#As you can see they get more sporadic as you go down

[louiesselfshipramblings]

Assorted Selfship Lore!!

Normally, I post the "main" selfship lore in posts of their own with a commissioned work, but since that well is a lil slow atm, I just gonna ramble on some lore nuggets I have for current f/os I have. Nothin in depth, but the general ideas.

Purah, as kinda my secondary main f/o, has a good bit. We actually knew each other before the events of BotW, though our relationship was a lot different back then. I was a doctor who worked under the crown, so we met up quite frequently. We were going strong for a few years, with plans to marry, until the Calamity happened. I was studying cryogenic preservation up in Hebra when it happened, and the ensuing chaos led to myself being frozen in suspended animation for nearly a century! Purah has bigger fish to fry and kinda lost her memory a bit when she went baby mode, so I wouldn't be found til about a year after Link defeated Ganon and search parties began to be sent out, when I was found frozen in the ice. Purah kinda laser focused on me for a good while, staying by me day in and day out til I fully thawed, and of course oversaw my rehabilitation. She felt a bit awful for the whole thing, but I assured her it was not her fault, and she did the best she could. What mattered most was that were were together again ❤️

I actually have a story with Odessa that takes place after her episode of the show. For backing, I was a elastic powered thief who traveled the world stealing what I wanted. I found out about Odessa during my time in New York, and fell for her. She initially just humored my advances, but she soon fell to my villainess charms and returned the feelings. After I broke her out, she became committed to joining me in robbing the world of whatever we wanted. I even helped rehabilitate her public image, so we could be out in public together yet again eheheh >:]

With Perona, I feel we met up during the two-year time skip. Probably one time when she left the island Zoro and Mihawk were at and explored the surrounding area. She found me alone, silently working on clothes of several varieties thanks to my Cloth-Cloth Fruit abilities. We had a rocky meeting, but things went on an upswing when I made her some new outfits. We got talking, bonding over our similar styles, and then one thing led to another, and we ended up dating :] I visited her and the others frequently, though neither Zoro nor Mihawk were the most...welcoming. I did at least supply Zoro with his new garb before he went off to Sabaody, and did tag along with Perona when she made sure he got there. We stick pretty close to one another, mainly cause, ya know, we're that kinda couple, heh 🩷

For Sombra, we met as Talon agents. Similar vibes, though I was more focused on "physical" hacking, so to speak. Started as a bit of a flirty rivalry that turned to actual flirting that turned to actual dating. We never stop being bad, but we do lay low several years down the line cause, wuh-o, she ended up pregnant with my kid! No idea how that happened...👀

D. Va is a similar case! Freelance agent who encountered her on a few missions. Rivalry started cause I called into question her skills, and that rivalry eventually blossomed into a romantic relationship. We're very open about it too, bothers everyone on the team lol.

Roz I'm kinda here and there about. It's def a kinda AU from the main film, with like anthro versions of the animal cast, cause ya know I def want Brightbill and Fink there. Question is do I wanna be anthro? Or just human? Prolly be a raccoon, cause that's my Mobian-sona. Then again, Roz has a history with raccoons, heh. Regardless, I am very much a robot kisser and I love being co-parents with her :]

Sybil is fun cause, I'm casting myself as a similar "dream warrior", known as The Oni. Cowl, Blue Spirit-esque mask, large ogre-like mace. Tanuki-Possum kinda creature. We're both busy people, but when we meet up, we make it count. We haven't committed to anything, but we are life partners, so there's that!

These next three, I think I made a post earlier about em, or at least the general idea. So, with Toy Chica, I'm introduced as like the new addition to the Fazbear cast, specifically as Chica's partner. She's a bit unsure about the whole deal, but when I turn out to be a lovable guy, genuinely kind, and a good cook, we form a genuine bond which slowly grows to be romantic. Might AU this a bit where like, they're still animatronics but doing that is there "job"? I dunno, sorting the deets.

Roxy is similar. Same fictional in-universe character, now reintroduced in the Pizza-plex era as Roxy's race partner for the double go-kart track. We hit it off incredibly well, and kinda just go with dating from the get go. Helps I'm super supportive of her being the best :]

Rambley is, again, much the same. My character was introduced to be his close friend—if Rambley is Mickey, think me as Goofy, but designed to be as Minnie. Our relationship is very close, so close that over time, when it came time to introduce a proper love interest for Rambley, they just decided to use me because people already assumed we were meant to be a couple. And so we became canon :]

Other bits!:

I was with Mariah when she worked with DIO, and helped fished her out after her battle with Joseph and Avdol. We retired after that.

I was probably some misc god or being in Viridi's pantheon when I met Phosphora.

As the Ultimate Butler, I was placed to work alongside Kirumi. Our relationship started as a tense bout of one-ups-man-ship that eventually boiled over to romantic desire.

[mydearzero]

Bribes | Stiles Stilinski x Reader

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: You get paired with Stiles to write a paper for Coach's class. But when had Stilinski grown into his awkward features? When had he grown out his buzzcut? Why was he suddenly so insanely fuckable?

Contents: NO Y/N, afab!Reader, smut, Stiles is a bit cocky lmao, fucking in the jeep, reader is related to Coach (wether adopted or not doesn't matter), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, clumsy sex, playful banter, oral sex (v receiving), casual sex, coming inside, mentions of birth control, making out if I missed any warnings please let me know!

