive eyes that go from playful to needy in the blink of a eye.

“You’re staring.” She tilts her head, smirking.

“Because you’re hot,” you shoot back, grabbing her wrist and pulling her inside before the neighbors get a show they didn’t pay for.

She giggles, pressing up against you, arms winding around your neck as she buries her face in your chest. The warmth of her body seeps through your clothes, and you let your hands roam down, settling on her waist, pulling her even closer.

“I missed you,” she murmurs.

“You saw me two days ago.”

She pouts, smacking your chest lightly. “Two days is a long time.”

Yeah. You get it. Two days without her feels like forever.

You guide her to the couch, the plan already set. Snacks, movies, then sex—simple, predictable, perfect. A few hours to pretend you’re a normal couple, not two people sneaking around behind the backs of parents who think they know best.

You settle in, Karina curling up against you, her head on your chest while you scroll through movie options. You let her pick—she always wants rom-coms, but you don’t care what’s on the screen when she’s curled up against you like this, warm and soft, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your stomach.

She picks something sappy, some over-the-top romance where the leads fall in love in the span of two days and confess their feelings in the pouring rain. You don’t pay much attention. You’re too busy watching her.

She gets so into it, reacting to every emotional beat like it’s happening to her. She laughs at the stupid jokes, gasps at the dramatic reveals, clutches your hand when things get intense. And when the couple finally kisses, she turns her face up to you expectantly, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

You take the hint.

The kiss is slow at first, soft and teasing. Her lips are warm, familiar, addictive. You kiss her again, deeper this time, hand sliding up under her sweatshirt, fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her waist. She shivers, pressing closer, her fingers tightening in your shirt.

“Mmm… I love kissing you,” she breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“You love a lot of things about me.”

She giggles, poking your side. “Cocky.”

“Accurate.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, instead shifting to straddle your lap, the movie completely forgotten. Her fingers slide into your hair, her body pressing against yours, soft in all the best ways. Your hands find her hips, gripping, squeezing, mapping out every curve like you haven’t already memorized them a thousand times over.

“You’re insatiable,” you murmur against her lips.

She grins. “You like it.”

Yeah. You do. You like everything about her.

“So, you told them you were studying, huh?” You glance down at her, smirking as your fingers tease at the hem of her sweatshirt, tracing idle patterns on her bare thigh.

Karina hums, her lips brushing against your jaw. “Mhm. Told them I was staying at Giselle’s place for a study session.”

You snort. “Not entirely a lie.” You let your hands slip lower, grabbing two handfuls of that perfect, thick ass, squeezing just enough to make her squeak. “We’re gonna study some anatomy.”

She giggles, pressing closer. “You’re so dumb.”

“But you love it.”

She just smiles, tilting her head, and that look—soft, adoring, almost too much—hits you harder than expected. Then, quieter, she says, “You know, I think this whole ‘no dating’ rule is backfiring.”

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”

She shifts, hands playing with the collar of your shirt. “They want me to focus on college, right? But when I’m away from you, I can’t concentrate on anything.” Her voice drops slightly, a confession slipping through. “All I think about is you.”

That lands differently. Not teasing, not playful—just honest. And it knocks the breath right out of you.

You don’t answer with words. You don’t have to. You cup her jaw, tilt her chin up, and kiss her, slow and deep. She melts against you, her fingers curling into your shirt, a little hum escaping into your mouth.

When you pull back, she blinks up at you, lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed. “Can we go to your room?”

You know what she means.

You stand without hesitation, sliding your hands under her thighs and lifting her off the couch with ease. She yelps, wrapping her arms around your neck, legs locking around your waist.

“Show-off,” she huffs, but she’s grinning.

“You love that too,” you murmur against her temple, carrying her through the dimly lit hallway.

She presses her face into your neck, exhaling softly. “I missed your bed.”

You push the door open with your shoulder. “You just missed getting wrecked in it.”

She laughs, biting your shoulder in retaliation, and the sound is so sweet, so familiar, that your chest tightens with something deeper than just desire.

You lower her onto the mattress, and she gazes up at you, eyes heavy-lidded, pupils wide. And just like that, the night really begins.

Your shirt hits the floor first, followed by hers. The fabric slides off her smooth shoulders, pooling at her feet. The dim light from your bedside lamp casts soft shadows on her skin, highlighting every curve, every dip, every inch of her you’ve memorized by heart.

Your hands work on your jeans, popping the button, dragging the zipper down slow. She follows your lead, slipping her shorts down those thick thighs of hers, the motion teasing, unintentional or not.

By the time you’re both left in just your underwear, she finally glances down—and that’s when she sees it.

The bulge in your briefs is obvious, straining against the fabric, and her reaction is instant. Her lips part slightly, eyes darkening with unmistakable hunger, the kind that makes your blood run hot. Her thighs press together on instinct, like she’s already feeling that telltale ache, already impatient.

“You’re excited,” you tease, watching her reaction.

She doesn’t even pretend otherwise. Instead, she bites her lip, stepping closer, fingertips barely grazing your stomach. “Can you blame me?”

You chuckle, reaching for her waist, pulling her in. “I was missing your taste.”

The words land exactly how you expect. Her breath stutters, her grip on your skin tightening. Her eyes flicker up to yours, something unspoken passing between you before her hands move again—this time to her back, fingers finding the clasp of her bra.

You watch, completely enraptured, as she unhooks it with practiced ease. But instead of letting it fall right away, she holds it in place, eyes darting toward the open door.

“…Lock it,” she murmurs.

You raise a brow, amused. “Babe, you can relax. No one’s showing up. My parents are miles away by now.”

She hesitates, glancing at the door again. “Just in case.”

You sigh, but you don’t argue.

You move, crossing the room in a few strides, twisting the lock into place. The soft click is barely noticeable, but it seems to be all the reassurance she needs.

Because when you turn back around, her bra is gone. And fuck—

Her massive tits are right there, bare and perfect, skin smooth, curves soft, nipples already slightly stiff from the cool air. She’s standing there, completely confident now, watching you watch her. And she likes it.

Your throat feels dry. Your cock throbs.

Yeah. This night is only getting better.

Your body moves before your brain even catches up. One second you’re standing there, staring like a idiot at her perfect, heavy tits, and the next, you’re on her.

Your hands find her waist first, gripping, pulling her in as your mouth crashes against hers. It’s messy, eager, all lips and tongue, the heat between you flaring instantly. She gasps against your mouth, but she doesn’t hesitate to kiss back, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just enough to make you groan.

You walk her backward, guiding her toward the bed without breaking the kiss. The back of her legs hit the mattress, and you don’t give her time to think before easing her down, following her, pressing your weight against her soft, warm body.

Your hands roam without direction, purely instinctual—her waist, her hips, the smooth dip of her stomach. But when your fingers finally reach her chest, when you finally cup one of those gorgeous, heavy tits in your palm, it’s like something inside you ignites.

She sighs at the contact, arching into your touch like she’s been waiting for it. And she’s so soft.

You squeeze, fingers flexing, feeling the perfect weight of her in your palm. Your thumb brushes over a stiffening nipple, and the reaction is instant—her breath hitches, her body tenses for just a second before she relaxes into it, lips parting in a quiet whimper.

Your mouth finds her neck next, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. She tilts her head to the side, giving you more access, more skin to taste, more of her to claim. You take full advantage, biting, sucking, marking.

Sliding down, you move lower, kissing your way down her collarbone, her sternum, until your lips finally meet soft, bare skin.

Your mouth latches onto one of her perfect tits, tongue swirling around the stiff peak before sucking hard.

She shudders. Her fingers clutch at your hair, thighs squeezing together, a gasp slipping from her lips that sounds more like a plea than anything else. “Oh my God…”

Your other hand isn’t idle. While your tongue works on one breast, your fingers knead the other, squeezing, teasing, rolling her nipple between your fingertips. She’s a mess beneath you, breathing hard, squirming, already slipping into that space where all she can focus on is you and how good you’re making her feel.

You suck harder, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.

She moans outright this time, thighs shifting restlessly beneath you, back arching slightly, offering herself up like she needs more, like she can’t get enough. Neither can you.

Your mouth stays latched onto her breast, tongue swirling, lips sucking, taking in the warmth and softness of her. Her skin tastes faintly sweet, her body heat rising under your touch. Every time your tongue flicks over her nipple, she makes the prettiest little sound—half moan, half whimper. Her fingers stay tangled in your hair, clutching, pulling you closer like she never wants you to stop.

And fuck, you don’t want to stop.

You shift slightly, settling more comfortably between her legs, your body pressed against hers. Your free hand kneads her other breast, fingers rolling her nipple between them, squeezing just right. The way she reacts—hips twitching, thighs pressing against your sides—has your cock throbbing, the heat pooling in your gut growing unbearable.

“Shit,” she breathes out, voice trembling, her back arching into your mouth. “You’re so—fuck, you’re so good at that.”

You smirk against her skin, biting down gently before soothing the mark with your tongue. “I know.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, but it dissolves into a moan when you suck harder, drawing more of her into your mouth. Her legs shift again, thighs clenching like she’s desperate for friction. And then—

Her hand moves.

Between the two of you, slipping down, fingers tracing along your stomach, your abs, then lower, until—fuck.

She palms your cock over your underwear, her fingers pressing against the fabric, feeling just how hard you already are for her. Your whole body reacts—hips jerking slightly, a sharp inhale through your teeth as the pleasure spikes instantly.

“Rina,” you groan, voice low, strained.

She giggles, breathy and teasing. “Mmm, you’re so hard already.” Her fingers press down more, rubbing up and down your length through the fabric, the teasing touch enough to make your head spin. “Is this for me?”

“Who the fuck else would it be for?” You can barely get the words out, already losing yourself in the way she’s touching you.

She hums in satisfaction, her hand moving slower, deliberately teasing, driving you insane. “You missed me that much?”

You lift your head from her chest, meeting her gaze. Her lips are parted, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with heat. She knows exactly what she’s doing to you, and she’s enjoying every second of it.

“You have no idea,” you murmur.

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, just barely brushing against bare skin, and you curse under your breath.

She leans in, lips ghosting against your ear as she whispers, “I want you to fuck me hard tonight.”

Your whole body tenses. A fresh wave of arousal crashes through you, burning, consuming, making your cock twitch in her hand.

You grip her hips, fingers digging in, your self-control hanging by a thread. “You keep talking like that, and I won’t be able to hold back.”

Her breath is warm against your skin. “Good. I don’t want you to.”

Your hands move without hesitation, sliding down her body, fingertips grazing over her hips before hooking into the waistband of her panties. You tug them down, slowly, savoring the way the thin fabric peels away from her skin, the way her breath hitches as she lifts her hips just enough to help you. And then—fuck.

Her pussy is already glistening, slick coating her soft folds, her arousal shining under the dim light of your room. She’s so wet, so ready, all because of you.

Your cock twitches in response, straining against the last barrier between you. But you don’t rush. No, you take a moment, drinking in the sight of her, the flushed skin, the way her thighs clench slightly, the way she bites her lip as she watches you take her in.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until she leans in, fingers sliding under the waistband of your underwear, her touch feather-light, teasing. “These need to come off too.”

You don’t argue. You lift your hips, dragging your underwear down, letting your cock spring free. The relief is instant, the cool air hitting your heated skin, but that’s nothing compared to the way Karina looks at you—eyes dropping to your length, pupils dilating, breath catching in her throat. She swallows, shifting slightly, and you don’t miss the way her thighs squeeze together again.

“Fuck,” she whispers, almost to herself. “I missed this.”

You smirk, reaching for her, pulling her close again as you murmur against her lips, “Then stop wasting time.”

She giggles, but it’s cut off as your lips meet again, the kiss deep, heated, consuming. Your hands roam her body, tracing every familiar curve, every inch of her you’ve memorized. She shifts, adjusting, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips as she straddles you, her bare skin flush against yours. The warmth of her, the heat radiating from between her legs, has your pulse skyrocketing.

She moves, grinding down slightly, and the feeling of her wetness sliding against your cock has you both gasping into the kiss.

You grip her hips, steadying her, voice rough with need. “Fuck, Karina—”

She just smiles, breathless, adjusting her position, lifting herself slightly. You feel the slick head of your cock brush against her entrance, teasing, her arousal smearing over you. And then, slowly, deliberately, she begins to sink down onto you.

She sinks down slowly at first, her body stretching to accommodate you, the slick heat of her pussy gripping you tightly. Her breath hitches, and her nails dig into your shoulders, a sharp contrast to the soft moan that spills from her lips. You watch, mesmerized, as her eyes flutter shut for a moment, her mouth falling open slightly, taking in the fullness, the delicious stretch as she settles onto you completely.

“Fuck,” she breathes, rolling her hips experimentally, adjusting to the way you fill her. “You feel so good.”

Your fingers tighten on her hips, barely holding back the urge to thrust up into her, to take control, to fuck her hard just like she asked. But this moment—her, on top of you, in complete control—it’s intoxicating.

She braces herself, palms pressed against your chest as she lifts her hips, just enough to leave you aching for more before she slides back down. The movement is slow, deliberate, teasing.

“God, I missed this,” she murmurs, rolling her hips again, sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through both of you.

Your hands move on instinct, tracing the curve of her waist before sliding up, fingers closing around her bouncing tits. They’re so fucking perfect—full, soft, warm under your touch. You squeeze, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples, and the reaction is immediate.

She moans, head tilting back slightly, a shiver running down her spine. “Fuck, baby—”

The way she says it, all breathless and needy, makes your restraint snap. You thrust up into her, meeting her movements, drawing a sharp gasp from her throat. Her pace quickens. She moves faster now, riding you with more urgency, her big tits bouncing with every motion. The wet sound of her slick pussy taking you in again and again fills the room, mixing with her moans, with your own ragged breaths.

“You have no idea,” she gasps between movements, hands gripping your chest for support. “No idea how much I think about this when I’m not with you. How much I want you.”

Your fingers dig into her waist, guiding her movements, pushing her down harder, deeper. “Tell me,” you demand, voice rough with need.

She whimpers, her rhythm faltering for a moment as another sharp wave of pleasure hits her. “I—I touch myself thinking about you,” she confesses, cheeks flushed, body trembling. “Late at night, when I can’t sleep—when I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it—” That does something to you. The thought of her alone, needy, fingers buried between her legs as she thought about this, about you—fuck.

You sit up abruptly, wrapping your arms around her, pressing her flush against you. Her breath stutters, but she doesn’t stop moving. If anything, she moves harder, faster, chasing that high, her body trembling in your arms.

You kiss her, swallowing her moans, pouring every ounce of want, of love, into it. She melts into you, gripping the back of your neck, holding on as she keeps moving, her body grinding against yours in a unrelenting rhythm, her wet heat squeezing around your cock with every bounce. Her tits jiggle with every motion, perfect and soft, her nipples flushed and stiff, her skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat. She’s breathtaking like this—completely lost in it, moaning freely, her lips parted as she gasps for air.

“You make me so fucking horny,” she breathes, rolling her hips in a way that makes you groan. “Every time I see you, every time I even think about you—I get wet. So fucking wet.”

Your grip on her waist tightens, fingers pressing into her soft skin. Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing to you, the way her words hit just as hard as the way she moves.

Your self-control is slipping, your body burning with need, the hunger growing unbearable. You let her ride you a little longer, soaking in the way she moves, the way her pussy clenches around you, so hot and tight, but the pressure in your gut is reaching its peak. You need more. You need to take her.

Without warning, you grab her and flip her onto her back. She lets out a surprised gasp, her hair splaying across the pillow, eyes wide with excitement. You barely give her a second to react before you’re between her legs, spreading her open, positioning yourself over her.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her thighs twitching as you grip them.

You hook your hands under her knees, lifting her legs, pressing them back slightly to open her up even more. She looks so fucking good like this, spread out beneath you, completely at your mercy, her glistening pussy aching for you.

And you don’t make her wait. You thrust into her, hard. Her back arches instantly, a cry tearing from her throat, her hands gripping the sheets.

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

You set a brutal pace, your hips snapping against hers, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. Every thrust makes her body jolt, her tits bouncing, her breath coming in desperate, broken moans.

“You love it like this,” you growl, voice thick with lust.

“Yes—god, yes—” she gasps, her nails dragging down your arms.

You grip her thighs tighter, holding her steady, driving into her with deep, relentless strokes. Her walls squeeze around you, clenching tighter every time you hit that perfect spot inside her, every time your cock stretches her in just the right way. She’s completely unraveling beneath you. Her head tilts back, her mouth open, moans spilling out without restraint.

“More,” she whimpers, voice trembling. “Please—don’t stop—”

You don’t. You keep fucking her, hips slamming against hers, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room. Every thrust drives her further into the mattress, her back arching, her tits bouncing in perfect rhythm.

And fuck—you can’t take your eyes off them. They’re so full, so soft, moving with every thrust, flushed from arousal. Your hands itch to grab them, to squeeze them, to claim every inch of her body as yours. But before you can, Karina beats you to it.

She moans, her head tilting back, and then—

Her hands slide up her own body, fingers gliding over her stomach before she cups her own tits, squeezing. Your cock twitches inside her.

“Fuck,” you groan, gripping her thighs tighter, your pace stuttering for half a second.

She whimpers at your reaction, pushing her tits together, rolling her thumbs over her stiff nipples. “You like that?” she teases breathlessly, though her voice shakes from how hard you’re fucking her.

“You know I do,” you growl, thrusting into her deeper, making her gasp.

She moans louder, fingers pinching her own nipples, her pussy clenching around you. “I love how you look at me,” she admits, voice trembling. “Like you wanna ruin me.”

“I do.” Your thrusts turn rougher, harder. “And I will.”

She gasps, her back arching, her grip on her own tits tightening as pleasure surges through her. Her thighs tremble, her moans turning into breathless cries.

You keep thrusting, faster, savoring the way her pussy grips you, hot and wet and perfect. But you want more. You want to see her completely fall apart.

Your hand slides down her body, fingers trailing over her stomach, her hips, until you reach where you’re connected. She whines, her thighs tensing as your fingers brush against her clit. You know how sensitive she is there, how just the slightest touch can send her spiraling.

“Fuck, baby,” she whimpers, her voice shaky, her hands still on her tits. “Don’t—don’t tease me.”

You smirk, your fingers circling her clit, slow and deliberate. “Who’s teasing?” you murmur, watching her face as her breath hitches. “I’m just giving you what you want.”

She moans, her back arching off the bed, her hips grinding against your hand. “You’re such a asshole,” she breathes, but there’s no bite to it. Her eyes are half-lidded, her lips swollen from biting them, and she’s so fucking beautiful like this.

You press harder, your fingers moving faster, and she lets out a sharp cry, her hands finally leaving her tits to grip the sheets instead. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” she chants, her thighs trembling, her pussy clenching around you. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop—”

You don’t. You keep rubbing her clit, your thrusts steady, your cock hitting that spot inside her that makes her see stars. She’s writhing beneath you, her moans getting louder, more desperate, and you know she’s close. But you’re not letting her cum yet. Not yet.

“You’re so fucking wet,” you growl, your voice rough with need. “You love this, don’t you? Love me fucking you like this?”

She nods frantically, her nails digging into the sheets. “Yes, yes, I love it—fuck, I love you—”

Her words hit you like a punch to the chest, and for a second, you lose your rhythm. But you recover quickly, leaning down to capture her lips in a messy, desperate kiss. She kisses you back just as hard, her tongue sliding against yours, her moans muffled against your mouth.

When you pull back, she’s panting, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. “I mean it,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

And you kiss her again, your hand still working her clit, your cock still buried deep inside her. She moans into your mouth, her hips rocking against you, and you know she’s close.

Because you can feel it—the tension in her body, the way her pussy clenches around you, the way her breath hitches every time your fingers brush her clit. So fucking close. And you’re not holding back anymore.

You slam into her, hard and fast, your hips snapping against hers, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Your fingers work her clit in tight, quick circles, and she lets out a strangled cry, her back arching off the bed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” she babbles, her hands clawing at the sheets, her thighs trembling. “I can’t—I’m gonna—oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, baby,” you growl, your voice low and rough, your own breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “Cum all over my cock. Let me feel it.”

She whimpers, her eyes squeezing shut, her body tensing like a coiled spring. And then—fuck. She explodes.

Her pussy clenches around you, tight and wet, and she lets out a scream that’s half pleasure, half desperation. Her hips buck against yours, her thighs shaking, and then—fuck—she squirts. Hard.

It’s messy. So fucking messy. Her juices gush out, soaking the sheets beneath her, and you don’t stop. You keep fucking her, your cock driving into her as she trembles and writhes, her body convulsing with wave after wave of pleasure.

“Oh my God, oh my God—” she gasps, her voice breaking, her hands flying to her face like she’s trying to hide from the intensity of it. “I can’t—I can’t stop—fuck, it’s too much—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t. You’re too far gone, too lost in the way she feels around you, the way she’s falling apart beneath you. You keep thrusting, your fingers still working her clit, and she lets out another scream, her body jerking as another gush of wetness spills out of her.

“That’s it, baby,” you murmur, your voice strained, your own pleasure building. “Let it all out. Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.”

She’s a mess—her hair sticking to her forehead, her skin slick with sweat, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. But she’s beautiful. So fucking beautiful. And you can’t get enough of her.

You lean down, pressing your forehead against hers, your breath mingling with hers as you keep fucking her through her orgasm. Her hands find your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin, and she lets out a broken sob, her body still shaking.

“I can’t—I can’t—” she whimpers, her voice a whisper now, her eyes rolling back in her head. “It’s too much—fuck, it’s too much—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t. You’re too close, too desperate, too lost in her. You keep thrusting, your cock hitting that spot inside her that makes her see stars, and she lets out another cry, her pussy clenching around you again.

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, your voice rough, your hips stuttering. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

She nods frantically, her hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you deeper. “Yes, yes—fuck, cum in me—please—”

Her words are all it takes. You slam into her one last time, your cock pulsing as you spill your hot cum inside her, your own orgasm crashing over you like a wave. She lets out a soft moan, her body still trembling, her pussy milking every last drop out of you.

You collapse on top of her, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you close, her face buried in your neck.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice shaky, her body still trembling. “That was… fuck.”

You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah. It was.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “You’re gonna have to buy new sheets.”

You glance down at the mess beneath you—the soaked sheets, the puddle of her cum, the way her body is still twitching with aftershocks—and you can’t help but grin. “Worth it.”

She giggles, her cheeks flushing, and she buries her face in your chest. “You’re such a asshole.”

“But you love me,” you tease, your fingers brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

She looks up at you, her eyes soft, her lips curving into a smile. “Yeah. I do.”

You kiss her, slow and deep, your body still tangled with hers. Her skin is damp, her breath still unsteady, and she’s curled up against you like she never wants to move again. And fuck—you were about to go again, your cock still achingly hard, pressing against her thigh, ready to slide right back inside her. But then—

The front door opens.

Shit.

Every muscle in your body locks up, and you feel Karina freeze against you, her breath catching in her throat. The sound of footsteps echoes down the hall—your parents. You can tell from the weight of their steps, the familiarity of it.

You were supposed to have the whole damn weekend. Why the fuck are they back?

Karina grabs your arm, eyes wide with panic. “Oh my god,” she whispers, voice barely audible. “What do we do?”

You don’t know. Your brain is still struggling to shift gears, still stuck on the feeling of her wet, trembling body under you. But there’s no time to think, no time to even process what’s happening.

Your eyes dart around the room, searching for somewhere—anywhere—for her to hide. Under the bed? No way, there’s barely any space. Closet? Not a option—too full of shit.

Fuck.

You hear them getting closer, the sound of their voices, their footsteps nearing your door. There’s no time.

“Stay in bed,” you hiss, grabbing the blankets and yanking them over her, covering her completely. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound.”

Karina barely has time to nod before you’re scrambling out of bed, snatching up your underwear and pulling them on with the kind of frantic desperation you never thought you’d experience. Your cock is still half-hard, sticky with Karina’s arousal, but you ignore it, yanking your pants up just as the doorknob rattles.

Locked.

Thank fuck.

You take a deep breath, running a hand through your messy hair, trying to look even remotely normal before reaching for the lock. Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.

You turn the knob, pulling the door open just enough to see them standing there.

Your mom frowns slightly. “Why was the door locked?”

Your dad crosses his arms, eyeing you suspiciously. “And why do you look like you just ran a marathon?”

Shit. Think. Think.

You force a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Uh—just, uh, napping. Didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Your mom sighs. “Well, sorry to wake you, but we had to come back early.”

Your stomach twists. “Why?”

Your dad shakes his head. “Long story. We’ll tell you in the kitchen. Come on.”

You nod quickly, trying to seem casual. “Yeah—yeah, sure, just, uh, give me a sec.”

They turn, heading back down the hall, and you shut the door, locking it again immediately before turning back to the bed.

Karina peeks out from under the blankets, her big, worried eyes searching your face. She’s still breathing fast, her body still flushed from everything you’d been doing just minutes ago, but now all that heat is mixed with anxiety. The sound of your parents’ voices in the hall makes it worse.

“What the fuck do we do now?” she whispers.

“We wait,” you whisper back, crouching beside the bed. “Once they go to sleep, you can slip out quietly.”

She bites her lip, nodding slowly, but she doesn’t look convinced. “What if they don’t sleep for hours?”

“They will,” you reassure her, even though you’re not entirely sure yourself. “They look exhausted.”

She exhales sharply, still frustrated. “This night was supposed to be perfect.”

“I know,” you murmur, guilt creeping into your voice. You reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry, baby. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

She holds onto your fingers for a moment, her grip tight. Then, reluctantly, she nods. “You better.”

“I will,” you promise.

You give her one last look before forcing yourself to turn away, straightening your clothes and running a hand through your hair to make yourself look as normal as possible. Then, with one deep breath, you slip out of your room and head to the living room.

Your parents are already sitting down, looking exhausted, their bags by the door. Your mother glances up as you enter, and immediately, her eyes narrow.

“Why are there two cups in the sink?” she asks. “And why are there so many eaten snacks on the table?”

Fuck, you forgot to clean up. The couch is still a mess from when you and Karina were cuddling, empty snack wrappers scattered on the coffee table, two mugs sitting in the sink like a accusation.

Think. Think.

“I, uh—I had a friend over earlier,” you say quickly, trying to sound casual. “Just, you know, hanging out.”

Your dad rubs his face, sighing. “Who?”

You shrug. “Just a friend. We watched a movie, had some snacks. That’s it.”

Your mother doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she doesn’t push it—at least, not yet.

“Why’d you guys come back early?” you ask, desperate to change the subject.

Your dad exhales, looking annoyed. “The hotel had plumbing issues. Water started leaking in our bathroom. They couldn’t move us to another room because they were fully booked.”

Your mother shakes her head. “We figured it wasn’t worth dealing with all that for a weekend trip, so we decided to just drive back.”

Lucky fucking you.

You nod slowly, trying to act sympathetic while also praying that Karina doesn’t make a noise in the other room.

Your mom sighs, leaning back into the couch. “And honestly, I just want to shower and go to bed. This whole thing has been exhausting.”

Good. Sleep. That’s what you need.

But then—

She suddenly sniffs the air, her brows furrowing.

“What’s that smell?” she asks.

Your heart nearly stops.

“…What smell?” you ask, forcing your voice to stay steady.

My mom looks around, sniffing again. “It smells like perfume.”

Fuck. Karina.

Her scent is all over you. All over your sheets, your skin, probably the entire damn room. And your mom is picking up on it.

Your father frowns slightly. “Perfume?”

Your mom nods. “Yes, it’s faint, but it’s there. It doesn’t smell like anything I own.”

You scramble for a excuse. “Uh—maybe it’s my new deodorant or something?”

Your mom gives you a suspicious look but doesn’t argue. “Maybe,” she mutters.

You need to get out of here. Now.

“Anyway,” you say quickly, stretching your arms. “I’m gonna head back to my room. Long day. You guys should get some rest too.”

Your parents exchange glances, but they’re too tired to question you further.

As soon as you’re in the hallway, you move quickly, slipping back into your room and locking the door behind you.

Karina is still under the covers, staring at you with wide eyes.

“What happened?” she whispers.

You sigh, rubbing your face. “They almost smelled you.”

She blinks. Then, her lips twitch in amusement. “You mean my perfume?”

“Yes, your perfume,” you hiss. “Now we just need to wait for them to fall asleep, and then you can leave.”

She exhales softly, nodding. “Alright. But you owe me a better night than this.”

“I know,” you murmur.

You sit side by side, both of you still quiet, still listening for any sign of movement from the rest of the house. Karina is curled up close to you, her skin warm against yours, her breath slow but not entirely steady. Every now and then, her fingers twitch against your thigh, like she’s thinking about something…

“I wanna fuck again.”

You blink, turning to look at her, suspicious. “Karina—” But she’s already shifting, already climbing onto your lap, her bare skin pressing against you, her thighs straddling yours. She’s still completely naked, her tits right in front of your face, her pussy just barely grazing over your still-hard cock.

You inhale sharply, gripping her waist. “Babe. No.”

She leans in, brushing her lips over yours, teasing, playful. “Why not?”

“Because,” you murmur, barely restraining yourself. “It’s too risky.” She doesn’t care. She kisses you fully this time, her tongue flicking out, hot and wet and fucking intoxicating. Her hands slide over your chest, nails dragging lightly over your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“Still horny,” she breathes against your lips. “I need you again.”

You groan, trying to keep some semblance of self-control. “Karina, we—” She reaches down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around your cock through your pants.

And fuck—all logical thought leaves your brain.

She strokes you slowly, deliberately, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft but firm. “I know you’re horny too.”

She’s right. Fuck, she’s right. You’ve been hard this entire time, your body still aching for another release. And with her like this, naked, pressing against you, her lips grazing your jaw—it’s too much.

She gasps as you grab her suddenly, your hands firm on her waist as you lift her off your lap. You react quickly, shoving your pants and underwear down, freeing your cock. You move her to the bed, laying her on her side, pressing in close behind her. She doesn’t resist. She lets you move her, mold her, her breath coming out in soft little pants as she waits for you. You push her leg up slightly, opening her just enough. And then you slide inside.

The heat of her, the slick, tight grip of her pussy around you—it’s fucking bliss. She moans, her back arching slightly, her fingers curling into the sheets. “Fuck—” she gasps, her body shuddering at the stretch. You kiss her neck, your hand gripping the soft flesh of her waist, holding her steady as you push deeper, filling her completely.

She whimpers, pressing back against you. “God, you feel so good—” You start moving, slow at first, savoring every inch of her, feeling the way her body reacts to every thrust. Her pussy clenches around you, her breath coming in sharp little gasps, her back arching with every stroke.

She’s perfect like this—soft and warm in your arms, her body completely yours. Your hips snap forward, her ass grinds against you with every thrust, her soft thighs trembling as you hold her leg hooked over your arm. Your hands slide up her body, fingers digging into the meat of her tits, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp.

“Fuck—fuck—” she whines, her voice cracking as you hit that spot deep inside her. Her head tilts back against your shoulder, lips parted, breath hitching. “Don’t—don’t stop, please—”

You don’t. The wet slap of your hips against her ass fills the room, louder than you’d like, but there’s no hiding it now. Not with how her pussy grips you, hot and slick, fluttering every time you bottom out. Her tits spill through your fingers, nipples stiff and begging for attention, and you pinch one hard, twisting just enough to make her yelp.

She claps a hand over her mouth too late, the sound muffled but still sharp. Her eyes dart to the door, wide and panicked, but her body betrays her—hips rocking back to meet your thrusts, greedy, needy. “Quiet, baby,” you growl into her ear, your free hand sliding down to her clit, fingers rubbing rough circles. “You wanna get us caught?”

She shakes her head frantically, sweat-damp hair sticking to her forehead, but her pussy clenches around you anyway, like her body’s laughing at the idea of staying silent. Her thighs quiver, her toes curling into the sheets as you fuck her harder, deeper, your cock stretching her in ways that make her whimper.

“I can’t—I can’t—” she whines, voice breaking as you grind into her, your thumb pressing harder on her clit. “It’s too much—you’re too much—” You bite her shoulder, teeth sinking into soft skin, and she jerks against you, a choked moan escaping her throat. The bed creaks dangerously beneath you, the headboard tapping the wall in a rhythm that’s way too obvious. But stopping isn’t a option—not when she’s this wet, this desperate, her juices dripping down your cock, soaking the sheets beneath her.

Her hand claws at your thigh, nails biting into your skin as you drive into her. “Slower—please—” she begs, but her hips keep rolling, grinding back against you like she’s chasing her own ruin.

“You don’t mean that,” you mutter, gripping her hip tighter, angling your thrusts to hit that spongy spot inside her. She chokes on a sob, her back arching, tits heaving as her breath comes in ragged gasps.

The room smells like sex—sweat, her perfume, the musk of her arousal clinging to every surface. Her legs tremble, her thighs slick where they press against yours, and you can feel her teetering on the edge, that tight coil in her gut winding tighter with every snap of your hips.

“Gonna cum?” you taunt, your voice low, rough. Your fingers leave her clit, sliding down to grip her thigh instead, spreading her wider. “Go ahead. Cum for me.”

She shakes her head, tears pooling in her eyes from the effort of holding back. “No—no—I can’t—”

But her body doesn’t care. Her thighs clamp around your hips as you thrust into her, her nails digging into your shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Her head is thrown back, lips parted in silent gasps, her tits bouncing with every snap of your hips. You lean down, mouth latching onto her neck, sucking bruises into her skin while your fingers find her clit again—swollen, hypersensitive, begging for more.

“Fuck,” she hisses, her hips jerking off the bed, her pussy clenching around you like a vise. “Too much—too much—”

You don’t let up. Her body’s trembling, her thighs slick with sweat and her own arousal, and the wet slap of your skin against hers is loud enough to wake the dead. She’s close—so fucking close—her breath hitching every time your cock drags over that spot inside her.

That’s when the knock comes.

Three sharp raps on the door.

Karina freezes beneath you, her eyes snapping open, wide and panicked. You stop mid-thrust, your cock buried deep, both of you holding your breath.

“Everything okay in there?” your mom calls through the door. “I heard… noises.”

Karina’s hand flies to her mouth, her chest heaving. You swallow hard, forcing your voice steady. “Noises?”

“Yeah. Like… thumping.”

You glance down at Karina. Her face is flushed, her lips bitten raw, her tits glistening with sweat. The bed creaks as you shift slightly, and she clenches around you, her thighs shaking.

“Uh—probably the neighbor’s cat,” you say, voice strained. “They got a new one. Thing’s a maniac.”

Silence. Then: “…The cat?”

“Yep.” You grit your teeth as Karina’s hips twitch, her pussy fluttering around you. “Big fucker. Keeps jumping on the roof.”

Another pause. Karina’s fingers dig into your biceps, her body trembling with the effort of staying still.

“…Alright,” your mom says finally. “Well, keep it down. We’re trying to sleep.”

“Sure,” you choke out.

Her footsteps fade down the hall.

Karina lets out a shaky breath, her head dropping back against the pillow. “Oh my God—”

You don’t give her time to recover. You start moving again, slow, deep thrusts that make her eyes roll back. “Should’ve stayed quiet, baby,” you murmur, thumb circling her clit.

She whimpers, her hand flying back to her mouth as her hips buck. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum—”

“Then cum,” you growl, fucking her harder, the bedframe knocking against the wall again. “Let me feel it.”

She shakes her head frantically, tears spilling over as she grabs a pillow, shoving it against her face. Her scream is muffled, her body bowing off the bed as her orgasm tears through her. Her pussy gushes, soaking the sheets beneath her, her thighs trembling violently as she squirts again, the wetness dripping down your balls.

“Fuck,” you groan, your thrusts turning erratic. Her walls keep milking you, spasming relentlessly, and you’re so close—

You pull out abruptly, earning a broken whine from Karina. She reaches for you, but you’re already climbing over her, your cock in your fist, stroking hard and fast.

“Look at me,” you rasp.

Her eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure, her lips parted. You fist your cock, your release building.

“Cum on me,” she whispers, hands sliding up to squeeze her own tits, presenting them to you.

That’s all it takes. You groan, your hips jerking as you spill over her, stripes of white cum painting her skin. She gasps, her back arching, her fingers brushing through the mess, smearing it over her nipples.

“Fuck,” she breathes, staring up at you.

You collapse beside her, chest heaving, your cock still twitching in your hand. Without a word, you guide the tip to her lips. She opens her mouth obediently, tongue swirling around the head, cleaning you off with soft, lazy sucks.

“Good girl,” you murmur, running your fingers through her hair.

She hums around you, her eyes fluttering shut, her body still trembling with aftershocks. The room reeks of sex—sweat, cum, the sharp tang of her arousal soaked into the sheets. The headboard’s left a dent in the wall, and the pillow Karina bit into has a tear in the fabric.

Footsteps pass by the door again, slower this time.

Karina freezes, your cock slipping from her lips. “Shit—”

You clamp a hand over her mouth, listening. The footsteps pause. Then continue.

She lets out a shaky breath when they fade, her body slumping against yours. “We’re gonna die,” she whispers.

You snort, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Worth it.”

She swats your chest but doesn’t argue. Outside, the faint sound of the TV clicks on—your parents, still awake.

Karina’s eyes drift shut, her breathing slowing. You stare at the ceiling, the adrenaline fading, leaving you exhausted.

—

The rest of the night passes in a strange, almost frustrating silence. The rush, the thrill, the desperate need you and Karina had for each other has finally burned itself out, leaving only the quiet aftermath.

She’s curled up against you, completely spent, her hair still damp from sweat, her skin warm under the sheets. You can feel her steady breathing, her chest rising and falling slowly. Every now and then, her fingers twitch against your stomach, absentmindedly tracing patterns, but she doesn’t say much. Then—

“I’m hungry,” she murmurs, her voice soft and a little sleepy.

You sigh, stretching slightly. “Yeah. Me too.”

Reluctantly, you pull away from her warmth, sitting up and running a hand through your messy hair. You grab your underwear and pants from the floor, pulling them on before glancing back at her.

She’s still sprawled out, her bare legs tangled in the sheets, looking way too fucking comfortable for someone who’s about to sneak out of a house she isn’t supposed to be in.

“Come on,” you tell her. “Let’s eat.”

She groans, dragging herself up from the bed and pulling on her oversized sweatshirt again before following you out.

The house is quiet. No sign of your parents. But you both still move cautiously, sticking to the shadows like fugitives as you make your way to the kitchen.

You make her a simple sandwich—just ham, cheese, and a little mayo—and one for yourself, placing them on plates. She takes hers with a sleepy smile, murmuring a quiet “Thanks, baby” before taking a bite.

That’s when you see it.

Her phone. Lying between the couch cushions, right where she must’ve left it earlier in the night.

Shit. If your parents had found it… You grab it quickly, heading back to the kitchen. “Hey, you forgot this.”

Karina looks up, mid-bite, eyes widening slightly before she giggles. “Oops.”

She takes the phone, grinning sheepishly. “Guess I was too distracted.”

You snort, sitting down across from her. “Yeah, no shit.”

You eat in silence after that, the only sound in the kitchen being the occasional crunch of bread, the distant ticking of the kitchen clock. You find yourself watching her, completely unable to look away.

She’s beautiful. Even in this dim light, even in just her sweatshirt, her hair messy from sex, her skin still glowing slightly—she’s fucking beautiful.

And you love her.

It hits you suddenly, just how much. You’d risk everything for her. You already are.

When you finish eating, you both head back to your room. But the second you step inside, your eyes land on the mess.

The bed.

Completely fucking soaked.

Karina follows your gaze, and you see the exact moment she realizes. Her entire face turns red, her eyes widening in horror. “…Oh my god,” she whispers.

You glance at her, biting back a smirk. “You really lost it, huh?”

She buries her face in her hands. “Stop,” she groans. “This is so embarrassing.”

You chuckle, walking over and poking at the wet patch. “Damn, babe. You ruined my fucking bed.”

She whines, flopping onto the only dry part of the mattress, hiding her face. “I can’t believe I did that.”

You sit beside her, brushing her hair back. “Hey. It’s hot as fuck.”

She peeks at you through her fingers. “Really?”

“Really.” You grin. “But also, how the hell am I supposed to clean this?”

She groans again, covering her face. “I don’t know! Just—flip the mattress or something!” You laugh quietly, kissing the top of her head.

Yeah, the bed is ruined. The room is a disaster. And tomorrow, you’ll have to explain why your sheets are in the wash at 7 a.m.

But now she's here. Warm. Yours.

And that's all that matters.

The two of you spend some time in the room, listening carefully to the occasional sounds of your parents moving around the bedroom. But soon, the house falls silent.

Finally.

Karina grabs her phone, ordering a Uber. She sighs, stretching before standing up. “I should go before I push my luck.” You nod, but you don’t like it. You don’t want her to go.

Minutes later, a single car horn sounds from outside.

You both freeze for a second.

“Shit,” she hisses. “That was loud.”

You move quickly, peeking through the window. The car is there, waiting. No lights turning on in your parents’ room. Yet.

“Come on,” you whisper, grabbing her hand. She follows you, both of you moving quickly and quietly. You lead her to the front door, pausing just before opening it.

You look at her.

She looks at you.

And then you kiss her.

It’s slow but deep, your hands cupping her face, her fingers curling into your shirt. It’s a goodbye kiss, but also a promise. When you finally pull away, she smiles at you, her eyes soft.

“I love you.”

You squeeze her hand. “I love you too.”

Then, she slips outside, hurrying to the waiting car.

And you? You lock the door, take a deep breath, and head back to your ruined bed, already counting down the days until you can have her in it again.

—

The routine stays the same. Sneaking around, waiting for the perfect window when neither of your parents are home, stealing moments together whenever you can. It’s frustrating, but you make it work. You always do.

Today, though, you’re breaking the cycle—at least a little.

You’re sitting in a park, away from the crowded spots, where the trees give you enough shade to keep cool. A picnic blanket is spread out beneath you, snacks and drinks laid out, nothing fancy, but enough to make this feel special. Because today isn’t just any day.

It’s Karina’s birthday.

And fuck, she looks beautiful.

She’s wearing a dress—white, soft fabric, the kind that clings just enough to show off her curves but flows in all the right places. It’s got thin straps that sit delicately on her shoulders, leaving her collarbones and the smooth expanse of her neck exposed, just begging to be kissed. The bodice hugs her waist, showing off her perfect figure, before flaring out slightly around her thighs. When the breeze picks up, the hem flutters, teasing glimpses of her legs, her skin glowing in the sunlight. Her hair is loose today, falling over her shoulders in soft waves, and her makeup is minimal, just enough to make her features pop—though, if you’re being honest, she doesn’t need it. Her lips are a soft shade of pink, and her eyes sparkle every time she looks at you.

She looks like something out of a fucking dream.

She catches you staring and smirks, tilting her head slightly. “What?”

You shake your head, grinning. “You’re just… so fucking pretty.”

She giggles, reaching for a strawberry from the small container between you. “You’re just saying that because it’s my birthday.”

“I say it every day,” you point out, watching as she bites into the fruit, her lips glistening slightly from the juice.

She hums in amusement, chewing slowly before swallowing. “Still. I like hearing it.”

You lean in, brushing your fingers over her knee. “Then I’ll keep saying it.”

She smiles, soft and sweet, before offering you a strawberry. You take a bite straight from her fingers, and she laughs, wiping the juice from your lip with her thumb.

The moment is simple, quiet, but it’s perfect. You wish things didn’t have to be so secret. That you could celebrate her properly, with her family, with your family, without sneaking around like criminals. But for now, this is enough. Just the two of you, in your own little world.

The day is perfect by the way. The kind of day that makes you forget all the bullshit you and Karina have to deal with. Right now, none of that matters.

You’ve got your arms wrapped around her, her back pressed against your chest as you sit together on the picnic blanket. She’s warm, soft, fitting against you in that way that feels too natural, too right. The view of the park is nice—the trees swaying gently in the breeze, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, the few scattered people going about their day—but honestly, you’re barely paying attention. She smells so fucking good, something sweet and floral, and when she shifts slightly, adjusting her position against you, the movement sends a pleasant little shiver through your body.

You talk about everything—random memories, stupid jokes, the weird couple you saw earlier arguing about how to set up a folding chair. Karina laughs softly, her voice light, relaxed. Then—

“Wanna know a secret?” she asks, her tone playful.

You raise a brow, intrigued. “Always.”

She leans in slightly, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “I’m not wearing any panties.” Your entire body tenses.

You blink. “What?”

She pulls back, biting her lip, eyes full of mischief. “I thought it’d be fun.”

You stare at her, your brain struggling to process the sudden shift in conversation. You look down at her dress, that soft, flowy fabric, and suddenly, you can’t stop thinking about what’s underneath. Or rather, what isn’t underneath.

“That’s—” You clear your throat, already feeling your blood rushing south. “That’s really fucking hot.”

She grins, clearly pleased with herself. “I was thinking…” She trails a finger down your arm, slow and teasing. “I’ve always been curious about having sex in a public place.”

You exhale sharply, your grip on her tightening. “You’re seriously the naughtiest person I know.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Your lips crash into hers before you even realize what you’re doing. The kiss is deep, heated, your hand sliding down her side, gripping her thigh, already desperate to feel more. The thought of fucking her out here, with people nearby, the risk, the thrill—it’s got your heart pounding.

You pull back, breathless, and grab her hand. “Come on.” She follows eagerly, a knowing smile playing on her lips as you walk together, looking for somewhere safe, somewhere hidden. The park isn’t crowded today, which works in your favor. But then—

As you round a path leading toward a quieter area, you see it—a gathering of people. Not just any people—middle-aged, dressed a little too nicely for a casual park visit.

Some kind of event is going on. You squint, trying to figure it out. A community book club? A charity fundraiser? Maybe one of those wine-tasting things that always seem to attract people in their 40s and 50s.

None of it really matters. Because the second Karina sees them, she freezes. And then, without a word, she grabs your wrist and pulls you behind the nearest tree.

Your back presses against the bark, Karina pressed close against you, her breathing suddenly unsteady. “What the hell?” you whisper. “What’s wrong?” She swallows hard, peeking around the tree again before turning back to you, eyes wide.

“My parents,” she says in a hushed voice. “They’re here.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

You peek out, scanning the crowd, and sure enough—there they are. Standing together, talking to some other couple, looking completely at home in this kind of setting.

What the fuck are they doing here?

Before you can even fully process it, your own eyes catch on something else. Your parents. Right fucking there.

You jerk back behind the tree, your mind reeling. “Holy shit.”

Karina stares at you. “What?”

“My parents are here too.”

Her mouth falls open slightly. “No way.”

“Yes way,” you hiss. “What the fuck is happening? They didn’t even mention going out today!”

Karina peeks out again, her brow furrowed. “Is this some weird, like… adult social event thing?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care,” you whisper. “We need to get back to the picnic before they see us.”

But Karina doesn’t move.

Instead, she grabs your hand, her grip firm.

“No.”

You blink. “No?”

She leans in, pressing against you, her lips just inches from yours. “I still want you to fuck me.”

Your breath catches. “Are you insane?”

She smiles, her fingers trailing down your arm, slow, teasing. “If we’re quick, no one will see us.”

You should say no. You should. This is reckless. Stupid. Borderline suicidal. But fuck—

The risk, the danger, the fact that your parents are right there—it’s so fucking hot.

You grab her wrist, eyes burning into hers. “Come on.”

She grins, biting her lip as you lead her away, toward a hidden corner, where you can stay out of sight while still watching the event from a safe distance.

Your heart is racing. And this is about to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

The corner you lead Karina to is tucked away, hidden between thick bushes and a couple of trees with low-hanging branches. It’s just far enough from the event that no one will notice you, but not so far that the risk is completely gone. You can still hear the low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from the gathering of middle-aged people, your parents somewhere in that crowd.

But none of that matters right now. Right now, it’s just you and Karina, standing in the shade, adrenaline buzzing through your veins. The air is warm, slightly humid, carrying the faint scent of grass and flowers, but all you can focus on is her—on the way she’s looking at you, eyes dark with anticipation, her lips parted slightly.

You don’t waste any time.

Your mouth crashes onto hers, swallowing her little gasp as you push her up against the rough bark of a tree. She melts into you instantly, her hands grabbing at your shoulders, pulling you closer. The kiss is messy, all tongue and heat, your need for each other too overwhelming to be anything but desperate.

Your hands move on instinct, sliding down her sides, feeling the soft curve of her waist before settling on her ass. You squeeze hard, fingers digging into the plump flesh through the thin fabric of her dress.

She moans against your lips, pressing her body against yours.

“You’re so fucking bad,” you murmur against her mouth.

She giggles breathlessly, rolling her hips against you. “You love it.”

You growl softly, giving her ass another firm squeeze before your hands move to your belt.

No more waiting.

You shove your pants down just enough to free your cock, already hard, throbbing with the need to be inside her. She watches you, biting her lip, her breath coming faster.

Then, without breaking eye contact, you grab the hem of her dress and lift it.

No panties. Just like she said.

You curse under your breath, gripping her hip as you press your cock against her bare skin, dragging it along her slick folds from behind.

She shudders, her fingers digging into the bark of the tree. “Oh my god—”

You smirk, rubbing your length against her, teasing her, making her squirm. “This what you wanted?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Please—fuck, we have to be quick—”

She’s right. You both know you don’t have time for teasing.

So you don’t waste another second.

You grab her hips, positioning yourself behind her, and then you push inside.

She gasps, her whole body tensing as you stretch her open, filling her in one deep, smooth thrust.

“Fuck,” you groan, your forehead pressing against her shoulder. She’s so fucking tight, her pussy gripping you perfectly, like she was made for this.

Karina bites down on her lip, stifling a moan. “God—you’re so deep—”

You grip her hips tighter, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in.

She lets out a muffled cry, her body jerking forward slightly from the force of it.

You wrap a arm around her waist, holding her steady, setting a fast, rough pace. You don’t have time to take it slow—not here, not with the risk of being caught. Every thrust drives her harder against the tree, her body rocking with each movement.

She’s struggling to keep quiet, her moans coming out in soft, broken whimpers, her hands gripping the bark like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“You love this, don’t you?” you whisper in her ear. “Getting fucked right out in the open, where anyone could see?”

She whimpers, her pussy tightening around you. “Y-yes—fuck—”

Your hand moves from her waist to her thigh, gripping, lifting her leg slightly to get even deeper.

She gasps sharply, her back arching, her head tilting back onto your shoulder.

“Baby—oh my god—”

You keep fucking her, each thrust pushing her up against the rough bark of the tree, her body jerking slightly with the force of it. She’s soaked, dripping down your cock, her walls clenching around you like she’s trying to pull you in deeper. The heat between you is overwhelming, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex.

Your hands move from her hips, sliding up her stomach, feeling the curve of her waist before reaching her tits. You squeeze them through the thin fabric of her dress, fingers finding her hard nipples, rolling them between your fingertips.

She gasps, arching into your touch.

“Fuck, baby—” Her voice is breathy, almost a whisper, but you can hear the excitement, the thrill laced in every syllable.

You lean in, lips brushing against her neck, kissing, sucking lightly. She shivers, her whole body reacting to the sensation.

She giggles, nervous and turned on at the same time. “This is so wrong,” she breathes. “So dangerous.”

You smirk against her skin, nipping lightly at her shoulder. “Maybe that’s why we love it so much.”

She moans softly, pressing back against you, her ass grinding into your hips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Maybe sneaking around for so long fucked us up a little. Maybe we got a kink for this kinda thing.”

She whimpers at that, her pussy tightening around you. “Mmm—maybe we did.”

You pick up the pace, snapping your hips against her, pushing her harder into the tree. The wet sound of your bodies moving together is obscene, mixing with the distant voices of people at the event just beyond your little hiding spot.

Karina gasps, her fingers digging into the bark. “Oh my god—”

Her thighs tremble, her breath coming in short, quick pants.

You grip her hips tighter, fingers digging into her soft flesh as you start fucking her harder, faster. Your pace turns frantic, desperate, every thrust slamming deep into her dripping pussy, making her body jolt with the force of it. She’s so fucking wet, each stroke making a filthy, slick sound that only adds to the raw intensity of what you’re doing.

Karina is losing it.

Her moans grow louder, high-pitched and breathless, her hands clawing at the rough bark of the tree for some kind of stability. She’s completely at your mercy, taking every thrust, her legs shaking, her body surrendering to the pleasure.

“Fuck—baby—” Her voice is trembling, barely coherent.

You grit your teeth, leaning over her, pressing your lips to her ear. “Shh,” you murmur. “Not so loud.”

“I can’t,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “I—I can’t be quiet—”

That makes something snap inside you.

The fact that she knows she needs to be quiet, wants to be quiet—but she can’t. She’s so lost in it, so overwhelmed by pleasure, that controlling herself isn’t even a option.

And that? That drives you fucking crazy.

You slam into her harder, your cock buried deep inside her, hitting her exactly where she needs. Her back arches, her fingers tightening around the tree, another sharp moan slipping past her lips.

She gasps suddenly, her whole body trembling. “I’m—I’m close—”

You groan, feeling your own release creeping up on you. “Me too.”

She tilts her head, turning just enough to find your lips. “Cum with me,” she begs, her voice soft, desperate.

That’s all you need.

You kiss her, swallowing her moans, your tongues tangling as you fuck her through the last stretch of pleasure. The tension in your body builds and builds, the heat in your gut tightening until it finally—

“Fuck—”

Karina suddenly stiffens, her pussy clamping down around you as she cums, her body wracked with shudders.

But she screams.

Your hand flies up, clamping over her mouth just in time, muffling the tail end of that scream before it can carry too far. The voices nearby pause—someone laughs, someone else mutters something—and your heart’s pounding in your chest, adrenaline spiking. Her cries are still vibrating against your palm, hot and wet, her breath heaving as her orgasm wrecks her, her pussy pulsing around you, soaking you even more. She’s shaking so bad you have to hold her up, your arm wrapping around her waist to keep her from collapsing.

And that—her muffled screams, the way she’s clenching so fucking tight, the way her whole body’s convulsing against you—it’s too much. It shoves you right over the edge.

Pleasure hits you like a goddamn truck, raw and blinding, crashing through every nerve in your body. Your cock twitches hard, buried deep inside her, and you lose it. You cum—hot, thick, and messy—spilling into her with these sharp, uncontrollable pulses. The first spurt’s so intense it feels like your soul’s leaving your body, your vision blurring at the edges, your knees buckling as you pump her full. You can feel it—every rope of cum flooding her, stuffing her pussy to the brim, the heat of it mixing with hers, slick and overwhelming.

“Fuck—so good—too fucking good—” you growl through gritted teeth, still thrusting shallow and sloppy as you ride it out, each pulse hitting you like a shockwave. The risk of it—your parents just beyond the trees, probably sipping drinks and chatting, no clue their son’s unloading inside Karina right now—it’s like lighter fluid on the fire, making every sensation tem times sharper, tem times dirtier. Your hands dig into her hips, bruising, like letting go means you’ll both fall apart.

You stay there for a minute, panting hard, chests heaving, your cock still twitching inside her as the last of it leaks out. She’s trembling under you, little aftershocks making her pussy flutter around you, milking you dry. Finally, you pull out slow, and she lets out this shaky, wrecked exhale, her legs wobbling as she straightens up, leaning heavy against the tree for support.

You step back just enough, hands sliding down to grab her ass cheeks, spreading them wide. And fuck—there it is. Your cum’s already leaking out of her, thick and white, oozing from her swollen, fucked-out pussy. It drips slow down the inside of her thigh, glistening in the faint sunlight filtering through the branches. Her entrance is still pulsing, pushing out more, and it’s pooling there, sticky, hot, and dangerously obscene.

She gasps, twisting her head back to look at you, eyes wide and dazed. “Jesus fuck, baby—you came so fucking much.” Her voice is hoarse, awed, like she can’t believe how full she is. There’s a little smirk tugging at her lips, though, this filthy pride mixing with the shock.

You grin, smug and wrecked, squeezing her ass playfully, smearing some of the mess across her skin with your fingers. “Yeah, well—you fucking earned it, didn’t you?” Your voice is low, still rough from the high.

You tuck yourself back into your pants, heart still pounding, body still buzzing.

That? That was fucking insane.

And you loved it.

You grab Karina’s hand, your fingers lacing together as you sneak back toward your picnic spot where she can wipe her thighs with some disposable tissues, hearts still pounding, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins. Every step feels like a risk, every movement sharp and alert, your senses heightened from what you just did.

But no one notices.

No one even looks in your direction.

The people at the event are still deep in their conversations, sipping their overpriced wine or whatever the hell they’re doing. Your parents—both sets—are still in the crowd, oblivious, completely unaware that just moments ago, their kids were fucking like animals just a few feet away.

It’s almost ridiculous.

You and Karina glance at each other, trying to keep straight faces, but it’s useless.

The moment you reach your picnic blanket, you both collapse onto it, covering your mouths to muffle your laughter.

“Holy shit,” Karina whispers, her body shaking from the effort of holding it in. “We actually did that.”

You exhale sharply, leaning back on your hands, still catching your breath. “That was fucking insane.”

She looks at you, eyes bright with excitement. “And so hot.”

You groan, running a hand through your hair. “Don’t start. I’m this close to dragging you behind another tree.”

She giggles, shifting closer, resting her head against your shoulder. Her body is still warm, still humming with the aftermath of what you just did. You can feel it. The connection between you—stronger than ever.

She exhales slowly, tilting her head up to look at you. “I still feel you inside me.”

You turn to look at her, and she’s smirking, that smug, satisfied look that drives you crazy.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking down to her thighs, her soft, bare skin still flushed from the way you had her bent over, taking you deep. And now—now she’s sitting here, looking perfect and innocent in that little white dress, while your cum is still leaking out of her.

You shift, adjusting your position, because fuck if that doesn’t make you hard again.

Karina grins, obviously noticing, and nudges you playfully. “Behave.”

You scoff. “Says the one who just dragged me into public sex.”

She shrugs, resting her hand on your thigh. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

You glance around quickly, making sure no one is paying attention before leaning in, brushing your lips against her ear. “Because I love it.”

She shivers, biting her lip, her fingers curling against your leg.

And just like that—you both know this isn’t over.

—

The last few months have been a grind.

Between college, your part-time job, and the constant stress of keeping your relationship a secret, you and Karina have barely had any time together. It’s frustrating as hell, sneaking around, finding small pockets of time where you can be alone, only to have them cut short by obligations, responsibilities, or the constant fear of getting caught.

And it’s been weeks since you last fucked.

So when your phone buzzes while you’re chilling at your friend’s place, and you see Karina’s name on the screen, you don’t hesitate to answer.

“Hey, baby,” you say, already feeling a smile tug at your lips.

Her voice comes through the speaker, light and teasing. “Miss me?”

You chuckle. “Always.”

“Mmm, good answer.” There’s a playful lilt to her tone, something just under the surface, something that instantly makes your body react. “Do you remember what I told you a couple of weeks ago?”

You pause, trying to think. “Uh…”

She sighs dramatically. “You forgot?”

You scramble, running through past conversations in your head, but before you can figure it out, she gives you the answer herself.

“My parents,” she says slowly, like she’s guiding a clueless student. “Are at a friend’s wedding. Out of town. For the whole night.”

You did forget. She did mention it, but between work and school, it completely slipped your mind. And now—

Now she’s alone.

At home.

Waiting for you.

The grin that spreads across your face is instant.

“You serious?” you ask, already standing up from the couch.

“Dead serious,” she purrs. “And I really don’t want to spend the night alone.”

You’re already grabbing your keys, your heart pounding. “I’m on my way.”

She giggles. “I’ll be waiting.”

You hang up and turn to your friends, who have been watching you with knowing looks.

“I gotta go,” you announce, already heading for the door.

One of them smirks. “Karina?”

“Karina.”

They all nod in understanding. “Go get your girl, man.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You practically run out the door, jumping into your car, setting off toward the one place you want to be more than anywhere else. Tonight, Karina is yours. And nothing is going to stop you from getting to her.

—

You pull up to Karina’s house, your heart already pounding, excitement buzzing in your veins. It’s been way too fucking long since you had her all to yourself—no parents, no time limits, no need to rush. Just you and her, a whole night with nothing standing in your way.

You practically jump out of the car, hurrying up to the front door. You ring the doorbell.

And wait.

Nothing.

You frown, shifting on your feet. Maybe she’s in the bathroom? Or listening to music? You ring again. Then again, a little impatient now.

Still nothing.

Your excitement dims slightly, replaced by curiosity. You check your phone—no messages. Weird.

You sigh, already knowing what you’re about to do.

You step around the side of the house, toward the window of her room, the same one you’ve climbed through way too many times before. You know it’s never locked—she always forgets to latch it.

Like always, it slides open easily. You climb inside, landing silently in the familiar space. The soft scent of her perfume lingers in the air, her bed slightly messy, the desk covered in scattered notebooks.

But she’s not here.

You frown, stepping out into the hallway. The house is quiet.

Then, you hear the sound of a door closing.

You follow the noise, stepping into the living room—

And there she is.

Standing in front of the now-closed front door, looking confused for a split second before she turns around—

And screams.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

She practically jumps out of her skin, stumbling back against the door, her hand flying to her chest.

You freeze, eyes wide. “Shit—”

She stares at you, eyes blown wide, breathing hard. “What the fuck are you doing in here?!”

You raise your hands in surrender, trying not to laugh at her reaction. “Babe, relax—I rang the bell like five times, you didn’t answer!”

She still looks completely shaken, her chest rising and falling quickly. “So you just broke in?!”

“I climbed in,” you correct. “Like I always do.”

She groans, covering her face. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

You step closer, gently pulling her hands away from her face. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

She pouts against your mouth. “You’re a idiot.”

You smirk, kissing her again, this time deeper, letting your hands slide down to her waist. “Yeah, but you love me.”

She sighs dramatically but melts into you, her arms looping around your neck.

Now that you’re close, you really take her in—her oversized shirt barely covering anything, her bare legs smooth and tempting, her skin still warm from the scare you gave her.

“Do your parents know you’ve been wearing those short clothes around boys?”

“Ugh, stop acting like a pervert,” she says, patting your chest lightly.

“When do they get back?” you ask, trailing your fingers along her hips.

She hums, pretending to think. “Tomorrow morning.”

Your smirk grows. “That’s plenty of time.”

Her breath catches slightly, her hands gripping your arms. “You better not waste it.”

Oh, you won’t.

The moment those words leave her mouth, you crash your lips against hers, pulling her into a messy, desperate kiss.

It’s been weeks since you properly made out, and now, all of that pent-up frustration, all of that longing, comes exploding out at once. Your mouths move together frantically, your tongues meeting, your hands gripping her body like you’re scared she’ll disappear if you let go.

You’re stumbling backward, barely aware of where you’re going, your focus completely consumed by her. Then—

You hit the couch.

You fall onto it, and Karina immediately climbs onto your lap, straddling you, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of your legs. Between kisses, she gasps, “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

You groan, tilting your head, kissing along her jaw, down to her neck. “Missed you too, baby. So fucking much.”

Your hands slide down her thighs, gripping, squeezing, mapping out the smooth curves of her legs. And then you realize.

She’s not wearing anything under that oversized shirt.

Your fingers dig into her thighs, your cock twitching in your pants. “Jesus, Karina.”

She smirks against your lips, rocking her hips slightly. “You like?”

“Obviously.”

You slide your hands up, under her shirt, feeling the heat of her bare skin, the soft swell of her hips. She’s so fucking perfect, so yours.

Between kisses, her voice lowers, turning softer. “You know… college is almost over.”

You pause slightly, just for a second, before nodding. “Yeah.”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her fingers tracing your jaw. “We’ll be free soon.”

You exhale, running your hands up her back.

She continues, her voice filled with quiet excitement. “We can get decent jobs. Rent a apartment. Live together.”

Your chest tightens—not with fear, not with hesitation, but with something stronger. Hope.

No more sneaking around. No more hiding. Just you and her, in a home that’s yours.

“No one bothering us,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead against yours.

You smile, cupping her face. “No one stopping us.”

She grins. “We can have sex every day.”

You chuckle. “In every room in the apartment.”

She laughs softly, tilting her head as she kisses you again, but this time, her hands move—

To your pants.

Your breath catches as she unbuttons them, her fingers working quickly, like she’s been waiting for this. Your cock is already hard, straining against the fabric, aching to be freed.

She pulls it out.

You let out a sharp breath, your head falling back slightly as the cool air hits you, but that relief is short-lived because Karina—fuck—Karina is shifting, adjusting herself on your lap, lining herself up—

And then she sinks down.

Your whole body locks up.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hands flying to her hips as you feel the tight, hot grip of her pussy enveloping you completely.

Karina gasps, her nails digging into your shoulders as she takes you in, stretching around you, her breath stuttering.

She sighs, her eyes fluttering shut. “God, I missed this.”

You grip her hips tighter, barely holding yourself back. “Me too, baby.”

Then she starts moving.

She lifts herself slightly before dropping back down, making you both shudder at the sensation. She sets a slow rhythm at first, savoring the stretch, the fullness, the way you feel inside her.

Then, she picks up the pace.

Bouncing on your cock, her hands gripping your shoulders for support, her moans spilling freely into the space between you.

And fuck—this is what you’ve been missing.

Karina keeps bouncing on your cock, her movements growing more desperate, more eager, her slick heat squeezing around you with every roll of her hips. She’s fucking perfect like this—on top of you, taking you in deep, her body moving like she was made for this.

She reaches for the hem of her shirt, her breath shaky, her movements rushed. She pulls it over her head in one quick motion, tossing it aside, leaving her completely bare.

And fuck.

Her tits fall free, full and heavy, bouncing slightly with every movement.

Your mouth practically waters.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, hands sliding up her body, over her waist, up to cup those perfect tits.

Karina moans at your touch, her back arching slightly. “You like?” she teases breathlessly.

You don’t even answer. You just act.

Your hands slide back down, gripping her hips before trailing lower, fingers grazing over the roundness of her ass.

And then—

You give her a playful, light slap.

It’s not hard—not yet—but it’s exactly what she likes, exactly what gets her going.

She whimpers, her whole body reacting, her walls tightening around your cock for a second.

That reaction? Fucking addictive.

So you do it again.

Another quick, teasing slap against the soft flesh of her ass.

She moans louder this time, her pace stuttering before she catches herself, moving faster now, chasing more of it, wanting more.

Her ass is just too fucking good not to touch.

You alternate between squeezing and slapping, making her whine, making her needier.

And while your hands are busy making her ass turn that beautiful shade of pink, your mouth moves down.

To her tits.

You latch onto one of her nipples, sucking it deep into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the stiff peak.

She cries out, her hands flying to your head, her fingers tangling in your hair as she gasps, “Fuck—baby—”

Karina’s fucking gone now. Obliterated by the sheer, animalistic need pulsing through her veins. Her hips are rolling like they’ve got a mind of their own, chasing that insane stretch of your cock splitting her open, filling every inch of her dripping, greedy pussy. She’s soaked—drenched—and every time she slams down on you, the wet, obscene squelch of her juices mixes with the slap of skin on skin, bouncing off the walls of the dimly lit living room like a goddamn porno soundtrack.

Her voice cracks through the haze, soft but so fucking desperate it’s almost a sob. “Fuck—you’re huge—so goddamn thick—I can feel you tearing me apart and it’s so fucking good—”

Your hands clamp down on her hips, fingers digging into her soft, sweaty flesh hard enough to leave marks. You yank her down harder, faster, forcing her to take every inch of you, her slick walls gripping you like a vice.

“Yeah? You fucking love this dick, don’t you?” you growl, eyes locked on her—those perfect, heavy tits bouncing with every thrust, her skin flushed and glowing under the shitty lamp light, sweat beading down her neck. She’s a goddamn mess, and it’s driving you wild.

She nods like her life depends on it, pupils blown out, breath coming in ragged, needy little gasps. “Love it—fuck, I’m obsessed—can’t stop wanting you—”

Your hands roam her body like you own it, sliding down the slick curve of her waist, then lower, grabbing fistfuls of her plump ass. You squeeze hard, feeling the muscle flex under your grip, and then—fuck it—you bring your hand down with a sharp, stinging crack against that perfect, round cheek.

The sound cuts through the air like a gunshot, blending with her filthy moans, and holy shit, the way she reacts—a choked gasp, her back arching so hard her tits press against your chest, her pussy squeezing you so tight it almost hurts—it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire raging inside you.

So you do it again. Harder. Another brutal slap, watching her ass jiggle and turn pink under your hand. She shudders, a whimper spilling out of her, and then you switch it up—bring your hand crashing down on one of those massive, bouncing tits. The smack lands right across her nipple, and she yelps, half-surprise, half-ecstasy, her hips bucking wilder, grinding down on you like she’s trying to break you.

“Fuck—do it again,” she pants, voice trembling with lust, and you don’t even hesitate—another hard slap to her tit, watching it ripple, watching her lose her damn mind. She’s bouncing faster now, completely unglued, her nails clawing at your shoulders as she rides you into oblivion.

Then—out of nowhere—she laughs. Not some cute little giggle, but a full-on, breathless, dirty laugh, wild and reckless, her eyes flashing with this dangerous, untamed heat. “If my parents knew I was getting my brains fucked out on their precious TV couch,” she gasps, still slamming down on you like a goddamn jackhammer, “they’d fucking disown me—or maybe burn the damn thing.”

That hits you like a punch to the gut, a sick, twisted thrill twisting through your chest. The idea of it—their sweet little girl, their pride and joy, sprawled out right where they sit sipping coffee, getting her pussy wrecked by you, stuffed so full she’s shaking—it’s so wrong it’s perfect.

You laugh, low and rough. “Yeah, they’d lose their fucking minds.”

She giggles again, but it’s shaky, her whole body trembling as she teeters on the edge. “Guess I’m a real bad daughter, huh?”

You grab her jaw, rough but not cruel, tilting her face so she’s forced to look at you. “The fucking worst,” you rasp, voice thick with want.

Her lips twitch into a smirk, her eyes blazing into yours, dripping with heat and something softer, something that catches you off guard. “You still love me, though?”

No pause, no doubt. “Damn right I do.”

For a split second, time slows—her gaze softens, and you feel it, that raw, real thread tying you together beneath all the filth. But then her lips part, and her voice drops into this pleading, broken whimper—

“Then fucking make me cum, baby. Please.”

And that’s it. That’s the match that lights the dynamite.

You snap.

In one fluid move, you wrap your arms around her waist, flip her onto her back, and pin her to the couch like a goddamn animal. She gasps, legs hooking around your hips on instinct as you rear back and slam into her—hard, deep, ruthless. The cushions groan under the force, the whole damn room vibrating with the wet, obscene slap-slap-slap of your bodies colliding.

Karina screams, her hands scrabbling at your chest, nails raking red lines down your skin. “Oh fuck—yes—harder—” Her words dissolve into choked, gasping moans, her head thrashing side to side as you pound into her, relentless, unmerciful.

Her pussy’s a sopping mess, soaking your thighs, your cock, the couch—everything. The sounds are pornographic, loud and shameless, and you can’t get enough. You grip her hips so tight you can feel her bones, yanking her down to meet every brutal thrust, watching her tits bounce wildly, her body bending under you like she’s made for this.

She’s unraveling—fast. You can see it in the way her eyes roll back, the way her voice cracks into these frantic, babbling cries. “Baby—fuck—I’m gonna—oh my god—I can’t—”

You lean down, growl rough and low in her ear. “You’re gonna cum for me, huh? Gonna make a fucking mess all over me?”

She nods, frantic, clawing at the cushions like they’re her lifeline. “Yes—yes—fuck, please don’t stop—”

You don’t. You can’t. You’re too far gone, too caught up in the way she’s falling apart beneath you. You shift your angle just a hair, hitting that spot deep inside her that makes her whole body jerk, and she lets out this high, keening wail—

“There—right there—oh fuck—”

You feel it before she even says it—her pussy clamps down around you like a fucking trap, so tight it’s almost painful, and you lose it. You grab her thighs, shove them up higher, and start railing her so hard the couch skids a inch across the floor.

“Cum for me,” you snarl, voice raw and commanding. “Fucking soak me, baby—let it go.”

And she does.

Her orgasm hits like a goddamn explosion—her whole body seizes up, back arching off the couch, legs shaking so hard you have to hold them down. A scream rips out of her, loud and jagged, as her pussy pulses around you, gushing wet heat that spills down your cock, dripping onto the cushions. She’s thrashing, sobbing, completely fucking wrecked, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

That’s all it takes.

You bury yourself deep—one last brutal thrust—and blow. A guttural, primal groan tears from your throat as you cum, pumping thick, hot spurts inside her, filling her up until you can feel it leaking out around you. The pleasure’s blinding, searing through you like a wildfire, your whole body trembling as you ride it out, hips jerking with the aftershocks.

For a long, hazy minute, you’re both still—panting, sweaty, tangled together like a car crash. Her chest heaves, her eyes half-lidded and glassy, and you can feel her heartbeat thudding through her ribs where you’re pressed against her.

Then she laughs—weak, breathless, almost delirious. “...What the fuck was that?”

You chuckle, hoarse and wrecked, dropping your forehead to her shoulder. “That was us fucking ruining this couch.”

She snorts, running shaky fingers through your damp hair. “Yeah, well... worth it. You really made your bad girl cum her brains out.”

You pull back just enough to grin at her, smug as hell. “Told you I would.”

Then, suddenly, she shifts, standing on shaky feet. She looks down at you, eyes dark with something insatiable, and then she smirks.

“Come to my room.”

Your whole body tenses.

She doesn’t even wait for a response. She turns on her heel, walking toward the hallway, her naked form moving with a effortless, teasing sway of her hips.

Your brain barely processes the movement of you standing up, but before you follow her, you flip the wet couch cushions, just in case. Your heart is still pounding, your cock still hard despite having just cum, because fuck—this night isn’t over yet.

The moment you step into her room, you’re already yanking off your clothes, tossing them aside in a rush. Karina stands by the bed, watching you, waiting, her bare body bathed in the dim glow of her bedside lamp.

Her tits rise and fall with every breath, her nipples still flushed, her thighs still wet with the mess you made of her earlier. Her lips are slightly parted, her expression filled with anticipation, and you know she wants more.

You reach her in two strides, your hands instantly finding her waist as you pull her in for a deep, messy kiss. Your tongues collide, your hands roam, and she melts against you, completely surrendering to the way you’re guiding her, the way you need her.

Between kisses, her voice comes out breathy, teasing. “Think you can make me squirt again?”

You smirk, squeezing her cheek lightly, making her look directly into your eyes. “I’ll try,” you murmur, dragging your thumb across her lips before gripping her jaw. “But you’re gonna have to be a good girl for me.”

She shivers at that, her body reacting before her words even come out. “I will,” she breathes, nodding slightly.

You release her face, letting your hands slide down to her hips before giving her a little nudge. “Then get on all fours for me.”

That does it.

She whimpers, eyes fluttering shut for a second as a wave of heat washes over her. Then, without hesitation, she turns, climbing onto the bed, shifting into position.

And fuck, the sight of her like this—knees pressed into the mattress, arms braced against the sheets, her back arched so perfectly, her ass sticking out for you, her glistening pussy already exposed and waiting—makes your blood run hot.

You kneel behind her, your hands instantly moving to her hips, then lower, grabbing two handfuls of her perfect ass. You squeeze, hard, watching the way the flesh dimples under your grip, the way she trembles slightly at your touch.

“You love this, don’t you?” you murmur, sliding one hand down, letting your fingers tease along the wet heat between her thighs.

She gasps, shifting slightly, pushing back against your touch. “Yes,” she whispers, voice shaking. “I love being used like this by you.” Her eyes, glassy with pleasure, lock onto yours, wide and dark, pupils blown out. She’s already panting, already lost in it, her lips parted as soft little whimpers spill from her throat. “Please,” she murmurs, her hips shifting, desperate for more.

That’s all you need to hear. You shift closer, lining yourself up, your body pressed flush against hers. Your cock nudges her entrance, teasing her for just a second—letting the tip drag through her wetness, feeling the way her heat pulses around you. She twitches, a desperate little jerk of her hips, and her breath catches, stuttering in her chest like she’s about to lose it already.

Her head turns slightly, glassy eyes locking onto yours over her shoulder—wide, dark, and drowning in lust, her pupils so blown out there’s barely any color left. Her lips part, soft, needy whimpers spilling out, and she’s panting like she’s already halfway gone. “Please,” she whispers, hips shifting again, practically grinding herself against you. “Please, baby—fuck me.”

You don’t make her wait.

With one hard, smooth thrust, you sink into her, burying yourself deep. She moans, loud and broken, her hands fisting the sheets as her body jolts forward from the force. Her pussy’s so wet, so tight, gripping you like it’s trying to pull you in even deeper. You don’t hold back—grabbing her hips, you start fucking her hard, steady, every thrust slamming into her with a wet smack that fills the room.

You tighten your grip, yanking her back onto your cock with every thrust, watching the way her spine curves, the way her head drops forward like she’s surrendering completely. “So fucking good,” you growl, one hand sliding up her back, fingers tangling in her hair to pull her head back just enough to hear her better. Her moans turn into cries, high-pitched and frantic, her whole body shaking as you pound into her.

“Harder—please—fuck me harder,” she begs, voice cracking, and it’s like she’s handing you the reins to break her. You oblige—slamming into her so hard the bed creaks, the headboard thudding against the wall. Her ass claps against your hips, loud and filthy, and the wet heat of her pussy is dripping down her thighs, soaking everything, making a mess of you both.

Her pussy’s clenching harder now, gripping you like a fucking fist, and you can tell she’s teetering right on the edge, so close but not quite there yet. You lean forward, chest pressed to her sweaty back, one hand sliding around to grip her throat—not tight, just enough to feel her pulse hammering under your fingers. “Gonna make you cum so hard, babe,” you say. “Gonna make you ruin this fucking bed.”

She whimpers, a desperate little sob catching in her throat as she nods, frantic. “Yes—please—fuck, I’m so close—please don’t stop—”

You don’t. You’re too fucking lost in it, hips slamming into her with these loud, wet smacks that echo through the room. Her ass—still red and hot from those slaps—jiggles against you, her body rocking forward with every brutal thrust. She’s a mess, babbling nonsense—Oh god—baby—harder—her arms buckling as she collapses face-first into the mattress, ass still up, taking everything you’re giving her.

But fuck, you’ve been holding it in too long. All that cum’s been building up, heavy and tight in your balls, and it’s starting to get to you. You can feel it—the pressure’s insane, like your cock’s about to burst. Your rhythm stutters, hips jerking unevenly as it hits you, this sudden, uncontrollable surge. A low, guttural groan rips out of you, and you pull out just enough to fist your cock, leaking hot and thick right onto her.

The first spurt lands hard across her back, a messy splash of cum painting her flushed, sweaty skin. She flinches, a sharp, needy gasp spilling out of her as the heat hits, her body trembling under you. “Fuck—what—?” she pants, twisting her head to glance back, eyes wide and wild. You’re still leaking, another thick dribble spilling out, dripping down her spine toward that perfect, red ass, and she moans, low and filthy, like it’s turning her on even more.

“More,” she whines, voice cracking with desperation, her hips wiggling back toward you. “Don’t stop—give me more, baby—please—”

You growl, still stroking yourself through it, letting another pulse leak out. This time, you press the tip of your cock right against her ass—teasing that tight little hole, not going in, just smearing the cum there, watching it drip slow down her crack. She shivers, a full-body shudder, and pushes back against you like she’s begging for it. “Fuck—that’s so hot,” she gasps, her fingers clawing at the sheets. “Keep going—I need you back inside me—now.”

You’re still hard as hell, cock throbbing, slick with her juices and your own leak. She’s got you wound up so tight, and the way she’s pleading—fuck, it’s like she’s pulling you apart. You grab her hips, rough and possessive, and line yourself up again, slamming back into her pussy with one deep, punishing thrust. She cries out, loud and raw, her whole body jolting forward as you pick up the pace again, fucking her even harder than before.

“Like that?” you snarl, voice dripping with heat as you watch her ass bounce against you, still glistening with your cum. “You want it all, huh? Greedy little thing.”

“Yes—yes—” she sobs, voice muffled against the mattress, her back arching sharper to take you deeper. “Fuck me ‘til I can’t think—‘til I’m fucking done—please—”

You’re relentless now, pounding into her so hard the bed groans under you, her pussy soaking you, dripping down your thighs. That leak took the edge off, but you’re still so full, still ready to blow, and she’s egging you on, her needy cries and the way she’s clenching around you driving you fucking insane. Her ass is still hot under your hands, the red marks glowing, and every slap of your hips against her makes her whimper louder, begging for more, more, more.

But you’ve got other plans. You grab her hips, flipping her onto her back in one rough move. She gasps, legs falling open instinctively as she lands on the bed, sprawled out beneath you in the missionary position. Her chest heaves, tits bouncing with the motion, her face flushed and wrecked—eyes half-lidded, lips swollen and parted, still trembling from the aftershocks. Her pussy’s a mess, glistening and leaking, thighs slick with her own cum and yours. She barely has time to react before you’re on her again, spreading her thighs, hooking them over your arms, keeping her completely open for you.

Definitely the best position for this—for watching her face twist in pleasure, for seeing every expression she makes, every little gasp, every time her mouth drops open when you hit the perfect spot inside her. And fuck, you do hit it. Over and over, with every deep, hard thrust.

Her hands fly to your shoulders first, gripping you like she’s trying to ground herself, like she needs something solid to hold onto. But then, as the pleasure builds, as your pace quickens, her hands slide lower, down her own body, until her fingers find her clit.

You groan at the sight, at the way she starts rubbing herself, fast, desperate, completely lost in it. “Oh my god,” she whimpers, her thighs trembling, her breath catching in her throat. “Oh my god, baby—”

You know what’s coming. You can feel it in the way she’s tightening around you, the way her hips are bucking, her whole body trembling. She’s right there, right on the edge, and fuck, that’s exactly what you want.

Your grip on Karina’s hips tightens as you pound into her, her body arching beneath you, legs trembling around your waist. She’s so damn wet, her slickness coating your skin, making every thrust smoother, deeper, faster. The air is thick with the sound of your bodies colliding, with the ragged breaths and soft gasps slipping from her lips. But she’s not moaning anymore—no, she’s past that.

Her fingers work her clit in fast, desperate circles, chasing her high, pushing herself over that delicious edge. And when she finally tips over? She screams.

Not just a moan, not just a breathy little whimper—a all-out, unrestrained, shaking, spine-arching cry of pleasure that echoes through the room. It’s raw, untamed, and fuck, it’s perfect.

“That’s it,” you growl, barely holding yourself together, watching her body tense beneath you, feeling the way her walls clamp down around you. “Don’t stop. Let it happen.”

She doesn’t. If anything, she pushes herself harder, rubbing herself furiously as her orgasm tears through her. And then—

It happens.

Her whole body jerks, back bowing off the mattress as a fresh wave of wetness gushes out of her, soaking you, soaking the sheets, soaking everything. It’s overwhelming, messy, absolutely beautiful.

And she’s still going.

Her thighs shake violently as aftershocks hit her, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. You don’t slow down. You can’t slow down. You thrust faster, deeper, watching her completely fall apart beneath you.

“Look at you,” you murmur, gripping her waist tighter, keeping her steady as she trembles through another wave of pleasure. “So damn beautiful when you lose yourself like this.”

She hears you, and somehow, it makes her push even further. Her eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, her fingers never leaving her clit. “I—I’m gonna—”

You already know.