3.5K words

Had to get Stiles out of (pls into plEASE) my system SOMEHOW, so here you go. This one is dedicated to @uglypastels for indulging my obsession and continuously sending me Dylan O'Brien thirst edits <3 <3

“Just so you’re aware, this paper is as high on my list of priorities as the Pope is in Amsterdam,” Stiles dropped his binder on the table, startling you out of your daydream. He was exactly 4 minutes late, not that you were counting. It was still impressive, seeing as he just came from practice. 

“Believe me, I, too, would rather be hanging around with Isaac Lahey, yet we’re both here. Let’s just get it over with.” Stiles snorted a laugh, but didn’t comment.

You didn’t not get along with Stilinski. You weren’t sure if you could be called friends, exactly. You’d known each other pretty much all your lives, just like the majority of your school. Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly a metropolis. 

You sighed and laid out your notes, Stiles following your example. You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Those are your notes?” 

There were only doodles, random calculations and sporadic keywords scribbled on the loose piece of crumpled paper he straightened out next to your notebook. 

“I’m surprised, too. There’s actual words. I don’t usually get that far.” The smirk on his face could only be described as smug. You groaned. This was going to take forever. You divided the topics for the paper amongst yourselves and silently got to work. The ‘silently’ part didn't last long, however. It never did with Stiles.

“Are you still living with your uncle?” He questioned suddenly. You frowned at the question, confused, but nodded either way. 

“So can’t you just, I don’t know, cook him dinner and have him give us a good grade?” The gleam in his eyes nearly made you laugh. Nearly. Instead, you flicked him on the side of the head. He whined something about unnecessary violence, but it fell on deaf ears. 

“I’m not bribing my uncle just so you can slack off, Stiles. Besides, I’m never really sure if he even likes me,” you wondered out loud. 

“You and me, both…” Stiles grumbled. 

You glanced at Stiles as he scribbled furiously, seeming to finally get some of his research done. His knees wiggled excessively as he wrote about the economic effects of pandemics. You wrote down a few key parts of the paragraphs in your book before turning to your laptop and beginning the outline of the paper. Stiles hummed quietly as he read the entry he’d just written, tapping his pen furiously against the table. 

“Can you stop that?” You requested, his incessant movement distracting you more than his general being already did. He glanced up, an amused expression on his face. 

“What,” he tapped his pencil faster. “This?” You contained the urge to roll your eyes and stared at him blankly. He stopped the movement for perhaps one whole minute before picking it back up again. 

You only glanced up pointedly this time. He added a jiggle of his knees in challenge. You rose from your chair, leaned over and snatched the pen out of his hand, throwing it across the library. “Fetch.” 

Stiles gaped up at you in surprise. The timing of it was very unfortunate, but you’d never really noticed how Stilinski had grown into his awkward features. Something must’ve shown on your face, because Stiles now looked just as confused, perhaps intrigued, as you felt. While you’d been confident in throwing his pen across the room in annoyance, having him look up at you like that made it so you weren’t sure if you wanted him to get up. You cleared your throat and sat back in your chair. 

“Unbelievable…” Stiles muttered under his breath as he got up to get the pen. It gave you time to recompose. You didn’t look at him as he sat back down, but felt his eyes burn a hole through the side of your head. 

An unfamiliar tension hung in the air while you worked in silence. You snuck glances at Stiles, who was finally focussed on his writing once more. His hair was longer, still messy and unstyled from practice. The grey workout gear perfectly accentuated his broadened shoulders. He bit his lip after reading a complex entry, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on your own, or on your neck while your hands tugged on his now perfectly tuggable locks. 

A few times his eyes met yours. You’d quickly dart them back to your notebook, pretending you hadn’t been looking, knowing damn well he’d seen.  

Oh my god. Get. it. together.

“Did you finish?” You dared ask after a while, having completed your own part. All you had to do was put your parts together, wrap it up and finish. 

“I’ll give it to you, but you have to give something to me first,” Stiles spoke in a challenging tone. For a split second back there you’d wondered how he was still single after all this time, but now you were reminded. He was insufferable. 

“What could you possibly want from me, Stiles? Just give me your damn part.” 

“A kiss.” 

“What? No!” You sputtered. Stiles’ tongue poked the inside of his cheek cockily as he raised an eyebrow, pointing to his lips. 

“Guess you’ll have some explaining to do to your uncle why you’re only handing in half an assignment, then.” 

“This is coercion, Stilinski! Should I call your dad?” You crossed your arms, refusing to look him in the eye. The librarian shushed you loudly. You could feel heat rush to your face, but didn’t relent. Asshole. 

Stiles leaned closer, running a finger over the side of your face. Your heartbeat increased what seemed about tenfold.

“It’s not coercion if you want me to.” His breath hit your neck as he spoke, sending goosebumps down your arms. “And I’m getting the feeling you really want me to.” 

You jerked away from his reach, coming to your senses. You gathered your things into your bag, mumbling something about your GPA being fine, anyway. You stomped away from the table, heart racing. You were mad, not because he was suggesting something you didn’t want, rather that he’d clocked exactly what you wanted so easily. 