And then she’s screaming again, her body convulsing as a second orgasm rips through her. This one’s even harder than the first, her legs kicking out, her hands gripping at anything—your arms, the sheets, the air. Another surge of wetness spills from her, a deep, shaking moan caught in her throat as her body gives in completely.

“That’s my girl,” you whisper, slowing just enough to draw it out, to let her feel everything.

Her eyes roll back. Her mouth drops open in a silent gasp, the pleasure so overwhelming she can’t even form words anymore. She’s ruined, wrecked, gone.

And still, you don’t let up.

You slide a hand between her thighs, rubbing her clit slowly now, teasing her overstimulated nerves, pulling the last bits of pleasure from her. She twitches, a tiny, choked whimper escaping her lips—then one final, weak gush spills out of her. Small, almost cute, the last bit of her completely giving in.

She’s done.

Karina lies there, body still shaking, chest heaving, sweat glistening on her flushed skin. The sheets beneath her are absolutely drenched, a visible reminder of everything you just did to her.

You hover over her, watching as her eyes finally refocus on you, still hazy, still lost in the remnants of her pleasure. You brush damp hair from her face, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice softer now, laced with satisfaction.

She swallows hard, nodding weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You almost killed me.”

You smirk, leaning down to kiss her swollen lips. “And you loved every second of it.”

A tired little giggle bubbles out of her, her fingers lazily tracing your arm. “I’m never walking again.”

You chuckle, running your hands down her sides, feeling the way she still twitches under your touch. “Worth it?”

She gives you a lazy, blissed-out grin. “So worth it.”

She’s sticky, spent, her thighs slick with the proof of how hard she came, and fuck—you can’t stop looking at her. The way her skin glows under the dim light, the faint sheen of sweat across her collarbone, the lazy, blissed-out smile tugging at her lips.

“You came a lot,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over the inside of her thigh, collecting some of the slick there just to tease her.

Karina laughs breathlessly, tucking herself closer against you. “I know,” she whispers, voice still a little shaky. “I—I can feel it. It’s everywhere.”

You smirk, fingers trailing higher, skimming just close enough to make her shiver, her legs twitching in response. “And how are you gonna clean up this mess?”

She bites her lip, eyes hazy with exhaustion and something else—something playful, teasing. “I don’t know…” she admits, cheeks flushing. “Maybe I’ll just sleep in it. Let it dry. Pretend it never happened.”

You groan, head tilting back against the pillows. “Fuck, babe. Don’t say shit like that unless you want me to go again.”

She giggles, pressing a sleepy kiss to your collarbone. “You’re insatiable,” she murmurs. “It’s kinda hot.”

You roll over, pinning her under you again just to feel the heat of her, the way she immediately gasps, eyes going wide. You don’t even do anything, just hover there, feeling her warmth, the rapid beat of her heart against your chest. Her lips part, her breath catching.

“Insatiable, huh?” you echo, smirking.

She swallows, her fingers curling into your hair, her nails scratching lightly against your scalp. “Yeah,” she whispers. “But I love it.”

Your heart clenches, the way it always does when she says things like that, when she looks at you like you hung the fucking stars just for her. You don’t even realize you’re moving until your lips are on hers, slow, deep, lingering. You kiss her like you’ve got all the time in the world, like you never want to stop. And she melts into it, pressing closer, sighing softly into your mouth.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against her lips, meaning it in a way that makes your chest ache.

She smiles, eyes fluttering open, fingers trailing down your chest. “I love you too,” she whispers, and then—just like that—her hand is back on your cock, stroking slow, lazy, teasing.

You groan, your hips jerking slightly into her grip. She smirks.

“Where do you want to cum?” she asks, all innocent, like she doesn’t already know the answer.

You raise a brow, lips quirking. “Really?”

She tilts her head, her grip tightening just slightly. “What?”

“You already know.”

She hums, pretending to think, but you can see the amusement in her eyes. “On my boobs?”

You grin. “Obviously.”

She sighs, mock dramatic. “You always wanna cum on my boobs.”

“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing.”

She laughs. “Didn’t say that.”

“Good,” you murmur, rolling off her, sitting up at the edge of the bed. “Then get over here.”

Karina follows you and moves, but the second her feet hit the floor, her legs wobble, and she stumbles, catching herself against the mattress.

You snort. “Damn, babe. You good?”

She glares at you, cheeks pink, but she’s grinning. “Shut up,” she mutters. “You did this to me.”

“I know,” you say, smug. “And I love seeing you like this.”

She sticks her tongue out at you before stepping closer, standing between your legs, completely bare, her skin still flushed, her thighs still sticky.

And fuck—you’ll never get tired of looking at her.

She doesn’t say anything, just reaches up, cupping her own breasts, squeezing them together like she knows exactly what it does to you. Her tits are already perfect, full and soft, but like this, pressed together, forming that perfect valley of warmth—fuck.

She meets your gaze, lips curling. “Ready?”

Before you can answer, she leans down slightly, spits between her breasts, letting it drip down before rubbing it in, spreading it, making herself even slicker for you.

Your cock twitches.

“Karina,” you groan, your jaw tightening. “You’re actually trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

She laughs, warm and sweet, but there’s something else in her eyes—something darker, teasing. “Mm,” she hums, pressing your cock between her tits, wrapping them around you in that impossibly soft, perfect warmth. “I’d never.”

Then she starts to move.

She doesn’t rush. She knows exactly how you like it—slow at first, letting the warmth sink in, letting the slick glide over your skin. The pressure is perfect, just tight enough, her tits molding around your cock like they were fucking made for this. She watches your face, gauging every reaction, waiting for that moment your jaw tenses, your breath stutters.

“God, Karina,” you groan, hands finding their way to her shoulders, holding onto her, needing something to ground you.

She smirks, rolling her shoulders slightly to change the angle, pressing you tighter, making your cock slide even smoother between her tits. “Feels good?”

“You fucking know it does.”

She laughs, the sound vibrating through her chest, and you swear you feel it all the way down to your cock. Then, just to drive you insane, she sticks out her tongue, letting the tip just barely brush against your swollen, leaking head every time you thrust forward.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hips jerking involuntarily. “You’re—shit—”

“Hot?” she supplies, teasing.

You groan. “You already know.”

She grins, keeping her movements steady, smooth, effortless. Every glide, every stroke is better than the last, the warmth of her, the way she presses you tighter each time—it’s too fucking much. You know you’re close already, but you don’t wanna stop, don’t wanna let it end.

“How much do you love me?” she asks suddenly, her voice playful, light.

You look down at her, and your chest tightens. She’s smiling, her eyes sparkling, her skin glowing. She looks so happy, so perfect, and in this moment, you don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone more.

You brush her hair back, thumb stroking her cheek. “More than anything,” you murmur. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Her breath catches slightly, just for a second, but then she’s grinning again, pressing her tits even tighter around you. “Then cum for me,” she whispers. “I wanna feel your hot cum on my tits.”

Her tongue flicks out, teasing your tip, licking up the steady drip of precum leaking from you.

“You always make such a mess,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, her lips just barely grazing your swollen head before she pulls back with a wicked smirk. “Bet you wanna cum all over me, huh?”

You groan, gripping her shoulders tighter. “Karina, fuck—”

She hums in amusement, squeezing her tits together tighter, moving faster. “So desperate,” she coos, tilting her head as she watches your face. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Make a mess all over my tits?”

Your jaw clenches, your whole body coiling up, right fucking there. “Fuck, yeah, I—”

DING-DONG.

Your entire world stops.

The doorbell rings again.

A knock follows almost immediately.

And then, a voice—deep, familiar, fucking horrifying.

“Karina, open the door! We forgot the key.”

Karina’s father.

Your stomach plummets.

Karina freezes, her tits still pressed around your cock, hands gripping herself tightly, pupils blowing wide with pure, unfiltered panic.

Your brain goes static. Every part of you is still humming with the need to cum, and now it’s colliding headfirst into the very real terror of being caught like this—naked, hard as fuck, seconds away from spilling all over her perfect tits while her dad is standing right outside the door.

“Holy fucking shit,” you whisper, heart pounding.

Karina swallows, her mind racing. Then, before you can do anything, she shouts toward the door, her voice just barely steady. “C—coming! Just—uh—give me a second!”

Another knock. Impatient. Firm.

Her mother’s voice now. “We’ve been knocking for a while, sweetie. What are you doing in there?”

Karina’s eyes snap to yours.

And then—

That wild fucking look flashes through them.

“Baby,” she whispers, tits still pressing together around your cock, slick and tight. “Cum. Now.”

You stare at her. “Are you insane?!”

She bites her lip, shifts slightly, rubbing her tits together just right, and your hips jerk forward, completely on instinct. “If you don’t, you’re going to run away from here still hard,” she whispers, voice dripping with something dangerous. “With your cock still leaking, all needy and desperate.”

You groan, throwing your head back, torn between sheer terror and white-hot fucking lust.

“You’re actually insane,” you hiss, body trembling, every inch of you straining toward release even as your fucking life is flashing before your eyes.

She grins. “You love it.”

Then she starts moving again.

Faster this time. Harder.

“You have, like, thirty seconds,” she whispers, squeezing you tighter, pumping her tits up and down around your cock like she’s hell-bent on ruining you. “Better cum fast, baby.”

“Holy—fucking—shit,” you groan, fists clenching in the sheets, your entire body burning.

The knock on the door comes again. “Karina.”

Her father’s voice is sharp now, insistent.

Karina doesn’t even look away. Her breath is hot against your cock, her tongue flicking just barely over your tip every time you thrust between her tits.

“Come on, baby,” she whispers, voice like satin over fire, her tits bouncing in time with her strokes. “You can do it. Just let go for me.”

“Karina—fuck—” You’re so close, your vision blurring at the edges, that sweet fucking burn coiling deep in your stomach.

Karina doesn’t stop.

She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch—not even with the knock at the door, not even with her father right there, waiting, expecting her to answer. If anything, the urgency only fuels her, makes her hands move faster, makes her press her tits together tighter, makes her mouth filthy as she coaxes you closer to the edge.

“Come on, baby,” she whispers, her voice breathy, desperate, dripping with heat. “Give it to me. I need it.”

Your stomach is a coiled spring, that burning pressure inside you mounting so hard and fast you can barely breathe. The mix of fear, adrenaline, and raw, aching pleasure is making your pulse roar in your ears, every part of you strung tight as a fucking wire.

“You gonna cum for me?” she presses, her tits squeezing, bouncing, slick and warm, wrapped so fucking tight around you.

“Fuck—fuck, yeah—” Your voice is rough, your head tilting back, every nerve in your body locking up as you hit the point of no return.

Karina leans in, her lips just inches from your tip, her tongue flicking out one last time, and in that needy, desperate, breathless voice, she begs—

“Cum for me, baby. Give it to me. I want all of it.”

And that’s it.

That’s the fucking end of you.

Your whole body locks up, a broken groan ripping out of your throat as the pleasure finally fucking snaps. Your cock jerks, your abs tightening as thick, hot spurts spill out, painting Karina’s perfect, heaving chest.

She moans, her breath catching, her eyes dark with hunger as she watches your cum spill over her tits, sliding between the valley of soft, flushed skin.

She doesn’t stop.

She keeps squeezing, her hands milking every last drop, her fingers digging in as she rubs her tits together, making sure she gets it all.

“Fuck, fuck—” You don’t even recognize your own voice anymore, wrecked, your hips jerking weakly, your whole body shaking from how hard you’re cumming. It doesn’t stop, each pulse sending another hot rope onto her skin, dripping down the curve of her breasts, pooling in the dip of her collarbone.

She’s completely covered in you.

Your vision blurs. Your lungs burn. The pleasure is too much, too deep, too fucking intense. Your head spins as the last weak tremors shake through you, every muscle in your body spent.

You sag back onto the mattress, exhaling hard, your heart still slamming against your ribs.

Karina grins, rubbing a finger through the mess, spreading it over her skin, her tongue flicking out to taste a drop of it. “You always cum so much for me,” she purrs.

You’re about to say something—something cocky, something filthy—

But then—

Another knock.

Louder.

“Karina!” Her dad’s voice is sharp now, no longer patient. “What is taking so long?”

Karina’s eyes widen, and suddenly, the reality of the situation slams back into both of you.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

She whips around, grabbing the nearest thing—a crumpled tissue from her nightstand—and starts wiping herself down, frantically dabbing at her chest, trying to clean up the mess before her parents fucking bust the door down.

She’s panting, her hands shaking slightly as she grabs more, working fast, trying to get rid of every trace. “Baby, you have to go. Now.”

You’re already moving, stumbling to your feet, your limbs still weak, your brain still sluggish from the sheer force of that orgasm. You snatch your clothes off the floor, yanking on your pants with shaking hands, fumbling with the zipper as Karina rushes to her closet, grabbing the first thing she can find—a loose hoodie and some pajama shorts.

“Karina.” Another knock. “We’re waiting!”

She yells back, voice strained. “I’m coming, just—just hold on!”

She pulls the hoodie over her head, wiping her chest one last time before whirling on you. “The window,” she breathes.

You nod, grabbing your shirt, not even bothering to button it as you stumble toward the window, your heart pounding out of your chest.

Karina grabs your arm, pulling you back for one last, hurried kiss, her lips soft, warm, frantic against yours.

“I love you,” she whispers, breathless.

You squeeze her waist, your forehead dropping to hers for half a second before pulling back. “I love you too.”

Then—you’re gone.

You slip out the window, landing hard on the grass outside, your legs still shaky as fuck, your body still buzzing with the lingering aftershocks. You don’t have time to process it—you just move, running quietly, disappearing into the night just as you hear the sound of Karina’s door unlocking behind you, ready to leap into your car and disappear completely.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

That was way too close.

Karina yanks open the door, still breathless, her pulse pounding so loud in her ears she can barely hear her father’s impatient sigh. He’s standing there, arms crossed, brows furrowed, looking at her like she’s already guilty of something. Her mother is behind him, rubbing her temples, looking exhausted and irritated, like the entire day has been one long, drawn-out headache.

“You took your time,” her dad says, stepping inside without waiting for a invitation. His eyes sweep over her, sharp and assessing, and she suddenly feels way too warm in her hoodie.

“I was—uh, I was changing,” she stammers, tucking her hair behind her ear as she follows them into the living room. “Got comfortable and didn’t wanna open the door like that, you know?” She forces a sheepish smile, hoping they don’t hear how unsteady her voice is.

Her father doesn’t seem convinced, but her mother is already waving a dismissive hand, dropping onto the couch with a weary sigh. “It doesn’t matter. We have bigger things to talk about.”

Karina perks up immediately, desperate for anything that’ll shift their attention away from her. “Oh? What happened?”

Her mother exhales sharply, rubbing her temples. “The wedding’s postponed.”

That actually throws her. “Wait, what? Seriously?”

Her dad nods, his jaw tight with irritation. “The priest never showed up.”

Karina blinks. What the hell kind of excuse is that? “What? Why?”

Her mother groans, sinking deeper into the couch like she wants to disappear into it. “Emergency surgery. Can you believe that? Of all the damn days, he picks today to have a medical crisis.”

Karina presses her lips together, trying so hard not to laugh. “Uh. That sucks.”

“Sucks?” Her dad snorts. “That’s one way to put it. Half the guests had already arrived, the reception was prepped, and then we get told—‘sorry, no priest, no wedding.’” His scowl deepens, shaking his head. “It’s a disaster.”

“Total nightmare,” her mother agrees, sighing. “And now we have to wait for them to reschedule the wedding. We will have to reorganize everything again—ugh, I don’t even want to think about it.”

Karina nods sympathetically, even though she barely cares. She’s just grateful they aren’t questioning her right now. “Yeah. That’s… awful. Really awful.”

But then her father’s eyes narrow slightly, lingering on her face. “Why are you blushing?”

Karina freezes. She didn’t even realize she was. Heat is practically radiating off her, her cheeks still flushed from everything that happened minutes ago, her body still tingling in the aftermath.

“I—I’m blushing?” she asks, stalling. “Really?” She presses a hand to her cheek like she’s just now noticing, playing dumb. “Huh. I guess I got warm running around getting dressed.”

Her dad squints at her, clearly unconvinced, but before he can push any further, her mom frowns at something behind her.

“What’s your shirt doing on the couch?”

Karina whips around, stomach dropping through the floor.

There it is. The shirt she was wearing earlier. The one she was wearing while you were fucking her on that very couch. The one she took off, carelessly tossed aside in the heat of the moment, and completely forgot about.

Her brain stalls, panic roaring through her.

“I—” She swallows hard. “I guess I just—forgot to pick it up.”

Her father frowns, shaking his head. “You know we don’t like clothes scattered around the house.”

“I know, I know.” She forces a nervous laugh, grabbing it so fast it’s almost suspicious. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

Her dad just gives her a look, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else. Her mom sighs again, waving a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Just put it in the laundry.”

“Yep, will do,” Karina says quickly, turning to escape before something else goes wrong. But just as she’s about to flee the scene, her father’s voice stops her.

“Hold on.”

She stiffens. Turns back way too slowly.

“What?”

Her dad’s expression is unreadable, but there’s a strange sharpness in his voice now. “On our way here, I noticed a car parked down the street.”

Karina’s stomach tightens. “Yeah?”

Her dad nods. “Looked a lot like the car that guy you used to date drove.”

Her breath catches, but she forces herself to play dumb. “Oh?” she says, as casually as she can. “Uh. You sure?”

Her dad narrows his eyes slightly. “Yeah. Same model, same color.”

Karina shakes her head quickly. “I mean, that’s a pretty common car. Could’ve been anyone’s.”

Her dad doesn’t look fully convinced. “Maybe.” Then, before she can stop him, he gestures toward the door. “Come outside with me. Let’s check.”

Karina’s heart slams against her ribs. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

She hesitates just a second too long before nodding quickly. “Yeah. Sure.”

They step out onto the porch, the streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. Her father looks around, scanning the parked cars along the curb, eyes sharp, searching. Karina barely breathes, her stomach twisting into knots. If your car is still there, she’s fucked. She follows his gaze, trying not to look as panicked as she feels, praying. But when they look—Nothing. No car.

You’re gone.

She barely stops herself from sagging in relief, instead turning to her father with a casual shrug. “See? Nothing there.”

He frowns slightly, looking around like he doesn’t quite believe it, but after a moment, he just mutters, “Guess I was wrong.”

Before Karina can fully celebrate surviving this, her mother’s voice cuts through the night, sharp and exhausted. “What the hell are you two doing out there? Get inside!”

Karina nods quickly, practically bolting for the door, her father following behind, still looking a little suspicious but thankfully dropping it.

This time, she actually escaped.

Barely.

—

Your phone buzzes just past midnight, Karina’s name lighting up the screen. You don’t even hesitate, answering immediately, her voice coming through the line soft but amused.

“Hey,” she whispers, and you can hear the rustle of sheets in the background. She’s in bed, probably curled up under the covers, trying not to wake anyone.

“Hey, baby,” you murmur back, your voice just as low. “You okay?”

She exhales a quiet laugh. “I survived. Barely.”

You smirk, shifting onto your back, getting comfortable. “Yeah? What happened?”

Karina sighs, like she’s replaying the whole thing in her head. “My dad was suspicious as hell. He saw your car on the street and wanted to go check, but by some miracle, you were already gone. If you’d been there even a second longer—” She cuts herself off, and you can practically hear her shudder on the other end.

“Damn,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Close call.”

“Way too close,” she agrees, her voice dipping lower. “And then my mom found my shirt on the couch—the one I took off while we were, you know… and I had to pretend I just forgot to put it away. My dad was already looking at me weird, and then she asked why I was blushing, and I had nothing. No excuse. Just standing there like a idiot while I could still feel your—” She stops herself, groaning softly. “God. The whole thing was a disaster.”

You chuckle, amused at how frazzled she sounds now that it’s over. “But you pulled it off. Got away with it again.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, a hint of pride in her voice. “I always do.”

You smirk, shifting the phone against your ear. “And what about the mess?”

“What mess?” she asks, and then realization hits. “Oh. That.”

You snort. “Yeah, that. What’d you do with the squirt-stained bed, babe?”

She groans. “Ugh. I had to change everything. Sheets, pillowcases, everything went straight into the washing machine the second my parents went to bed. The mattress was safe, thank god. I think if I ruined my bed like that, I’d have to just set it on fire and move away.”

You laugh, picturing her rushing around, cleaning up, making sure there was no evidence left behind. It’s ridiculous, the lengths you both go to just to be together, but there’s something kind of thrilling about it too.

“You’re such a menace,” you tease.

“Says the guy who made me do that in the first place,” she fires back.

You grin. “Worth it?”

She pauses, then hums. “So worth it.”

You both fall quiet for a moment, the comfortable silence stretching between you. You love this—these little stolen moments, these late-night calls where you can just exist together, even if it’s only through the phone.

“You seeing me tomorrow?” you ask, knowing the answer but wanting to hear her say it.

“Mhm,” she murmurs, voice warm. “Cinema, remember? Told my parents I’m going with a friend.”

You smirk. “We should really start keeping track of how many lies you’ve told just to see me.”

She giggles. “At this point, it’s gotta be in the triple digits.”

“Totally worth it.”

“Absolutely,” she agrees, voice soft.

“Get some sleep, baby,” you murmur. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mm. Night, babe.”

You both hesitate, neither of you wanting to hang up first, but eventually, Karina whispers one last “love you” before ending the call.

The next day, you meet her outside the cinema, standing near the entrance, watching as she walks toward you. She’s wearing something simple—just jeans and a cute cropped hoodie—but she looks gorgeous, her hair down, her face lit up with that familiar mischievous smile.

“Hey, troublemaker,” you greet, grinning.

She rolls her eyes but laughs. “Says you.”

You tuck your hands into your pockets, smirking. “Our life is a goddamn adventure at this point.”

Karina snorts. “No kidding. I feel like I should start journaling everything before we end up in a documentary.”

You chuckle, reaching for her hand, pulling her close. “Yeah? You like the adrenaline rush?”

She pretends to think about it for a second, then grins. “I kinda do.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, watching her expression.

She leans in slightly, her voice quieter. “But I think what I like more is just… being with you. Even if it means sneaking around and making up a thousand excuses.”

Your heart clenches a little, warmth spreading through your chest. You squeeze her fingers, giving her a knowing smile. “You won’t have to lie forever.”

She nods, eyes flickering with something softer, more serious. “College is almost over. Once we’re out of here… nothing can separate us.”

You love the way she says it, like it’s a promise. Like there’s no doubt in her mind.

“Nothing,” you agree.

She smiles, pulling you toward the entrance. “Now, come on. We actually have to watch the movie, or my parents are gonna ask for a recap later.”

You chuckle, following her inside, feeling that familiar buzz of excitement—not just from sneaking around, not just from the thrill of getting away with it again, but from knowing that college is almost over. The endless rules, the curfews, the constant risk of getting caught—it’s all temporary. Soon, you won’t have to make excuses. You won’t have to sneak out of windows. It’ll just be you and Karina, no secrets, no hiding. Just the future waiting for you.

And honestly? You can’t fucking wait.

[watermelonshine]

BBF ELLIE PLS W SMUT? 🤗🤗

best friend!ellie x reader nsfw mdni

cw: possessive ellie, reader got out of the relationship so it's not cheating, fingering

Ellie and you are best friends, been so since middle school. She used to scare off the kids that tried to mess with you. She used to scare off the jocks that tried to hit on you. Now, she scares off anyone who tries to get in your pants at the club.

Somehow, regardless of her being so protective and possessive of you, you happened to get a boyfriend. He was...good you'd say, you didn't have any prior experiences to compare your relationship with. But you did assume it would be something more than you had expected. He was the first ever person who confessed to you and you being the hopeless romantic you are, you said yes. He treated you well, never tried to pry into your life, was somewhat respectful; he really shouldn't have called your old cat "almost expired", and never asked you to join his occult group meetings, thank goodness for that. And then there was the sex... He was sloppy, but not in the good way. Most of the time, it's just him rubbing on you with the poor attempt to playing with your clit. Thinking about it sent shivers down your spine, it was terrible. You guys have broken up a few days ago, he initiated, stating that he and his group tried to do some weird ass paranormal activity and that it would have an effect on their relationships or some bullshit and he can't risk your life or whatever. You needed to get out of the relationship anyways, he just gave a reason to do so albeit a dumb one. But jeez you spent too much time in that relationship.

Ellie didn't know that nerd from the other class would be a threat. She noticed him around you, staring at you with... something in his eyes, it's hard to say when he had huge glasses on. But she assumed he wouldn't have the guts to come and confess to you. Besides there were bigger threats surrounding you than him, she can't waste her time on that scrawny dude. But oh boy, was she proven wrong. She was almost about to break that boy's nose but then, she heard you say yes.

"Seriously? That guy? Come on now."

"I just want to give it a try, I've never done this before. Besides if anything goes wrong I have you, no?"

Her heart did a flip but she put that aside.

"He looks like he has tentacle porn on his hard drive!"

She wasn't wrong, you did find questionable stuff on his computer when you were looking for some photos. But you brushed that off, you weren't supposed to see it anyways, bringing it up would mean he'd know you were snooping around in his computer.

Ellie hated when he would put his hands around your waist and boast about how beautiful you are.

He didn't even know how to get you off, the fuck is he boasting about?

Ellie hated when you laid on her lap and told her how you didn't feel any sparks around him anymore, if you ever even had the spark with him. She hated that he was the one who was able to wake up next you and not her. She hated the fact he had the right to call you "girlfriend" and not her. She hated the fact that he had the chance to see you naked before her. She tried to keep those limp dicks away from you almost her entire life and somehow, you ended up with the worst of them all. So when you knocked on her door that day and said that you got dumped, she felt a weight off her shoulder- wait did you say he dumped you?

He?

Dumped you?

Over what?

"I spent months even years over him, thinking maybe I help him grow into his full potential. But all these years and he still wasn't even able to please me! What was I even thinking?"

Ellie wanted to ask you the same thing, what were you thinking dating him and not her? What were you expecting from dating someone she definitely didn't approve of? Why did you allow someone else who was not her to even live with you? To see you all day every day? To eat in the same table as you? To sleep in the bed as you? To have you under them?

Poor you never even had a proper orgasm before.

So when she hovered over you with her face few inches away from you, you whimpered at the proximity.

"Shush just let me make you feel like the goddess you are."

You were a gasping mess when she was thrusting her fingers into you. She peppered kisses all over you, your face, your neck, your tits. Gosh the sound you made when her lips brushed over your hardened nipples. You wrapped your hands around her, with your palms digging into her shoulder.

"E-ellie- t-too much-"

"You can take it, I know you can princess."

Fuck you've not felt this way in a long time, and you don't want it to end. You've been deprived for far too long. And it definitely seemed like Ellie really loved your fucked out face, with the way she kept grunting and speeding at every moan you let out. You weren't stupid to let go of the opportunity of allowing Ellie to fuck you stupid.

While you chased your orgasm, Ellie nuzzled her nose at the crook of your neck and peppered kisses all over it. Her fingers still moving to help you get over your high.

"Took you way too long, didn't it?"

Ellie's eyes went wide open.

note : I should really stop writing stuff at ungodly hours, I wrote this at the asscrack of dawn. also I'm back! ⊂⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)⁠⊃

[amrluv]

THE KATS FIGHTING FOR READER LIKE THEY WERE FIGHTING FOR THAT DAMN PROMOTION IN THE GABRIELLA MVVVV PLEASESSSS

( #! ) oo the plot was too good i had to write a lot

there wasn't a clear indicator on when this all started, on when their madness began. but to you, this was truly never-ending.

from your earliest memory, it all started on new years eve. music blasted from the speakers, a random song only popular in the 2010s filling the house. the inside was crowded—a sea of tipsy, carefree individuals no longer caring if they stand in anyone's way. the smell of sweat, somehow, and weed hit you immediately; overwhelming your already alert senses. it was a nightmare in there, but you kept pushing.

pushing your way into the kitchen, a hand grasped at your wrist. it was gentle, but firm enough to make you pause. “you're here!”

the cheery voice of manon filled your ears—a stark contrast to the chaos around you. “come with me, i wanna show you something.”

as soon as she started to pull you away another hand pulled you in the opposite direction. sophia appeared by your side, a hand resting on your shoulder. “actually, i was thinking she should come with me. i've been dying to get to talk to her more.”

manon's smile cracks. it's small, but doesn't go unnoticed by sophia. “well i had her first.” she tugged at your wrist, earning a scowl from the raven haired girl. “this isn't some ‘finders keepers’ bullshit.” sophia spat back, her hand leaving you to instead shove the other girl.

manon glared at sophia intensely, her grip on you loosening before she finally let go. “the fuck is your problem?” the tension was thick, a few bystanders watching their interaction. shit, this wasn't something you wanted to get involved in.

while the girls were distracted, you slipped away from them, weaving your way through the packed crowd.

it was good for a while. you managed to lose the fighting girls—finally enjoying the party rather than worrying. you'd managed to settle down on a somehow not packed couch in the living room; downing a drink of whatever concoction you were given. before you could fully enjoy your peace, megan came around to break it.

"hey, you enjoying the party?" she sat down next to you without asking. she was close, too close for it to be friendly—her thigh touching yours, knees knocking together. "it's alright." you took another sip of your drink, hoping the liquor will ease your nerves of what was to come.

megan was silent, too silent that it teetered on being unnerving. the usually bubbly, loud girl was now watching you like a hawk. her gaze moved from your lips to your throat, watching as you swallowed the liquid. she let out a quiet hum, moving closer to you. "you know what would make this party even better?" she began, voice husky.

"mind if i join you?"

your eyes snapped up as soon as you heard a new voice. lara. of course.

without another word she sat down on the other side of you, sitting just as close to you as megan. now, you were sandwiched between two girls vying for your attention—their gazes sharp as they glared at each other from either side.

"it's almost midnight, you got a kiss?" lara suddenly asked you. though, her eyes remained on megan whose narrowed once she heard the question. "actually, lara," megan made sure to accentuate her name, "i was hoping she'd be my new years kiss."

lara's jaw noticeably clenched at her reply, cocking her head to the side to look at you once more. "well, why don't we ask her instead?"

suddenly, all eyes were on you. their desperate, yet irritated, eyes fell upon yours. it was uncomfortable. if you chose lara, megan would get upset. if you chose megan, lara would get upset. if you left, both of them would get upset. it was a lose-lose situation—and you didn't know what to do.

"i.. um.." you hesitated, glancing between the two girls who watched expectantly.

"what about me?"

fuck, another one.

daniela's voice broke the silence, eyes moving towards her standing figure. she watched with folded arms, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lip. "you two are just freaking her out. she should just be my kiss. i'd be better, anyways."

"what the fuck, daniela?" megan's voice rose in pitch, astounded by the accusation she placed upon them. lara was equally shocked, scoffing at the insinuation. "i'm not a bad kisser."

"mhm, sure." daniela nodded, voice dripping in sarcasm. the brunette let out a sigh, extending a hand towards you. "c'mon, there's only a few more minutes until midnight."

lara stood, trying to swat daniela's hand away. "no way! you're not winning this time, dani."

megan mirrored lara, placing her hands on her hips as she came eye to eye with daniela. "yeah, no way." she looked back towards you. "just let me be your midnight kiss."

objections came from the other girls immediately, bickering ensuing between the three women. the clocked ticked down, nearing closer and closer to the expected hour. closer to the moment you'd have to choose.

[almostempty]

Never made it as a wise man

(joel miller x f!reader)

Description: Joel solves your car troubles for free, and you try to return the favor with a homecooked meal. When you accidentally interrupt his jerkoff session, you take a chance and help him out.

Note: y’all are out here answering god’s toughest questions, like what if emotionally unavailable Joel was loved unconditionally? or what if Joel was the Mothman?, and I deeply appreciate that. 

However, today, I am here to answer a question that nobody asked– What if Joel was a divorced dad rock kinda guy? 

You know, like, listening to Nickelback on an old-school boombox in his garage, or unironically singing Creed on the way to work, or bonding with Ellie over Papa Roach? And also, (inspired by a genius) what if he was a little bit pathetic? 

Anyway, I present to you: divorced dad rock dilf, Joel, ta-da! (my humble submission for @hellishjoel‘s hot dilf summer challenge) obvs dedicated to: @auteurdelabre

ao3: read here | masterlist: here | part 2 here | part 3 here

Tags/warnings: AU no outbreak divorced Joel x f!reader, Sarah is not mentioned, but Ellie is your adult coworker, reader is clueless about cars and so am I, gratuitous smut and horny thoughts, implied jorkin’ joel but no witnesses, hand job, fingering, premature ejaculation, touch starved kinda loserish but hot divorced dilf joel, he’s a real tiddy guy in this one and idk why it just happened, pwp, is it a crackfic? maybe, but i meant it wholeheartedly so idk  

WC: 4.2k

You pull onto the long driveway, hoping to see Joel’s truck. You forgot to text first to see if he would be around, but he did tell you to come by if you ever needed anything. You mostly just hope he’ll be willing to accept your gift. 

Last week, he’d helped you out by fixing your car. He told you what the issue was, but he might as well have been speaking another language when he described it. You had already brought coffee and a plate of cookies to your coworker Ellie to thank her for dragging you to Joel’s to ask for help. Being in a new town was hard enough, but you had no idea how you would handle the price for diagnostics, let alone whatever the repair would’ve cost. You tried to offer Joel the cash you had as a thanks, but he wouldn’t accept it. You tried to argue with him, but Ellie told you it wasn’t worth arguing with him. He wouldn’t budge. Instead, he had offered to change your oil for you, making you feel even more indebted to him. 

At first, the most you got out of Ellie for intel on Joel was that he was the one responsible for you having to listen to “One Last Breath” and “Lips of an Angel” at ungodly early hours. Ellie claimed that her music taste was deeply influenced by Joel, and somehow, Ellie is always in charge of the music at work. When you rolled your eyes calling it divorced dad rock, she let it slip that you were right about that. 

That explains a lot when you remember the brief time you spent in his house and shop. The house was clean inside but not tidy. Stray beer bottles and travel mugs dotted the counter and coffee table. But the shop had all the Divorced Dad Barbie accessories. 

The project car and crates of assorted parts. The beer fridge and the plastic lawn chairs in the corner for bullshitting with whoever stopped by. The boombox on the workbench with the stack of CDs. And the fading calendar from another decade with the naked woman kneeling on the beach. 

You hadn’t been able to stop your eyes from darting to her sultry expression and swimsuit model-perfect breasts when Joel had been explaining what he was going to do to your car. You wondered if the heat burning in your cheeks had given you away, but he didn’t notice then. Ellie sure did, though, and she had rolled her eyes at you, noting it had been up so long she even forgot it was there. 

Luckily, Ellie didn’t notice your eyes lingering on Joel’s body. You weren’t trying to be a creep, but the way his arm flexed when he opened the hood of your car gave you some feral brand of intrusive thoughts. The ratty band t-shirt and the faded jeans were working for him, too, or at least they were doing something for you. Time slowed when your eyes trailed over his arms and down the muscles of his broad back. He just seemed so… solid. You finally understood what your friends back home meant when they said they wanted to climb a man like a tree. You had jumped a little when Ellie slammed the fridge behind you and shouted at Joel about how he can’t just live in the shop drinking shitty beer and eating beef jerky. She had grabbed your arm to drag you to the house for an iced tea while he worked. 

Her comment sparked your idea. You figured Joel must be a utilitarian type. He probably lives on frozen pizzas–or even worse, those Hungry-Man frozen TV dinners–instead of making himself something fresh. Maybe he’s one of those guys who got really into smoking meats instead. Either way, you hope the lasagna you made from scratch and the other tray of cookies will be an acceptable thank you for his help. He can’t refuse it if you already made it, right? 

You pull up next to a truck, assuming it’s his, and that he’s home. Before you grab the tray, you pause to check your reflection and adjust your breasts in your white tank top, making sure your cleavage pokes out as temptingly as possible. 

You check yourself in the mirror with a look. Why does it matter what you look like? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck your only (almost) friend’s dad, right? Although she calls him by his first name, not Dad, so maybe there’s like a loophole or something if she’s adopted. You think about the calendar model and her perfect tits hanging on the wall over his tools. It can’t hurt to just do a little harmless flirting, right? Maybe you aren’t even his type anyway. 

After knocking on the door a couple of times, you frown, wondering if he’s not home. On the way back to your car, with your head hung in defeat, your ears perk up at the sound of something clanging in the shop. Of course! 

You skitter back to the front porch to leave your goods by the door and head for the shop to find that divorced DILF–Joel, you mean. It’s sweltering out, and sweat is beading on your chest after only a few minutes in the heat. The closer you get, the more easily you can make out the sound of his little CD player blasting another brooding, raspy ballad sung by a white man with a troubled love life. 

The garage door is shut, so you knock on the door on the side of the building. You wait a minute before testing your luck and opening the door yourself. Assessing the shop, you don’t see your man, sorry, Joel, at first glance. The music blasts, and the calendar model gives you the same impish smirk through her false lashes and a layer of dust, but there’s no Joel. The evidence clearly dictates that he’s in here somewhere, as his tools are strung around his project, the lights are on, and a beer with a sweating label sits on the edge of the workbench. 

You aren’t trying to be sneaky. You didn’t think to holler and announce your presence over the music. Plus, you didn’t fully get your bearings the last time you were here. Now, you can pick up a few more details as your eyes absorb everything they can about anything that gives you a hint about who this guy is. 

The guy that’s been haunting your dreams for a week. Last week, when you walked back to the shop with Ellie to check on your car, you nearly tripped, watching Joel wipe the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt. You had just caught a glimpse of the trail of hair disappearing under his jeans, but it was enough to replay in your mind every night as you created your little scenarios to carry you off to sleep. 

The scent memory was somehow worse. It was so easy to transport yourself back in time with the thought of the sweaty musk and the grease or oil smeared on his fingers. It shouldn’t turn you on, right? 

You remember thinking he seemed so knowledgeable when describing the issue. You had no idea what he was talking about, but his low voice and patience were enough to tell you he could talk you through anything. 

You notice a few other details as you enter his sacred space today. The woodworking projects, the band posters, and the pictures with Ellie and other family members tacked to the wall over another workbench. 

Still, no Joel, however. 

You circle the partially disassembled project truck and see a door to another room. It would be the office if the shop were a professional business. There’s a window along the wall, but instead of a boss watching an employee, it’s you hoping to see that brawny man and his dark curls. 

As you step closer, you nearly squeal. There he is. Well, at least, you can see the broad shoulders and back you’ve been picturing above you in bed. You practically skip to the door. It’s already open a crack, and you give it a knock, calling his name as it swings open from the force of your rapping knuckles.   

The next moment is a blur. 

“Shit, fuck, hold on!” Joel shouts gruffly as he slams the door in your face. But you already heard it. The phony wailing noises that came from the busted speaker on his phone. 

You still face the closed door, trying to process the interaction before he wrenches the door back open. He’s breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, as he looks at you with wide eyes that quickly narrow. 

“What are you doing here?” he barks. 

Your hands fall to your sides, and you start to step back, ready to turn and run. 

He catches your fear and tries to adjust, but you’re faster. 

“Sorry,” you mumble as you turn and try to dash away. Joel’s quick, too, though, and he grabs your wrist. 

“Hey, wait,” he loosens his grip when you spin back towards him, “I just didn’t hear you comin’. Wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Sorry,” you repeat, stuttering as you continue, “I-I just, uh, just wanted to say thanks for your help last week.” You stare at the floor. Unsure why you’re embarrassed, you feel so small after he saw your face and practically shouted at you. 

“All right,” he rumbles. You’re too busy staring at the crack in the concrete floor to notice how his eyes are glued to your exposed skin. Or to see the blotchy red flush that crawls up his neck and toward his face. 

But your brain starts to catch up. Joel might’ve snapped at you, but you’re the one that caught him in the act. You don’t lift your head, but your eyes trail over his stained and faded jeans until you’re studying his crotch. 

Bingo. It’s almost too easy. You can make out the outline of his erection tucked up in his waistband. Even more glaring evidence is the open fly. You wish you had caught what he was watching. How does he like it? What does he search for when he wants to jerk off in the back office on a hot Saturday afternoon? 

He clears his throat, and you snap your attention to his face. “Was there somethin’ you needed?” He asks. 

“Yes.” You tell him you’ve got a lasagna that should get into a fridge before it reheats in the sun. He follows you toward the front door and into the house, not missing how your hips sway as you lead. 

Once the tray is shoved into the fridge, nestled between some takeout containers, he turns to thank you. “You didn’t need to do all that,” he gruffs over the cookies and homemade meal. 

You step back to lean against the counter, littered with mail and more coffee cups, and let yourself check him out up close. His faded Creed t-shirt has holes around the neck. He’s got that same sweaty man musk going on, and you wish you knew why that stirred your arousal, but your pussy lacks logic. 

“I know, I know,” you reply, “but you really saved my ass with the car, and I wanted to do something for you. You know, some way to pay you back?” 

“All right, well, thanks,” he trails off. He doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Maybe you should be on your way already, but he’s not ushering you out the door. 

This time, you do catch when his eyes drop to your chest. There’s no way you’re imagining the tension between you as you stand in his kitchen while he stares at your barely clothed tits, right? Fuck it. You’re gonna go for it. 

You take a step towards him. “I wasn’t sure if it was really enough,” your voice is soft and tempting, and your sweet perfume wafts towards him like a lust potion. Joel swallows thickly as you approach.

He knows you must’ve put it together, but he tried to delude himself. Maybe you couldn’t hear the theatrical screams of the woman he was watching get railed before he slammed the door in your face. He hopes all you heard was Chad Kroeger’s voice screaming, “This time I'm mistaken

For handin' you a heart worth breakin'” from the stereo.. on the other side of the shop. 

“You worked so hard,” you continued with one final step, and now you’re nearly toe-to-toe in front of him. “There has to be something else I could do.” You’re so close to him. He forgets to respond. It takes all his power to keep his eyes on your face. 

You have a wild urge to taste the sweat on his neck, but you keep your tongue to yourself. He hasn’t made any move to encourage you, but he hasn’t stopped you yet either, so you figure it’s worth taking a risk. 

“Maybe you’ve got a problem I could help you with.” You go for it, reaching your hand out to palm at the bulge in his jeans. 

Again, too many things happen at once. Joel snaps out a “What?” in disbelief. His hand circles your wrist tightly. His hips jerk, involuntarily bucking into your palm. Your glossy lips part into an “o” shape at the size of his not-quite-hard cock. And now you’re both locked into this position like statues. 

His fingers stay firmly wrapped around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull you away. Your fingers squeeze over his jeans, and your eyes flash wide as you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen at your touch. The touch that rapidly overrides your better judgment, drowning you in want. Your clit twitches itself in response, your nipples strain under your thin tank top, and your eyelids feel heavy immediately. 

“What are you doing?” His voice crackles like he hadn’t just used it. You slide your hand to pop the button on his jeans, and he releases your wrist as you flip it to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers in search of his cock. 

“Let me help,” you say in more of a whispered tone. The searing heat between Joel’s legs makes you salivate. Your fingers graze coarse curls before you acquire your target, wrapping your palm and fingers around his thick shaft. His size has your cunt throbbing in your shorts. 

Joel’s eyes are squeezed shut. He looks nearly in pain. You pull your hand back out to let the pool of saliva on your tongue drip into your palm. 

“Jesus,” he breathes out, watching your lewd maneuver. “You wanna help?” He repeats your plea in the form of a question, a little dumbfounded. He’s trying to figure out what’s happening right now. 

“I do,” you answer in a honeyed voice as you dig your hand back into his pants. He’s unable to respond with words as you swirl your palm over the head of his cock, mixing saliva and precome, but his body eggs you on. He bucks into your fist, and you work quickly, pumping his throbbing length. The slick noises are muffled by the layers of clothing, but the grunts that catch in his throat shoot piping-hot desire straight into your core. 

He looks a little desperate, eyes slammed shut again, jaw slack, arms hanging uselessly at his side. And for god knows why, the entire scene pulls a moan from your lips. The sweet sound snaps Joel back to attention. His hands shoot straight to your breasts, cupping them gently to feel them bounce against the motion of your arm wrestling with his jeans to keep stroking his cock. 

They’re so close to spilling over your tank top on their own. Joel can’t resist tugging the thin material until they spill over the top. The sight alone nearly has him coming in his pants. But then you moan so loudly when he squeezes them both and pinches at your nipples, and he really can’t stop. 

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” he spits out, but it’s too late. His hips jerk erratically, thrusting into your slick fist, and he’s coming. It coats your hand and wrist and makes an absolute mess.  You relax your grip when his whole body seems to shudder and gently remove your hand. He tries to choke his groan of frustration before it surfaces, but he immediately pauses his shame spiral when he sees you suck your come-coated fingers one by one. 

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” you tell him. At the same time, he’s muttering curses at the sight of you. You’re feeling a little giddy that all it took was your hand and showing your tits to have Joel losing control and spilling his load for you. It has your mouth curling into an impish grin. 

He’s got the sight of you half topless in his kitchen, licking your fingers, looking awfully proud of yourself, etching into his memory. Before the blood can return to his brain, he grabs you tightly by the ribs and walks you backward towards the counter. He lifts you onto it and wrenches open your shorts, yanking at them as you lift your hips so he can slide them off of you and drop them onto the kitchen floor. 

Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny little goblins in your brain shriek and chant, incited by the rough and impulsive way Joel gropes at you. It’s barbaric, and that delights you. 

Sitting on the counter, you give him such perfect access to put his mouth on your breasts that he forgets what he was going to say. He mouths at each of them wetly, his beard tickling you as he’s busy sucking marks into your delicate skin. He sucks and bites at your strained nipples until your loud whines turn into a sharp gasp, and he pulls back. 

The heavy-lidded look on your face has him diving back in for more, and you groan and arch into his touch. You rake your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck and tug at him. He grunts and moans into your skin, and it drives you wild. You need to feel him closer. 

You grab the worn cotton on his shoulders until he lets you slip the shirt over his head and drop it onto the counter next to you. It gives you the briefest moment to take in the sight of his built chest and shoulders and softer midsection with that trail of hair you had memorized. You need to taste the salt on his skin. 

Spreading your legs wider, he slots his hips against yours at the edge of the counter, and you run your tongue along his neck. You slide one of your hands down the smooth golden skin of his shoulder, and the other nestles back in his messy curls as his mouth finds yours. 

He tastes like cheap coffee and the peppermint nicotine gum parked above his teeth along the left side of his mouth. You know it’s wrong that you can’t get enough. But you're helpless when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and you mindlessly roll your hips, seeking any relief. 

He’s grumbling in your ear about how it seems like you need help now, but you couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth. His deep voice alone could get you off. You let out an uninhibited whine at the thought. 

“Jesus Christ,” he pulls back. His head hangs, staring at the floor. He shakes it in what you assume is disbelief. You don’t want to wait for him to think any further. You grab his hand, pulling it between your legs.

“Really, fucking, hot.” You echo your earlier declaration. Doing your best to sound assertive. You figure at least your soaked panties will prove your point. 

“Fuck,” he stifles a groan. You’re so wet it coats his fingertips through the thin material. He nudges his fingers into you, over your panties, and you whimper for him. The fabric sticks to you and makes an obscene sound as he toys with you for only seconds. “Oh, you do need my help. Hm?” 

You nod, spreading your legs wider for Joel to have access. He scoffs at you, displayed eagerly atop his kitchen counter. “Just desperate for me, aren’t ya?”

You snap your legs back shut with a glare. 

“No way,” you press, jabbing a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to laugh at me like I’m a slut for you when you just came in your pants for me.” 

His nostrils flare, and blotchy red patches creep up his neck again. You aren’t sure what kind of bear you’ve just, quite literally, poked. 

“But you are, aren’t you?” He challenges. “You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt, just for me.” 

He wedges his hand back between your closed thighs, and you relax just enough to let him work his way back to your core. Your breathing gives you away when it hitches and stutters as he traces his fingers along the hem of the fabric between your legs. You let your legs fall a little wider apart, and he sinks a finger beneath the hem and right inside of you to the knuckle. 

A whiny noise rolls in the back of your throat. 

“Shh,” he sinks a second finger inside of you, and your muscles spasm and contract, “that’s better, hmm?” He slowly pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then plunges them back in. He repeats this, and your core tenses as you writhe for him. 

“You need more?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yeah, you do.” He adds a third finger, and the slight stretch makes you hum. 

“You just need to be filled up, hm?” He teases you. Awfully confident now for a guy you just caught watching porn on his phone in a grimy back office in the middle of the afternoon. 

But your noises and impatient movements spur him on. His sticky cock is filling out his jeans again. He nearly drools at the thought of the wet walls of your cunt, currently wrapped around his fingers, sliding over his cock instead. He knows you want it, too.

“Don’t you?” He asks like you could read his mind.

“Hm?” You hum absently. Empty headed. You’re still taken by the entire pulpy, messy scene. 

Reveling in the vulnerability of being spread open on his cluttered counter as you’re both half-dressed and panting in the other’s hot breath. Any semblance of the lightness of your mood is quickly replaced with a blinding need. His fingers work into you, making obscene sounds, and then you add your own fingers. Circling your swollen clit just as he lets you in on his vision. 

“You wanna bounce on my lap. Fill this pussy with my cock.” 

“Yes,” you hiss as you hover at the edge. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he watches your fingers working deftly over your swollen clit. The encouragement tips you over. Your body jolts erratically as you contract around his fingers, and bright sparks of pleasure course through you. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna ride me like fuckin’ champ,” he decides. You pull at his wrist when you start to feel overwhelmed, and he slides his wet fingers over your soft inner thigh. He’s ready to grab you and carry you to the couch when both of your heads snap to attention at the sound of a door slamming in the driveway. 

“Shit,” he grumbles, looking for the clock on the stove before he remembers it’s definitely not set to the right time. You move nimbly, shimmying into your shorts, snapping your straps back over your shoulder, and brushing your hair out of your face. 

“Hey, wait,” he calls for you, but you’re on the move. 

“Let me know when I can pick up the baking dish,” you call over your shoulder. Luckily, Joel’s next guest seemed to know him better. They were off to search the shop first, so you didn’t collide with anyone before you got to your car. Joel stayed locked in the kitchen, catching his breath while you started to pull away. He didn’t see that you stole his dirty Creed shirt off the counter before you skipped out the door. 

When you grab it later to wear to bed, a naughty little smile tugs at the corners of your lips. When you pull the worn fabric to your nose to inhale deeply, you wonder if it’s one of those weird pheromone matches or something because you’re sure the sweaty man musk should be wrinkling your nose. 

Instead, it makes you think of his big arms and chest filling out the shirt. And how his shoulder and back muscles ripple under his sun-bronzed skin. What they’d look like coated in a sheen of salty sweat as he railed you, bent over his workbench, under the watchful eye of the calendar model and her flirty smize. 

The image has you interrupting your own scenarios-before-bed time. Maybe Joel needs a model from this decade. You giggle, bunching up the t-shirt to snap a tasteful shot of some underboob cleavage, with the faded Creed logo on full display. 

You send it off with no context, figuring it’s self-explanatory. It’s less than a minute before your phone buzzes, and you feel the intoxicating rush rip through your body before you pick it up to see just the heading on your lockscreen: 

Joel

Attachment 1 image

part 2 here | part 3 here

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

Please let me know if you enjoyed or hated this or a secret third thing (???) heheh

[elliesbabygirl]

Synopsis: In a far away modern au...where ellie's a piece of shit to y/n. The girl doesn't know what she wants and she keeps making mistakes on how to figure it out while dragging y/n down.

warnings: Ellie being a piece of shit, emotional & physical cheating, swearing, arguing, mentions of Cat, + Dina being your best friend plus activating mama bear mode on Ellie and cat. Angst with no comfort because we like trying new things here.

part one -> part two

The door of the dorm slammed behind you before Ellie could step in after you.

“Seriously?” you said, voice tight. “You’re really gonna act like that didn’t mean anything?”

Ellie froze halfway inside, her hand still on the doorknob. Her face was red from the cold outside — or maybe the drinks — or maybe the fact that she knew exactly what this was about and didn’t want to hear it.

“What are you even talking about?” she asked, already annoyed, already defensive.

You stared at her. “Don’t do that. Don’t play dumb.”

She sighed, letting the door click shut behind her, backpack sliding off one shoulder. “If this is about Cat—”

“It is about Cat, Ellie.”

You hated how your voice cracked, hated how you couldn’t just be cold and distant and above it all. But this had been building. And tonight — seeing Ellie laughing with Cat at that house party, the way Cat grabbed her wrist, the way Ellie let her — it broke something inside you.

“She was all over you,” you said, arms crossed now. “Again.”

“I wasn’t flirting back.”

“You smiled when she said you looked hot.”

“She complimented me.”

“And you took her sailing last weekend...on Joel’s boat.”

Ellie blinked. “That was— It was with the group.”

“You didn’t invite me.”

The silence hit harder than shouting. Ellie opened her mouth, then closed it. You watched the gears turn — excuses, deflection, maybe even a joke — but nothing came.

“Why do you let her talk to you like that?” you asked, quieter now. “Why is it so hard for you to just say, ‘Hey, I have a girlfriend’? That’s not complicated, Ellie. That’s not some unsolvable math problem.”

Ellie rubbed her temple. “I didn’t want to make a scene.”

“Bullshit,” you snapped. “You just didn’t want her to stop liking you.”

“That’s not fair!”

“No, what’s not fair is being in a relationship with someone who lets their ex hang off them like they’re still a thing. What’s not fair is me sitting on that damn bed that night, wondering if I should’ve just gone home.”

Ellie paced. She always did that when she was cornered — not angry, just trying to escape the space with movement. You sat on the bed, arms crossed, pulse loud in your ears.

“You know how I feel about you,” Ellie said, not looking at you. “You know that.”

“Then act like it.”

She stopped moving.

You shook your head. “It’s not about trust, Ellie. It’s about respect. And you keep choosing not to give me any when she’s around. Like you’re still waiting for her to want you again.”

“That’s not— That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

Ellie looked at you, finally. She looked tired. Like she’d been running on fumes for a while and only just noticed.

“I don’t know,” she admitted

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

You took a breath, jaw tight, trying not to let your voice shake. “You didn’t invite me.”

Ellie blinked. “What?”

“You invited her to go sailing, on Joel’s boat. With our friends and you didn’t even think to ask your girlfriend.”

Ellie’s mouth opened, but you didn’t let her fill the air with whatever half-assed explanation she was about to give.

“You planned it. That wasn’t a ‘spur of the moment’ thing. You made a group chat for it. You packed snacks. You brought music and... and decided to not invite me.”

Ellie winced.

You shook your head, incredulous. “You keep saying I’m weird with my feelings, that I don’t open up enough. That I make it hard for you to ‘read’ me. But somehow, you’re a goddamn genius when it comes to knowing exactly how to protect whatever’s left of your thing with Cat.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” she said quickly.

“Then what are you doing?” you asked, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re keeping her around as backup and every time she leans in and calls you cute or grabs your wrist like you’re still hers, you let her.”

You could see it on her face — not guilt, not really. Just confusion, like she’d never let herself look at it that closely. Like she’d built the whole thing on vibes and nostalgia and now that you were poking holes in it, the air was finally leaking out.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me anymore,” she muttered.

“Then why did she get a day on the water with you, and I got silence?”

Ellie didn’t answer.

You stared at her. “You keep telling me I’m hard to read, that I don’t say enough. So I’m saying it now. This hurts. It makes me feel small. It makes me feel like I’m just a placeholder until you’re ready to admit you still want her.”

“I don’t want her,” Ellie said, louder now, like saying it harder would make it more true.

“But you want her attention.”

Silence again. This time, Ellie didn’t move.

“I need you to choose, els,” you said, voice low but steady. “Because I already am. I already did.”

You crossed your arms, not in anger, but to hold yourself together.

“Just stop calling me confusing when you’ve built a whole friendship with your ex on mixed signals and unspoken history. At least I’m trying.”

Ellie sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, hands clasped like she didn’t know what to do with them. Her voice came out small.

“You’re right.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I know I’m right.”

She flinched a little, but you were past caring about sparing her feelings right now. You’d swallowed too much already.

You took a few steps across the room, pacing now — needing to move because staying still meant crying, and you weren’t giving her that right now.

“It’s not just that she flirts,” you said, turning back to face her. “It’s how you let her. Every fucking time. You don’t flinch, you don’t set a boundary, you don’t even pause. It’s like you’re just waiting for her to go there.”

Ellie opened her mouth.

“No. Don’t say it’s harmless. Don’t say you don’t notice it. Because if you notice me being ‘distant,’ you notice that.”

Ellie’s jaw worked, clenched. “It’s not like I’m trying to—”

“But you are,” you cut in. “Maybe not consciously. But something in you still wants it or wants her to want you. And I have to sit there, pretending like it’s no big deal. Like it doesn’t feel like you’d still fuck her if she asked.”

Ellie’s eyes snapped up, sharp. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously.” You were done filtering. “That’s exactly what it feels like, Ellie!”

Her voice came out low, rough. “You really think I’d do that to you?”

“I don’t know what you’d do, Ellie. That’s the point. Because you don’t say no. You just… comply. You laugh, you smile, you let her lean into you like she still gets to have you.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Then act like it.”

Ellie stood suddenly, too fast, like she couldn’t sit with it anymore. “I am! I’m with you, aren’t I?”

You took a step back. “No, you’re performing like you are. Like you’re checking all the girlfriend boxes and hoping I won’t notice the crack in the foundation.”

Her voice rose. “I’m trying! I don’t know how to make it perfect for you!”

You stared at her. “I never asked for perfect. I asked for honesty. I asked for respect. You don’t have to burn her out of your life — but jesus, Ellie, you have to stop acting like her attention is more important than my feelings, than us”

That landed. You saw it in the way her shoulders dropped, the way she looked away from you like it physically stung her.

“Do you even want to be with me?” you asked, voice low, raw.

Ellie looked up at you — and didn’t say anything.

She just stood there. Still. Quiet. Mouth parting like something was almost going to come out, but didn’t.

And that was it.

Your face dropped. The silence hit harder than any answer could have. Your heart plummeted like your body had been yanked off a ledge.

“Oh my god,” you said, a sharp, broken whisper.

It wasn’t panic.

It was disgust, and realization sinking in like a slow poison.

You let out a bitter breath, laughing once, joyless and short. “Wow. She really fucking got in your head, huh?”

Ellie’s eyes flicked up. “It’s not—”

“No. Don’t,” you snapped. “You didn’t say yes, Ellie. You didn’t even try. You just stood there like you were waiting for a better question.”

Ellie’s mouth tightened, but she still didn’t speak.

You nodded slowly, your hands trembling as you reached for your phone and charger from the nightstand. “Cool. Great. She wins. Cat can finally have you all to herself.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” you threw back. “You practically gift-wrap yourself for her every time we're in the same room. At least now I won’t be in the way.”

You grabbed your hoodie, phone, keys. No suitcase — that would’ve been too dramatic, too permanent. But you were done pretending this wasn’t something broken.

“I’m staying at Dina’s tonight,” you said, shoving the charger into your hoodie pocket. “Maybe longer. I don’t think I owe you a heads-up next time.”

Ellie stepped forward. “Wait—”

But you were already at the door.

Your hand on the knob, you paused — not out of hope, but to see if she’d finally say something that meant anything.

Behind you, she was silent.

So you opened the door, and left her standing in the dark.

Dina didn’t ask questions when you showed up at her door with red-rimmed eyes and your voice hanging on by a thread.

She just stepped aside and let you in.

Now you were curled up on her couch, hoodie sleeves damp from wiping your face, legs tucked under you like if you compacted yourself small enough, maybe the pain would shrink with you.

You've been talking for what felt like hours. Maybe it had only been fifteen minutes but it didn’t matter.

“She just stood there,” you cried, voice hoarse from it. “I asked her point-blank — 'do you even want to be with me?'— and she just… stood there. Like I asked her the weather. Like she needed time to weigh it.”

Dina sat by you, holding you against her chest, arms wrapped tightly as she rocked you slowly, steady.

Her fingers brushed through your hair in soft, repetitive strokes. Like a mother coaxing her child to sleep.

You were practically shaking in her hold.

“And I knew. I knew this was gonna happen. I fucking knew she wasn’t over Cat,” you sobbed, angry now. “Like some part of her still thinks Cat is this golden ticket or some shit. That if she keeps orbiting around her long enough, Cat’ll wake up and suddenly be less of a self-centered, smug bitch.”

Dina didn’t say anything. She just let you keep going, you needed this.

“She always acted like it was harmless,” you spat. “Like, ‘oh, Cat’s just flirty with everyone, it doesn’t mean anything’ — yeah? Then why the fuck did ellie take her on Joel’s boat? Huh? If it’s meaningless, why make that special little group outing and leave your actual girlfriend out of it?”

Your voice cracked on girlfriend, like you couldn’t even hold the word anymore.

“And Cat—Jesus Christ,” you growled, leaning harder into Dina’s side, like it would stop the pit from swallowing you. “That girl knew exactly what the fuck she was doing. She knew me and Ellie were together. And she still pulled that touchy shit. Still whispered in Ellie's ear, still got handsy, and still tried to own her.”

You sniffed, bitter. “It’s like watching someone flirt with your partner while they’ve got one foot out the door — and you’re the only one noticing it.”

Dina pressed her cheek to the top of your head. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“She’s a bitch, Dina,” you hissed. “A manipulative, smug little bitch with a sailor moon tattoo and too much eyeliner and no fucking boundaries. And Ellie? Ellie just fucking lets her do it. Lets Cat sink those little claws in like she was waiting for Cat to say, ‘I want you back.’ Like maybe then, she’d finally feel chosen.”

Ellie’s dorm was too quiet now.

Not peaceful — hollow. Like the air had been knocked out of it the second the door slammed shut behind you.

She paced, back and forth, back and forth.

Her fingers twisted the hem of her hoodie, tugged at her sleeves, and scratched the side of her neck until it turned red.

She couldn’t stop hearing your voice.

'Do you even want to be with me?'

And worse; the silence she gave you in return.

Her phone buzzed on the desk again, a second message.

She’d already seen the first one — the one Cat sent twenty minutes ago, after Ellie had made the dumbest decision of her entire fucking life.

Cat(therine): on my way. u alone?

Ellie stared at it, and locked the screen.

Before she unlocked it again, like somehow the message might change.

Because yeah — she had texted Cat, after you left. After Ellie sat in the dark, feeling that twist of shame and panic and something else she couldn’t name. The need for a distraction. Something familiar, Something easy.

Ellie told herself it didn’t mean anything. Just a conversation. Just closure, maybe. A buffer before Ellie tried to fix what she ruined with you.

Ellie ran her hands over her face.

What the fuck was she doing?

+

A knock at the door, Ellie froze.

It wasn’t loud — just two soft taps, like the person on the other side already knew she would answer. Knew she’d let her in.

Ellie stood still for a second, her hand hovering just over the doorknob. She didn’t want to open it.

At least, not in any honest, grounded part of her. But her body didn’t care about that.

Her body was running a script she hadn’t rewritten yet.

Cat stood there with that same confident smile — all glossy lips and fake innocence.

Her coat was slung over one shoulder, hair curled just enough to look casual, like she hadn’t tried (even though she absolutely had). Her eyes immediately dropped to Ellie’s mouth before drifting back up, slow and sure.

“Hey,” she said. Too soft, too smooth.

Ellie stepped aside and Cat walked in like she owned the place.

And before Ellie could even think about what the hell she was doing, Cat turned and slipped her arms around Ellie’s neck, pulling her in close. “Missed me?”

Ellie didn’t pull back.

She let her hands hover awkwardly at Cat’s waist — not committed, but not resisting either.

And for a second, she almost sank into it, muscle memory.

The way Cat fit against her. The curve of her body, and the perfume she always wore that lingered on hoodies long after she left.

Then she saw it — Cat's smile.

Too sweet, too curated.

It didn’t hit the same.

Because your smile had never been like that, yours wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t laced with agenda. It wasn’t trying to win, or trap, or conquer.

Yours was warm.

Quiet, honest.

Even when you were annoyed with her. Even when you were tired, especially then.

Ellie felt it — this sudden gut-punch contrast between what she had and what she was standing in right now.

She tried to shake it off.

“So,” Ellie said, voice tight, “you just happened to be in the area?”

Cat laughed. “You invited me, remember?”

“Right.” Ellie swallowed. “Right.”

Cat leaned in, brushing her nose along Ellie’s jaw. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, too fast.

She felt herself go still, her arms dropped, and Cat didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe she did — and just didn’t care, not like you. You always cared.

“You’re tense,” Cat purred, fingers playing with the edge of Ellie’s collar. “Let me fix that.”

Ellie forced a chuckle. “You're always so helpful.”

And just like you said — Ellie smiled, let Cat touch her, and didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop her, didn't say no.

She was doing it again.

The exact way you had described it.

And for the first time, it wasn’t flattering. It wasn’t fun, it was pathetic.

+

Cat’s hands were sliding up Ellie’s hoodie, her voice a syrupy murmur near Ellie’s ear.

Ellie wasn’t hearing a word, not really. Her mind was spinning, spiraling, folding in on itself with every breath.

She felt detached, like she was watching someone else crash the car in slow motion.

Another knock at the door, distant.

Cat giggled against her collarbone. “Ignore it,” she whispered, hands tugging Ellie's hoodie. “They’ll go away.”

But they didn’t.

Click.

A soft jingle of metal, the door unlocked.

Ellie blinked, She hadn’t locked it after Cat came in.

The door creaked open.

And there stood Dina — backlit by the hallway, holding a familiar little card. The one Ellie had given you months ago, when things were still soft and stupid and sweet.

Dina looked at the scene in front of her.

Cat practically draped over Ellie like a designer coat, and Ellie standing there frozen, hollow-eyed.

For a second, Dina didn’t say anything.

Then she smiled.

Not a nice one, not even close.

“Wow,” Dina said, voice bright in the most biting, fake way. “Didn’t realize we were back in rotation already.”

Ellie opened her mouth, but her throat locked. “Dina, I—”

Dina raised a hand, cutting Ellie off.

“Nope. Not here for your breakup-tour monologue.”

Dina stepped inside, twirling the card once before chucking it across the room.

It bounced off the edge of Ellie’s desk, landing somewhere near Cat’s bag. Cat didn’t even flinch — probably thought it was beneath her.

Dina gave Cat a once-over, her smile didn’t move.

“Don’t worry,” she said to Ellie, sweet as poison. “I’m just here to grab her stuff.”

Ellie’s brows pulled together. “She—?”

“She’s in my car, Ellie.”

Ellie's face bloomed red, like she was slapped.

“She was sobbing so hard I couldn’t even get the full story until halfway through a box of kleenex,” Dina added, now walking towards the little stack of your things by the bed — your hoodie, your extra phone charger, and the book you left here three nights ago when you were still planning your weekend with Ellie.

“Didn’t think you’d already be playing house with your ex, though.” Dina’s voice was tight now, rage buried just beneath the sarcasm.

Cat cleared her throat, leaning into Ellie like she had something to prove. “You don’t have to be rude, you know.”

Dina didn’t even look at Cat. “Oh, sweetie,” she muttered. “You’re not even important enough to be the main point.”

She grabbed the hoodie, the charger, your book and them all into a reusable grocery bag she brought just for this.

Ellie still hadn’t moved, still stunned, like if she stood still long enough the whole scene might go away.

“You fucked up, Ellie,” Dina said, her tone suddenly razor-sharp. “And she saw it coming. That’s the worst part. She fucking knew.”

Dina slung the bag over her shoulder. “Just thought you should know that she stopped crying.”

She turned towards the door.

“She’s not sad anymore,” Dina said over her shoulder. “She’s furious.”

Then she walked out.

Ellie stood there, stuck in the silence left behind.

The room smelled like Cat’s perfume.

Her body was still close, hands brushing Ellie’s ribs as she leaned in, clearly trying to reclaim the mood.

“So,” Cat purred, trying to sound playful, “now that the drama’s out of the way—”

“Stop.”

Ellie’s voice came out flat, cold.

Cat blinked. “What?”

Ellie pulled back.

Cat reached for her again.

“I said stop.” This time it was sharper.

Ellie shoved her hands away, not hard, but enough to make Cat reel slightly.

That was it, that was the moment it all clicked. The noise in Ellie’s head cut out, replaced by one thing, one thought;

You were in Dina’s car.

Not in Ellie's dorm.

Not in her bed, and not with her.

But downstairs, with Dina.

Probably parked outside already, eyes puffy, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, curled up in the passenger seat while Ellie was letting someone else touch her.

Her stomach turned.

She staggered back a step, like her body was just catching up to what it had done.

“I have to go,” Ellie muttered, grabbing her boots, not even lacing them.

“Ellie, what—?”

But she was already gone, yanking the door open, and sprinting into the hall.

Author's note: heyyyy.... how y'all doing 😛 I'm back from my unannounced hiatus LMAO. I was trying to lean into something angsty but it's really long so I'm breaking it into TWO parts. The second part will probably come out later this week (hopefully)...

LMK if you wanna be tagged for the second part.

[mustyrosewater]

𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖐 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖝 𝖆𝖋𝖆𝖇!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 11,658

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: meeting your long distance boyfriend over a ranked match of mortal kombat wasn't the typical meet cute you'd always dreamed of, but it seemed to work out perfectly.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: descriptions of mortal kombat gore, phone sex, long distance relationships, SMUT, no protection (please use protection.), the angst that comes with having a partner over three hours away. probably spelling errors. no descriptions of the reader other than she has her nipples pierced.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: as soon as i saw that erik plays mortal kombat on my first watch, i immediately fan girled as somebody who's been a hardcore mortal kombat fan since i was like ten, this is the result of a hyperfixation and somehow smashing out 11k words in two nights, enjoy!!

“FINISH HIM.”

“Oh, fuck you man.”

The angered words of your opponent rung through your headset, finally deciding to turn on the voice chat feature as the deep-voiced announcer finally called out your win. 

On the screen in front of you, you quickly mashed in the quick-timed combination to spur on Mileena’s fatality against the Scorpion that this stranger was playing as.

Watching with a satisfied grin, the 3D-modelled character stabbed the other in the head with her two sai, spinning his head a few times before ripping it off in a satisfying conclusion to the randomly matched online battle. 

Whoever it was on the other end of the match, they seemed unsatisfied to take the loss elegantly, letting out a small string of muttered curses. 

“Uh uh, no way, that was bullshit.”

You hadn’t yet turned on your own mic, and a majority of the time you wouldn’t bother to accept the requests of rematches, but your curiosity was peaked as this person seemed so intent on trying to beat you again. 

ErikTheInkman.

Boring username, you thought, but based on the stats displayed under his username, he played frequently, just as you did. 

It couldn’t hurt to play a few more rounds and get a few more wins under your belt to potentially rank up, and he did seem pretty intent on trying to beat you.

Finally clicking the X on your controller to accept the rematch, you reselected Mileena in the character menu, just as you always did.

Of course, you dabbled in other characters, but she had always been your favorite, the one you sunk the most hours into learning to perfection, her move sets and combos ingrained deeply in your head. 

The newest Mortal Kombat was barely over a year old. Still, in that time you’d managed to rank up a hefty amount, sinking hours into your gameplay to unlock the cosmetics and even delving into buying some of the DLC they’d released.

You watched your opponent reselect Scorpion, seemingly also preferring to stick to a certain character as was the norm for most of the other people you played online with. 

Selecting a randomly generated match was something you did slightly less often, usually choosing to play with friends, but with the trouble of most of your friends living in different time zones and none of them being awake for the time being, you bit the dust and went into a randomly selected match. 

The characters spoke their little introductory quips to one another, something you always enjoyed watching before a match to get into the headspace you wanted, before it began. 

As the announcer called out the beginning of the match with a deep-seated “Fight!” erik the inkman, or whatever I’m his username was, sprung into action immediately.

His technique was a bit sloppy at times, but nowhere near terrible, you still had to concentrate to hold your own against him, but as the match progressed you could see him getting pissed off from the way he played. 

Winning the first round with relative ease, you heard him key his mic back on as the second round started. 

“Are you fucking serious!”

It was nowhere near the first time you’d experienced the wrath of a man’s emotions when you played online matches, keeping your profile name fairly androgynous leading to a slight decline, but it was also the reason you usually chose to keep your mic off. 

Continuing on to the second round, you noted him continuing to talk while the two of you played, something that you could not stand, finding it to be extremely distracting while you tried to concentrate.

“Why are none of my combo’s working, My fucking controller is broken i swear to god.”

You didn’t care for anything he was saying, hardly even taking it in as you carefully and hastily let your muscle memory guide you as you played. 

Hitting an attack at a particularly well timed moment, you almost jumped in your seat in excitement as it triggered one of the particularly gore filled X-ray sequences, watching the 3D rendered Scorpion to be pummeled by your Mileena.

“Oh, Fuck off!”

With only a limited amount of health left in both of your characters, you could almost hear him mashing the buttons through his mic, finally feeling yourself reach your wits end as you felt your concentration slipping, tapping the button in your head seat to unmute your mic. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

Your voice seemed to quite him initially, leaving you with just enough time to hit a fatal blow onto his Scorpion, not even bothering to trigger a fatality when the announcers booming voice spoke out, letting his character simply fall to the ground as the timer finished. 

Letting out a deep sigh, you adjusted your cross legged position on your gaming chair, realising that your sigh had been audible from the mic you’d forgotten to put back on mute. 

“Just, jesus dude. Calm down, it’s not that serious.”

You left it at that, not waiting for a response as you exited the match and finding yourself back on the main menu of the game, deciding this was a good time to take a break as any, feeling almost as if you’re blood pressure had risen just from that interaction. 

Holding up your phone, you leaned back in your chair and tried to check to see if any of your friends had messaged on discord, finding no new notifications present on the menu screen. 

Only able to let out another sigh, you chose instead to scroll through instagram, looking over whatever came up in your screen, family and friends posts flying across the page as you flicked through them mindlessly. 

The sound of a notification through your headset turned your attention away from your phone, seeing a notification popping up on the corner of the screen.

‘ErikTheInkMan has sent you a friend request.’

Furrowing your brows, you stared at the notification momentarily, confusion playing across your features and you leaned forward and clicked onto his profile.

A stereotypical profile picture of some crudely drawn skull was showing next to his username, along with his rank and stats.

Before you could look at anything else on his profile, a message popped up following the friend request. 

“GG.”

As you took a moment to scoff at the attitude of the guy who’d just sworn and basically had a tantrum, another message followed. 

“Sorry.” 

Look, even if it was only one word, there was at least some part of you that appreciated the apology, almost taking pity for the guy who probably just got a little bit too heavily invested in his gaming like a lot of people did.

Maybe that’s why you accepted his friend request. 

The acception of his friend request was the last thing you’d done before one of your friends finally messaged you to let you know they were getting on the game, starting the process of queuing up with them, forgetting all about the angry stranger for the rest of the night.

Relative nothingness seemed to follow for the rest of that night, no more messages from him or any other attempt of a rematch. 

Not until the next day at least, when you’d gotten home from work and decided to blow off some steam by jumping in again, knowing how unlikely it was that any of your friends would actually be online, but you still wanted something to do.

So when roughly fifteen minutes after you logged on, you got a message from ErikTheInkMan, asking if you wanted to play a couple more rounds, you accepted.

You don’t explicitly say yes, didn’t even respond to the message itself, simply sent him an invite that he responded to just as promptly, throwing the pair of you in a lobby to select your characters. 

Neither of you spoke at first, but as you scrolled across to select Mileena once more, you gambled a risk by unmuting yourself and speaking.

“Just don’t yell like a man child this time.”

When you said that, you immediately heard laughter ring through your headset, embarrassed laughter of somebody who’d made a fool out of themselves and knew it whole heartedly. 

“I really am sorry about that.” his voice began, having a softness to it you hadn’t had the chance to hear yet. 

“Most of the time people either don’t respond or they’re yelling back at me, kinda got a bit desensitised i guess?”

Letting out a small “Mhm.” you continued going forward with the match, the pair of you locking in your characters and continuing forward. 

You couldn’t have known you both would have continued on for hours playing, eventually delving into a conversation of light playful jabs, making each other laugh as your matches grew more casual, rolling with the even mix of wins and losses on both sides. 

“I’m gonna get you this time, watch out.” 

He spoke with an audible smile, actively in the middle of knocking off a large amount of your health bar through a series of combo’s 

“Oh sure, you can try, but you’re hopeless.”

You’re response only let out a low laugh on his part.

“Oh you’re in for it now.”

The time spent in countless matches seemed to offset your initial meeting all together, now finding yourself getting nothing but sheer enjoyment out of the banter the pair of you shared. 

So much so that by the time you’d actually spared a glance at your clock for the first time tonight, you’d let out a small “Oh shit.” with a laugh.

“What is it?” he enquired, that same audible smile present in his tone.

“I should have gone to bed like, two hours ago.”

As you both laughed at your realisation, you listened as he seemed to check his own time.

“Shit, same here. I have to open tomorrow, we fucked up.”

Your mind wandered for a moment thinking what he might do, a question that might have to be left for next time you spoke, if there even was a next time at the very least.

“Alright, well, i’m gonna head off then.” you kept your tone kind, not immediately offering to play again with him, just keeping it open enough without shutting it down completely.

“Wait, do you have discord?” 

His immediate enquiry made you feel the slightest bit shy, a smile coming to your face as you laughed softly.

“Yeah, i’ll message you my tag.” 

Going into the messages feature of the game, you double checked it on your other monitor, already having had it open from the beginning of the night, and typed out your tag for him to look you up. 

“There you go, okay, i really have to get to bed now though.” you laughed through your words, finishing up your conversation with a mutual good night and exited the game, turning off your pc and getting ready for bed. 

Neglecting to check your phone until the next morning, you’d seen the notification from discord, the banner reading that a friend request had been sent your way, the time reading to only a few minutes after you’d fallen asleep the night before. 

Still named as ‘eriktheinkman’ on discord, his profile picture was still of a macabre nature, some sort of sketched picture of a snake across a dagger, potentially drawn by him? you weren’t entirely sure.

Taking the plunge and sending the first message wasn’t something you’d usually do, but it was all you could think about as you could ready for work, taking only a few seconds to type out a quick “good morning :)” before promptly putting the phone face down on your kitchen counter. 

By the time you’d gotten a response, you were already at work, maybe he was a few hours behind you? you hadn’t asked specifically where he was from but he clearly had an american accent, what if he was canadian? maybe you hadn’t picked it the accent correctly.

You’d sat down at your lunch break roughly an hour after initially seeing the notification, finally opening it up to see what he’d sent in response.

“morning. how’d you sleep?” 

It was a standard response obviously, mundane yet still left you with butterfly’s in your stomach, something so simple.

“not bad, still managed to wake up to my alarms lol.”

You hadn’t expected such a prompt response, seeing his profile become active within less than thirty seconds before you could see him start typing.

“wish i was in the same boat. was late to work, client was already waiting.”

Smiling to your screen, you tried to guess what he might do for a living, imagining a plethora of different things in your head as you watched him start typing again before you could even respond.

“we should play again tonight if you’re not busy.”

his lack of any smiley faces seemed fitting to the person you’d already gotten to know, being an avid user of emoji’s and hearts amount other things yourself, it was odd to see, but already didn’t seem out of character for him. 

“i don’t think i am, i finish work at 6:30, it’s like 3 now for me.”

Now with the understanding he’d woken up late specifically, you wondered if your guess about him being a few hours behind you was still correct, your mind brimming with the possibilities of where he was from. 

“oh okay, that works, it’s around 2 for me now, i should be finishing up at 6 as long as my boss doesn’t pull any shit.”

There was your answer, only roughly an hour behind you.

The thought made you giddy for some reason, maybe just excitement at the idea of meeting a potential friend that actually lived in the same continent as you, much less potentially only being a few states away.

“sounds perfect :)” 

Just as quickly as it started, your lunch break was over, sentencing you back to your job which awaited you with open arms, unable to keep your thoughts away from erik the ink man, as you’d come to start calling him in your head. 

The night when you came home and jumped back onto Mortal Kombat within only minutes of walking through the door, a night of even more laughter and playful insults that you knew now were done innocently, seemed to have kickstarted a long distance friendship between you and erik, coming to know each other by name. 

As the months drew onward, it got to the point you were talking to erik almost every day, messaging him on your lunch break to complain about annoying customers, he’d do the same when he had the free time during his shifts, joking about the people that would come in asking him for infinity symbols, or sleeves consisting of lions, roses and clocks. 

His dry humour was the best part of your day, the way he’d poke fun at you and send sarcastic comments your way that only made you laugh and playfully insult him back. 

Even when you were just cooking dinner, you’d end up calling him over discord and filling him in about your day while he either closed up the shop for the night or while he laid down on his couch absentmindedly playing something else. 

It was a sense of peace to the end of your days, being able to chat with somebody you grew to consider a close friend, as well as having a gaming buddy that actually lived reasonably on par with your time zone.

When he’d first mentioned off handedly that he finished off a tattoo that’d been a few sessions in the making that day, instead of sending it to you over discord like he usually did, he told you to just look him up on instagram, stating that it was easier.

You weren’t even entirely sure what you were expecting your friend to look like, never having conjured up some image of him in your head previously, so going from a blank slate to the tatted up, dark haired and blue eyed guy in the photo, happily tattooing away, well it was a bit of an unexpected jump. 

“I guess it’s only fair you actually see what i look like now.” you’d mused to him, following the instagram that he’d sent to you, waiting for him to notice the notification.

It’d only taken about a minute and a half till you received a follow back. 

“You’re such a fucking nerd.” erik mused, only stirring a laugh from deep within you, no doubt seeing the pictures of your gaming set up and the pictures from within the comic book store you worked at, goofy faces made with your coworkers. 

“Shut up.” was all you’d been able to respond with, now having such a different type of feeling now that you actually knew what the person behind the voice looked like.

Of course you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. 

Every little sarcastic jab you threw at each other that felt like it carried even the slightest bit of flirting was now making you want to blush and hide your face like an idiot, always thankful that erik couldn’t actually see you. 

“I’m coming for you now.” 

Going from Mortal Kombat to a series of different games was now something you did quite often with erik, finding that you actually shared quite a few in common, finding that Dead by Daylight was a semi common one that you’d both suggest on the days where you gamed together.

“If you hook me i’ll moan.” you jokingly threatened, your mouth curling into a grin as you controlled your character, weaving over pallets and rounding corners as the killer erik was playing as found itself hot on your trail.

“Now i absolutely wanna hook you.” he responded, his killer gaining on your survivor at an alarming rate that had you letting out a little squeal.

“Oh get off my ass!” you laughed, there were still two other survivors he could be gunning for, but it made too much sense that he was targeting you specifically.

“Hmm, no. I was that ass specifically.”

His response only had you rolling your eyes, letting out a groan of annoyance when he downed you, his character picking yours up and walking towards one of the hooks that was close by. 

“No come onnn, let me cut a deal with you please.” you put on a mockingly begging tone, trying to button mash to get out of his killers hold. 

“You can’t whore your way out of this one.” he laughed through his words, hooking your character with no hesitation, the scream cutting through your headset as you put your controller down with a huff, only able to watch helplessly as the entitiy’s claws murdered your character.

“That was rigged, i refuse to accept that.”

“Now who’s having a tantrum?”