Concerned Stiles would follow you out of the library, you hid behind a few bookshelves in a section nobody usually visited. You caught your breath, placing your palm on your chest. You dropped your bag on the floor, turning to peek around the bookshelf to see if Stiles was still stationed at the table. Relieved, you saw he’d indeed decided to follow you out of the library.

You turned back to grab your bag and head out, but were met with Stiles’ face mere inches from your own. You were startled, but he grabbed your waist before you could fall over. His hold was strong. Your hands instinctively went up to his chest, steadying yourself. Had he always been this tall? 

One of his hands wandered slightly lower, rubbing small circles on your lower back. Your eyes met his, which were just shining with mischief and an underlying sense of self-satisfaction. His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip. 

“Can I be frank? You’re incredibly annoying,” you stated, slinging your arms around his neck, finally giving in. 

“You can be whoever you want as long as I get to kiss you, Frank,” Stiles laughed. You groaned but pulled him close either way. 

“Shut up.” 

Stiles obliged and put his mouth to yours aggressively, tugging your body against his. One of his hands wandered up, cupping the back of your head to bring it closer. You tugged at the small locks at the back of his neck, eliciting a sighed moan from Stiles. 

“You’re so hot,” he confessed when you broke apart for a second. He turned you so you were pushed with your back against the bookcase, a few books falling to the floor. Neither of you cared as your kiss continued, deepening by the second. His hands held your hips as he started grinding against you, sweats low on his hips. His mouth made its way down your jaw, moving to suck hasty kisses on your neck. 

“Stiles…” you sighed blissfully. Heat gathered in your stomach at the soft, breathy noises coming from his lips combined with the sound of them against your skin. He put his knee between your thighs.

“Knew you wanted this as much as I did, fuck,” Stiles groaned. The pressure from his knee was delicious, but not enough. It was almost as if he could read your mind as he slid his hand into your bottoms, working your underwear out of the way somewhat clumsily. 

“God… so wet for me,” he moaned. You could only reply with breathy whimpers, trying to make as little noise as possible. Stiles shushed you, placing his unoccupied hand over your mouth as the other started rubbing small circles over your clit. You closed your eyes and let your head fall against the bookcase. Your knees went weak at the sensation, not much holding you up besides Stiles. 

He slipped his hand out of your underwear, bringing a finger up to his mouth. He casually licked it clean. He hooked his thumbs into your bottoms, seeking eye contact and asking for non-verbal permission to tug them down. You bit your lip and nodded enthusiastically. When your underwear hit the floor, so did Stiles’ knees. Your eyes darted around your environment, but the school was nearly empty at this time, especially the library. 

You had to slap your hand over your mouth when Stiles made contact with your clit, his tongue tentatively licking between your folds. Your breathing was laboured, chest heaving as Stiles took his time exploring. Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth, holding in your moans. Your hands shot to Stiles’ hair. Perfectly tuggable, indeed. 

He groaned when you gave an exceptionally sharp tug, taking the time to look you in the eyes. The vibrations of his lowered voice felt good. You had seemingly no control over your hands, fingers tightening their grip the closer you got to the edge. 

“Shit, baby… So good for me. Gotta stay quiet…” Stiles mumbled. A small, high pitched keen left your lips. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep the silence up. You looked down once more and saw Stiles palming himself over his sweats as he continued eating you out, rhythmically grinding his hips in time with his mouth. 

The sound of a bag zipper closing got your attention. You smacked Stiles’ shoulder to stop, wanting to whine in frustration at just how close you’d been. Stiles paid you no mind, lost in giving you pleasure. You put both your hands on his shoulders and pushed him away, careful not to tip him over. It was only then Stiles noticed the noise of someone packing up to leave. He scrambled to stand up, trying to help you get redressed. 

“I got it, I got it,” you hissed quietly. 

“Who’s there? You can’t be here anymore! Library’s about to close!” It was the librarian who’d shushed you earlier. You grabbed your bag in a hurry. 

“Would you still rather be hanging out with Isaac?” Stiles asked jokingly, wiping his chin. You whacked his arm, storming past him to the doors. He followed quickly, arm wandering over your shoulders as you walked out of the now deserted school. You didn’t speak as Stiles led you over to the Jeep, insisting on driving you home, at least. 

You sat in the passenger seat as Stiles ran around to the drivers’ side. You wiped your hands on your thighs, huffing a frustrated breath. You hadn’t even finished the paper, and now you got cock-blocked on top of it. So not worth it. You turned to Stiles as he put the keys in the ignition. He’d never looked hotter than that very second, lips bruised, hair tousled and still pent up, besides maybe when he looked up at you with his face buried between your legs. Okay so maybe a little worth it. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna pull over and we’re gonna have sex in the back seat like right now,” Stiles joked. Or at least, you assumed it was a joke. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, threat or invitation?” 

“Option D? All of the above? I mean, D is definitely an option.”

“Pull over and we’ll see how much of an option it is.” 

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice, pulling over in a small clearing as soon as he saw the opportunity. He took off his seatbelt, scrambling to get out of the car. He opened the door for you, closing it and letting you in the back seat. You laid back across the seats and manoeuvred your top off, throwing it at Stiles. He caught it, quickly discarding it somewhere in the car. He shimmied his pants down his legs, not bothering to take off his shoes. You did the same, leaving you in your underwear. Stiles stopped to take a proper look. 