He was laughing just as much as you were as you watched the rest of the game play out, letting out a satisfied cheer when the last survivor escaped through the hatch, unable to be caught and murdered by erik’s killer.

“Yes! fuck you! that’s what you get!”

What had started as playful, slightly flirty insults initially, seemed to delve a bit deeper as time went on, going from unserious to being rooted in something unspoken between the pair of you. 

Now at the level of sending stupid little selfies to each other throughout the day, it’d been you who’d seemed to pull the first official check mate of whatever it was going on between you two.

You’d been getting out of the shower when your phone first vibrated, holding the towel wrapped around your body with one hand as you opened up discord to see him making a stupid face, obviously laying in bed judging by the messy hair and pillow behind his head. 

Obviously you could have waited until you got dressed to send something back, gotten into your pajamas and sent a similar selfie back from the comfort of your own bed. 

But you didn’t. 

Not even 100% certain of what you were doing, the sudden burst of confidence (potentially mixed with how goddamn pretty he looked in the initial selfie he sent you) seeming to prompt you to take a photo of yourself using the mirror, smiling softly as your wet hair and towel around your body was shown just enough to convey you’d only just stepped out of the shower 

At first, it’d taken him a little bit to respond, your anxiety was already telling you that you’d pushed it a bit too far, that this was the part where he ignored the picture or let you down easily, after five minutes of freaking out, you felt your phone vibrate again, opening the message hastily. 

“not even gonna lie, kind of wish you sent me that while you were still in the shower but i’ll take it.” 

He was still being playful, but it seemed like you were both in the same page, a mutual agreement now that there was definitely more to the flirting and the comments than just gaming buddies being silly.

Initially you stared at his message, biting your lip and now feeling completely unsure what to do from here, the sudden burst of confidence now entirely overshadowed by anxiety.

Before you could think to type anything or send another image, you watched an image begin to load up from erik, almost dropping your phone when you looked at it.

He’d obviously decided to take another selfie, his faded t shirt and boxers clearly in frame now, only seeing his mouth in the photo pulled into a slight smirk.

The clear image of his boxers also very clearly showed him half hard, the tartan pattern seeming to show every little detail through the thin material.

This was it, permission sent clear as day on his end, whatever it was that was about to happen between the two of you, he was giving you the green flag.

Overthinking the image more than you probably needed to, taking a moment to toy with the angles, you eventually settled on an image of yourself with the towel now falling a little bit more, your face slightly more in view than it was previously, sticking you tongue out in a mischievous way.

As opposed to previously, erik’s response after you sent the image came in much quicker this time, already seeming to make his frustration known.

“you’re making it really hard to be miles away right now.”

That was soon followed by a picture that was fairly similar than before, only difference being that why had initially been a half hard tent in his boxers was now standing far more, his hand resting on his stomach.

You could have done nothing but send photos back and fourth to each other all night, make it a painfully slow process, but there was definitely a build up that needed to be addressed, the comments you’d been throwing at each other for weeks now were starting to boil over, there wasn’t any room left to wait.

When you called him, he answered within a single ring, already hearing how deeply he was breathing. 

“You’re trouble.” were the first words out of his mouth, breathless and hurried. 

“Let me see you.” 

Calling him seemed to have opened the floodgates, any and all but if coyness and subtlety now thrown out the window and discarded by the both of you.

When you pulled your phone away and turned on your camera, the image of him soon followed, you’re smiling face being all the was in frame, biting your lip.

“Hi.” you whispered, unsure why, considering you lived alone, but he didn’t seem to mind, only smiling back at you as he slowly sat up in bed.

“If you don’t show me what’s under that towel, i’m gonna fucking burst.” 

His words felt like fire over your skin, it felt the slightest bit odd, about to show yourself to someone you’d never even met in the flesh, yet all with the comfort of how well you’d come to know him. 

Biting your lip to try and hide your smile, you held up your phone to show more of your body, now holding the towel across your chest, otherwise letting it hang loosely, hiding the parts of yourself that you knew he wanted to see. 

Even through the phone, you could hear his breathing get deeper and rougher, see the way his brows furrowed a bit as his eyes raked over your body with a laser focus. 

“Shit.” he whispered, seeming to sport a bit more confidence than you currently were, pulling his phone away from his face to show how he was currently palming himself through his boxers, no hesitation present on his features at all as his mouth fell open.

“I-I’ve never done this before.” you spoke, breaking the silence but showing no intentions of stopping your teasing, just finding yourself slightly unsure of what exactly you should be doing right now, overthinking what exactly it might be that he wanted you to do.

“Yeah? Me neither.” his words were a delicious mix of a huskiness and a grunt that had you already pressing your legs together “it’s okay, it’s okay.. just.. i’ll tell you what to do.. if you don’t wanna go any further, just say the word. okay?” 

God he was so sweet, so considerate, it only made you want to do this even more, wanted to see him touching himself to the sight of you, knowing how badly he wanted you. 

Nodding, you tilted your head and smiled, the innocent look on your face already having an evident effect on erik as he watched you through his phone, squeezing his cock through the fabric of his boxers as he moved his hand to slip under the waist band and start to play with himself lazily. 

“Need to see those tits, please baby.” 

The way he asked, begged to see you had you already starting to feel weak, like your stomach was doing cartwheels, barely even leaving you enough brain power to concentrate on letting the towel drop away from your breasts, using your now free’d hand to squeeze them for him, running your fingers so softly along the underside, running across your flesh in a way that seemed to spur an audible groan from him, especially when he saw the barbells that sat through your nipples, watching as his eyes locked into them immediately. 

“Jesus, when were you gonna tell me about those..” 

For a moment you were too sheepish to even speak, running your thumb over the peaks and letting out soft pants through your open mouth. 

“Not really an easy thing to just mention out of nowhere.” you laughed softly, watching as he shook his head softly, seemingly sharing your sentiment of being lost for words. 

“Fuck, you have no clue how much i’ve thought about you like this.”

Biting back a shy smile, you shut your eyes and let your mouth fall open as you run your hand along the soft flesh of your tits. Knowing that you were producing that much of a reaction from Erik purely from him seeing these parts of you, it would have been a lie if you’d said the feeling wasn’t a little bit addictive.

“Pinch em’ a little, please baby, just like that.”

His words caused your eyes to open back up, seeing that his face was now contorting into a mural of different expressions, the struggle to keep his eyes open visible on his face as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. 

As much as you were shy, the idea of doing these things in front of a camera making you feel weak, the adrenaline was out weighing it completely, the image on your phone screen of Erik pulling down his boxers with one hand, all to reveal..

“Oh my god, is that-“

The silver ball’s of the curved barbell sitting snugly inside the reddened tip of his cock caught the light of the camera and glinted softly in the dark room he was in.

Your words brought a croaked laugh out of his chest, turning the camera back to his face and smiling as you could see his shoulder moving while he pumped himself slowly and lazily. 

“Guess I can't give you any shit for not mentioning hidden piercings now..”

All you could do was nod your head and let out a small “uh huh”, already feeling hypnotised by the sight of him running his thumb over his tip that was met by the silver ball of the barbell. 

“Fuckin’ hurt like a bitch, worth it though.”

His chesty laugh sounded like liquid velvet to your ears, it made it seem like this wasn’t real at all, like you were just having a wet dream about someone you’d come to consider one of your best friends and that you were gonna wake up any second and you’d be back to nothing except flirty remarks and unspoken attraction. 

Except this was definitely real, when he turned the camera back to his face, his mouth hanging open and his chest rising and falling deeply, you knew your own brain was incapable of conjuring up an image like that. 

“Let me see those pretty tits again, don’t be selfish.”

You knew he wasn’t being genuine with his remark about you being selfish, it only made you smile more, bringing your phone back to an angle where both your face and torso could be seen, continuing to play with them for him, trying to hardest to put on a show, a private one that was purely for yours and his eyes. 

“Erik..” you practically mewled his name out, your voice shaky and unstable, only seeming to get more of a reaction out him, his shoulder moving in a way that signalled he was starting to pump himself faster. 

“Fucking- god, say my name again.” 

When you repeated his name, letting it come out similar to a prayer to a god, breathing it out so that it sounded like some sort of arcane word that had unknown power over him. 

You watched his eyes squeeze shut and his head fall back on his pillow, his mouth hanging open as he continued to let out a series of throaty groans that rose and fell in pitch at a rapid pace. 

“Holy shit, holy shit.”

Knowing that something as simple as saying his name could have this much a reaction from him, the power you held, it just made your mind swim with the possibilities of what it would be like if he was here with you right now, or you with him. 

You pictured laying down on his bed, making a mess of his grey coloured sheets as he took you from behind, how it would feel to have his strong hands gripping your hips as he pounded into your womb at an unforgiving place.

When your hand had made it’s way down to your clit, you couldn’t even remember, too wound up in chasing your own release to even try and keep track of how long you’d both been sitting here watching each other play with yourselves. 

All you were aware of was how close you were, letting the thoughts of what you’d let him do to you drive the rest of the fantasy in your mind, the idea of him putting that pierced dick inside you and filling you up to the brim with his cum seeming to do the job perfectly, feeling the tightness in your stomach begin to wind itself together.

“Erik, Erik, i think i’m gonna cum.”

“Yes baby, please, fuck i wish i was there, i wanna cum inside you so much, oh my- fuck!”

His own noises were cut off my silence as you watched him seem to still for a moment, only to start moving again at a much slower place, his head rising up while he suddenly began to make noises again, coming out as high pitched cries he seemed to cum all over his belly from what you could see as the camera started to fall out of frame, rolling up to show half of his face and the wall behind him. 

It hadn’t been long for you to follow, the sounds he made proving to be the perfect final little bit of a push you needed in order to be plunged into the cooling pool of an orgasm that had your toes curling and your thighs shaking. 

Falling back from your position sitting on the edge of the bed, you felt your back hit the blankets and stared up at the ceiling as you started to come down from your high, suddenly becoming aware of the fact your heart beat was pounding in your own head, shutting your eyes and just letting the sound of your own panting be accompanied by the sounds of Erik’s own coming from your phone.

You must have sat there for at least another thirty seconds or so, cause eventually you heard Erik’s words coming out with soft laughter. 

“You still alive?” he asked, only just now realising your phone had been abandoned next to you, no doubt now facing your ceiling. 

“No.” you responded, only resulting in another laugh ringing out from him as you finally sat up, grabbing your phone and rolling onto your stomach, holding it back up so you could Erik again, who was now standing once more and seemingly cleaning his own release off his stomach with a tissue. 

“Must’ve died and gone to heaven.” 

You let your face fall forward onto the blanket as you laughed at his words, looking back up to see him looking at the camera once more and smiling softly, looking at you as if you were a piece of art. 

At first there was nothing but silence as you watched him sit back down on his bed, running a hand over his face briefly, as if you were waiting for each other to speak first and address what just happened. 

“What did we just do?” you asked, letting a sigh leave your lips and your brows furrowing as a confused smile crossed your features.

“Well, i hope i’m correct in assuming this..” he began “But i think we just did something that was a long time coming.” 

Looking at you expectantly, you waited for a moment before nodding, embarrassment suddenly flooding through you as you realised how long you’d both let this play out because you were both just too stupid to communicate. 

“Yeah, that checks out.” you laughed, standing up and letting the phone rest on your night stand as you pulled out your drawer and grabbed a pair of pajamas to get closed into it, pulling a pair of shorts on and stepping back into frame as you pulled a shirt over yourself. 

“Careful, my dicks still really sensitive, don’t start her back up again.” he joked, making a pretend pained face as you smiled, his sense of humor seeming to have come back after the post orgasm clarity. 

“Her?” you questioned with a smile, only for him to nod. 

“Of course.” he responded as if it was obvious. 

-

A long distance relationship wasn’t something you’d ever thought about in great detail, at least not before Erik; yet it was something that just seemed to work perfectly for the two of you, for the most part. 

There wasn’t a whole lot of change in routine, other than your gaming sessions and late night phone calls finishing up with “I love you”s and occasionally more instances of the two of you getting off over video call.

It was quickly evident just how insatiable the both of you were, sending Erik photos with your shirt pulled up while he was at work knowing how much it was going to drive him crazy, just the same for him to send you videos late at night of him lazily jerking off when you didn’t have time to call him. 

There’s only so much that can be done when you lived at least three or four states away, when the video calls weren’t enough anymore, you graduated up to remote control toys, a vibrator he could control using his phone, which he had used more than once to get the upper hand during a match. 

“Oh, eat a dick!” you’d yelled with a laugh, practically bouncing in your gaming chair as your team got the upper hand, ready to secure yet another win against the team he’d been playing against. 

Yeah well, it’s all fun and games until he decides to turn it all the way up out of nowhere, a soft shriek leaving your lips as you feel yourself flying forward, the hands holding your controller beginning to shake as a bruising amount of vibration descends upon your clit. 

“That’s not fairrrr!” you’d whine, turning to look at the screen where you had your webcams set up, only seeing Erik grinning like a smug idiot as he puts his phone down and picks his controller back up. 

That’s also great, amazing actually, but it gets to a point. 

When that point is almost eight months into officially being a couple, finally being introduced to his siblings when they poke their heads into frame, waving to them and letting Erik introduce you officially as his girlfriend who just happens to live over a thousand miles away. 

His sister followed you on instagram, already starting a steady routine of sending you funny reels and replying to your posts with hearts and smiley faces. 

His brother seemed to love you, always being heard asking if he could say hi in the background when you were talking to Erik, each and every time making an effort to ask you how you were going, the biggest sweetheart you’d ever met in your life. 

You hadn’t been there when Erik had told his parents about you, but you had gotten a text from him to let you know that his mother and father really wanted to meet you, or at least, talk to you over a video call. 

No matter how much he reassured you that you had no reason to be nervous, that he’d already shown his parents pictures of you and gushed non stop to the point that they already were voicing how excited they were to finally talk to you, you were still pacing back and forth while you waited for Erik to call you. 

Absolutely nothing in this world could have prepared you for how amazing his parents were, how kind they had been, the way they’d smiled so brightly when you started the call like they were more excited to see you than even Erik was. 

When Erik’s father had patted him on the shoulder, gushing about how happy he was that his son had found such a nice girl and how proud he was. 

You knew Erik liked to put on a tough guy front, but the way he smiled while his father praised him, the sight warmed your heart in such a way that you’d never felt before. 

His mother was the sweetest woman you’d ever had the pleasure of speaking to, asking you so intently about yourself, it hadn’t taken long for you to just fall absolutely in love with the rest of Erik’s family just as much as you were head over heels in love with him. 

Maybe that was why the distance had finally started to get to you, the desperation to feel something as simple as holding his hand but knowing that you couldn’t, it had started to boil over for you, coming to a head at the end of one of your many phone calls. 

“Alright, i gotta go to bed baby, it’s already so late.” he laughed, hearing the soft shuffling of him rolling over in bed. 

The time on your clock read close to 1:30 AM, not an unusually late time for you guys to finish your calls, but you knew he had to open the shop tomorrow, you knew he needed to actually be up at a reasonable hour. 

You really did just wanna say good night, tell him you’d see him in the morning, but the words couldn’t bring themselves to come out, all you could do was sniffle softly as you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

“Baby?” he asked, concern already starting to lace his voice when you didn’t respond, even more so when he could hear that you were audibly in the brink of tears. 

“I hate this..” you whispered with a shaken voice, rubbing your eye with your sleeve as you felt tears already starting to stream down your cheeks. 

“What’s wrong? talk to me, are you okay?”

While it took you a moment to find the words, only able to release a small number of pathetic sobs as you could hear the way your boyfriend was starting to panic over the phone, you finally spoke, gathering yourself so that you could relieve him from the anxiety of wondering why you’d seemingly started crying out of nowhere.

“I just wanna hold you, I wanna hold your hand. We’re gonna hang up this call and i’m just going to lay down in this bed alone knowing your over a thousand miles away and there’s nothing i can do about it.”

Your words were wobbly, a vomit of feelings you’d spent the last few weeks bottling up, only to now all come out at once like an opening of floodgates that you couldn’t find the strength to get a handle on. 

At first you were worried about how he was going to respond, already imagining all of the things he might say in response to your sudden rant, when he was already tired and needed to go to bed. 

Letting out a sigh, he spoke.

“I know.” he began, his tone taking on a much more vulnerable tone than you’d expected, his voice coming in an octave higher than it was before. 

“I hate it too, god, you have no idea how much i just wanna hold you, it’s been getting to me too baby.” 

His words only seemed to bring on more tears, your face falling into your hands, all you wanted was to lay your head on his chest and cry it out, but you couldn’t even do that.

“We’re gonna get there soon okay? I’ve already been talking to my dad about trying to get time off work, it just needs to be planned, that’s all.”

Letting out one more pathetic little sniffle, you nodded your head, even if it was just a phone call, wiping your tears one more time as you tried to find something to say.

“I love you, you know that right?”

His words made a weak laugh bubble up from your stomach, always loving the way it sounded when he said it, always making you feel better straight away.

“I love you too.” you breathed.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can tomorrow, but you need to sleep baby, I can tell you’re tired.” 

You could hear the smile on his words as he offered you comfort, only able to wish him a goodnight and a good day at work tomorrow before you finally hung up the call for the night rolled over to try and get some sleep. 

-

When you’d gotten the phone call from Bobby, you’d initially thought that maybe something had happened, why exactly would he be calling you directly and not just either messaging you or getting Erik to call you; nonetheless, you answered.

“Hey Bobby, everything okay?”

You’re next best suspicion was that this call most definitely had something to do with the fact that Erik’s birthday was coming up in a few weeks, maybe he needed a hand with picking something, or he wanted to see what you were thinking of getting him, not that you could really send a lot unless you had it shipped. 

Just as quickly as you’d spoke, you heard Julia’s voice come through, realising quickly you were on speaker phone with the pair of siblings. 

“How soon can you get time off work?” 

With that conversation, a devious plan by Erik’s two siblings was set in motion, his mother partially being involved, they explained. 

All that you had to do was give them a time where you would be free and not working, and Brenda would book you a plane ticket. 

“We’re gonna give him the best birthday present of his whole goddamn life.”

-

The flight had been almost three hours, the final step in a two and half week long plan to hide any and all hints that you were going to be flying out from your boyfriend. 

It was already arranged that Julia was going to pick you up from the airport under the guise of running out to get a few things for the little party that the family had planned, all you had to do was make sure that your flight didn’t crash horribly and everything would be fine. 

You’d lied through your teeth when Erik had called you that morning, explaining that you were going out to go see some family and that there wasn’t any service where they lived, which he promptly bought completely and without question. 

He had no reason to doubt you of course, it was a reasonable enough excuse to have your phone off, considering it had already happened before when you went to visit family in the past. 

With Erik more than thoroughly distracted with the celebration for his birthday underway, as well as your flight finally landing, it was only going to be less than an hour before you were finally standing face to face with your boyfriend for the first time ever. 

The thought alone was already making your hands shake as you walked through the terminal dragging your suitcase behind you. 

When Julia had spotted you, you’d both been unable to hide back the squeals you let out as you embraced each other, already over the moon with finally being able to greet Erik’s sister, who’d come to embrace you wholeheartedly as a friend. 

“Oh I can’t wait to see the look on his fucking face!” she’d mused, taking your hand immediately and guiding you through the rest of the terminal and out into the massive parking lot where she’d helped load your suitcase into the trunk. 

The drive was by no means helping your nerves, knowing that with every meter you crossed you were getting closer and closer, even just knowing that Erik was only a thirty or so minute drive and not a whole set of states away? it was making you feel giddy and nauseous all at the same time somehow. 

Your knee was bouncing incessantly as the tall buildings began to slowly morph into suburbia, houses with bright green lawns flying past your window. 

You had no idea which house was the Campbells, so it was just a waiting game of when the car was going to slow down, your heart beating at a pace that made you feel like it was going to burst out of your chest and you’d die from a heart attack before you even got the chance to finally meet your boyfriend in the flesh. 

“I don’t know if i can do this.” you blurted out, fear evident on your face as you turned to Julia who only burst out laughing at the look on your face. 

“You’re gonna be totally fine!l she encouraged, taking a hand off the steering wheel to rub your shoulder. 

“Erik on the other hand? he might piss his pants.” 

Just as she said that, you felt the car slowing down, a house coming into view which she turned the car towards, pulling into the gravel driveway, which promptly made you feel like you were going to start hyperventilating.

Never before had you felt so much anxiety, yet at the same time wanted to break the window down and sprint to the front door and kick it open. 

So many stupid thoughts began to flood your brain, what if you didn’t look the same as you did on camera and he didn’t like you? What if he suddenly decided he didn’t want to be your boyfriend anymore? 

You hadn’t even realised you’d just been sitting there staring at the house in silence with a panicked look on your face until Julia spoke. 

“I just texted Bobby, we’re ready to go.” she grinned at you, unbuttoning her seatbelt and shimmying her shoulders at you excitedly. 

“Are you ready?” she asked, only finding yourself able to nod silently as you exited her car, pulling your suitcase out of the back seat and approaching the door at Julia’s side with shaky hands. 

Exchanging one more look, Julia grinned as she knocked on the door softly, being greeted by Bobby’s grinning face as he pulled you in for a quick hug. 

“Oh my god, you’re real!” he spoke with hushed excitement. 

You could already hear music coming from the backyard as the siblings began to sneak you through the door like you were a secret package that needed to be delivered without detection. 

“Okay, they’re in the backyard, let’s move.” Bobby spoke to you, letting Julia walk ahead and out to the backyard carrying the supplies she’d apparently been sent out to get. 

With a hand on your back, Bobby guided you to the backyard, light greeting you as you looked around frantically, spotting every member of the Campbell family one by one before finally landing on the back of a band shirt and a head of dark hair fiddling away with the grill. 

“Erik!” Julia called out, looking at you briefly with a grin “I got your present while i was out!” 

“Uh huh.” he responded, barely paying attention to his sisters words as he continued tinkering with the machine, not turning around just yet.

You felt like you were gonna be sick any second, jesus, turn around Erik, turn around. 

As if he’d heard your telepathic command, he turned to look at his sister, a bored look in his face as he expected to receive some sort of stock standard last minute present. 

The very second his eyes met you own, you’re terrified smile beaming at him from only a few meters away, his reaction wasn’t really that far off from what you expected.

“Oh my fucking god!” his voice was loud, his hands coming to tangle in his hair as he looked across at you like you weren’t real for a few seconds before he looked over at his sister. 

“Are you serious?!” 

You knew it wasn’t a bad yell, that he was probably just in shock, hell, you’d had hours to process this and you felt like you were still in shock yourself. 

Tears started flooding your eyes as soon as you heard his voice for the first time not coming out of the phone, when it seemed to dawn on both of you that you were here standing in front of him, physically here. 

Without hesitation, Erik only muttered one more quick “Fuck off.” astonishment still clear on his face as you both bee lined it for one another, crashing into each other so quickly you almost knocked each other over. 

There was no chance of holding back your sobs, loud and embarrassing but you couldn’t find it in you to care, you were finally holding him in your arms and you had absolutely no intention of letting go. 

“Holy shit, Holy shit.” his words were muffled from where his face had found itself tucked into the crook of your neck, still wobbled enough to where you could tell that he was also fighting back tears. 

Swaying in each other's arms to the point that you almost fell over more than once, you didn’t want to risk pulling away, fearing that you’d pull away and he’d no longer be there in front of you. 

Finally being able to pull away and look up at him, you could see how puffy his blue eyes already were, using your sleeves to reach up and wipe them away for him, the pair of you both laughing through your tears. 

“Happy birthday.” was all you could manage to croak out, letting yourself be cut off by the feeling of his hands on your cheeks, pulling you in as he leaned down to finally lay a deep kiss on your lips, something you’d both been itching to feel for months now. 

He tasted like the beer he’d been drinking, and his stubble tickled your lip but you couldn’t find it in you to care in the slightest, only feeling so completely and utterly overjoyed to finally be inhaling his scent and feeling his lips against yours. 

Pulling away, he pulled you against his chest all over again, letting you wrap your arms around his middle as he rested his chin on the top of your head. 

“I fucking hate you guys so much.” he laughed, the family erupting into laughter at his comment. 

-

The entire span of Erik’s birthday celebration had been spent by his side, not allowed to leave his side for even one second. 

When you’d been speaking with Bobby and Julia, he stood behind you with his arms around you and his chin resting on top of your head, and when you sat to finally have a proper meeting with his Dad, he sat by your side and kept his hand on your leg. 

He peppered your face with kisses as you both just stood there holding each other, letting you explain every step of the elaborate plan you and his entire family had hatched behind his back. 

“So you did this all behind my back, and still managed to keep it a secret?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief as you nodded.

Leaning forward to place yet another kiss on your forehead, he just smiled down at you like you were a gift from god.

By the time the celebrations were wrapping up, it was almost midnight, and everybody was more than tired enough to be pretty desperate to hit the hay. 

As you said your goodnights, gave his mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek as she told you how happy she was that you were finally here, you could see Erik coming over with your suitcase, an arm coming around your shoulder. 

“Let’s put this up in my room.” he sighed, obviously quite tired himself from the day. 

Heading up the stairs trailing behind Erik, you watched him open up his bedroom door and were finally greeted with the sight of the bedroom you’d only ever seen in the background of your video calls, seeing it in person hardly even felt real, finding yourself giddy all over again. 

Standing there in the middle of the room for a few seconds, it hadn’t been long before you felt arms wrapping around you from behind, Erik letting his forehead rest on the crook of your neck and he took a deep breath of your scent in, letting out a satisfied groan. 

“I still can’t believe you’re here.” he spoke, only making you smile brighter as you turned in his arms, facing him and letting your forehead rest against his own as you both closed your eyes. 

“I can’t believe it either.” 

Resting your hands on his cheeks, your eyes remained closed as you captured his lips in a soft kiss, just letting them rest there as his arms around tightened. 

As innocent as it started, it had only been a few seconds before Erik was already deepening the kiss, neither of you showing any form of hesitation as you began to embrace each other. 

His hands found their way to your waist, starting to squeeze at your flesh as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, the desperation you held for each other was finally able to reach its fullest form now that you were finally alone.

Opening your mouth up to him, you tasted the beer and cigarettes on his tongue, even the slight aftertaste of sweet birthday cake that had been cut up for everyone, exactly what you imagined he’d tasted like. 

In any other instance, you both would have taken your time, but it would have been stupid to assume that there would have been any kind of patience shared between you right now, Erik’s hands were already finding their way under your shirt, leading you to where his bed sat in the corner of the room.

As soon as the back of your knees hit the bed, you let yourself fall onto it with a soft laugh from Erik, his knee finding its way between your legs almost as if it was an instinct, like you knew each other's bodies perfectly even if this was the first time you’d even touched each other. 

The desperation shared between the two of you was borderline pornographic, gripping each other like you were going to fall away any second, Erik pulling away only for a second to tear off his shirt like it was burning his skin, before moving to his belt buckle with shaky hands. 

You worked at your own clothes, comfortable for the sake of the long flight, coming with the benefit of also being easy to remove. 

As Erik came back down, you were halfway through removing your shirt, something he was more than happy to help you with, throwing it onto the floor of his room with no regard as to where it landed. 

“I need you.” you whispered against his lips that had found their way back onto his own, his grip on you tightening in response to your words, almost so hard it hurt, a groan coming from deep within his throat. 

“I know.” he breathed out, his hands wasting no time before moving to the waistband of your pants, pulling at it until you raised your hips slightly off the mattress, leaving you laying there in nothing but a tank top and panties, a sight that had him simply staring down at you in silence, panting. 

He looked at you like you were made of clouds, like with just one more touch you’d fade away any second, this was more than just lust driven hunger, there was an unspoken need between the two of you, desperation to feel each other in a way you could only imagine until now. 

“There’s so much i want to do to you right now.” he huffed, running his fingers lightly against your chest, his hands coming to lazily grab at your tits, running his thumb against one of your hardened nipples that was now poking against the thin fabric of your tank top, only eliciting an open mouthed moan from you, a whimper that came out in a way you weren’t even conscious of. 

“But all I can think about is burying myself so deep inside you that you see stars.” 

His words, the image they out in your head, it had to keening for him and grinding your pussy against his knee like an animal in heat, but you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be self-conscious about it, you were just as desperate for him as he was for you, if the hard form now running against his jeans was anything to show. 

“Please, baby, please.” 

Your words had him gripping your legs tightly, pulling away from you only briefly, hooking his fingers into your panties to take them with him as he backed away, kneeling on the floor and pulling you harshly to the end of the bed.

Unable to hold back the small squeal as he pulled you and hooked your legs over his shoulders, you both found yourselves laughing like kids at a sleepover, his index finger coming to rest on your lips.

“Shut the fuck up, jesus.” he wheezed, leaning forward to give you one more quick kiss on the lips. 

“You gotta be quiet, can you do that for me?” he asked, leaving you to respond with a nod as you bit your lip, raising yourself on your elbows briefly to watch him sink his face between your legs. 

The second you even felt his stubble tickle your thighs, much less the feeling of his tongue licking a long stripe across your pussy, your head tipped back and your mouth fell open, a silent scream escaping as he dove in to devour you with little hesitation. 

Fuck, you’d waited so long for this, any thoughts you may have had about how this was going to feel were absolutely nothing compared to the real thing, nothing you could have conjured up in your mind was anywhere close to how earth-shattering it felt for him to run his tongue through your folds. 

The sounds were sloppy, ringing in your ears along with a choir of guttural moans coming from Erik’s end, like he’d been stuck in a desert for days and only just now had gotten his hands on water. 

He lapped at you like he didn’t want to waste a single drop of you, gripped your thighs so hard that you knew for a fact there was going to be red marks by the time you were done.

When his hands hooked under your knees, pushing them forward without warning so that they were nearly next to your ears, he pushed his tongue into you with no mercy, the feeling of him fucking you on his tongue having you feel like you were about gush right then and there.

For a moment or two, you could have literally sworn you went blind, a hand flying to your both to try and hide the absolutely pathetic sounds that were coming out of you, your other hand coming down to tangle through his soft dark hair. 

“Come on baby, cum on my face, fucking do it.”

His words of encouragement had been more than enough, paired with the feeling of his fingertips landing on your clit to rub fast and quick circles, his tongue going in and out of you, you felt your entire body still, your thighs instinctively trying to push together only to be held open by his strong hands. 

He kept going until you were pulling at his hair trying to get him to stop, letting out soft mewl’s of overstimulation, the muscles in your stomach were still turning, your pussy still pulsing by the time he came back up to be face to face with you.

His chin was glistening in what little light there was in his room, a grin on his face that matched his blown out eyes, so dark that they almost looked black. 

You couldn’t even form words, your orgasm had wrecked you so much that all you could do was let out little hums, kissing him lazily when he leaned down to take your mouth against his. 

As you made out with him, you already began to feel him running the tip of his cock against your folds, gliding along the flesh that was now absolutely soaked, so wet that you wouldn’t be surprised if you hardly even felt him slide in at first. 

“Can I put it inside you, please baby, please let me put it inside you..” 

He whispered and begged against your lips, the cold feeling of the metal from his prince albert against your sensitive clit already having you spasm softly underneath him. 

The only thing you could do was nod, finally opening your heavy lids to look up at him and just stare into his bright blue eyes that stared back down at you. 

You could tell how much he was holding himself back, letting his cock get swallowed up by your pussy, his mouth falling open as the warmth embraced him, a choked out moan falling from deep in his chest. 

Your hands came to rest on his cheeks once more, your foreheads connecting and eyes shutting tightly as he slowly let himself bottom out; as much as you’d always heard people describe it as feeling like they were literally molded for one another, you’d never actually taken it seriously. 

But now you knew exactly what they were talking about, when he finally sat completely inside you, his pelvis resting snugly against your own, it truly did feel like two puzzle pieces coming together, like you were completely filled by him in every meaning of the word, every crevice being filled in by him to complete satisfaction. 

Even you weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there before he finally started to move his hips, it could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but time just seemed to move differently when he was inside you, you fluttered around him, every time you did making his hips stutter. 

The pace he initially set was slow, but hard, barely even pulling out halfway before he pushed back in again, each time managing to hit that sweet spot deep inside you like he’d been doing it for years, like he was a master of his art. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, his forehead found itself resting against your collar bone as he thrusted into you repeatedly, rhythmic grunts and whimpers coming from him in time with each time he pushed it back in. 

“Erik, baby, please.. harder…”

There wasn’t anything else you could have said to have had him change up so quickly, a growl finding itself from deep within his chest as he rose up from his spot on your collar, his eyes appearing to be almost glazed over as he wasted no time beginning to increase the pace of his thrusts.

Looking up at him, he held himself up with one hand, using his other to hook under your knee once more, bringing one of your legs up so that he could begin hitting even deeper, at even more brutal speed, your hand immediately coming to grip his arm tightly as you let out a choked gasp. 

When you’d asked him to fuck you harder, you should have known that meant almost having the wind knocked from your stomach, small sounds leaving you in a way that you couldn’t control. 

He was pulling almost almost entirely out of you for each thrust now, his tip just on the border of falling out before he slammed back inside, a wet slapping sound ringing out with every single time he rammed himself back into you at a pace that had you beginning to see stars just as he’d said, now finding yourself unable to control the moans coming out of your mouth.

His hand that had been holding your leg flew to cover your mouth, silencing you only slightly as he stared down at you, shaky breaths coming out of him as he set an absolutely bruising pace, almost like as much as he was trying to keep you quiet, he was also just as determined to have you crying out his name for dear life. 

“Been wanting to be buried in this pussy for so long” he growled, his eyes squeezing shut “just fucked my hand and thought about nothing but this.” 

The words he was spouting paired with the brutal thrusts he was laying into you were almost too much, you felt yourself getting dizzy as your eyes seemed to almost roll into the back of your head. 

“Fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum..” he warned, his thrusts getting shorter and shorter as he pulled out less with each, but only continuing to get faster and harder as he twitched inside you.

“Gonna fill this fucking pussy up? huh? fill you with my cum?” 

All you could manage was a nod, his hand pulling away from your mouth, both of them now gripping your hips and fucking you at a borderline merciless pace as you just laid there and took it.

With a sudden stop, and a few more slowed shallow thrusts, he shut his tightly, his cock twitching as he started to paint your insides with hot spurts of cum, his hips shaking as he rode out his own orgasm with short slow thrusts, gripping your hips so hard you knew you were likely going to have bruises the next morning. 

For a while, you just both laid there, his forehead coming to rest once more on your collar bone,  the pair of you covered in sweat and so tired out you could barely move. 

You knew you should get up, probably try to make some sort of effort to get cleaned up, but with the fact that you were both seemingly now paralysed, also mixed with the fact that being locked in each others arms was incredibly peaceful, all you could do was reach for the blanket that he’d been pushed astray by your initial activities, and pull it over the pair of you, settling into a comfortable enough position where he still sat inside you.

Stroking the back of his head softly, he let out a soft hum that communicated to you that he was definitely comfortable, just as you were, a smile coming to your face as you kissed the top of his head. 

“Gonna have to shower in the morning..” you whispered softly, only getting another small hum in return. 

“Good, i’ll be ready to do this all over again by then.” he chuckled softly, his head finally raising up to smile at you, leaning forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss. 

“Can’t wait.”

[rosierin]

some things never change │ suna rintarou

synopsis; the twins & suna decide to watch a horror movie, much to (y/n)'s disdain. later that night, when the darkness stares back at her, she's unable to sleep and asks to stay in her childhood friend's room—suna.

a/n; hi guys!!! thanks so much for the support you've been giving me lately! im starting to recognise some of my regular likers & reposters hehe, y'all are sick <33

this fic is only a short one, but i feel like i've been focusing a lot on atsumu lately, even osamu's got his own story but I haven't given suna any attention whatttt

so anyway here ya go hehe, a lil fic focusing on (y/n) and suna's relationship

also!! this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

She shouldn’t have watched that horror movie.

She didn’t even like them in the first place. Whether it was a mere thriller, downright gory, or whatever lay in between, (y/n) avoided them like the plague.

But on a random Saturday night, when boredom seeped into the apartment like a wet blanket, someone (Atsumu) decided it’d be a good idea to liven things up by putting on Rings.

Now—allegedly—this movie wasn’t actually scary. That’s what Suna had said, anyway.

“It’s corny. Barely makes it as a horror film, to be honest. More like a bad comedy.”

Bullshit.

There was absolutely nothing corny, let alone comedic, about an undead lady possessing old VHS tapes and crawling out of TVs to MURDER someone. 

Didn’t matter what the twins or Suna thought.

It was terrifying.

And now—in the dead of night, when everything was silent—it was even worse.

The room was pitch black, save for the tiny red dot on her television, staring back at her like the sight of a sniper.

(Y/n) glared at it, unblinking, unwilling to look away.

Because if—God forbid—it turned blue on its own, that meant the TV had somehow switched on.

That meant she was coming. 

That meant (y/n) was done for. 

Her heartbeat thumped against her ribs, heavy and panicked.

Then—

Creak.

A floorboard groaned against the stillness of the room, nearly sending (y/n) into a full-blown panic attack.

Nope. Nope.

Enough was enough.

She tossed the covers aside and bolted.

Her feet barely touched the floor as she sprinted into the hallway, the cool air hitting her like a slap.

She stopped there, pressing a hand over her racing heart, trying to collect herself.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Her pulse slowly settled, but her pride took a hit. Because realistically, was she being dramatic?

Absolutely.

But could she be blamed?

Not even a little.

From a safe distance, she cautiously peered back into her bedroom—half-expecting to see Sadako standing in the corner, her long, raven hair hanging lifelessly over her face.

Instead—darkness.

Eerie. Looming. Suffocating.

A shiver crawled up her spine.

Nope.

She was not going back in there.

The twins were most likely asleep. No way was she waking Atsumu up—he’d never let her live it down. And she felt too guilty waking up poor Osamu. 

That left only one option.

Suna.

He was the only one who would still be awake. And the only one who wouldn’t judge her too hard.

Well— that was debatable. 

Regardless, she turned toward his room—the floor suddenly feeling way too open, way too exposed.

She scurried up the stairs to his loft.

And then, standing outside his door, she hesitated.

Would he think she was being ridiculous?

Would he even let her in?

She inhaled. Then—knock, knock.

A long pause.

Then, finally, a sleepy, unimpressed voice from inside:

“This better be a life-or-death situation.”

(Y/n) pressed her lips together, second guessing her choices.

“Rin— it’s me.”

Soft footfalls came from the other side, then it opened, revealing a very tired, very unamused Suna.

She should have known he wouldn’t be so sympathetic.

She barely had the chance to shuffle inside before he hit her with that unimpressed, half-lidded stare, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe, blocking the way in.

"To what do I owe the pleasure..."

His low, sarcastic drawl, paired with the slight twitch of his eyebrow made (y/n) shift uncomfortably.

Despite knowing each other for so long, growing up side by side, she had never grown immune to those eyes of his— always tired, always unreadable, but never oblivious.

He held her gaze in silent question, only to huff out a laugh when (y/n) picked absently at a loose thread on her sleeve, blatantly ignoring him.

“Lemme guess," he droned. "You can’t sleep after watching that movie, can you?"

(Y/n) sighed, accepting her fate. 

Of course he knew.

“Yes,” she admitted plainly. She knew there was no point in lying—Suna could read her like a book. Knowing him, he probably saw this coming before she did.

“Can I sleep in your room?”

A smirk tugged at his lips, lazy and taunting. “What are you, ten?”

A pout.

An eye roll.

Then, after a dramatic sigh, Suna stepped aside. “Fine. Get in.”

(Y/n) wasted no time, practically diving into Suna’s bed before he could change his mind. She refused to spend another second alone in her room, haunted by the thought of someone crawling out of her TV.

She tugged the blankets up to her chin, peeking at Suna as he climbed back into bed beside her, moving like he’d been seconds from sleep before she knocked. His hair was slightly tousled, his expression drowsy as he got comfortable.

Then, as soon as the room settled into silence—

Creeeeak.

(Y/n) flinched so hard she nearly jumped out of bed.

Her breath hitched. “Did you hear that?”

Suna didn’t even look up from his phone. “No.”

(Y/n) swallowed, fingers clutching the blanket. “…It came from your closet.”

A slow blink.

Then, finally, Suna dragged his gaze toward her. “Don’t tell me—“

“Can you go check?”

A stare. 

A beat of silence.

“Please?”

“You seriously want me to go look inside my closet?”

(Y/n) nodded, eyes wide and pleading.

Resigned, Suna let out a long, suffering sigh. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

He threw off the covers and stood up, trudging over to the closet with the enthusiasm of a man being sent to war. Normally, she would’ve bit back, tossed a jab right back at him—but right now, she couldn’t even register his teasing. Her focus was locked entirely on the closet, her pulse ticking anxiously in her throat as she braced for whatever unspeakable horror lurked inside.

She held her breath.

Suna grabbed the handle.

Opened the door.

Stared into the darkness.

Then—his body suddenly jolted back, his face twisting in alarm.

(Y/n) nearly screamed.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her soul halfway to the afterlife—

And then, completely deadpan, Suna turned back around.

“Just kidding.”

Silence hung in the air. The tense kind.

Then, (y/n) launched a pillow straight at his head.

Suna snickered, catching it effortlessly before crawling back into bed. “You make this too easy.”

(Y/n) groaned, pulling the covers over her head, sinking into the plush mattress. “You suck. That was so mean.”

“You’re welcome.”

She rolled her eyes at his sass, peeking from the duvet. “I should’ve gone to Osamu’s room instead.”

Suna hummed, lazily scrolling through Instagram reels with slow flicks of his thumb. “You say that, but you never do.” His eyes remained on the screen, the faint glow casting shadows across his face, but the amused lilt in his voice told her he was fully aware of her reaction.

(Y/n) frowned slightly, opening her mouth to respond—but then, something about his words lingered.

Because… he was right.

She always ended up here.

Even as kids, she had always ended up with him.

(Y/n) shifted slightly, glancing over her shoulder. “…We used to do this all the time, huh?”

Suna exhaled, his expression softening into something quieter— softer. “Yeah.”

Suna’s quiet confirmation made warmth bloom in her chest. And that’s when the memories came flooding in—hazy, golden images of their childhood. All the laughs and secrets they shared.

She could almost smell the summer air, thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint smokiness of a dying bonfire clinging to her clothes. She could almost feel the heat of a cup of hot chocolate warming her palms, the crinkle of sleeping bags shifting beneath them as they huddled close in the dim glow of a flashlight. She remembered staying up for hours, making up stories, daring each other to peek outside into the dark, until exhaustion finally took over.

The memory was so vivid in her mind, so innocent and sweet that she couldn’t help but smile. Her heart swelled with a bittersweet kind of warmth—the kind that only came with remembering something you could never quite return to.

“Remember that one time we slept in your backyard in a tent?” (Y/n) asked, her voice light with nostalgia.

Suna didn’t answer right away. She watched as he lowered his phone onto the nightstand, screen dimming to black. For a moment, his face was illuminated only by the moonlight pouring through the window, his expression almost pensive. He lay sprawled on his back, one arm resting lazily over his stomach, the other tucked beneath his head. Then, a small huff of laughter escaped him, almost like the memory had tugged it out against his will.

“Yeah,” he murmured, stretching one arm out into the darkness, fingers splaying lazily before curling back in. His hand hovered there for a second, as if feeling the weight of the air, then flopped onto his chest. “You got scared of an owl and made me go inside with you.”

(Y/n) gasped, scandalized. “That’s not how it happened!”

She sat up a little, but Suna only chuckled, slow and amused. His other hand drifted absently over his bedsheets, fingertips tracing the fabric in lazy patterns. His lips twitched, but he didn’t correct himself.

“Go on, then. Tell me what happened,” he drawled, eyes glinting faintly in the dark.

(Y/n) propped herself up on her elbows, clicking her tongue. “First of all, the owl was fine. The real problem was a certain someone telling me stories about a serial killer who targets campers.”

Suna let out a quiet noise of vague acknowledgement, tilting his head back against the pillow. “Hm. I don’t recall.”

(Y/n) scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “You specifically said he only goes for ‘the one who falls asleep last,’ so then I felt so stressed to the point I wasn’t even tired anymore.”

At that, the corner of his lips twitched, like he was trying—and failing—not to laugh. “That does sound like something I’d say.”

(Y/n) huffed, flopping onto her back again. “You’re such a bully, honestly.”

“Did I not wait until you fell asleep first, though?”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but the gesture lacked any real annoyance. A coy smile crept onto her lips, the hush of an old memory settling over her. “I guess you did.”

“There you go.” He stretched an arm over his head, voice laced with smugness. “And yet I hear no ‘thank you, Rin. You’re the best.’”

“It was literally years ago.”

“And yet here you are, still asking to sleep in my bed.”

(Y/n) turned her head just in time to catch the flicker of satisfaction on his face, the way he barely concealed his smirk in the dim light. She squinted her eyes at him, reaching over to shove his arm, but he barely reacted—just let it happen, too used to her antics to be fazed.

Then the conversation faded, the teasing melting into quiet. The air shifted into something softer, something more intimate. Because really, it didn’t feel like much had changed at all.

They were older now, sure. But they still ended up here, side by side, whispering into the quiet.

(Y/n) exhaled, letting her gaze drift over the ceiling. “Feels like we never really grew up.”

Suna hummed lowly, shifting just a little. His hand twitched like he might reach for something but thought better of it. “Nope.”

Silence settled between them, rich with lingering memories of the past. If (y/n) closed her eyes, she could almost hear it—the sharp, carefree laughter echoing off sun-warmed pavement, the rhythmic splashing of pool water as they tried to dunk each other under, the rustling of grass beneath their backs as they gazed up at the clouds, pointing out shapes only they could see.

Things were different now.

They didn’t spend summers chasing each other through sprinklers or racing bikes until the streetlights flickered on.

Now, their time together looked a little different—late-night drives with the windows down, sitting in parking lots sharing fast food, trading woes about the weight of adulthood over the rim of coffee cups. Deadlines, expectations, the quiet pressure of figuring out who they were supposed to be. Their conversations had shifted from debating which anime protagonist was the coolest to venting about work, school, and the creeping realization that growing up wasn’t as exciting as they once thought.

But beneath it all, they were still the same kids who never ran out of things to talk about, the same unshakable duo who could sit in silence and still feel understood. Some things had changed, but their friendship never had.

The thought made her pleasantly sleepy, wrapping around her like a worn-in sweater.

Maybe it was the weight of nostalgia, or just the way comfort made habit so easy to slip back into, but (y/n) shifted closer without much thought, hooking an arm around Suna's torso like it was second nature. Nothing dramatic. Nothing to overthink. Just something she always did—or rather, used to do.

Suna huffed out a quiet laugh, glancing down at her with a rare kind of fondness. “Aren’t you a little old for this?”

(Y/n) only hummed, unbothered, her grin never wavering. “Maybe. But I don’t see you pushing me away.”

He didn’t. Instead, he smiled, shaking his head in quiet amusement as she nestled into the fabric of his oversized t-shirt. His body was warm—solid, safe, the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat a tune she was long accustomed to.

Without a word, Suna reached over, resting an arm over her waist like it was the easiest thing in the world.

(Y/n) let out a slow breath, her body finally unclenching from the tension that stupid horror movie had left behind.

And for the first time that night, she felt safe.

[munsonsmixtapes]

modern au. rockstar eddie has a gorgeous girlfriend who just did a playboy spread, steve is just being supportive by picking up a copy…right?

I did change it up a little, but I hope that's okay!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) masturbation, handjob

The phone screen lights up Steve’s face as he scrolls through Instagram. It’s become his nightly ritual before bed even though he kind of hates it. He just wants something to occupy his mind for a while before he gets tired. He always somehow ends up on the explore page even though it’s flooded with obviously AI images and random posts he doesn’t care about. 

He’s about to close out the app and just go to sleep when something catches his eye. He doesn’t know how, but even in the tiny photo, he knows it’s you. Curiosity gets the best of him and he taps on it, his eyes widening at how little clothing you’re wearing. He knows your a playboy model, but he’s always felt weird reading issues that include you with you being his best friend’s girlfriend and all. 

But fuck do you look pretty in that red lacy bra. He hates that the whole thing is making him hard. He shouldn’t be looking, but suddenly, his thumb is swiping to the next photo where your bare back is to the camera and he can see the side of one of your tits from the way you’re turned. You’re wearing bright red lipstick and he hates how he’s imagining you leaving his cock smudged with it after sucking him off. 

He’s pulling his pants off in a flash as he swipes to the next photo, letting out a whimper as he sees that you’re topless, your hands covering your nipples as you wink at the camera. Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him, he’s sure of it. 

Guilt is taking over him as he thinks about how Eddie would feel if he saw him doing this, but now all he’s thinking about is the two of you together, wondering how Eddie fucks you. He’s imagining the two of you going at it and now that’s his new fantasy. Seeing Eddie pound into you so clearly in his mind is making him feel some type of way. He’s bi panicking and he wasn’t even aware he had these kinds of feelings for Eddie until now. 

Steve just knows that Eddie is a dirty talker. Considering that he never fucking shuts up, he’s got be. And he bets he’s good at it too. Now he’s wondering what Eddie would say to him in this moment. If he would be teasing or encouraging. Imagining his best friend like this feels weird but also so right. 

He’s pumping his cock as he continues to go through the photos of you, your name falling from his lips as he comes so quickly that it has to be a record. He’s so into getting himself off to your photos that he’s not even aware that Eddie has walked into the room. His eyes shut tight, so unaware that the light has also been turned on. 

Steve lets out a scream when he sees Eddie standing there, a smug smirk on his lips as he crosses his arm over his chest. He’s quick to cover himself with his blanket, feeling guilty, convinced that Eddie is able to read his mind even though he knows he can’t. 

“Sorry,” Eddie apologizes. “I was just wanting to borrow that t-shirt for y/n. You know the one that she loves that has that band on it or whatever.” You’re here. God, Steve is so fucked. And not in the way that he wants to be. 

“Top drawer,” Steve points across the room at his dresser, guilt building up inside him as he closes out of Instagram and tries his best to act as if he wasn’t just jacking off to the thought of his best friend and girlfriend fucking. And he didn’t like it, definitely not. He’s totally not getting hard all over again just thinking about it.

“So what were you thinking about?” Eddie asks in a teasing tone and Steve’s wracking his brain for a lie. 

“Nothing,” Steve shrugs but Eddie doesn’t buy it, giving him a look as if to say that he’s not convinced. 

“You jack off to the thought of nothing? Bullshit, Steve. It was that actress, wasn’t it? God, what’s her name? The one you’re obsessed with. Man, this is going to stump me.” 

“Sydney Sweeney?” Sure, Steve thinks she’s pretty but he’s never actually gotten off to the thought of her. Most of the time, he’s not even really thinking of anyone. He just imagines hands roaming all over his body, helping him out by wrapping one of them around his cock. He’s just so lonely and craves attention. 

“Yes!” Eddie snaps his fingers before pointing at Steve. “It was her, wasn’t it?”

“No.” Steve doesn’t know why he didn’t just lie to make eddie go away. Maybe part of him 

“Then who was it?” Eddie is now sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed and he wants nothing more than for his friend to leave so he can take a shower and forget this whole thing ever happened, It will just be a little blip and will never be thought of again. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to y/n?” Steve asks as he goes to turn off the lamp on his nightstand but Eddie is quick to turn it back on. 

“She can wait. Now spill.” Eddie is leaning over Steve now and he’s wondering what would happen if he leaned in closer and-

“Earth to Steve,” Eddie waves a hand in front of his face. “Jesus, what is going on with you tonight? You’re acting weird.”

“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”

“Sure.” 

Steve takes a deep breath, terrified that Eddie’s going to be weirded out because why wouldn’t he be? Eddie has no idea that Steve is bi since that’s something he’s still coming to terms with. That’s the least of his problems, though. If that was his only secret, he wouldn’t even be nervous since he knows that Eddie is bi as well. 

Steve knows way too much about what Eddie is into, but he doesn’t think that this will fit into his long list of kinks. Or maybe it will. Eddie is always surprising him. Steve sits up and takes another deep breath before finally speaking again. 

“I-well-” he pauses then starts again. “I was on instagram and I found some photos from y/n’s most recent shoot and-”

“Say no more,” Eddie shakes his head, his hand dropping to rest on top of the blanket where Steve’s knee is and Steve doesn’t like that he wishes he could feel Eddie’s skin against his. “I get what’s going on.”

“You do?” Steve asks, his eyes wide and Eddie just laughs. 

“Dude, you think you’re the first of my friends who’s jacked off to pictures of my girlfriend? Come on.” Steve’s not surprised and he does feel better that Eddie knows part of the truth and doesn’t seem to be upset. 

“But what if-” Steve cuts himself off again, his heart pounding in his chest. This is going to change their friendship forever. “What if I was imagining the two of you together?’

“Like, fucking?” All Steve can do is nod. “You little perv!” Eddie laughs, giving Steve’s shoulder a shove. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me, but I’ve gotta admit that I’m flattered.”

This is going far better than Steve thought it would and knowing that Eddie isn’t actually upset with him has made the weight on his shoulders instantly lift. He can breathe again and doesn’t have to worry about their friendship being in jeopardy. Typical Steve always panicking for nothing. 

Eddie’s scooting closer now, his hand sliding up Steve’s thigh, smirking smugly as Steve’s eyes widen again. He’s got him right where he wants him and has every intention of taking advantage of his new knowledge. 

“You wait here, I’m gonna go get y/n.” Before Steve can asks what’s going on, Eddie disappears out of the room, leaving Steve to panic again. 

He comes back in a flash, the two of you hand in hand as you enter the room, closing the door this time. You’re wearing a short silk robe and Steve just stares at you, mouth open as his brain has definitely short circuited at the sight of you. 

You let go of Eddie’s hand and make your way towards Steve, a flirty look on your face as you crawl into the bed with him, the two of you sitting side by side. You reach up and play with his hair, moving it this away and that and he swears he’s never felt this good in his life. 

“You should have told me,” you put on a fake pout and all Steve wants to do is kiss it away. “I could have taken care of you.” You’re closer now, leaning in so that your faces are only inches apart. “I still can if you’ll let me.”

“Please,” he whines and you smirk, pressing your hand against his chest, running it down the length of his shirt then under the blanket, quickly grabbing hold of his cock that’s gotten hard again. 

“Please?” You ask with a laugh. “Eddie, you didn’t tell me your friend was such a gentleman.” 

“I-is Eddie okay with this?” Steve asks, his gaze moving over to his friend who’s still standing by the door. 

“Baby, this was his idea.” With your free hand, you push some of his hair away from his forehead. “Now just sit back and relax and let me work, okay?” 

You bring your hand up and spit into your palm before grabbing onto him once more. Your hand moves quickly, eating up the way he’s already pliant to your touch, his little whines and moans already making you wet beyond belief. Oh, you’re going to have fun with this. 

You continue to pump your hand, surprised when he comes pretty quickly and pull the blanket away to clean him up. Steve’s cheeks burn when you finally see the literal mess you’ve made of him. There’s cum all over the blanket, himself and your hand. You reach your palm out towards his face and Steve gives you a look only for your to nod in response. 

He grabs hold of your wrist and licks your palm clean before going for your fingers. He’s never tasted his own cum before but he has to admit that he doesn’t hate it. And the way you moan when he puts your fingers into his mouth is enough to make him almost moan again. He needs to hear you moan his name. That for sure would kill him.

Eddie is next to him now, on his knees, fully content as he hands you a condom and a washcloth. You wipe Steve clean before putting the condom on him. His mind is nothing but fuzzy as you take off your robe to reveal that you were wearing absolutely nothing underneath it. Your nipples are rock hard and all he wants to do is get his mouth on them. But right now, getting inside you is his main focus. 

You roll the condom onto him and climb on top of him, watching his brown eyes turn almost black as he looks up at you. You begin to ride him, both of you so focused on each other that you’re not even paying attention to Eddie and how he’s already got his hands in his pants. He’s totally content just sitting to the side and watching. He should think that this whole thing is wrong, but he can’t help but be turned on by it. 

“She’s good, isn’t she, Stevie?” He asks and Steve’s mind is so fuzzy that he can’t even speak proper sentences, just moaning in response as you move faster, hypnotized by the way your tits bounce up and down, thinking that when he gets the courage, he’s going to get his mouth on them. 

He bucks his hips against yours and you lean down, finally bringing your lips to his, taking no time to slide your tongue into his mouth. Now he understand why he always hears you and Eddie fucking from the other side of the wall. If he was in Eddie’s shoes, you’d be tangled up in his sheets every minute of every day. 

This beyond exceeds his expectations and he has no idea how he’s supposed to move on after this. And he’s sure that it’s not just because he’s touch starved. He knows barely anything has happened yet, but can it be that you’re the best he’s ever had?

You’re both moving so fast and hard that the bed is shaking underneath you, the bed frame squeaking with every move and Eddie is being nothing but encouraging with his filthy words just like Steve thought he would be. 

“Do you want to take over?” You ask, pulling him in for another kiss. “I want you to fuck me. I don’t want to be able to walk when you’re done with me.” You don’t have to ask him twice as he pushes you back onto the bed going to town, fucking you absolutely senseless. 

“That’s it,” Eddie nods as he gets himself off. “Fill her up, Steve.” Steve’s got all of himself inside now, watching your eyes water as the hottest moans fall from your lips. You encourage him to keep going, so he’s pounding into you even harder, your hips bucking against his as you try to keep up. 

“So good,” you whine. “More.” Steve listens, going the absolute fastest that he can, pounding into you again and again, spreading your legs wider to get all of himself inside and you don’t even care how badly it hurts, it just feels so good. 

“Think she’s close,” Eddie says. “Just a little more, you can do it.” But Steve is the one who comes first, screaming as he does so. “So fucking hot,” is all Eddie manages to say as he scoots closer to watch Steve before coming himself. 

You’re last, screaming Steve’s name as he pounds into you a few more times before collapsing on top of you, feeling much more tired than you are. He lies there for a second as you run your fingers through his hair, giving him all the time he needs. 

He then pulls out and disposes of the condom before cleaning you up. Eddie claps him on the shoulder once the three of you are dressed again then carries you back to his own room, the three of you knowing that things between you will never be the same again, but it’s definitely for the better.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 20: The One Where We Take a Course in Rear Window Ethics

Oh, hey, hey – you’re back!

Yes. I, uh – we need to – uh... What the hell are you doing with that Exakta VX camera fitted with a 400 mm Kilfitt lens?

Come here. See those open windows across the courtyard?

Uh, yeah…

Well, I’m trying to zoom into that apartment –

Wow. Because that’s not creepy as fuck.

Oh, don’t be so modern. This is New York City, 1954. It’s fine.

Yeah, okay. I need you to focus for a moment. Seriously – put down the zoom lens. Headquarters called and wanted to know why Dorothy was still in Oz. You know we were told to take her home.

No – actually we were told to throw stones at that wannabe Wizard. And we did. Kind of. Okay, whatever, but surely you can feel the shift. At the very least we’ve infiltrated the base camp with a bunch of flying monkeys. They’ll take care of the rest. God, there’s one in there –

And we were supposed to help Dorothy find her way back home.

Meh, don’t worry about Dorothy. I don’t think she’s ready to go home. Even after the ping-pong bullshit of the past few weeks, she’s still standing on her own two feet. Although Toto continues to be a mild pain…

But –

But nothing. Dorothy’s had the power to get her own ass home this entire time. When’s she’s ready, she’ll go.

Okay, well, obviously you’re not going to be of any help as you seem preoccupied with spying on your neighbors. So, I’m going to need to borrow the hot air balloon. Where’d you put it?

Oh, it’s on the—wait! If you take our balloon, how am I supposed to get around? I’m not staying here indefinitely. There’s no air conditioning in this damn apartment!

How about I promise to come back for you? Maybe.

Damn you. Fine, I’ll go with you. Let me get my shit together. Here, hold my camera – and don’t drop it!

Hmph, this is heavy. How does it work? I just look through this and… <points camera towards apartment across the way> Oh – this is interesting. What the hell did you say was going on over there? “…[S]tart from the beginning…Tell me everything you saw – and what you think it means.”

You know those days when you have no choice but to catch up on the work you’ve been blowing off for the past few days (maybe even weeks)? Well, last week, I was having one of those days. The work I’d been pushing down my list for weeks finally needed to be addressed. Regardless of how mind-numbing it was, it had to get done otherwise things were going to start going awry.

I’m one of those people who – when working on the mundane – has a mind that tends to wander every few minutes or so. I find myself Googling things like, “What is the fastest animal on the planet?” And, for your own Useless Knowledge, the cheetah’s land speed of 60+ mph doesn’t come close to the peregrine falcon’s dive bomb of 240+ mph.

Anyway, to keep my mind from wandering, I usually have something running in the background to force my brain into paying attention to two things at once – somehow that helps me maintain focus. The most popular “something” is almost always one of the many (quite possibly too many) British detective shows available for streaming. But, the other day, I simply wasn’t in the mood to rewatch Season 3 of “Dalgliesh” for the seventh time.

So, after a bit of scrolling, I put on an old movie I hadn’t seen in years: “Rear Window.”

The 1954 original, of course.

I’m rarely impressed by anything put out by Modern Hollywood, but the old shit – well, there are some legit classics out there, including this one.

One of the reasons I’ve always been fond of this movie is because you go into it knowing the “bad guy” right from the word “go.” I’m one of those extremely annoying people who can guess the villain within the first few chapters of a book, or within the first twenty or so minutes of a movie (like I said, I am rarely impressed by Hollywood). However, I will admit, one book did slip by me. Damn you, Agatha Christie. Honestly, though, the thrill I felt with being wrong was far more memorable than anything I’ve ever felt with being right. Good or bad, a surprise always leaves its imprint, doesn’t it? Plus, the hysterical elation my father must have felt – and later exhibited – knowing I was going into the final few chapters wrong – well, damn him, too. And, no, the book was not “Three Act Tragedy.” That one was quite easy.

Okay, enough about Ms. Christie. Back to Mr. Hitchcock.

As I sat busily typing away and listening to the dialogue of “Rear Window” playing in the far reaches of my office, it suddenly occurred to me that the parallels between “Rear Window” and the Lukola fandom were rather, well, thought-provoking. Here we have a man (and later his sidekicks) peering into the personal life of another human being. Our protagonist in “Rear Window” witnesses an event (a cover-up, actually) and sets out to prove it – all from the perspective of an onlooker looking in. Sound familiar? I thought it might.

So, welcome to your course on “Rear Window Ethics.”

Now, I cannot intertwine “Rear Window” with the Lukola fandom without dragging your ass into the story. Actually, I could – but it’s far more entertaining for me (and hopefully you) if I form a nexus between you and the movie.

Therefore, you, of course, get to align yourself with L.B. Jefferies (played in real life by Jimmy Stewart). If you’re still in this fandom, it’s because you’ve witnessed something you simply cannot ignore and you’re almost certainly hellbent on proving it at this point.

It’s very likely most of you entered the Lukola fandom alone. You watched some portion of the World Tour and became intrigued. Your mind began to wander, which sparked some urge in you to do some digging. Eventually your investigation led you to the Devil – sorry, I mean, social media. There you met like-minded junior investigators, and you’ve now found yourself chatting with these newfound friends and theorizing in the burrows of underground group chats.

So, about your sidekicks…

The part of “Stell-aaaaaa!!!!” (yes, that is my hat-tip to Jake) is given to your most “inventive” Lukola friend. You know, the one that has their own “theories” channel in your private chats; the one who scurries down the rabbit hole – not in search of the White Rabbit – but in search of the Cheshire Cat. Stella is the reason you think outside the box. In “Rear Window,” Stella (played by Thelma Ritter) is Jefferies’ nurse (Jefferies is injured and bound to his apartment; hence why he has so much free time to gaze out the rear window). This friend will throw anything and everything against the wall to see what sticks – even if it occasionally takes a deep-dive into how to cut up a body in a bathtub.

Next, we have Detective Doyle, Jefferies’ long-time friend (played by Wendell Corey). Doyle is quite possibly your spouse, haha, or anyone who side-eyes your involvement with this fandom. Doyle half listens to Jefferies’ theories and usually counters Jefferies with an alternative piece of evidence. But don’t fret, although Doyle teases Jefferies about his wild theories throughout the film, Doyle is, in fact, supportive of Jefferies and does comes around in the end.

I’m going to switch gears for a moment but not before acknowledging that, yes, I am aware I’m missing a player here. Don’t worry – she will arrive shortly.

Alright, on to our subject matter: Lars Thorwald.

Thorwald (played by Raymond Burr) is our straight-outta-Hitchcock-baddie who has been spotted by Jefferies trying to cover up the murder of his wife. The obvious parallels I’m going to draw between “Rear Window” and the Lukola fandom are (1) Thorwald’s crime being equivalent to the World Tour and everything that has happened thereafter, and (2) Jefferies’ obsession with proving Thorwald is guilty being comparable to the fandom’s obsession with proving Lukola is real.

Now, I’m going to get the ball rolling by fast-forwarding through the World Tour all the way up to where I last left you – the post-release of “Mis-Directed.” Recall that shortly before the book’s release, in a surprise turn of events, Luke appeared with Antonia at the Boss event held January 30. However, this was almost immediately negated by Luke snubbing Antonia post-event (and perhaps even more shockingly, Antonia’s mirrored lack of acknowledgement of Luke). And try as Nicola might, there’s no skirting around the innuendo made throughout that fan-fic of a book.

“Watson! Get up! There’s fuckery afoot!”

Who the hell are you?

I’m Dad. Who are you?

Ah, not that guy!

Yes, that guy. Of course, Dad has entered the room. After all I needed someone to fill the role of Lisa Fremont (also known as Grace Kelly). Lisa is your Lukola friend with the highest degree of common sense. She takes the “evidence” presented and looks at it with some realism. She is never going to take the Dwight Shrute Route and state something as “Fact,” but she is the one you rely on to delineate between what makes sense and what doesn’t. In short, this is your friend who understands human nature.

Alright, before I really get this ball rolling –

Since I’ve now added a third wheel (Dad) to the back-and-forth dialogue of my two wizard-chasing-balloon-riding-time-traveling-narrators, I suppose I should also give these two imbeciles names.

You first.

Uh, well, I’m Charley and that’s –

I’m Crowd.

Full credit for these two make-believe idiots is given to my dad. He created the personas of “Charley and the Crowd” for my two nieces a few years ago. They would show him their dolls and my dad would narrate what was going on in their stories. Of course, my nieces regularly corrected him with, “No, Papá, that is not what Barbie is doing!” Still, Charley and the Crowd stuck around, playing the role of two, usually counter-productive and sometimes ignored, news anchors at a Macy’s Day Parade-like event hosted by my nieces’ massive collection of L.O.L. Dolls.

And just for clarity’s sake, during the dialogue between Charley, Crowd, and Dad, actual statements made by Dad will be in quotations. Any statement not in quotations was added simply to move the story along.

Let’s begin (finally).

In “Rear Window,” every time Jefferies and his sidekicks present their findings to Detective Doyle attempting to prove Thorwald’s guilt, they are thwarted by evidence discovered by Doyle’s investigation. It’s a constant back-and-forth throughout the movie; however, regardless of how “solid” Doyle’s evidence is that Anna Thorwald is still alive, Jefferies remains sat on the hill that Thorwald killed his wife. It was this parallel – not the peeping Tom aspect of the movie – that piqued my interest last week. No matter what was thrown at him, Jefferies remained steadfast in his opinion Thorwald murdered his wife. Nothing budged him. I realized Jefferies’ level of resilience mirrored every diehard Lukola’s reaction to every piece of contradictory evidence thrown at them. Nothing budges them.

The tail-end of January and all of February was a bit wild in the Lukola fandom. I mean, there were a lot of narratives being thrown around only to be counteracted by another event. As I mentioned earlier, we ended January with the Boss event but that flame was quickly extinguished by Luke and Antonia’s complete lack of follow-up. Luke had the perfect opportunity to make it “official” with Antonia – to finally shut down the Lukola shippers – but he didn’t.

Crowd: Antonia not doing anything with it is the biggest tell, in my opinion.

I’m not going to spend much time rehashing the Boss event because I already discussed it in Entry 18 (link below), but I will touch on two things that I believe deserve an Honorable Mention.

The first being –

Charley: Why didn’t Antonia have her phone or even a handbag at the Boss event?

I mention this little detail because it was echoed at the BAFTA afterparty Luke attended with Antonia on February 16. In fact, I suspect this may be the modus operandi when Antonia attends an event with Luke – she is not given the opportunity to have a phone with her. One would think, at the very least, you would see Antonia entering and/or leaving an event with some kind of handbag or clutch. But we have pictures of Antonia entering both the Boss event and BAFTA afterparty without one. I will acknowledge we don’t see her leave these two events; however, if we rewind time, Antonia does not have a handbag with her during Papsmear.

Dad: “Well, that’s extremely odd.”

I don’t believe I’ve mentioned it before – at least not on this blog – that my dad has an eye for women’s fashion. My sisters and I grew up under his critical eye and, to this day, my father doesn’t know where he went wrong with my older sister. This is entirely why he was given the part of Lisa Fremont, the movie’s style icon in the form of Grace Kelly. The fact that Antonia is never seen with any type of handbag at these events sparked his interest.

Dad: “[It seems] they [at a minimum Luke] wanted complete control [of what Antonia could take away from the event]. No handbag. Nowhere to hide a phone. No rogue pictures floating about.”

Charley: Yes, it does seem that way.

The second event I wanted to mention was – although neither Luke nor Antonia liked the Boss grid post of the two of them entering that event together – Nicola did. Now, this wasn’t an immediate like. In fact, Nicola waited almost two weeks to like the post, on February 12.

Crowd: The day before Nicola went back and liked that post, that video was being dissected across social media.

Dad: Why?

Charley: Because it was suggested Luke said, “Let’s get this done,” as he walked inside the event with Antonia.

Dad: “I don’t hear shit.”

I will admit, when this video was initially sent to me, I didn’t hear anything except the background noise. However, when I was told what was allegedly being said, I was able to hear it. This very well could be the power of suggestion but the timing of Nicola’s like on this post is, at a minimum, noteworthy.

Once we leave the Boss event, we stumble right into “Mis-Directed.” I’ll post the links to my review of that book at the end. It is what it is – and it’s a whole lot of…umm, yeah…maybe Dad said it best.

Dad: “Either your Lukola thing is real, or Ireland is a psychopath.”

Crowd: Seriously, who let this guy in here?

I’m going to have to hard agree with my dad on this one. Not necessarily about Nicola being a “psychopath,” but the references made in the book are too on the nose for it not to be intentionally Lukola- and/or Polin-coded.

I’m also convinced this book was edited after the World Tour, with the most obvious example of this being demonstrated with the quote: “The dates here coincided with the time period of Leicester Square… Below the words was a symbol of a V-shaped flying dove. At first glimpse, it strongly resembled two raised fingers.” If our duo is to be believed, Luke and Nicola had no idea prior to the World Tour that the fandom would go wild over Colin’s fingers. But after the release of Part 1, any mention of “two raised fingers” would send the fandom into a feeding frenzy. And it’s such an extremely random bit of innuendo, I have trouble believing the author came up with it on her own.

Charley: When you think about it, if Antonia hadn’t shown up at the Boss event, the Lukola fandom would have taken the book as confirmation that Lukola was real.

Indeed, a hefty portion of the fandom would have done just that. The fandom was already convinced that Luke and Nicola spent the holidays together – even without direct evidence – because there was evidence that Luke and Nicola did not spend the holidays with Antonia and Jake, respectively.

Antonia appeared to be with family at Christmas and in the Maldives over New Year’s – without making even the slightest insinuation that Luke was with her.

Jake seemingly spent the holidays with Dylan B., as demonstrated by his pre-Christmas stories with Dylan in their (basically) adjacent hometowns – without Nicola, who, by her own account, was in Galway. Jake and Dylan’s Christmas stories were followed up with their jointly hosted New Year’s Eve party – at which Nicola was not present (as evidenced by Nicola’s comment to an attendee’s New Year’s Eve post: “Have the best night miss yous”).

Dad: “It is weird they [Nicola and Jake / Luke and Antonia] wouldn’t spend any of the holidays together. One? Sure, maybe. But all? No.”

But, even with that statement, my dad chose to play the role of Detective Doyle (a/k/a the Devil’s Advocate of “Rear Window”) regarding the holidays because –

Dad: “Misty [Antonia] was with her dance troupe. Jake was with his friends. Ireland was doing her thing. But no one knows where Thang [Luke] was. Everyone else has a trail except him, which is odd. He could have been with Ireland, but you can’t prove it, so what you have is not really evidence.”

Charley: Thanks, Dad.

But, let’s face it, my dad is right. There’s no solid evidence that Luke and Nicola spent their holidays with each other or anyone else. You can apply the same theory to the birthdays. The only “evidence” we have that two people did not spend a birthday together was Jake posting a belated birthday greeting to Nicola followed by Nicola posting what appeared to be an intimate birthday dinner for two, presumably from the night before. We can surmise Nicola’s birthday date was not Jake, otherwise he would not have posted the late greeting.

About Jake’s birthday –

Crowd: Oh, yeah, “hard launch No. 54” because Nicola used a red heart in her birthday story to him.

Charley: You mean the same one she used in a story for another friend just the other day?

Crowed: Yep.

Dad: “I don’t know what to say about those people [the Jakolas]. They need to resubmerge or something. There’s no relationship there [between Jake and Nicola].”

The Jakolas are banking this “hard launch” on the fact Nicola posted a birthday story for Jake, but not for Luke, and vice versa. These are the same people who will argue that Luke and Antonia not posting about each other’s birthdays is because they’re private – but, in the same breath, refuse to acknowledge Luke and Nicola may not post about each other’s birthdays because they’re private.

I believe it’s worth mentioning that no one from the Bridgerton cast except James Phoon posted about Nicola’s birthday on January 9. When Nicola acknowledged her birthday greetings the day after, she did not repost Phoon’s story nor did she repost fan-favorite JVN’s birthday story. And I should have placed bets on this next part – no one from the Bridgerton cast posted about Luke’s birthday on February 5. Surely, I’m not the only person who saw – and anticipated – the comraderie there.

What the Jakolas should have been focusing on with Jake’s birthday was the fact that it was Dylan and Becky’s boyfriend that were wearing matching “Jecky” shirts at their joint birthday party. No one else had that shirt except for the two people believed to be their significant others. Although I’m not fully convinced Jake is dating Dylan, I am one hundred percent convinced Jake would date Dylan over Nicola.

Charley: What’s next?

Crowd: God, there was so much shit going on in February! Uhh, let’s jump to Valentine’s Day. Nicola attended the IFTA’s with her mother and sister, and Luke attended a GQ dinner event alone.

This holiday follows in the same vein as the previously noted holidays, except it’s Nicola and (amazingly!) Luke that are both accounted for. Jake was presumed to be in Sheffield rehearsing for his play; and Antonia was nowhere to be found, not even at the GQ dinner.

However, Antonia does make a brief reappearance at a BAFTA afterparty alongside Luke on February 16.

Crowd: But it was a repeat of the Boss event. The next day, neither acknowledged the other.

Charley: And Luke was reported to have left the party after only an hour – without Antonia. He even posted a picture of himself getting into a car alone.

Dad: To me, “[i]t seems like Thang took his dog [Antonia] for a walk and left her at the dog park.”

Two days later, Luke – actually out for a walk – is papped getting coffee, alone. Is it horrible of me to say that the most exciting thing about these pictures was the untucked versus tucked shirt? I’m not even sure why I’m taking the time to mention this except I felt there would be some side-eye if I did not.

And to be honest, I’ve left out some details and minor events from the months of January and February because, if I were to add them, this post would be twice as long as it already is. For example, don’t get me started on sunburns, tan lines, and “sunny places.”

If we were in the movie, “Rear Window,” everything stated up until this point would run parallel to the back-and-forth between Detective Doyle and our Trio of Peeping Toms. Evidence is presented by the Trio, which is then countered by Doyle. Doyle’s evidence is dismissed by the Trio because, again, they’re hellbent on proving their case, so they continue theorizing and digging into Thorwald. All that leads up to the movie’s climax.

Charley: Have we finally made it to the SAG?

Crowd: Yes, yes, we have.

Charley: Dad – Dad – wake up!

Dad: Huh?

Alright, the fucking SAG awards. This would be about the point in “Rear Window” where Lisa gets caught by Thorwald rifling through his belongings in search of evidence. We’re in the audience biting our nails because Jefferies can’t do a damn thing to help Lisa except watch everything unfold. And that’s what we did with the SAG awards. The entire Lukola fandom was hyper-focused on Luke and Nicola – and they did not disappoint.

Forget all the drama we endured from the sideshow characters and the nonsense that came with them.

Forget Luke being AWOL for six months.

Forget everything except the “hug heard ‘round the world.”

The ice was broken; the champagne was flowing. Luke and Nicola’s joint SAG appearance was like the World Tour on steroids.

Dad: Can I say something?

Crowd: Fuck. What?

Dad: “It was their season, right? So, their joint appearance on the red carpet wasn’t earth shattering. Neither was them sitting together. It was their night to celebrate.”

Crowd: Who invited this wet blanket to the party?

Dad: I wasn’t done. “Their season has run its course, right? They’ve ‘graduated.’ So why are they the focus of mainstream media?”

Charley: <thinking> Because there’s something newsworthy there?

That is your climax. Not their SAG appearance – because everyone can have their own interpretation of Luke and Nicola’s behavior and those interviewers’ Q&A’s – it was the mainstream media going ga-ga over Luke and Nicola that sent the Lukola narrative tumbling out the window. If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll understand that reference.

By the following day, Luke and Nicola were everywhere. I genuinely appreciate the “Librarians” of the private group chats – those people who track and record every single post, story, like, non-like, follow, unfollow, literally everything – their job was grueling last week. The Sincerely Ignorant Lukolas who jumped ship months ago were frantically trying to climb back on board, while the Jakolas were desperately trying to find their Dramamine. The Defectors went silent except to remind their hive of hornets not to worry; that they will get “a reminder soon…”

Charley: A reminder of what?

Crowd: Oh, that there are two side characters floating about.

Well, lo and behold – right on schedule – a random picture of Luke and Antonia in an elevator surfaced the day after the SAG awards. The problem with the picture was that it was dismissed by Lukolas almost immediately. The account that dropped the picture on X was suspicious. Antonia’s hair and clothing seemed “so last year.” The Lukolas were far more focused on Luke and Nicola liking anything and everything to do with the SAG that day than to pay any attention to the “same old song and dance” about Antonia. Even Nicola liking Jake’s very bland “Nicola” comment on her grid post was dismissed with a “shooing” wave of the hand and an uninterested half laugh.

On February 25, the “insinuation” pictures were at it again. In fact, it was a rather busy day. An event host posted a picture of what appeared to be Antonia perfectly centered at an L.A. hotel pool. The story was reposted by the hotel itself. In fact, that’s the only reason the picture was found by the fandom. A new elevator picture of Luke and Antonia dropped; however, it, too, was dismissed fairly quickly, regardless of it being dropped by a different, less dubious X account. The Lukolas just didn’t give a fuck about Antonia. Luke was the subject of a blind that insinuated he had spent most of his time at the SAG looking in a mirror. And the evening was rounded out by something that would have rocked the boat in June 2024 but had little effect in February 2025 – Nicola followed Antonia on Instagram and vice versa!

Oh, shit – Jefferies just lost his grip and fell out the “Rear Window.” But he didn’t die! So, that’s a plus.

The following day, February 26, Antonia started to remove tags from her Instagram account including the “Soho” New Year's 2024 picture of Luke and his friend group, which included Antonia. And Nicola responded to the “mirror” blind about Luke with “I can confirm this is 100% not true [laughing/crying emoji].” So, interestingly, we had Antonia backing further away from Luke and Nicola stepping up to defend him.

Crowd: So, where do we go from here?

That’s a good question. The thing I’ve learned through this “course” is that the Lukolas are now unmoved by the shenanigans happening around them. You can serve Antonia to them on a silver platter, and they’ll flag down the waiter and ask them to return her to the kitchen. And you won’t find Jake anywhere on their menu (hence why I didn’t even bother to mention Jake’s play).

Dad: I think “the whole thing has run its course.”

It really has. The Lukolas are tired but unyielding. At this point, they just want their version of Thorwald to confess. The narratives running parallel to each other (i.e., Lukola vs. Jakola vs. Lutonia) can’t go on much longer. One of them is going to crack under the pressure.

Remember, “Three can keep a secret…”

P.S.

Dad: “Is Ireland still wearing that ring?”

Me: Yes.

Dad: “Then why did you call me?”

Me: <deep sigh>

[apomaro-mellow]

Corroded Coffin ransoms Steve Part 1/?

From this post

Steve couldn't really see who was attacking him. But that didn't matter.

"Grab him! GRAB HIM!"

"Shit! AH! Fuck!"

He wasn't gonna let a bunch of random guys get the best of him. Who cared that it was four on one? They had the element of surprise, sure. Steve hadn't expected to get jumped in the space between the Hawkins gym and his car. Serves him right for trying to get extra basketball practice, he supposed.

Steve felt pretty good about holding his own. Two of them were holding themselves where he'd landed a good blow. He could finish this. There was only one guy left (the other must've bolted) and his car was in sight. Steve threw one more punch and booked it, reaching for his keys in his jacket pocket when pain bloomed on his entire left side. Then his right decided to match it when he hit the ground.

'Did I just get hit by a fucking car?'

There was screaming coming from above him but it was cut off as Steve's world went black.

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

Eddie took a deep drag, holding it in before releasing his breath.

"You don't like it", Gareth said, half finished beer in hand.

"Didn't say I didn't like it", Eddie said.

"Dude, we can tell when you approve and when you don't", Jeff pushed up from the crate of whatever Doug's dad kept in the garage.

Doug was nursing a beer too. His second one. "What don't you like about a battle of the bands? We've got the sound."

"And the personality!", Gareth added.

Eddie nodded. "All solid points. But we're missing the money."

"Entry fee's only fifty bucks, man", Jeff said. "I know you got that much."

"$50 to get it", Eddie began to list off his fingers. "Gas money to get us all the way to Chicago-"

"It's like three hours away, Eds", Doug griped.

"Not done! Plus food, plus hotels, plus fixing up our equipment. Jeff and I both need new strings if we're gonna have any chance of winning."

"Well fuck me, I guess", Doug rolled his eyes.

"Dude, the bass guy always gets the most puss at these things. You don't need new strings", Gareth said. "If anything, my drums-"

"If I don't need new strings, why should you get new drums?", Doug argued.

"Ladies, ladies, you're both beautiful", Jeff came between them. "And need I remind you, we're trying to get Eddie on board? Not double our expenses?"

"We're already over budget", Eddie said. "'Sides, we'd be taking my van to get there and old Bessie needs some work done too. 'Specially if she's gonna be hauling our stuff."

It wasn't that Eddie didn't want to go. He just wasn't particularly keen on following pipe dreams. Chicago wasn't far-far. But what were the odds of them going all the way there and hitting it big? It wasn't strictly a metal competition. There'd be rock and probably pop, maybe even country too, who knew. The point was, metal wasn't much of a crowd-pleaser unless the crowd was already primed for it.

He snuffed the joint in his hand and then lit up another one that they all passed around while coming up with get rich quick schemes. It started innocent enough with the suggestions. Blood donations (Doug hated needles, Eddie hated hospitals), garage sale ("Nobody wants our shit."), and even if they all somehow got like three part time jobs by tomorrow, they wouldn't earn enough to get Eddie on board with this whole idea.