“You’re gonna kill me. You’ve already killed me and this is my pre-hell Heaven trailer of what could’ve been. God iwantyousobad.” You pulled him on top of you as you laughed. 

“Less talking, more fucking, yes?” 

“Yes, I agree. Wholeheartedly,” Stiles nodded furiously, tugging his shirt over his head with only one hand. Hot. He finally closed the car door behind him before he could forget. 

“I’m going to assume you don’t just casually keep condoms in your car?” You questioned. Stiles closed his eyes and tightened his lips in frustration, mentally scolding himself. He finally had you in his Jeep, half-naked, ready to fuck, and he didn’t have a freaking condom??? He finally shook his head no, sighing and pulling away from you slowly. 

You leaned up on your elbows and whispered in his ear. “Hmmm… Guess you’re just gonna have to come inside of me… Wouldn’t want to make a mess of the car…” 

Stiles pounced at that, kissing you like his life depended on it. He tugged your underwear back down your legs, now very familiar with your pelvic region. He struggled to undo your bra, cursing under his breath. You laughed and lended a hand, undoing it and slipping it off your shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles groaned. “Promise me to thank Coach for pairing us up.” 

“You did not just mention my uncle as a reaction to seeing me naked,” you complained. 

“I did. Not sorry. He did me a favour.” 

You ignored the comment and decided to kiss him to shut him back up. Him and his mouth… God his mouth. You were still pent up from the library, and if he didn’t fuck you soon you were pretty sure you’d go crazy. 

“Stiles, want you,” you whined impatiently. He was too busy paying attention to your nipples, taking one between his teeth as he made eye contact. “Shit,” you gasped.

Your hands wandered down his torso, stopping at the hem of his boxers. You tugged them down, setting his very hard cock free from its confinement. The tip was red, dribbling with pre-cum. He was obviously just as pent up as you felt. You gave him a few experimental tugs with your hand before lining him up with your entrance. 

Stiles took over, taking his time to slowly push inside you. You put your hands on his shoulders, holding your breath at the stretch. He was so much bigger than you’d expected. You both moaned when he bottomed out. You felt so full, it was insane. You dug your nails into his shoulders and gave him a nod, indicating he could move. 

He set a slow pace, testing the waters. He was enthralled by the jiggle of your tits with every movement. Typical. His hands moved up to hold them, almost as leverage, as he picked up his pace. 

“Fuck, so good,” Stiles moaned. You were about to move a hand down to touch yourself, but Stiles stopped you. 

“Let me make you feel good, let me make you come.” He put one hand on your shoulder to steady himself and brought the other down to where you were joined. He continued to thrust, putting his fingers on your clit. It took him a second, but he found a rhythm where he could thrust and stroke at the same time. 

“Oh my god, Stiles!” You moaned, the added sensation feeling amazing. The sound of his hips slapping against yours was filthy to say the least. You moved to hold onto something above your head as Stiles sped up. Your hands soon found the little ledge, and you gripped it to the best of your ability. 

Stiles bent down to kiss you, pace still unrelenting. The new angle of him bent forward sent his cock exactly where you needed it. 

“Shit, oh my god.” It was all the confirmation Stiles needed to keep it up. 

“So pretty, so tight around my cock. Such pretty tits. You feel so good,” he mumbled against your lips. 

The pace of his hips became more erratic, both of you nearing the edge. Your knuckles turned white with how tight you were gripping the car door. 

“Gonna come inside you,” Stiles moaned. “Fill you up so nice.” 

“Yes, Stiles, please!”  

“Fuck, so good, so good for me,” Stiles was becoming more talkative and less coherent as he lost himself in the pleasure. He was mouthing at your jawline, sucking another hickey where there were already plenty. 

“Fuck, Stiles, gonna come,” you whined. You could feel his smile against your neck. Smug idiot. He then started rubbing your clit exactly the way you liked it. Combined with him hitting that spot inside you over and over and over again, you were seeing stars. 

“Don’t stop, please,” another moan left your lips. 

“Come for me. Come on my cock. So pretty, so good,” Stiles blabbered. 

“Fuck! Stiles!” You keened, tightening around his dick as you came. He kissed you again as his hips stuttered, thrusting a few more times before painting your walls with his cum. His head fell on your chest as you both caught your breath.

When his breathing had slowed, he groaned before lifting himself off you, chuckling as he pecked both your nipples, then your lips before looking for something to clean you with. He settled on the shirt of his lacrosse uniform. 

“Ugh, gross,” you mumbled as he wiped you clean. Stiles shrugged. “It was going into the wash, anyway.” 

Stiles put his underwear and sweats back on, opening the door and getting out so you could have the space to redress yourself. When you reached under the seat for your bra, you pulled out a baseball bat. “Why do you have a baseball bat in your car?” 

“No… Particular reason. Safety. Lots of dangerous animals… out there.” 

“So you settled on a bat?” You wondered, holding the object. Stiles nodded, not meeting your eyes, his locked on your still naked chest. You threw the bat at him and laughed, reaching under the seat again and this time pulling out your bra. 

When you were finally dressed, you got back in the passenger seat so Stiles could drive you home. It wasn’t a long drive, as you’d already been halfway there before pulling over. He drove up the driveway, and you cringed on the inside, hoping your uncle wouldn’t see who dropped you off. You took your bag and got out of the car, walking around to the drivers’ side where Stiles was already leaning out the window. 

You looked at him and gave him a small smile. You leaned forward to give him a kiss goodbye. “You better email me your part of the paper tonight, Stilinski.” 

“You bet, babe,” he winked and gave you a salute, watching as you laughed and turned to walk inside the house. 

You closed the door and took off your shoes, hanging your coat and leaving your bag by the door. “I’m home!” 

Coach took one look at your appearance and frowned. Right… maybe you should’ve straightened yourself out before walking into the living room. Disheveled hair, hickeys on your neck, it wasn’t exactly rocket science as to why you were home later than usual. 

“If you’re gonna be having boys over, do it when I’m not around, please? I have enough of them to deal with at practice and in class. And at least have the decency to tell an uncle who he’s dealing with.” 

You cringed as the Jeep’s headlights very obviously flashed through the window at that very second, Stiles driving home. It was anything but unrecognizable. 

“Stilinski!? You’re sleeping with STILINSKI?! God, kill me now. If I’m now expected to have him over for Christmas dinner you better throw me off a bridge. And you BETTER use protection because I’m NOT gonna have Mini-linski’s running around.” 

[emmyrosee]

I have no idea if this’ll get notes but hey. It’s for me anyways lmao

———

“Aw, you should’ve seen me babe.”

He moves excitedly around the living room, recounting his plays from the day as accurately as he can. His eyes twinkle with excitement and his arms move sporadically as he paces around the living room, telling you about his crazy passes and scoring opportunities.

“And damn, I made the single most epic play, and I knew if you were there, you would’ve cheered louder than anyone in that crowd.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

You flash him an apologetic look from your cocoon of blankets, clung tight around you for comfort as you guiltily listen to him yap about his day. This makes his face fall. Had you wanted to be there in support of your boyfriend? Of course. There’s no where you would’ve rather been, let alone curled up in your blankets in distress on the couch.

But he knew you’d been… struggling, lately. There was something inside of you, brewing pain and aggression, howling for your attention but growling when you tried to deal with it, like a storm surrounding a sailing ship and leading it to doom. You sought comfort in every outlet you knew (except for the incredibly self destructive ones- he kept a special eye out for those after years of learning about you), and today, it just seemed too much to go out and watch his game.

He understood, more than anyone, more than anything. But you’ve been beating yourself up about it since before he left.

He clicks his tongue and sits down, “you know, everyone was asking for you.” He wraps an arm around you and tugs you into his side, where you curl up against him. “Wondering where you were, what you were up to. I told them you sent your best.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. He turns his head to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“But you know what my favorite part of the day was?”

You flick your eyes up to him in interest. He smiles, “coming home to my baby.” You offer him a snort, however he hears the way your voice hitches and nose starts to sniffle. He shrugs, “it’s true. All day, I couldn’t think about anything but you. Playing for you, checking my phone to see if you texted me, wondering if you’d’ve cussed out the ref for his calls against me-“

“One time,” you chuckle. “One time I go after a ref, and I’m the asshole.”

“That’s because you’re my feisty baby,” he says, and before you can say anything, he jams his arms under you and hauls you up and into his lap, relishing in the squeal you let out. He noses at your neck, “and you don’t let anyone mess with me. It’s so hot.”

“Perv,” you grumble.

“What did you say?” He asks, jamming one of his hands into your blanket coffin and pinching his fingers into your sides and against your stomach, “huh? You wanna run that by me again?”

“No!” You giggle, kicking your legs and trying to fight out of the blankets trap. “S-Stop it!”

“You think im gonna let you talk trash after I pour my heart out to you? Huh? Stinky brat?” His fingers stop tickling to keep your head cradled to his chest, thumb stroking your temple.

“‘M not stinky,” you mumble.

“Yeah, you are,” he says softly. “But I wouldn’t trade your smelliness for anything.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

[hxltic]

imagine bokuto f-ing you so good from behind

you’re laid flat on your stomach, where he has two large hands digging into the small dip of your back. He’d already fucked you out, so now with every dragged curl of his hips, it feels ten times longer. He’d go slow before increasing speed.

Sweat is dripping down your body and wetting your hair. He does that lopsided full grin of his and brushes his own sweat droplets from his forehead, before shifting weight completely to his palms and slamming down almost fully parallel to your body. You were pinned. Your walls tugged against the length of him, massaging his cock in a way no fist can. You were tight but so fucking wet, and with every slap of his forgotten balls you get closer and closer to what,, your 4th orgasm?

“H-ah fuck! Oh m’god Ko-”

The bed rocks with every roll, your chin slowly falls with the weight of your head, and your eyes droop inconsistently. You start to mumble to no one into the covers.

“Mmph, fills s’gud,” you’d whine.

“Just hold out for me alright baby? You’re takin’ it like a fucking champ.”