The more they talked about it, the more Eddie got riled up. Why should they be left out of something just because they didn't have the money for it? That was bullshit! There were people out there drowning in money and between the four of them they couldn't scrounge up enough just to get them over the state line?

"Blame whoever you want, but the fact is, money's been in the wrong hands for too damn long!", Eddie said, jumping to his feet. "They tell us all the goddamn time that kids are starvin' in Africa but are they doing anything about it?"

"Not a damn thing", Gareth shook his head.

"Meanwhile, there's kids over here that are starving! And they're still not liftin' a finger to help", Eddie gestured with the joint in his hand, half finished between him and Jeff. "No, the rich fucks of the world don't give, they only take. So we've gotta take it back somehow."

"What? Rob a bank?", Jeff snickered.

The others snickered in return at the absurdity of the idea but Eddie was thinking. Of course not a bank heist. But there were people in Hawkins with money...yeah...for sure there was.

"Not a bank", Eddie said, starting to pace around. But there's a couple of rich bastards in town who could stand to part with their cash."

"You wanna rob the mayor's house or something?", Doug offered. He was on his third beer.

"Eddie's got the stealth of a newborn deer", Gareth said.

"Bad analogy, Gare-bear. Prey animals are notoriously stealthy, even from birth", Eddie grinned.

"Still though. If it's really valuable, we wouldn't be able to pawn it without painting a target on our backs", Gareth sighed.

"Wait, what if we did a ransom?", Doug said.

"Yeah, yeah", Jeff nodded. "We get somethin' valuable and basically sell it back to 'em."

Eddie grinned. "A ransom, huh? Now, stay with me boys, but what if-what IF we took someone. Someone important enough that his folks would go through hell or high water to get him back?"

The other three were silent as the realization dawned on them. Eddie could only be talking about one person.

"You're crazy man...", Jeff said, taking the joint from his hand to use it for himself.

"Like a fox", Eddie smirked.

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

When they talked about it after sobering up, it still sounded like a good idea. The target: Steve Harrington. Rich enough to have a big house, a nice car, and always have the newest things. Dumb enough that he should be easy to get. Sure, he probably had some muscle, being a jock and all, but Harrington notoriously didn't get into fights. Which probably meant he couldn't. But Eddie and his friends had been in scraps before. The perks of being an outcast, he supposed.

Getting him alone was probably going to be the hardest part of all of this. But Eddie happened to know that sometimes Harrington would come to the school's gym early to practice. It was the perfect opportunity.

It meant they had to wake up early on break and take Bessie and sit in the lot without the heat on, freezing their tits while they waited on Harrington to come out of the gym.

"Why are we w-waiting?", Gareth asked, shivering.

"Need him fatigued and all that", Eddie said. Despite the layers, his teeth were clacking. But if the motor was on, Harrington would hear and they'd lose the element of surprise. He reminded himself that this had to be the hardest part - waiting in the cold, especially when they left the van to be closer to the door of the gym. The masks they were provided only minimal warmth.

But after grabbing and bagging Harrington, they'd leave the note, his parents would get it and they'd have their money and return their hostage by Christmas. Easy peasy.

They didn't count on Steve actually being able to hold his own against all four of them. Maybe it was the fact that they'd been out in the cold, maybe it was the lack of muscle mass between them or general lack of coordination. Whatever it was, somehow, Harrington was wrecking their shit single handedly.

Eddie wasn't the best thinker when he panicked. But right now Gareth was holding his nose and Jeff and Doug wouldn't be far behind. So he ran. To his van.

He saw Harrington making a break for it and stomped down on the gas.

Eddie didn't really register what he'd done until he heard Gareth screaming.

"Shut up! Shut up man!", Jeff shouted back.

"Get him in the van!", Doug screamed.

"The note! Shit, the note! Put it in his windshield!", Eddie reminded him.

It was chaos until they were a good distance away from the school. Nothing could be heard but their panting. Steve Harrington was limp and unconscious in the back of his van. Eddie didn't stop until they were at Gareth's.

"How long are your parents gone for?", he asked as they tied Steve down to a chair in the basement.

"They won't be back until New Year's. My aunt just had a new baby." He was holding his nose again now that Steve was secure.

"How long until he wakes up, do you think?", Doug asked.

Steve's gasp as he suddenly sat up straight and struggled against his ropes answered that question. Thankfully, they all still had their masks on.

"Munson?"

"Well, fuck, these things don't work for shit", Gareth said as he pulled his mask off.

"Who the hell are you?", Steve raised a brow.

Eddie just barely held back the bark of laughter. This was stupid, this was so stupid! But they were in it now. And apparently Steve Harrington knew him by...by some defining characteristic.

"How'd you know it was me?", he asked as he took the mask off.

"Your hair's pretty distinct", Steve said. "What the hell is this? What's going on?"

Eddie grinned and bent over, getting into Steve's face. "Well, Stevie dearest, all you need to know is that you're going to make us very rich."

Part 2

[darlinluxx]

— 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 | 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐎 ౨ৎ

↳ pairing : natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

fluff, smut

warnings : smut, mentions of drugs, mentions of alcohol, smoking, dom!nat sub!reader, degradation, spit

a/n : i need her it’s not funny anymore

- biggest fan of radiohead and hole

- she hates seeing you hurt and would try and solve problems, even if she made them worse sometimes

- it takes her a bit to open up to you, but once she does, she trusts you with everything and anything

- so sooo protective of you, she’s like your personal bodyguard

- loves to skip school with you and take you out somewhere instead

- making out behind the bleachers before her soccer game !! she says it’s her “good luck charm”

- Nat will sneak through your window late at night because she wanted to see you

- loves casual dominance, like lifting your chin up to look up at her or opening doors for you

- absolutely loves seeing you in her clothes

- loves going on for late night drives on the weekend, no destination in mind. windows down, blaring whatever rock band she was obsessed with that week

- you end up at abandoned drive-ins, desolate beaches, places that feel like the edge of the world

- she teaches you how to hotwire cars, not because you need to, but because it was fun

- sneaking into movie theaters for free

- Nat doesn’t do small talk. she cuts through the bullshit with a rusty blade. if she thinks your new haircut was awful, she tells you. brutally, but honestly. and somehow, you appreciate it

- when she cares, she cares. late nights spent passionately making out behind the bleachers. long drawn out touches in the hallways at school. she always finds ways to make you gasp for more

- Nat is fiercely loyal. if someone messes with you, they mess with her. she defends you to the death, even if you’re wrong

- onto some complicated things, Nat has a dark side, a self-destructive streak that worries you. the drinking, the drugs, the reckless behavior—it’s all a way to escape something, but you aren’t sure what. you try to talk to her, to help her, but she just pushes you away

- she’s possessive, and sometimes, it borders on jealousy

- Nat smokes a lot. she tried to hide it from you at first, but she failed miserably

- she has a surprisingly soft spot for animals, especially stray dogs

- she’s terrible at expressing her feelings verbally, but shows them through actions and small gestures (she’s just like me fr)

- omg road trips with Nat !! spending hours driving to your destination, fueled by gas station snacks and her endless supply of cigarettes. she loves to drive, loved the feeling of leaving everything behind

- when it comes to movie nights, her taste in movies was… eclectic. think cult classics, film noir, and anything directed by Quentin Tarantino

- you sit in her dimly lit basement, surrounded by stacks of VHS tapes, her shoulder brushing against yours as you watch some obscure film. those were the quiet moments, when she lets her guard down just a little

- the quiet moments are the most precious. sitting on the hood of Nat’s car, watching the city lights blur below late at night, listening to her play guitar (yes she plays guitar)

- Nat has a dark sense of humor. you never know if she’s being serious or not, which is both thrilling and terrifying

nsfw ౨ৎ (sorry these are so short, i’m much better at writing fluff 😭)

- i’m a strong believer she’s a top / dom !!

- loves eating you out, like could live between your thighs for the rest of her life

- such. a. tease.

- “shh, be quiet. you don’t want anyone to hear how much of a slut you’re being f’me.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫

- lowkey really mean but it’s ok cuz it’s Nat

- loves fucking you in front of a mirror

- loves to tease you in public and seeing you get all worked up

- her moves are deliberate and possessive

- Nat’s rough, but never intentionally hurtful

- obsessed with seeing how her words affect you

- spitting in your mouth omg ?? 😵‍💫😵‍💫

- when it comes to aftercare, it’s mostly just a shared cigarette. jkjk (kinda)

- she makes sure you’re okay and will literally get you anything you want

[verstappenverse]

Omg just read the new chapter about the reader sim racing!! I loved it lol for a second I thought won’t it be hilarious if the reader practicing and learning for him turn him on and they just laugh about it

But loved this one and all your other work!! So fun to read always!!!

Omg thank you!! I love that idea and it got stuck in my head so I ended up writing a little alternate scene. Thanks for the inspo and for being so sweet!! ☺️

Ghost Laps - Alternate Scene

“Hey, Max?” you call sweetly from the rig, adjusting the pedals just right, tugging the sleeves of his old Red Bull hoodie over your thighs, very aware that it hangs just long enough to cover you, and somehow just short enough not to.

He looks up from the couch, where he's been scrolling half-asleep. “Hm?”

“Come watch me drive,” you say innocently, motioning him over with a flutter of your lashes. “I think I finally figured it out.”

Max groans as he stands, stretching like a cat, hair slightly messy and sweatpants hanging low. “If you spin out again, I’m recording it.”

You smirk. “Try not to get too excited.”

He pauses at that, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, turning back to the screen. “Come on champ.”

You start the lap and this time... it’s different.

You’re smooth. Clean. Fast. Aggressive but composed, braking perfectly, apexes kissed like muscle memory, throttle steady. Max doesn’t say a word, he’s watching now, jaw slightly slack, eyes fixed on your hands as they grip the wheel tight and precise.

You shift your hips just slightly in the seat, enough to remind him you’re wearing his old Red Bull hoodie and absolutely nothing else.

By turn six, you hear him swallow.

By turn nine, he mutters, “Holy shit.”

You hit the final straight and cross the line with a clean time, then casually look over your shoulder at him, breath even.

“Well?” you ask, batting your lashes. “Still think I’m hopeless?”

Max just stares. There’s a flush rising in his neck now, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s biting down on a thought. His eyes drag slowly from your bare legs to your grip on the wheel and back again.

“That was—” He blinks. “That was actually really good.”

You shrug, overly casual. “I might’ve practiced a little.”

He steps closer, brow raised. “Define ‘a little.’”

You grin. “Every day.”

His jaw drops. “You’re joking.”

“Morning, night, lunch break, whatever.” You wave a hand.

“You did all that…” he says slowly, stepping closer, “just to mess with me?”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “To impress you.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You smirk. “Okay, maybe also to see if I could make you squirm a little.”

Max exhales through his nose, laughing once, low and dangerous. Then he leans down, one hand braced on the back of the seat, the other landing firmly on your thigh. His fingers trace slow, infuriating circles against your skin.

He leans in, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. “So this whole lap time improvement… was just foreplay?”

You smirk, triumphant. “Maybe.”

Max bites his lip, then chuckles, shaking his head like he’s genuinely impressed. “You're dangerous.”

“You’re predictable,” you shoot back, lifting a brow. “All I had to do was hit a racing line and wear your hoodie.”

He groans softly, forehead dropping to yours. “Unfair tactics.”

You lean forward, ghosting your lips over his. “Thought you liked a challenge.”

His hands tighten gently on your thighs. “I love a challenge. Especially when she looks like this.”

You smile, victorious and glowing, and tug him in by the hoodie strings. He kisses you, slow at first, then deeper, all open mouths and quiet urgency, his hand sliding around your waist like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

When he pulls back, breath uneven, he just shakes his head. “Next time you can practice on my lap,” he murmurs, voice dropping,

You laugh, breathless, victorious, hungry for more and tug him in again.

Game over. You win.

[inside-lees-mind]

hey!! do u think u could write for sasuke, shikamaru, kiba, lee, neji, gaara, and/or sai with a clingy reader who gets jealous easily? love language is acts of service and quality time but she clings onto them a lot too. (feel free to change up the characters/add or omit anyone!! thank you!!)

Naruto Characters with a Clingy/Jealous S/O

Characters: Sasuke, Shikamaru, Kiba, Shino, Rock Lee, Neji, Sai, Gaara, and Kankuro

I wanna include Kankuro somewhere so don’t mind me squeezing him in frfr. Also ofc, I gotta add Shino.

Sasuke Uchiha

He’s acting cool. He’s acting real cool. Dark and mysterious.

You’re throwing that off, but if you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, he can’t seem to bring himself to shake you off.

You’re like throwing off the dark and mysterious with your energy, so he’s gonna act indifferent, maybe even irritated.

Best believe that he clings onto you right back at home. I don’t take criticism on this take.

If you get jealous easy… good luck.

Now he’s not feeding in to these other girls minds that he could somehow care to look their way, but these girls STILL stare at him with heart eyes.

Cue him just walking away from them, telling you to come on already.

He’s not entertaining their bullshit, so you two can go where they will leave you both alone :)!

Shikamaru Nara

Complains, complains, complains again.

“What a drag” “you’re so troublesome”

He’s blushing though, don’t let him lie. It’s obvious.

He secretly finds comfort in your constant clinging. And the way you like to spend time with him. And be around him constantly. You must really like him. He’s secretly flattered.

He just can’t open up so he’s never gonna tell you that.

He’s not really the type that women are just falling at his feet, so you won’t have to worry about being jealous so much.

If a girl on a mission does get a little too close though, he WILL distance himself from her. Don’t worry.

He’ll complain if you step in for him to help get the girl away, but he’ll be grateful for the help (silently, bc out loud he’s saying he can handle it himself)

Kiba Inuzuka

I don’t know why people think Kiba is some player or fuck boy. So I want to go ahead and clarify, I don’t think he would be. I think he’s actually got nervous teen boy crushing energy, no matter his age.

He’s clinging to you too. Lmfao.

Literally you two are attached at the hip, arm, shoulder, whatever. Attached.

Akamaru is always with you two though, but who doesn’t love Akamaru?!

He gets jealous too.

You two are probably unbearable bc listen, hope for everybody’s sake you aren’t as jealous as he is.

If a man looks in your direction, he will whine for the rest of the night.

That being said, he is not accusing you of entertaining or doing anything, he’s just complaining about the guys audacity to even look in your direction.

Shino Aburame

DO NOT LET THIS MAN LIE TO YOU. He gets jealous.

Like petty kinda jealous. He’s a petty mf.

So you are not alone if you get jealous.

He’s also physically clingy behind closed doors, but ONLY behind closed doors.

He asks that you not hang off him like a koala in front of everybody, but he’ll perhaps hold your hand.

He’s clingy in a less physical way. He needs you to stay close to him most of the time, just be there. So if you like quality time, this the guy for you.

Back to jealously, this is the only reason I could ever foresee him being even a little toxic. He trusts you fully, but give a little bit too much attention to somebody and he’ll convince himself he’s like not your first choice and you forgot him like everybody else did.

So he’s more jealous than you, without a doubt in my mind.

Honestly, he takes time and effort to convince to settle down and get out of his own head.

Neji Hyuga

Not a PDA person. I think he might be willing to like hold hands. Accept a kiss on the cheek or something. But really, he wouldn’t be all TOO found of being literally clinged to.

However, he does like to have you around. So if you are just the clingy type in regards to being around them all the time, he’s okay with that.

He wants to be around you too.

He’s not the jealous type himself, and he probably won’t really notice that you’re jealous.

I don’t think he’d appreciate somebody other than you being all over him though, so you don’t have to worry much. He’ll tell a person straight up, no sugarcoating, to get away from him.

If you complain about somebody’s actions later, he’ll realize you were jealous. He’ll probably ask why if he told them off anyways. After a conversation, he’ll probably just reassure you that he will continue to tell people off.

Nobody touches him but you.

Rock Lee

HES SO MFING CLINGY

PHYSICALLY AND JUST IN GENERAL.

He talks about you all the time to everybody he can. He’s constantly telling people that you’re his partner. Bragging about you.

And since you’re clingy and he’s clingy, you’re probably right there by his side as he does this.

If for some reason, he doesn’t get a chance or remember to introduce you in some flamboyant, glamorous, extra way, and somebody tries to make a pass at him, he won’t notice they’re flirting unless it’s OBVIOUS.

So cue your jealously.

He would be the type to literally push somebody away and say some shit like “I’m flattered, but I have a gorgeous, amazing partner already.”

Sai Yamanaka

(I call him Sai Yamanaka bc it creates a bigger line for the name btw, he’s not married in this case)

He does not mind you constantly clinging to him or following him around. Not in the slightest.

That is because he likes you, so he wants to be around the person he likes, after all. (Sai, yall are dating. That’s obvious, you don’t have to say it)

He probably follows you around a lot because he thinks he’s supposed to. And also, he finds that he likes to be around you.

He might do something a book told him to, get too close to another person, paying no mind to any like reason it could be wrong. He didn’t mean it that way.

And since we’ve established you’re the jealous type, you’d have to explain to Sai that he can’t just get too close to other people like that.

Gaara of the Sand

He doesn’t mind the clinging, but he doesn’t have the time for it :/

When you can cling to him or follow him around without interfering with his focus and work, he’s perfectly okay with it.

And he’ll find himself wishing that when he’s busy, he wasn’t so you could be with him.

A lot of the girls in the village have a crush on him now that he’s kazekage, so you’re bound to be pretty jealous.

But Gaara doesn’t let these girls near him. He’s polite with them, but he’s not entertaining anything at ALL.

You don’t have to worry with him. He’s as loyal as can be.

At home, he’s clinging to you too. He’s touch starved.

And he loves to spend his free time with you.

Kankuro of the Sand

Cling to him in public like a koala. He’s not complaining. He’s BRAGGING.

PLEASE.

He’s the type to tease you about it, but if you break away from him because of it he’ll complain bc WHERE ARE YOU GOINGGG?

He would purposely make you jealous. Within reason. He will not disrespect your relationship to do so. But if he knows something simple could make you jealous, like giving too much attention to a stuffed animal, he will do it on purpose

“You wish this was you, huh?”

He’d like it if you wanted to just come sit in his workshop with him while he works on puppets. He’ll talk when he’s not like SUPER focused.

[rafeplay]

ADA ADORE !

ft. di!leon s. kennedy x gn!reader x ada wong

tags. toxic relationship, divorce sorry idk how to tag this, smut mentions, age gap mention, character study..? oral happens a little, dub-con

note. HAIIII IO HAPPY EARLY BDAY! @girlfridged this is a year and many months overdue it’s been in my drafts for so long I wanted to write it so bad for ages but I couldnt n I thought I’d finally do it before I get busy w exams ILYSMMMMM I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U NEED ilysm and I just want u to have fun and be happy and I hope ada brings that to u 💔🤍 unedited + clunky n disjointed per usual .. io I accidentally made this more ab aeon I’m so sorry I will make it up to u LMFAKDKFK feedback n rbs always appreciated

It’s not working out.

It hasn’t been working out since they tied the knot. 

There’s no honeymoon phase when you marry a woman like Ada Wong. In fact, there is no phase at all. There were no rings and no ceremony and when they went to bed that night Leon realised they both ran cold—Two cold bodies in a bed is just a shared grave. 

They both work a lot so they’re married on vacation days, but Leon’s not around on Christmas, and Ada’s busy on New Years so they settle for birthdays. Easter is out of the question - Ada doesn’t have time to believe in trivial things like god and Leon still ducks like the devil anytime he sees a cross. 

They remember they’ve chosen each other between global collapse and political demise and the occasional personal trauma—AKA Leon’s birthday. Not hers. Never hers.

It’s the one day in the whole entire year they pretend the world doesn’t need saving. 

(In Ada’s case, ruining.) 

She gives him a pretty little present, fucks him like it’s a threat, and sometimes, only sometimes, Leon gets to fall asleep in the same timezone as her. 

Leon thought about getting a dog. Something warm, loyal, friendly, something to come home to. When he told her she teased him. And he let her—Of course he did, he would let her push him flat on his back in an active minefield. 

“You want me to be a dog, Leon?” She got on her knees and crawled towards him and it was really sexy, but he took his meds before they got in bed and any chance of a boner had been deemed impossible. 

“I just want you to come home,” he had let out by mistake, and then Ada dried up because she doesn’t really feel anything that isn’t lust or some cruel type of need to have him squashed under her thumb and him getting needy outside of the bedroom is her number one turn-off. 

As of how they’re doing right now? 

Ada’s current location is unknown. He sent a message three days ago. He wasn’t even sure if it was the correct number. 

Leon: Alive? 

She left him on read. Whatever. Pretty generous for Ada. Means she’s not causing any trouble. Maybe she’s just taking time away from him. He understands. Leon often needs space from himself. And somehow from her considering how little she is home. One day with Ada stretches on for an eternity, it wrings him out, hangs him up to dry. It’s like the whole entire world is put on pause because she said so. He can’t get away from himself and not from Ada either—he sees her in the mirror everyday because they have the same goddamn haircut. 

He goes to work. Sits on his chair purposely hard. Stares at the ceiling like he’s waiting for god to send a memo. 

To: l.kennedy@dsoperations.gov.usa

Subject: Leave her. Fix your marriage. Get a dog. 

Attachment: Miracle. 

Leon wishes he knew how to talk to her. Like, actually like, talk—Like not in his head, but with his mouth and from his heart. Open up about all those big, big feelings he keeps having. But he’s not stupid, he knows Ada would probably smile at him, and in that smile he would see the exact moment she would decide not to want him. Because she doesn’t do feelings or emotions or therapy or any of the sissy bullshit Leon has really gotten into in these past few years. 

“Good morning, Leon.” Hunnigan rarely says it first, only when he’s brooding.

Leon sighs deeply. He pretends he doesn’t see Helena roll her eyes in his peripheral. “Yeah…” He nods slowly—forlornly. “Good morning.” 

“What’s wrong with you today?” She asks flatly. “Will you let me know by lunch so I can file the appropriate forms?” 

Helena snorts. Leon sighs again. Deeper. Sadder. Like, please fawn over me, at least offer to make me a coffee I won’t drink and let me rest my head on your bosom while you do all this complicated big boy paperwork for me. 

“I’m having girl trouble, put that on my file if you want.” Leon sniffs, crossing his arms and wondering if his marriage would benefit from whatever him and Hunnigan have going on; they have been work-wife and work-husband for eleven years now. It could be the back and forth. Sarcasm. But no. His therapist says sarcasm is hiding, which to be completely honest is true, he is hiding. Always has been. 

They don’t know about Ada—Not really. They know of her. That she goes up like smoke. That he keeps her compact in his drawer. That she is probably still wanted for treason by the country he lives and dies for. That she killed Helena’s sister and all. First by proxy and then by hand. They certainly don’t know her and Leon are quote-unquote married. 

“Maybe she’s seeing someone else,” Helena offers unhelpfully. 

“Why the hell would you say that?” He shakes his head, pointing a finger at her. “You don’t even know who she is.”

“I’m statistically speaking - based on all of your dates,” she adds, also unhelpfully. 

“Mm,” Hunnigan hums in agreement, “how old is this one?”

“Older than me,” Leon says proudly, like it’s some sort of accomplishment—but it is, for a moment he really did forget about himself, all his morals, he fucked a twenty-one year old and everything. A mid-life crisis, but he’s all better now. 

“How old?” Helena sits up, interested. “Your age kind of old?“

“I’m not even forty, Helena.” Leon doesn’t look up from the floor, pouting at the scuff marks on his shoes.

“Fifty?”

“God, I wish, but no.” 

 “Sixty?” Hunnigan chimes in without looking away from her monitor. 

“No.”

“Is she as old as that lunch lady you flirt with?” Helena scoots her chair closer. 

“Hey! First of all, her name is Hazel, and she is not just the lunch lady, she’s the head and she rotates the menu by season, runs the whole thing…” He trails off. 

Silence. 

“…But no, not that old, Jesus.” Ada is a cougar not a fucking sabretooth. “She’s got a couple years on me, like forty-something I guess.” He doesn’t even know her fucking birthday. Some husband he is. 

“Is it serious?” 

Leon looks at Helena like she’s stupid. Like anything could ever be fully serious with Ada. Everything is a sick joke to her, but it’s not. It’s not a joke—this is his fucking life. His stupid, sad life. ”Kind of, yeah, I guess—For me it is.” 

“But not for her, huh?” Helena clicks her tongue, giving him a sympathetic look. 

An hour or so later when they’re all in a meeting, Leon is too busy wondering how they fit such a big table through such a small door, why he is destined for so much fucking pain, whether or not Helena and Hunnigan are playing footsie right under his nose. Maybe if Ada was a man-eater with teeth the size of his head he wouldn’t like her so much. Maybe if his dick was bigger she wouldn’t be so inclined to leave. Maybe if it was nicer—No…No. it couldn't be that. His dick is nice. Nicer than most. Neatly trimmed pubes, nice shape, nice length, tasteful curvature, he’s got some lovely gradient going on. Jesus Christ, this table is huge. Did they build the room around it? Is that a thing people can do? It couldn’t come in parts it’s literally fucking solid oak. Does it fold? Everything folds eventually. Helena shifts beside him—Is she making eyes at Hunnigan? Is she seriously…Can Hunnigan even see all the way over on the opposite side of this huge-ass table? 

“Agent Kennedy?”

Leon’s eyes shoot up, going from bigwig to bigwig until he finds the speaker. A senator of some kind with a tarmac grey suit. “Yes… Yes, sir?”

“Some input on the current strategy?” It’s not unkind, more wanting of guidance from someone who’s been in the game as long as Leon has.

“My dick is fine,” Leon says on autopilot. 

Everyone is looking at him. That pretty intern he got a coffee for stifles a laugh into her hand, Hunnigan is staring him down, Helena is trying not to smile. 

“Sorry, thought I was on mute.” 

“You’re…You’re not on call, Agent Kennedy.” 

“Right.” Leon nods. “Obviously. 

He looks back down at the table.

It’s still too big for the room.

Leon comes home late. Which is usual. So he guesses he’s coming home on time. He isn’t over how big the table is, he isn't over talking about his dick in front of presidential advisors, and he isn’t over Ada like he would really like to be. 

He aims to throw his jacket on the wooden coat she bought. Gothic. Curling arms, and a mahogany base. He misses and his jacket slumps to the ground like a wounded animal. 

She’s cheating on me. Helena is right. She’s with someone else. She left me on read so that means she’s not even doing fieldwork, she’s just ignoring me on purpose. 

Leon blinks at his reflection in the oval mirror Ada placed in the entrance hall. 

But she can’t be. Look at him. Look at him. Look at those eyes. Look at that nose. Don’t look at the chin. She’s not cheating. She’s just Ada. Sexy, career-driven, free, independent—Oh god. But what if she is? What if she is cheating on him? With some hunk like Chris. Not because Leon thinks Chris is hot, but maybe Ada thinks he is. 

And then he sees them.

Her heels kicked off in the corner. The ones she wears on date nights. The one she wears to see other men probably. Leon crouches down to study them, running a finger over the patent leather, flipping them upside down to see the weathered red bottoms. He has kissed these a thousand times.

“Are you talking to my shoes, Leon?” 

Leon’s heart thumps out of his chest. 

“You're home,” he breathes out, waiting for someone to step out from behind her, freshly showered, using his towel. Taller, stronger, bigger—

“I wanted to see you.” She’s not wearing any makeup and she looks her age and it’s so fucking sexy. 

“Are you cheating on me?” Leon blurts out. 

Ada smiles at him like What if I am? What will you do about it? You’d stay with me anyway, wouldn’t you? You pathetic excuse of a man. “What makes you think that?”

“You left me on read.”

“You asked me if I was alive, Leon.” 

“Yeah—Yeah, and you never said yes.”

“I read it.” 

“Still—“

Ada cuts in, “Why don’t you come to bed, babe, I was so lonely waiting up for you.” She leaves no room for argument so he follows her into the bedroom, he lets her take off his clothes and wash his face and kiss him on the head as she tucks him in.

“Why did you call me babe?” Leon mumbles as he tucks his face into her neck, breathing her in. 

“What’s wrong with babe?” Ada asks him, falsely tender, antiseptic affection. 

“I dunno…It’s, like, it reminds me of the pig.” 

She laughs. He wants to hear her do that again. Make a fool out of himself to make her smile or snort. “Fine, you’re my baby.” 

He settles down after that as Ada traces shapes into his skin with the points of her manicured nails. It would be nice if she wasn’t pressing so hard. “Too hard,” Leon complains, twisting in discomfort. 

“Lingchi, pressure massage,” Ada explains, “ancient technique.” 

He rolls over while she lingchis his back to Google it. 

Lingchi

Lingchi, usually translated "slow slicing" or "death by a thousand cuts", was a form of torture and execution used in China from roughly 900 until it was banned in 1905. It was also used in Vietnam and Korea.

Source: Wikipedia

Leon is still rubbing sleep out of his eyes when Ada says it. Buttering her toast casually. Red dress. Red lips. Red heels. “By the way, I’m sleeping with someone.”

Just like that. There’s no ‘we need to talk’ or ‘I’m leaving you’. Nope. Not at all. 

“I’m sorry?” He blinks. 

She doesn’t look up from her toast. Dipping the knife into a pot of strawberry jam he didn’t even know they had. “It’s just sex, Leon.”

“I thought you…I love you, Ada.” He blinks again. Maybe thrice. 

“I know you do, baby.” She smiles. “You're still my husband.”

“How could you—I don’t…I don’t understand, Ada.” 

She places the toast on the counter in front of him. “I have to go now, I don’t have time to talk about it today, baby.” She kisses his cheek. Grabs her bag. “I’m very busy, why don’t you tell your journal all about it?”

“I don’t have a—“

“Drive safe, baby!” Her heels click-clack as she leaves.

Leon sits in traffic that morning thinking about it. 

By the way, I’m sleeping with someone. 

It’s just sex, Leon.

You’re still my husband. 

It’s not raining, but the wipers are going off, and he flips off a man in the car next to him without thinking. 

How could she? How could she just say that? Who fucking does that? Ada would. Ada can. Ada does. 

He thinks about crashing his car into the lobby of the DSO. 

He zones out during a meeting. For the second time. Hunnigan gives him a look that says If you’re thinking about killing yourself, please do it after this meeting.

He eats lunch alone in the break room. He opens his phone six times in five minutes and there’s nothing. 

What does this guy even look like? What does he do—What could he do to get her attention? Ada’s attention. To get her to want him, fuck him, leave Leon on read for three days to be with him. What is it about him? Taller? Blonder? Younger? Sweeter? Stupider? No…There’s no one stupider than Leon. No one is more pathetic than Leon. It can’t be. 

He drives home, clammy, hands slipping off the wheel thinking about this man. Thinking about finding out who the fuck he is, finding his address, sizing him up and ultimately leaving when he realises Ada has found herself someone that isn’t shorter than her when she puts on heels. And Ada is always wearing heels. 

He steps inside, holding his breathing, for once he is hoping she isn’t home so he has time to pace, drink, contemplate and repeat.

But her shoes are kicked off in the same spot, and there’s an open bottle of wine on the countertop. The balcony door is open, Ada is leaning against the railing watching the city beneath them, the ballet of life, cars passing by, people rushing home from work, young girls going out for the night.

She doesn’t even look at him when she speaks, fixing the fallen shoulder of her silk robe. “I want you to meet someone.” Then she turns, bare-faced, beautiful, gazing at him over the rim of her wine glass. 

“What..?”

“Oh, Leon, don’t pout.” Ada sighs, placing her glass down beside the unused ashtray. 

“I’m not—“

“Come here, baby, come give me a kiss.” She points at her heart-shaped mouth and he stumbles closer like a zombie, pawing at her robe as she cups his cheeks to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good boy.” Ada smiles at him. That same smile she always has. “Tomorrow at seven, okay? Clear your schedule.”

And Leon does. He always does. He leaves work at four to get cucked at seven. 

Ada gives an address to the driver who keeps making eye contact with Leon in the rear view mirror. She keeps her hand on Leon’s thigh the entire time. She tells him how handsome he looks in that suit - his only suit - he rushed to dry clean this very morning. He looks the part of her husband. A very well-kept man on a very short leash. They don’t need rings because Leon is already wrapped around her finger. 

They pull up in front of this great, sprawling building, stone steps, bustling crowds, a sign that says something about an exhibition—Ada is walking too fast for him to read it properly, and she’s in fucking heels too. He catches up with her in the cool hush of the gallery lobby, thank god there’s air conditioning, he’s about to sweat right through this jacket. 

She looks effortless like always, he’s seen her naked and he still finds it hard to believe she even exists. Women are just something else. Ada has sexy legs, and painted toes, and she even has sexy fucking ankles—

“Come on, baby.” She leads him like a duckling, and it raises the question—

“What are we doing here?” Leon asks, clearing his throat, trying not to look at her ass in that high-necked, jewel-toned dress. Jesus. What if her boyfriend is an art dealer? What if he’s fucking loaded? What if this is all a trick? A ploy. A fucking joke. She’s trying to rope him into something bad.

“I told you, I want you to meet someone, Leon,” she answers simply. “Oh, look at that piece.” She waves her hand in the direction of a blank canvas. 

“Brilliant, really, I could never pull that off,” he mumbles, a deep pout settling on his face as he follows her past paint splattered canvases, statuettes, and a man who she humours for exactly fifty-nine seconds before she says:

“Leon, why don’t you tell this nice man how many times you came this morning?”

Leon doesn’t even fucking trip on a single word. “Four,” he says, loud and proud, but he’s more just loud than proud. This is really quite fucking humiliating and he’s thinking of throwing himself down that gorgeous spiral staircase as some act of artistic vengeance, become part of the exhibition, y’know? 

“There you are!” Ada smiles, and it’s the same sort of smile she gives Leon, but different. Like. Sweeter. Luring. Pure fucking Evil. Like I want to fatten you up and eat you. 

He scans the room for the suspect. Which fucking bastard is fucking his fucking wife? There’s a curator on one side, but he’s much too old for Ada. The few in the turtlenecks—Never. Velvet suit? Moustache? Oh, it’s got to be that one. Baby blues, wheatish hair, hands in his pockets like he doesn’t quite fit in. That’s him. Pft. Leon could take him easy—Oh, they’re not even walking in his direction—

“Ada!” 

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. Oh no. No. This is so much worse. He can’t beat up a little kid. You’re like shorter than both of them, she leans down to kiss both your cheeks, and you're smiling at her like she has the key to your heart—She probably does, she has the key to his cock cage. 

(Not that he actually has one. Leon hasn’t gone that far yet, he likes to believe he has standards.) 

“Leon,” she beckons him closer with a finger, introduces the two of you.

You put out your hand for him to shake, clearly a little nervous as you tell him, “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Wish I could say the same,” he mutters, loosely taking your hand, making sure to wipe it on his trousers when you let go of him. He can’t beat you up, but he sure as hell can be petty.

“Leon.” Ada laughs like a mother does when she’s trying to play down her child’s petulance. “Be nice, baby.” 

She’s insane. She has got to be crazy if she thinks Leon is going to put up with this. She’s talking to you all nice like We have dinner soon, but I just had to come and see your art. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. I really am. You’re so much more accomplished than my loser husband. My snooty little angel, look at your beautifully useless art, my tactically skilled, special agent husband could never be as talented as you. Oh no, he could never. And she thinks he’s going to stay? Yeah right. Never. 

Leon has standards. He does. He’s going to leave right now, he’s going to block her number, put her minimal shit in a bag, and toss it over the balcony. He’s going to hand her over to the President on a silver platter. He’s going to leave a bad review on your art. Is there a website for that? There’s gotta be. There’s a website for everything now. Ugh—Ugh. You’re not even anything special. Not the kind of beauty that offends women or intimidates men, but to Leon it does both. 

“The reservation is soon, we should head over,” Ada says, looping her arm with yours and waiting for Leon to follow.

He does follow. Glaring at your back. A threesome has been on his bucket list for years, sure, but not like this. It was meant to be sexy. Not cheating. 

Leon fumes silently all the way over to the restaurant, while the waiter leads the three of you to the cushioned booth at the back, when Ada slips into the booth beside you, when your foot knocks his under the table, when the waiter hands over the menus. 

The two of you are talking, it sounds like noise to him, like he’s underwater. You keep looking at him with these great, big eyes. Like you're waiting for him to say something. Or maybe you’re testing him. Maybe you want him to leave. He wants you to leave. 

Ada is too sneaky. She’s like a cat, they're nifty little things—Ada is twice as sly. She’s cunning. Like a fox. Yeah. That sounds right. A fox. A beautiful, red fairytale fox that talks its way out of dirty work. Leon is some stupid, hysterical damsel that needs a kiss to snap out of it. And you’re a wretched little toad and you’re going to get what’s coming for you, for being a part of this, for being her side piece, for making her smile like that. 

“So,” Leon finally cuts into the conversation you’ve been having without him for a good twenty minutes, “when were going to tell me you had a partner, Ada.”

She scoffs at him lightly, a smile playing on her red lips. “I don’t do boyfriends or girlfriends, Leon, I’m forty.” 

“What does that even—“

“It’s just sex, Leon, I told you that before, I wish you would listen.” 

It’s always just sex with Ada. All he gets is sex. All you get is sex. Maybe the two of you aren't so different. Maybe you’re both little mice and Ada is going to eat you both up. 

“Leon is so sentimental,” Ada sighs, shaking her head like he’s such a hassle. 

You smile at him awkwardly. He just stares. Ada takes her fork, holding it up so the tines bar his face like she’s putting him in public timeout, in jail. “He’s just so emotional, I mean, really, you know how men get.”

You shift in your seat, unsticking your thighs from the leather booth. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.” You smile at him again, nervous, fraying, like he isn’t what you expected—It’s Ada. It’s all Ada she probably marketed this as some fucking chic ménage á trois. 

Leon just sits there like he’s just been hit by a train and is trying to be casual about it. Of course she did. Of course she did and that’s why he goes on a second date with you and her. That’s why he drives the two of you home a week later. His wife and the person she’s fucking. 

This week has been tense. Dinner was tense. This drive is tense. You clear your throat in the back seat. “Um…Honestly, you could drop me a couple blocks away from home, it’s actually right down there—“

“No, no, sweetheart,” Ada gasps, like a really fake gasp, “we couldn’t do that to you, it’s so dark out.”

“It’s fine,” you insist, he watches you through the rear view mirror, how your hands twitch in your lap, the way you lick your dry lips, “I just don’t want to be intruding on anything.”

“You’re not intruding, sweetheart.” 

Yes you are. 

“It’s just that…Mommy and daddy are fighting, honey.” Ada sighs a long-suffering sigh.

Impressively, Leon doesn’t swerve off the road, but the car does jerk and sputter. You look like you’re about to cry, or jump out of the moving vehicle, or like you’ve been told Santa isn’t real, or that he’s in jail for indecent exposure. 

“Ada…” Leon mumbles, shaking his head at her, “don’t.” 

“Why, Leon?” She huffs like this is it not some psychosexual hostage situation. “Children should know when their mommies and daddies aren't doing well, communication is very healthy.” It’s all a game to her. She’s so callous and insincere and awful and frighteningly beautiful. 

“Stop it, Ada.” He white-knuckles the steering wheel, does a red light, thinks about taking both of you down with him.

“Oh my god,” you mumble from the back, sinking into your seat like you want to disappear. Poor kid. You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into. 

“Just take us home now, Leon,” Ada says, sniffing dramatically as she gazes out of the window. 

So he drives. Pedal to the metal. Reverse parks in record time. Kills the engine. Ada’s already out the door, leaving behind a cloud of perfume, heels clicking on the concrete, you’re following like a ghost, footsteps barely audible. 

“Shoes off,” Ada hums as she floats into the apartment she has never once called home. 

You won’t meet his eye. Not even Ada’s. Just standing there all small. Breakable. Looking at the ground—It’s not like there’s much to take in. Underfurnished. Empty glasses litter every flat surface. Leon’s leather jacket is draped over the sofa. 

“You two are the same,” she laughs, it echoes down the hall as she leaves a trail of clothes leading to the bedroom, and look at you two. So easily led. Hansel and fucking Gretel over here.  “So dramatic, so sentimental, so hysterical—I mean at least you’re quiet about it, sweetheart, Leon throws a tantrum,” she muses as she edges her panties off her ankles. “God, don’t just stand there, help each other out.” 

Leon makes the first move. He feels bad. Doesn’t know if he wants this, if he wants you, but he does it ‘cause she said so. You’re nervous, heart like a hummingbird in your chest, he feels it when he rather unfeelingly unbuttons your shirt. He nudges you onto the bed gently, you have nice hips, nice legs, nothing about you is wrong—It’s just him that’s wrong. What he’s gotten himself into. 

“You need help down there, Leon?” Ada tilts her head to the side as he spreads your thighs, leant on her elbow, busy mouthing at your neck, kissing your jaw, tweaking your nipple every few seconds like it’s a fidget toy. 

“I know my way around, thanks” he mumbles, and if there’s one thing he can focus on it’s eating pussy. He likes the way it tastes, the way it smells, how soft it is on his tongue. Pussy would never hurt him. 

You arch when he kisses your clit, you whine when he pushes a second finger in, when his lips close around your clit and he sucks. You don’t scroll through your phone waiting to be impressed like Ada would. 

He wipes his mouth when you cum, sitting up, breathless. “You happy now?” 

“Oh, Leon, why don’t you come here, handsome?” Ada pats the space between you and her. He doesn’t move. Not this time. She purses her lips. “Leon has such a dangerous job,” she starts.

You blink the fog from your mind, turning to face her, spine straightening like every hair on your body stands to attention when she speaks. Even if you don’t want it to you—She’s magnetic. 