He adjusts one hand to disperse along the whole portion of your back, allowing him to grab one arm and fold it into his hold. He copied the movements for the other while your hips naturally rise. You, him, and the bed bullied the supporting wall together, causing scratch marks of dark grey to stain it. With the loss of cognizance, you didn’t notice how he wasn’t as horizontal anymore, but was pressed more on his knees. The strength he even has to do that is insane— and honestly, you wish you could admit it—but you were too distracted by the slight upward angle this entailed.

If your eyes weren’t rolled back, they were now. Your jaw hung slack when they first shot wide, portraying on your face the exact feeling of ecstasy that ran through your veins. Bokuto noticed how you became stagnant for just a split second. Idle, even.

You then shivered and shook as you sporadically pushed your hips back in an escape. Of course, this was futile with no arms.

“H-Oh my fucking god Kotarō,” your voice was higher than he’d ever heard it.

He just roughed you up towards him, grabbing you by the fat of your ass connecting to your hips, and slipped himself back in like nothing happened. When you tried to wiggle away, you successfully got him to let one hand loose, but the consequence was that one shoulder was on the bed and the other wasn’t, so now your neck was craning to look at him by the side in doggy.

Thrusting into you in a new position where there was nothing left of his dick to see, you could’ve screamed. There was no buildup or anything, he hit the same spot about twice a second, but you were out of energy. In this moment he sacrificed speed for power. With a mindless, animalistic groan, you pushed against him from inside and came. The mixed-haired man smiled once white started to peek out whenever he thrusted. Your ass stained red along with your tightly held wrist.

So you laid there and took it all instead, half mentally here and half not. He only laughed that boisterous laugh from behind you and forced your hips down. They’d ricochet off, then return with momentum. It was hot and wet, a lewd scene with your mixed sounds and his loud grunts. And you know when Bokuto wants something, he goes all out.

He knew you knew the safe word, and he knew you knew when to use it; therefore, he’d fuck you until you could barely think. You loved it.

He’d taunt, “You tryna run away?”

“Hummph”

“sorry babe, what was that?”

“n’mm.”

“close enough.” he concludes breathlessly.

[cybrasigilism]

girl, hear me out... jun-ho & the reader doin it in a police car... IF NOT, I COULD TAKE FLUFF IDRC OR MIND 🤷‍♀️

girl when i tell you a giggled with GLEE at this request..

Wheels (Hwang Jun-ho X Reader Drabble)

warnings: smut (no shit sherlock) | non proofread | lowercase intended | car sex (so ig public sex too in a way?) | unprotected sex | oral (f + m receiving) | PiV | overstimulation (f) | praise kink | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinions on the character differ from your own

character: hwang jun-ho (the police officer)

A/N: yk a jun-ho request absolutely hates to see me coming 😈 needed to make this a drabble or i’d go certifiably insane (go listen to VCR/Wheels by Tyler RIGHT NEAOW)

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ・ ⟢ ──

fucking in the cop car? while being something you yourself have considered a few times since the beginning of your relationship with jun-ho, you always assumed it was something entirely out of the question, especially considering how seriously he took his job. so to say you were shocked when jun-ho was the one to suggest it was an understatement, but you certainly weren’t going to complain.

there were definitely no complaints when you two actually got around to it. now a car definitely isn’t the most romantic of all places to have sex, but you guys for sure made it work. of course, you were going to be on the receiving end of oral first, you knew that jun-ho wouldn’t have it any other way. for some reason, sitting on his face in the fully reclined passenger seat was just ten times hotter. maybe it was the challenge of it all, maybe it was how quickly the windows steamed up, allowing you to leave handprints while you steadied yourself as he ate you out, nevertheless you certainly didn’t want him to stop.

it must have been a special occasion, because this was one of the only instances where jun-ho allowed you to suck his dick. he said preferred to focus on pleasing you, but something inside you figured he was somehow embarrassed of the sounds he made when you let his cock separate your lips. for the first bit, he’d probably try to bite his lip or cover his mouth, anything to hold back his voice. but, if you persist and deepthroat him? yeah he won’t be able to contain himself. now it’s jun-ho who’s steadying himself against the fogged up window, simultaneously grabbing your hair lightly as you try your damnedest to make him feel as good as he makes you feel. he’ll go on about how “i should let you do this more often if you’re gonna suck me this good, fuck” and his moans will be unlike you’ve ever heard them before; lighter, more sporadic, you could definitely get used to this.

you best believe the only way this man is fucking you in the car is if you ride him. the two of you concluded that your go-to position (missionary) would be uncomfortable and impractical if either of you had to lay down in the backseat. even though jun-ho much rathers being on top (in the literal sense), he does get quite touchy while you’re bouncing on his dick. he’ll grab just about anything he can, his main mission is to draw those angelic sounds from your mouth after all. he lets you do most of the work but will occasionally buck his hips up into you if he feels you start to lose your pace, he could very easily just sit back and watch you ride his cock though.

jun-ho will totally praise you throughout the experience, after all why wouldn’t he encourage his pretty girl to continue to fuck him good?

“that’s it, ride me just like that gorgeous”

“don’t stop now, you’re doing so well”

“fuck, if you keep going like this… i don’t think i ever want you to stop”

you guys are both getting overstimulated inside that car, and that is a guarantee. how can you not? when the pleasure is too good, it would be foolish for either one of you to ever want it to come to an end. the more times either of you cum, your rhythm begins to falter, your bodies become shakier and you guys become much more vocal. all of this adds up to making the final climax feel so much better, the last release becomes that much more rewarding.

if this is how car sex with jun-ho looks, then it’s about high time you consider making it a more frequent occurrence.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ・ ⟢ ──

full disclosure, i was totally zoinked writing this so i’m sorry if it doesn’t make a lot of sense. i fear this has been sitting in my drafts for an embarrassing amount of time but here it is!! i apologize for the delay and thank you for reading :)

as usual, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested!

have a fantastic night/day lovelies 💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @marymustdie @putrescentpoet

[stevie-petey]

episode eight: papa

“We’re felons.” Your eyes are squeezed shut as you rub your stomach, nauseous. “I can’t believe we just stole that poor couple’s home.” “Think Spidey would understand?” Steve spares you a glance as he drives. “Don’t ever evoke his name while committing a felony.”

Summary: steve is on the brink of a constant nervous breakdown, eddie questions your taste in music, you and max go halfsies on your lives, angry hicks are scary, and the end of the world is near so of course now is the time for every emotional conversation ever. duh !

Rating: general, some swearing, violence

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, cursing, weapons, talk of death, lowkey suicidal thoughts but barely ??

Words: 15.9k

Before you swing in: hey gang !!! this chapter is a goddamn monster. it took forever to write for a million reasons, but the payoff is worth it in my biased opinion. we get a LOT of conversations in this chapter, all that have been brewing for seasons !!!!! the narrative is narrativing !!! we only have one more chapter, so sit back, relax, n enjoy :)

–

When Steve was a little kid, he would have nightmares about losing his parents. 

They started when he was seven. In the first dream, his mother had been in the car. She was driving away from him, beckoning him to follow, but Steve’s scrawny legs couldn’t keep up; he hadn’t reached her in time. 

He remembers waking up screaming for her. The terror of abandonment was heavy within his chest. It stifled his breathing. He remembers thinking that he was going to die. 

May Harrington rushed into her son’s room upon hearing his screams. She clutched him to her chest, smoothed down his wild hair. Steve had been too upset to explain the dream to her, then. His body simply melted into her embrace, relieved that she had still been there with him. That she hadn’t really left him. 

The dreams continued after that night. 

One time he had dreamt that his father locked him in the closet and told him that no one would ever see him again. Another night, Steve dreamt that his mother no longer loved him. That his love for her hadn’t been enough to convince her to stay. 

The dreams came sporadically. Sometimes Steve would go weeks without one. Other times, he would have one every night for a month. 

His father detested the dreams. He loathed what they did to his son. Not because of the fear that plagued Steve’s now pale skin, but because of how weak they made him. Richard Harrington would grip Steve’s arm tightly and command him to stop crying. The grip would leave bruises alongside his tear stained face. 

When Steve was nine, now too old to be having such vivid nightmares, his mother rocked him back and forth in her arms after a particularly difficult nightmare. Steve’s hiccupping breath echoed his tightening grip on the woman. 

“Oh, my beautiful boy. You’ll never lose me.” May stroked his back, her soothing voice floated around Steve. 

Steve clutched his mother even tighter. “But what if I do?”

May coaxed his head from her neck. She looked at him with such tenderness, such love. Her fingers grazed Steve’s face gently as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. She hummed, her voice lovely as always. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

“What secret, momma?” 

Steve will never forget the way his mother smiled at him. “When you love someone, you can never really lose them.”

And the secret settled a deep ache of uncertainty within her son. He loved hard and fast from then on. If Steve loved everyone he ever met, then he couldn’t lose them.

But then Steve was seventeen and he lost Nancy Wheeler.

Now Steve is nineteen and he’s about to lose you. 

One minute Nancy had been climbing up the rope. Your arms brushed Steve’s and your warmth reassured him that everything was going to be okay. You’d made it out. You were going to escape from the Upside Down and hold one another as soon as this was all over.

Until Nancy’s grip on the rope loosened and she fell. Steve barely had time to catch her before her dead weight landed upon him. Managing to stand her up, Steve finally realized what was happening. Her skin was pale and her body stiff.

She had gone into a vision. 

That’s when Steve turned to you. 

His entire world collapsed after that. You were frozen as well, as stiff as Nancy. The veins in your neck were pulled taunt. Steve thinks he screamed. 

And now he’s alone. You and Nancy have been taken from him. He can’t break you from whatever spell Vecna has the two of you under. 

“Y/N!” 

Steve doesn’t recognize his own voice. He can’t feel his body. He can’t feel yours beneath his hands as he desperately shakes you. Everything is numb from the fear that paralyzes him. 

The whites of your eyes blind him. Steve doesn’t know when they rolled back. 

“Steve, what’s going on down there?” Dustin’s voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. Every nerve in your brother’s body is on edge. Something isn’t right. You’re too still. 

“He’s-he’s got them!” Steve can’t bring himself to let go of you. He just wants to see the color in your eyes again. He wants you to wake up and laugh at him and call him stupid names and remind him that he’s yours. 

Above Steve he can hear screaming. Everyone starts shouting at one another, running around in a panic. No one knows what to do.

“Stay with me, angel.” Steve cradles your head. “Please.”

He can’t lose you. Steve wouldn’t survive a world without you in it. All the warmth and love within the world would leave the second you took your last breath. 