“He’s a hero, really, he does so much to keep everyone safe—He’s not allowed to talk about it, but he does so much for all of us.” Ada trails a hand down the front of his jeans, cupping his dick. “I’m just so glad this is all in one piece.” 

“Are you really, Ada?” He asks, staring at her. 

“Yes, Leon, I am.” She smiles, practiced. 

“I think we should take a break, Ada,” he says, dick still rock fucking hard.

“I really…I really think I should go,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes—He respects it. You got to cum, and now you’re leaving. “I really appreciate the invite—“

“Well, Leon.” Ada dusts herself off, still smiling. “If that’s what you think is right.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Hm.” She nods, then she looks to you, patting your head, smiling, cooing so you can’t get out of her fucking trap. “I get to keep you, and daddy gets to keep the office and the printer.”

You scratch the back of your neck. “…I mean okay—I didn’t really, I mean…Okay.” 

“Then I guess I’ll print the fucking papers,” Leon confirms, and it’s over like that. He sees his grief over to the door. Doesn’t kiss her goodnight. Just passes her onto you. 

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part eight)

warnings ; there’s a lil heavy makeout in the beginning but that’s it!

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; writing this part was like holding a lit match too close to my own chest. yeah. this isn’t just them screaming at each other, this is legit every character trait we’ve been slow-burning from chapter one crashing together like live wires. she shuts down before people can get too close. he pokes at her sore spots because he doesn’t know how to say “i care” without making it sound like a challenge. they are both so bad at being vulnerable and somehow even worse at pretending they don’t feel anything. and yet they keep coming back to each other like it’s instinct. like it’s home AHAJSSJD

this part was so fun and so devastating to write. we’re deep in this shit now, but we’re getting close to the end and i’m not okay about it!! i love these disaster babies with my whole entire heart. they’re messy and sharp and human and so damn soft in the moments they don’t mean to be. i just want to wrap them in a blanket and force them to have one honest conversation (but also i’m here for the angst. always).

also, required listening for this part: “the archer” by tswift. y’all hate to see me coming.

and if you’re wondering how it ends… let’s just say whatever version of an ending they get is earned. something they’ll have to choose, again and again, even when it’s hard. see you in part 9 lovers!!!!

playlist here

series masterlist here

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here.

One minute you're wrapping up some corporate bullshit call in the Seoul office — all "projections" and "placements" and other words that make your degree worth something — and the next, you're pressed against the conference room door with Jungkook's mouth on yours like oxygen's going out of style.

The blinds are drawn. Lights off. Real classy setup you've got going. All you can hear is your own breathing, embarrassingly fast, and the whisper of his fingers playing with your blouse buttons like they're piano keys.

"You know," he mumbles against your jaw, voice low enough to make your stomach do that stupid fluttery thing, "you really shouldn't look at me like that during meetings."

You scoff, but it turns into something more pathetic when his lips find that spot on your neck. "I didn't look at you."

He makes this little amused sound that you can feel against your skin. "You did. Around the thirty-minute mark. Right after you tore the executive director a new one."

"I correct a lot of people," you say, trying to sound dismissive.

"Yeah, but you only bite your lip like that when you're trying not to smile at something I said."

You attempt an eye roll, but it's half-hearted at best because your hands are already grabbing fistfuls of his expensive shirt. You yank him closer and he doesn’t resist.

His thigh slides between yours as he pushes you harder against the door, his mouth still doing this maddening exploration of your throat like he's charting territory.

And fuck, this feels different.

It's not just the location. Not the risk of someone walking in, not the whole forbidden office hookup thing.

It's him. The way he's touching you isn't like the usual frantic, clothes-ripping urgency. It's deliberate, patient. Like he's already cataloged every spot that makes you gasp and he's just double-checking his research.

Yeah, his research is solid.

You press your palm against his chest. It's warm. Familiar. Infuriatingly pleasurable.

"This is a terrible idea," you whisper, even though your body is making absolutely zero effort to back up your words.

"You've been saying that every time," he murmurs back, his breath hot against your collarbone. "Still doesn't stop you."

You hate how right he is. But even more than that, you hate how you don't actually want to stop.

Your fingers drift up to his jaw, and for a second, one stupid second, you don't kiss him. You just look at him. Really look.

The soft flush spreading across his cheeks. That small, knowing curve at the corner of his mouth. The way his lashes flutter when he realizes you're staring.

You could say something cutting right now. Something to grab back whatever shred of control you're pretending to have. But you don't.

Because this isn't about control anymore, is it? This isn't about who's winning whatever fucked-up game you've been playing.

You kiss him again instead. Less like the mistake you keep telling yourself it is, more like the choice you're actually making.

And Jungkook makes this sound against your mouth, quiet, raw, like you just punched all the air from his lungs and then his hands are back on your hips, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like he thinks you might bolt if he loosens his grip.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, "You're different lately."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to look more composed than you feel. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs. Smiles that infuriating soft smile that makes something in your chest tighten. "I don't know. I think you like me."

You kiss him again instead of answering, if only to shut him up. To avoid that look in his eyes, the one that says he's starting to read you like a fucking book. You're terrified of just how many pages he might turn if you let him.

You don't know who moves first, whether it's your hand grabbing his collar like it's a lifeline or his arm snaking tighter around your waist, but suddenly you're moving, stumbling together across the room like drunks.

The kiss changes. It's not gentle anymore. His mouth takes, then gives, then takes again, hungry and demanding like he's been thinking about this all day, like he's been sitting through meetings just waiting for the chance to press you against something solid and make you forget your own name.

Your back collides with the edge of the desk. Papers go flying, a pen clatters to the floor.

Jungkook lifts you like you weigh nothing, hands sliding under your thighs to hoist you up until you're perched on the cool surface, legs automatically spreading to make room for him. He leans in, chasing your mouth again, lips hot and insistent. His hands are everywhere at once, gripping your waist, sliding up, fingers slipping beneath the edge of your blouse until he finds exactly what he's looking for.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You gasp when his hand finds your chest through the flimsy barrier of your bra, your breath catching somewhere between your lungs and your mouth. The sound drags a groan from him, unfiltered against your lips.

"Fuck," he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you, heavy-lidded and breathless, chest rising and falling like he's run you ragged. "This desk's about to be my favorite piece of furniture."

You glare at him, but it lands about as effectively as a water balloon on concrete. "Don't be dramatic."

He smirks, hands still wandering beneath your blouse like they own the place. "I'm serious. Right here.. this desk. In this boring-ass office where everyone thinks you're made of ice."

"You're disgusting."

"And you're wet for me."

You open your mouth to bite back, but he's faster. His hands move with new purpose, dragging you closer to the edge of the desk until your knees bracket his hips, until you can feel every goddamn inch of him pressed against you.

His mouth traces a burning path along your jaw, then down your neck, words hot and damp against your skin.

"I want to fuck you right here," he breathes. "Don't care who hears. Let them hear."

Your nails dig little crescents into his shoulders as he sucks what's definitely going to be a mark into the hollow beneath your collarbone. You're trying (and failing spectacularly) not to show how badly you want exactly what he's offering. It’s bad enough that he even got you in the room, that you let him close the door. That you let your back hit it without protest, knowing full well how dangerous proximity to Jeon Jungkook is, how risky it is to give him even an inch, especially when he never stops at that.

Lately, everything he does has you folding faster than you can recover. A late-night knock and you’re letting him in. A quiet “you forgot to eat again” and suddenly you’re sitting across from him at some hidden booth, sharing food you swore you didn’t want. One hand at your lower back during a team dinner, and your breath’s hitching like he’s got a knife to your spine.

"You're unbelievable," you whisper, but your voice is already cracking at the edges, already betraying you.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"I know," he mutters, kissing you again, slower this time, like he's savoring something rare. "You love it."

You hate that he's right. You hate it even more when he presses you flat against the desk and looms over you like he's acquired the rights to your body, like he's not even asking permission anymore because he knows exactly how far you'll let him go.

You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be doing this.

The thought keeps circling your brain like some half-dead moth around a light — distant, insistent, ultimately pointless.

Because even as you lie back across the desk, skirt rucked up around your thighs, blouse hanging open, Jungkook standing between your legs with that knowing look darkening his eyes, you're still clinging to the illusion that you're calling the shots.

"I have a meeting," you murmur, the words barely making it past your lips as your hands press against his chest. Not to stop him, just to pretend you might. "In twenty minutes."

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. Instead, his fingers trail down the inside of your thigh, deliberate and unhurried, knuckles skimming across skin like he's mapping territory he already knows is his. Like the ending's already written.

"Oh?" he says, voice carrying that dangerous calm. "Then I guess we better not waste time."

"Jungkook—"

His fingers slip beneath your skirt in one fluid motion. You jolt, hips jerking on instinct, the air punched straight out of your lungs.

And just like that, your brain shorts out. Your spine curves off the desk, hands gripping the edge like it might save you, but it doesn't. Nothing does.

Your mind is still scrambling to keep up. You were just telling him to stop. You were just reminding him and yourself that you have a meeting. That this is reckless. That your life doesn't have room for moments like this.

But now his mouth is back on your neck, lips brushing that spot below your ear that makes everything else fade.

You're losing your grip.

The most dangerous part isn't his touch. It's the way it makes you forget — your job title, your packed schedule, your ironclad self-control. It's the way he doesn't even have to undress you to completely take you apart.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"God," you whisper, clinging to whatever scraps of language your brain can still produce, "you're a menace."

He hums against your throat, still touching you like he's got all day. "You keep calling me that. And yet..."

His fingers tease again. Your breath catches, hips lift barely and he smirks. “Seems like you're not exactly rushing to that meeting."

His fingers slide beneath your skirt with that infuriating confidence, brushing over the edge of your lace panties like he's savoring the moment before he unwraps something he knows is already his.

The teasing is unbearable. Calculated. Your thighs twitch under his touch, exhales coming in fragments as your head drops back against the desk. The ceiling blurs into nothing. His mouth is everywhere; your jaw, your throat, dragging slow kisses down your neck. His breath burns against your skin, his lips softer than they have any right to be, and every time he speaks, it cuts straight through you.

"Hmm, you smell like coconut today. New lotion?" he murmurs, thumb tracing circles on your hipbone.

You gasp when he touches you again, and he drinks in the sound like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair now. Your skirt is bunched around your waist. You're half-dressed, half-ruined, and not even pretending to give a shit about resistance anymore.

And then, just as your head tips back, lips parting on some broken, helpless sound, something shifts behind you.

You don't notice it at first. Neither does he. Too lost in the heat, in the tension, in the way his mouth is traveling lower.

But the faint creak of the door filters in too late, and by the time the sound registers, it's already wide open.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry—"

Daniel's voice. Loud. Hint of horrified.

Then there’s just the slam of the door as it shuts again with enough force to rattle the walls.

You freeze. Every muscle locks up like you've been hit with a stun gun. And Jungkook, still between your thighs, freezes with you.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The silence that follows is deafening. This is exactly what you knew was coming. The second you heard the door click open, the second Daniel’s voice cut through the stillness of the room like a blade, you knew. You knew you’d have to watch your career start to unravel in real time, thread by thread, under the weight of his stare. His few words said more than shouting would have. Said what the fuck are you doing, said I trusted you, said do you even realize how much is at stake? And all you could do was stand there with your blouse half-buttoned and your mouth still swollen, your pulse roaring in your ears as Jungkook looked just as guilty.

This wasn’t just a misstep. This was everything you built burning to dust at your feet. The part that makes your throat burn and your hands shake, is that you saw it coming. You did this anyway. You let him in. You let yourself want, and now here you are, standing in the wreckage of the version of you who never made mistakes like this.

You're still panting, your blouse hanging open, your hair a disaster, your skirt bunched around your waist like cheap curtains. You can feel your heartbeat in your teeth, skin on fire.

Your shame burns hotter than all of it.

You shove him off you hard, like he's something toxic you just realized you've been letting touch you.

"What the hell," you breathe, pushing him back, yanking your skirt down with hands that won't stop shaking. "What the actual hell?"

"Hey—" Jungkook tries, reaching for you. "It's okay. It was just—"

"Don't." Your voice could cut glass, your eyes already stinging with that special cocktail of fury and humiliation. "Don't even breathe in my direction."

You button your blouse with clumsy fingers, hands fumbling like you've forgotten how clothes work as you scramble to reconstruct yourself. Your pulse is a freight train. Your heart's trying to punch through your ribcage. You can't even look at him.

What… the fuck were you doing?

Worse: what the fuck did Daniel just witness?

You barely finish working on your blouse before you're bolting through the door, your heels clicking an angry rhythm down the hallway. The air feels cold against your overheated skin as you move, your skirt still crooked, hair looking like you just survived a hurricane.

You spot Daniel ahead, practically sprinting for the elevators like he’s trying to erase what he saw by sheer distance.

"Daniel," you call, but he doesn't turn. “Daniel!"

He's already jamming the button, the silver doors lighting up in response.

You reach him just before they open, grabbing his arm with enough force to make your point. He freezes, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed forward like he's developed a sudden fascination with the elevator's inspection certificate.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"It's not what it looks like," you say, voice low and desperate.

It's a lie so transparent it might as well be cellophane.

Daniel glances at you, his expression carved from corporate boardroom marble, that careful blankness they teach in management seminars but never put in the employee handbook. He tilts his head, offers you a smile so professional it could be used in the company's next PR disaster.

"Of course not," he says, tone flatter than week-old soda. "You don't owe me an explanation."

You stare at him, something closing around your throat. "Daniel—"

"I really do have somewhere to be," he cuts in with practiced politeness, eyes darting to the elevator like it's his personal rescue boat. "But... if you need to talk, I'm always happy to make time. CMO to subordinate."

The words hit you like a slap. Daniel’s always been the one person you could count on, even before the title made it official. Years of late nights and early calls and campaign launches that nearly killed you both. Drinks after client meetings. Inside jokes in the back of boardrooms. You’ve known him longer than anyone at the company, trusted him more than anyone in the industry. He’s seen you screw up before, seen you burnt out, but he never made you feel small for it.

That’s what makes this whole debacle even more pathetic. Because when he walked in on you, you didn’t need to see the shock in his face. Right now, you’re seeing recognition. You’re seeing the moment he remembered you’re the Chief Marketing Officer and he’s not, that you hold more power, more risk, more to lose. That shift, that quiet acknowledgment of difference, is what shatters you. If even Daniel looks at you differently now, if even he thinks you’ve compromised who you are for Jungkook, then maybe you really have.

You blink. He steps into the elevator.

Just before the doors slide shut, he gives you one last perfunctory nod. "Hope everything gets sorted. Have a good rest of your afternoon."

Then he's gone. You’re left standing in the hallway, heart hammering, shame screaming in your ears.

You can handle marketing disasters, media shitstorms, celebrity meltdowns. But this? This might be the one PR nightmare you never saw coming.

You don't even remember walking back through the office. You don't register the sideways glances, the way heads dip like prairie dogs sensing a hawk, or the sound of your heels cracking against the floor as if you're trying to break through it.

You're moving on autopilot. Fury and humiliation surging through your veins, threatening to boil over with every step.

Your body is trembling, skirt still twisted on your hips. Blouse looks like it spent the night on the floor, your lipstick smeared. You look like a cautionary tale from an HR seminar.

Your heart is pounding so hard it's starting to echo, a hollow thump thump thump like the countdown to something you can't stop.

When you reach the office, you don't hesitate. You don't pause or so much as think. You push the door open and slam it shut behind you hard enough to make your ears pop.

Jungkook's head snaps up. He's still standing by the desk, half-dressed, shirt buttoned wrong. He looks shell-shocked, caught, mouth open like he was practicing explanations that dried up on his tongue.

With a heaving chest, you stare at him, vision blurred at the edges with rage.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ “What the fuck is wrong with you?" you snap, the words cracking across the room like summer lightning.

His eyebrows inch up, a slow-motion surrender. "What do you mean—"

"I told you I had a meeting." Your voice isn't loud, but it's sharp enough to draw blood. Panic edging every syllable. "I told you.. twenty minutes, Jungkook. You couldn't even give me that?"

He takes a step toward you, hands raised like you're some wild animal he's trying not to spook. "You wanted it too."

"Oh, don't you fucking dare," you hiss, slicing through his bullshit. "Don't spin this like you're not part of the problem."

He blinks, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you he's getting defensive. "Part of the problem? Do you hear yourself right now?"

But you're not listening. Not really.

Your brain is in freefall, spinning too fast to grab onto anything solid, cycling through every possible headline, every office whisper, every version of this getting out. Daniel's face keeps flashing through your mind like some corporate horror show on repeat.

You press your fingers to your temples, trying to breathe, trying to anchor yourself to something but it's like trying to grab smoke.

You've worked your entire fucking life for this. Clawed your way up from nothing. Built yourself into someone untouchable.

Now you're standing in an office, looking like you've been mauled, with your career-making brand campaign hanging by a thread, and Jeon Jungkook watching you like he can't decide whether to comfort you or make a break for the door.

You lower your hands. Look at him. Suddenly, your voice drops to something quieter. “I can't think when I'm around you."

The sentence hangs there, unfiltered, more honest than anything you've said in months.

When his expression softens, even slightly, you want to put your fist through a wall. The last thing you need right now is his understanding. Not from him. Not when you're barely holding yourself together.

His silence only twists the knife deeper.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ The longer he stands there, the more your panic multiplies, pressing into your chest like some invasive growth. You feel it everywhere — your throat, your lungs, your fingertips. The air in the room suddenly feels too thin, like the walls are inching closer with every breath.

Jungkook, still standing by that desk, watching you like you're some natural disaster he didn't prepare for, finally breaks the silence. “What are you even saying right now?" His voice hovers somewhere between confusion and disbelief. "You're acting like I'm the one who—"

"This needs to be over."

You say it too fast. Like yanking out stitches before they're ready. Like maybe if you're the one to say it first, you won't feel it.

He stares at you. Fully deadpans. "What?"

You can't look at him. You focus on the desk, the floor, the fucking ceiling tiles — anything else.

"This was a mistake," you say, voice steadier now, more controlled, though your hands are still betraying you at your sides. "All of it. Every time. I never should've—"

"Stop." His voice slices through the air, sharper than before. He moves now, closing the distance between you, his eyes locked on yours like he's daring you to keep going.

"Don't do that," he says again, quieter but harder. "Don't pretend like none of it meant anything."

"It didn't." The lie flies out before you can catch it.

Damage is instant.

Jungkook's jaw tightens. His brows pull together, not in anger but pure disbelief. “You're really gonna stand there and say that?"

You cross your arms over your chest, nails digging half-moons into your skin. "I'm your brand executive. You are a global ambassador for Calvin Klein. And I just let my junior team member walk in on us in a fucking office hookup. Do you understand how monumentally fucked this is?"

He shakes his head. "So you're embarrassed."

You laugh, a sound like breaking glass. "I'm not just embarrassed, Jungkook. I'm responsible for an entire campaign that launches in less than a week. If anything tanks, if a single rumor gets out, it's not your name on the line, it's mine. My job. My reputation. My entire fucking career."

"And that's my fault?"

"I should never have touched you."

There's a pause. One second. Two. Three. You stop counting.

He blinks slowly, like he's trying to translate what you just said into something that makes sense. His mouth opens, then closes. Jungkook’s eyes drift away for the first time.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You keep going, voice rising with each word. Not out of cruelty, more so out of some desperate need to save yourself. “I've worked too fucking hard for this. I came from nothing. Do you understand that? Do you get what it means to watch everything you've spent your life building turn to ash?"

"I do," he says sharply. "More than you think."

You ignore him. You're in free fall now.

"This can't keep happening. I can't think when I'm around you, I can't focus, I'm bombing meetings, making shit decisions… this thing, whatever the hell it is, it's destroying me."

He steps closer, eyes drilling into yours, every muscle in his body coiled tight. "So your solution is to pretend it never happened?"

"It has to be," you say, something collapsing in your throat. "It has to be."

He stares at you like you've morphed into someone he doesn't recognize. Maybe you don't recognize yourself either.

Truth is, this isn't about your job or corporate image. It's fear of what he represents. Of how easily he's dismantling the fortress you've spent years building around yourself.

You watch it hit him too.

For a moment, he doesn't speak. There's no teasing in his eyes, no smug curve to his mouth, no flirtation threading through his words. It's just him. Standing in the middle of a room that suddenly feels like a coffin.

"I don't believe you," Jungkook says finally, tone holding on by the thinnest thread. "You can say whatever you want. You can lie to me, fine. But don't fucking lie to yourself."

"I'm not lying—"

"Yes, you are."

His gaze sharpens, just enough to make you flinch. "You want to end this because you're terrified. Because you finally feel something real, and you have no idea what to do with it."

You shake your head, biting down on that burning pressure behind your eyes. "Don't turn this into something it's not."

"It's already something."

"I don't want this to be a thing," you say, voice climbing toward hysteria. "This isn't anything. You were just—" Your breath catches in your throat. "You were just convenient. That's all."

He flinches. Actually fucking flinches, like you backhanded him across the face.

You push through it. If you don't say it now, you'll never say it. And if you don't kill this now, it'll burn you to the ground.

"We are done, Jungkook."

The finality in your voice echoes off the walls.

And for a second, the room is so quiet you can hear everything — the soft mechanical hum of the air vent, the ticking of some distant clock, the sound of your heart trying to punch its way out of your chest.

He doesn't chase after you. He doesn't call your name or grab your arm. He just stands there, frozen in place, watching in silence as the you bolt for the nearest exit, and the door clicks shut between you.

You don't slam it this time. You don't even risk a glance back.

You walk as fast as you can, teetering on a run. Like the ground beneath you might swallow you whole if you slow down. Down the hallway, through the maze of desks and glass partitions and stares, your heels crack against the floor like gunshots. Every face you pass blends into a smear of features, their eyes following you like security cameras. You don't look at anyone.

Your skin feels sunburned, breath ragged. You're coming apart thread by thread, your mask slipping like something you can't hold onto anymore. By the time you reach the elevator, your reflection in the metal doors is a stranger, clothes disheveled, hair a mess, jaw clenched so tight you can feel the pressure in your teeth.

When the doors open, you step inside without hesitation. The descent feels endless.

You blow through the lobby without acknowledging the receptionist's greeting, eyes locked straight ahead, vision tunneled to the only thing that matters: getting the fuck out.

The second the glass doors part and the cold Seoul air slaps your face, your lungs finally expand.

You keep walking until you're down the steps, far enough away that no one from the building can see the way your shoulders finally collapse. You're shaking, and then before you can stop it, you let out a visceral cry.

Not those delicate, camera-ready tears. A full, raw disintegration. Everything you've been choking down for months has clawed its way to the surface, and there's nothing left to do but let it tear you apart.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Your face is buried in your hands and you honestly couldn’t care less who sees.You don’t care if someone from your team walks past. Or if Daniel looks out the window. Or if Jungkook is standing at the top of the building, watching you come undone like a loose thread in the very campaign you built.

Powerhouse of the marketing world? Long gone. You’re not the woman who never flinches, never falters. You’re just some girl from Busan, crying alone on the sidewalk.

No strategy, no plan — just the crushing weight of everything you can’t undo.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next few days blur into a smear of silence and avoidance tactics. You bury yourself in work, becoming a ghost that haunts your office during daylight and hides in your hotel room after dark. Your calendar fills with back-to-back bullshit — strategy meetings, brand syncs, damage control sessions for other campaigns you’re working — but nothing feels as urgent as your desperate need to feel absolutely nothing.

You don't speak to Jungkook. You don't touch the texts he sends. You ignore Daniel's carefully worded check-in email, though you write and delete four different responses, each one more pathetic than the last.

Instead, you go through the motions. You approve designs, slash through edits with your red pen, bark orders at Seoul and New York and Paris, and pretend like you didn't just torch something that wasn't even supposed to exist.

But no matter how many tasks you pile onto your plate, the weight of it sits on your chest like a concrete block.

You spend your nights alone now. One of them (maybe the third since the fallout, or the fourth, who the hell knows anymore), you drag yourself down to the overpriced bar in your hotel lobby. It's all mood lighting and pretentious minimalism, nearly empty except for a couple of business types avoiding their hotel rooms.

You order a whiskey neat. Then another. And when you catch your reflection in the mirrored shelf behind the bottles, you almost laugh.

Hair yanked back in a clip, blazer still wrinkled from twelve hours of wear, lipstick faded, eyes hollow. You look like a fucking cliché. The kind of woman you used to silently judge. Alone at the bar, drinking at midnight. Looking like heartbreak in a two-thousand-dollar suit.

Christ. You're pathetic.

You drink anyway. At least for those few burning seconds, it drowns out everything else. The ghost of his mouth. The phantom weight of his hands. The way he looked at you like he could see all the way through your entire facade of a composed woman.

You told him it was over and you meant every word. So why does it still feel like he's everywhere?

His voice still echoes in your head. His scent clings to the edges of your memory.

You finish your drink. Order another. You don't want to think about him. You don't want to think about whatever it was you sacrificed or why being right feels so much like drowning.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

At some point, you know you can't hide from him anymore, or even from Daniel.

Daniel has been kind, careful, measured. His texts have devolved from breezy to brief, from sarcasm to silence. His emails read like they've been drafted by a corporate robot, stripped of his usual parentheses and smartass commentary. No exclamation points. No inside jokes. Just bullet points and attachments and those CC threads that feel like public executions.

You know that tone. It's the tone he reserves for clients who've crossed boundaries. For interns who can't hit deadlines. For moments exactly like this one.

Technically, you can’t blame him.

You've spent days either ducking behind your laptop screen or drowning in edits and reshoots, acting like if you just type fast enough, if you just look busy enough, you won't have to deal with the fact that he saw something he was never supposed to witness.

But Daniel's patient. He lets you spiral in your own personal hell until the spiral starts to look permanent.

And that's when he knocks.

It's mid-afternoon when he raps on your office door, then pushes it open without waiting for permission. He's holding a coffee in one hand and a folder in the other, his expression blank.

You look up from your laptop, startled, blinking at him like he's caught you with your hand in the company safe.

"Hey," he says in a neutral register. “Got a minute?"

You nod before your brain can catch up with the movement.

He walks in and closes the door behind him, setting the coffee down in front of you like some kind of peace offering.

The apology floods out of you in a torrent of words you never rehearsed. Your voice is already cracking before you even finish the first pathetic sentence. “I'm so sorry, Daniel. I don't even know where to start. That wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to see that. I—I should've known better, I do know better, I wasn't thinking, and now it's awkward and you're avoiding me and I completely understand if you hate me or if you think I'm some walking HR disaster, and—"

"Whoa, whoa," he says, holding up a hand. "Take a breath before you pass out."

You suck in air, shaky and thin. Your hands are death-gripping the edge of your desk, nails making some kind of indents in your palms.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“I don’t hate you,” Daniel says, but it lands harder than it should. Not gentle. Not forgiving… just tired.

He drops into the chair across from you like he’s run out of places to pace, like if he keeps standing, he might say something worse. His elbows dig into his knees, hands clasped together, and when he finally looks at you, it’s not anger exactly. It’s disappointment with teeth.

You take a breath. Ask the thing you’ve been trying not to ask since the door clicked shut behind him. “Are you going to report me?”

His eyes flick up. There’s no hesitation. “I was going to.”

It hits sharper than you expect. You try not to let it show.

“I had the whole thing written,” he says. “Typed. Saved. Detailed as hell. Everything from the moment I went into the room to the second I noticed his hands on your chest.”

You look down, too embarrassed to face his eyes, “So what stopped you?”

Daniel pauses before letting out a chortle that feels more bitter than anything, “You’ve kept some secrets for me too.”

Your head lifts slowly.

And you do know exactly what he’s talking about.

Years ago, early days of the company, before either of you had titles worth whispering, he’d hooked up with some intern in the copy room during work. The guy was closeted. Daniel has always been out. You had walked in. The story nearly made it out to HR, but you’d buried it. You’d “accidentally” deleted the hallway security footage. You’d vouched for him with your old boss, the man who looked down on you two every time you so much as farted. You never asked for anything in return.

He never forgot it.

“I didn’t forget what you did for me,” he says now, “But I also didn’t think I’d have to cash it in like this. Watching you risk everything for him like you don’t know better. You spent your whole life climbing just to throw yourself off the edge for some idiot.”

He shakes his head, something venomous creeping into the corner of his mouth. “You made me your accomplice the second you didn’t lock that door.”

“I’m so sorry,” The tears that threaten to spill from your eyes linger. You mean every ounce of that apology. Truly, cross your heart and hope to die.

“I’m not used to seeing you like this,” he continues, softer now, but no less direct. “You… the woman who eats deadlines for breakfast. Kinda thought you didn’t have time for that stuff. It rattled me. Because if you’re out here losing your shit over some pretty boy in overpriced underwear ads, what hope is there for the rest of us mortals?"

You laugh, or try to. It comes out sounding like something breaking.

He smiles. "That was me trying to lighten the mood. Was it terrible?"

"No," you say quietly, something hot and sharp behind your eyes. "It was perfect."

There's another really long pause. One that feels like an exhale instead of drowning. He taps a finger against the coffee cup he brought you. "Listen. I don't know the details, and I don't need to. But I've known you long enough. You don't make reckless choices. So if something happened, it wasn't nothing."

Your throat closes up. You don't trust yourself to say a word. He leans back in his chair, watching you with eyes that see too much. "Whatever this is, just... don't forget who you are, okay? You've survived worse than Jeon Jungkook."

Nodding slowly, you press your fingertips to your temple like you might hold back the headache building there. "I know. I just feel... insane."

"Well," Daniel says, rising from the chair with a soft grunt, "then I'll sit with you until you find your way back."

He squeezes your shoulder as he passes, then walks to the door.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

When Daniel finally leaves you alone with your thoughts, you realize just how fucking good you've gotten at avoiding Jungkook.

You know his schedule. You memorized it without even trying. You know which meetings he'll show up for and which ones he'll conveniently "miss." You know the sound of his voice through walls, the weight of his presence in a hallway, the subtle shift in atmospheric pressure when he's nearby, and you've become a goddamn expert at walking the other direction.

It's not just about keeping your sanity intact. It's about survival. About keeping your head down, wearing your title like body armor, and not letting him see the hairline fractures still spreading through everything.

You made peace with Daniel. You're slowly regaining your balance. You're getting through your inbox without your stomach dropping. You're back to being the boss, reviewing assets, dissecting launch strategy without your pulse going haywire.

You're almost whole.

But that peace lasts just about two whole milliseconds.

Because of fucking course, Jungkook finds you.

You're walking out of a meeting on the 17th floor, tablet still in hand, already mentally juggling the next three hours of corporate bullshit. You turn the corner to take the back stairs… and there he is.

Leaning against the glass like he owns the place, arms crossed, legs stretched out like he didn't help demolish your world.

His eyes lift when he sees you. And he doesn't smile. That somehow makes it a thousand times worse.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Nope," you mutter instantly, spinning on your heel like you're fleeing a crime scene, but he pushes off the wall and follows, moving with that purpose that makes your stomach drop.

"Wait," he says.

"No," you snap, refusing to even glance his way, your steps quickening to escape velocity. "Absolutely not. I just patched things up with Daniel, and I'm not about to torch that progress by getting caught in another clusterfuck with you—"

"Would you just stop?"

His voice slices down the corridor, not loud, but sharp enough to cut.

You do stop. You freeze mid-stride, shoulders going rigid, teeth clenched so tight you can feel your head pounding. You turn around with painful slowness, blinking back whatever emotion is threatening to surface.

He's right there, barely arm's length away. Close enough that you could touch him if you were stupid enough.

It’s infuriating how quickly your body remembers exactly what he feels like.

"I don't want to fight," he swallows, voice dropping to something softer. "I just—"

You hold up a hand like a traffic cop. "Don't."

"Can we just talk?"

"Jungkook," you hiss through your teeth, glancing over your shoulder to make sure there's no audience for this train wreck. "You're a walking disaster, and I don't have the time or sanity to keep spinning your name into fucking gold right now. So please… get out of my way."

He stares at you, something passing over his face that you can't decipher. He won’t budge, just looks at you like he's trying to read between lines you didn't even know you were writing.

You begin to walk away, yet this time, you allow yourself to look back at his wistful expression. That’s the whole problem, isn't it? No matter how many boundaries you draw in permanent marker, he always finds the one you forgot existed.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You barely register the tug on your wrist before you're being dragged sideways, away from the glass hallway and through a side door, the cold stairwell swallowing you both like some concrete mouth. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound bouncing off the walls.

"What the hell are you doing?" you snap, yanking your arm back like it's burning. Your heels scrape against the stairs, those shitty fluorescent lights humming overhead. "Are you out of your mind?"

"You've been ignoring me," Jungkook says, his voice cutting through the stale air. "For days."

"Good," you shoot back, something you qualify as dust catching in your throat. "Maybe take the hint next time."

His jaw tightens, muscle jumping beneath his skin. "Why? Because Daniel walked in on something he didn't understand? He’s all good now you said it yourself that you guys patched things up."

"You don't get to talk about Daniel," you hiss, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "You don't know what I've had to fix."

He steps down the stairwell, arms spreading wide in frustration. "What is there to fix? We didn't murder someone, we were kissing!"

"That's not all it was and you know it!" Your voice splinters. It ricochets off the walls.

He freezes and so do you. Your heart hammers against your ribs, vision crystallizing with fury. His face is a locked door; tense, brow creased, eyes dark as bruises. But you keep going, because the rage is a living thing inside you now.

"You don't understand what's at stake for me," you say, quieter but brittle as glass. "You never have. You walk into a room and everyone parts for you. You smile and the world forgives you. But me? If I mess up, even once, they will never let me come back from it."

He's standing there like a statue, watching you like he can't decide if he should be angry or wounded.

"I clawed my way into this position," you whisper, the words scraping your throat. "And every single day, I have to prove I deserve it. That I'm not some girl from Busan who got lucky. That I'm not fragile. That I'm not just a pretty face with an expensive resume. I don't get the luxury of being messy, Jungkook. Not like you."

His expression shifts, a crack in the marble. "You think that's who I am?" he retorts, "You think I haven't had to fight for anything?"

"You're an idol," you snap, the word leaving your mouth like a bullet. "A loved one. Protected. Handled. You don't even manage your own schedule. There are three people for that."

The words land harder than you intended. You see it in the way his shoulders pull back, in the silence that falls like a guillotine. There's a pause so thick you could choke on it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"Right," he says finally, bitterly. "Because everything I've worked for doesn't count. Got it."

You really didn't mean to go for the jugular like that.

He laughs once, "You think being an idol is easy? That it doesn't come with a thousand rules and eyes and expectations? You think I don't know what it feels like to lose sleep wondering if today's the day the internet turns on you?"

You press your spine against the cold wall, head tilted away, “This was never supposed to matter," you whisper.

"Yeah," he says. "But it did."

You look at him. You hate how true it rings. You hate the guilt gnawing at your insides. You hate that your first instinct is to soften, to reach for him, to take it all back.

At the end of the day, this is your career. This is everything. If it’s a race between CMO or Jungkook, that position is taking first place.

So instead, you just say, "I can't afford to let it matter."

The words float between you two. He laughs again, this sharp, jagged sound that slices through the stairwell like an axe. He steps closer, something burning behind his eyes now, voice rising not in volume but in something far more devastating — disappointment. “Right," he says, muscle working in his jaw. "Of course you can't. God forbid anything in your life matter more than power. Than control. Than your perfect fucking empire."

You turn to him, eyes narrowing to slits, pulse hammering in your throat. "Don't you dare—"

He keeps going, relentless. He's not shouting, but it feels like he is. "You know what your problem is? You only care about money. About image. You care more about looking powerful than being happy."

Your hands curl into fists, nails biting into your palms. "Excuse me?"

He takes another step closer, not touching you but near enough that your breath halts, near enough that the heat between your bodies feels like something alive.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

"You didn't even want to see your parents," he challenges ,"You were back in Busan for three days, and you nearly drank yourself sick instead of facing them. You think I didn't notice that? You think I didn't see the way you flinched every time you talked about home?"

Your whole body goes still. The silence swallows everything — your breath, your thoughts, the distant hum of the building around you. It roars in your ears like an ocean you're drowning in.

Those words, when put together into a coherent sentence, describe exactly why you don’t let anyone in. Never have. You let people orbit. You let them see enough to feel close, but never the core. Never the part that still aches when you think about your mother’s voice on the phone, or the silence you perpetrated between you and your sister who used to be your best friend. You let people near the burn, but never close enough to touch the match. And yet somehow, impossibly, he’s already there. Past the fences, past the warning signs, past the places you thought were locked so tightly even you forgot where the keys were.

It doesn’t even sound cruel. It sounds like he knows. Like he’s seen that quiet, aching center of you and reached straight into it without permission. All you can do is stand there, aching pain caught in your throat, because the truth is you shut people out to keep yourself from bleeding. But it’s too late. He’s already inside. Now you have no idea how to stitch yourself back up around him.

Your voice, when it finally claws its way out, is carved from something furious. “How fucking dare you," you murmur, "How fucking dare you use that against me."

"I'm not using it against you," he fires back, "I'm telling you that this, whatever it is between us, matters. And you're the one running from it. You're the one pretending none of it touched you. So yeah, I'm angry. I'm angry because you make me feel like I'm nothing more than a risk. Like I'm something to hide. Something to be ashamed of."

"You don't get to talk to me about shame," you snap, whole body trembling with a rage that feels like it might tear you open. "You think just because you've been famous for a decade, you understand what it's like to be a woman in this industry? To fight for every room you're allowed to exist in, to be doubted and diminished and dismissed every time you breathe too loudly? Do you know how many men in this building would celebrate my downfall like it's a fucking holiday?"

His lips press into a bloodless line. "So?. At least then you'd be honest. At least then you wouldn't be hiding behind this mask like nothing ever reaches you."

"You want honesty?" you spit, stepping toward him now, close enough to count his eyelashes. "Here's honesty. I don't trust anyone. Not you. Not this. I have fought for every microscopic particle of my existence, and you walked in, half-naked and dripping arrogance, and decided you were entitled to all of it, like I owe you something because you want me. But I don't owe you a goddamn thing, Jungkook."

His eyes flare with something dangerous. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?" you demand, the question hanging between you like smoke. "Because it sure as hell isn't casual anymore. And I don't know what it is, and I don't have the time to figure it out, and I swear to God if you ever bring up my family again—"

He cuts you off, not with words, but with their absence. His jaw is clenched tight, hands balled into fists at his sides. There's color burning across his cheekbones, and something wild and wounded blazing behind his eyes.

You're both breathing like you've been running, standing so close you can feel the electricity crackling in the narrow gap between your bodies. It's not desire anymore, or lust. Not even that soft, aching hunger that comes with wanting.

This is something else entirely. This is two people who've gone too far, felt too much, unraveled completely. This is war with no boundaries.

You can hear your pulse in your ears. Not the steady rhythm of life, but a violent percussion thundering against the fragile walls of your composure. Each beat echoes the fault lines spreading through whatever remains of your defenses.

Your voice emerges from some deep place you seldom acknowledge, not trembling from fear, but vibrating with the particular rage that comes from having something sacred violated. From watching him reach into the darkest corners of your history and pull out the one thing you've spent years burying beneath ambition and achievement.

"If you ever," you begin, hands quivering with the effort of restraint, "ever bring up my family again, Jeon Jungkook—"

You eliminate what little distance remains between you, until your accusation brushes against the vulnerable hollow of his throat, until you're drowning in the maelstrom of his eyes, that peculiar blend of fury layered atop something deeper, something he's desperately trying to conceal beneath his anger.

"You're dead to me."

The silence crystallizes between you, sharp-edged and dangerous as broken mirrors.

"Even more than you are right now," you finish, voice barely audible yet somehow filling the stairwell with its venom.

Jungkook remains perfectly still, a statue carved from tension. Only his breath betrays him,, ragged and uneven, the exhale of someone who's been struck somewhere vital.

"Wow," he mutters finally, shaking his head with a terrible comprehension dawning. "That's what you think of me?"

You laugh sarcastically, "Don't act surprised. You've been pushing since day one. Testing limits. Undermining me in front of my team, flirting with Jennie in front of the entire industry, fucking me in conference rooms and pretending it didn't matter. So no, Jungkook, I don't owe you any soft version of myself. Not now. Not ever."

He's regarding you now with the disoriented gaze of someone who's woken up in unfamiliar territory, as though the map he's been following has suddenly revealed itself to be for another country entirely. Like perhaps he mistook your moments of vulnerability for surrender.

But you can't afford softness. Not when everything within you feels precariously balanced on the edge of collapse. Not when admitting the truth might dissolve whatever remains of your world.

"You're so scared of being known," he says, and the words emerge not as an accusation but as a revelation, quiet and devastating in their naked honesty. "So scared of letting anyone see you. Even me."

You scoff, armoring yourself against the terrifying accuracy of his observation. "Don't make this about feelings."

"It was always about feelings," he snaps,"You're just the only one too stubborn to admit it."

Your heart performs a strange, painful contortion, folding in on itself like origami made from something that was never meant to bend.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You want to say more. You want to scream until your voice shatters against the concrete walls. You want to curse him for every emotion he's excavated from the depths you've spent years paving over, for every second he stood there refusing to retreat, for every moment he made you believe that perhaps someone had finally seen past the constructed architecture of your public self to the trembling foundation beneath.

But if you part your lips now, the flood that follows might sweep away everything you've built.

So instead, you draw in a breath that feels more final. And you say, "I don't want to see you again unless it's for the fucking campaign."

Jungkook flinches. A microexpression of pain that ripples across his features like a stone disturbing still water, enough for you to register, to catalog, to store away in that dangerous archive of moments when his armor has slipped.

Then you pivot away, your heels striking a funeral march up the stairwell and out the door as you abandon him in the hollow space of your shared destruction.

You don't permit yourself the luxury of a backward glance.

You can't.

Because if you do, you might forgive him. And right now, you need the anger to win.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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