A body lands beside yours, tearing you out of Steve’s grasp. Seeing red, he turns, fists clenched and ready to throw a punch, but he only finds Dustin. The kid’s eyes are shell shocked, a manic look in them as he shakes his sister. 

“Do you have her walkman?” 

Steve almost can’t hear him over the pounding of his heart. “W-what?”

“Y/N’s walkman!” Dustin exclaims, rifting through your pockets. His hands are shaking and he can’t form any other thought besides finding the goddamn walkman. He knows you have it. He made sure that you wouldn’t go anywhere without it. “Steve, where is it?”

“I-I don’t know!” He can’t breathe. He’s too paralyzed by the idea of losing you forever. Then he remembers Nancy and it’s all too much. He can’t lose her either. She’s a part of him in a way that Steve will never be able to explain. “What about Nancy? What the hell do we do?”

“We need to find the fucking walkman.” When Dustin’s fingers feel plastic in your pocket, hope jumps in his throat. Letting out a breath, he pulls it out and quickly gets to work on unwrapping all the plastic that encases it. Only the wrapping is too thick, Dustin wants to scream. “Help me get this shit off!”

Steve yanks the device out of the boy’s grasp and claws at the mess of plastic and knots. Dustin had made sure to secure it when he left you at Lover’s Lake. While it kept the walkman bone dry, you’re now paying the price. It’s almost impossible to tear off. 

“Fuck!” Steve tries to bite through it, but it’s no use. 

“Give me it.” Dustin snatches the walkman back, now holding your knives. He starts cutting through the plastic quickly, but he notices Nancy start to convulse next to you. Panicking, Dustin shouts at Steve, “Help her!”

“But what about Y/N–”

“Now isn’t the goddamn time to argue!” Dustin screeches. He’s almost finished cutting through all the plastic. “I have Y/N. Focus on Nancy!”

It’s what you would want. Steve and Dustin both know this. And as much as it physically pains Steve to let go of you, he knows that you’d never forgive him if he allowed Nancy to die. 

Stumbling over his feet, he grabs her shoulders. Her body is as cold as yours. Her own whites of her eyes taunt Steve. Shaking Nancy, he screams up to the others, “Whatever you guys are doing, hurry up!”

“I got it!” Dustin holds up the now freed walkman, cheering. He can save you. He will save you. All he has to do now is put the headphones over your ears and play the music you love and his sister will be okay.

But then your body starts to convulse. The sight is gruesome. Your fingers bend sideways, your neck snaps back, and your chest collapses into itself. Terrified, Dustin screams your name over and over again. 

Hearing the boy’s pained cries, Steve tears himself away from Nancy. When he sees your body shaking violently, bile and fury rise to his throat. “No.”

He’ll be damned if you die tonight. Steve grabs the walkman from Dustin and opens it. Inside, there’s only one tape. 

For bug.

“Henderson, look at me.” There’s a list of songs messily scrawled on it. Steve shoves the cassette in Dustin’s face, forcing him to read the tracks on it. “Which one is her favorite?” 

Dustin struggles to catch his breath. He forces his vision to sharpen, the words float around in his head. They’re all songs he doesn’t know. None of them would work, none of them except–

“The Beatles!” Dustin is already queuing the song, fingers shaking. They’re your favorite band. When you were younger, your father would softly play their songs on his guitar every Sunday morning. Dustin was never able to remember the lyrics, but you always did.

Steve shoves the headphones on you. Dustin presses play.

That’s when your body lifts. 

– 

Music. 

There is music. A familiar guitar progression. Someone used to strum their fingers to produce the same chords. Their rough timbre would accompany the strings and the sweet smell of pine and grass would lull you. 

There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed. 

Green. Over a hill there is a house. Floorboards creak beneath your feet and there is a yellow couch pressed against the window, overlooking the flowers in the garden. Somewhere there is laughter. You’re a little girl chasing your younger brother around the tree, giggling.

Some forever, not for better. Some have gone and remain.

A moving van. The boxes you spent hours packing are shoved into the vehicle roughly. A long drive. A small town, smaller than the one you ran away from. There is a new house with a yellow door to match the couch your mother got to keep. Across the street a boy with black hair is riding his bike. Your brother follows him. 

Night falls and you’re standing on someone’s porch. There’s a boy your age and his hair falls into his eyes. Words are exchanged. He tells you his name is Jonathan. Your hand touches his and suddenly the world doesn’t feel so lonely anymore. The front door opens. A girl tells you your brother is inside with hers. She’s shy, small and beautiful, but her eyes are cunning. 

All these places had their moments. With lovers and friends, I still can recall.

A smaller house owned by a woman who radiates warmth and love for you. Her sons and their adoration. Bug and bee and childhood nicknames. Sleepless nights filled with hushed laughter. Whispered I love you’s. The smell of fresh baked cookies and the sound of four boys who all view you as their sister. 

There’s a boy with pretty brown eyes and pink lips. Hands wrap around your waist as he saves you. Over and over again he saves you. He begs you for a nickname. His smile fills your lungs and you’re falling. Angel. He calls you angel. 

A girl with fiery red hair and a girl who prefers your touch over words. They giggle together. You dress them in your old clothes. Ice cream melts against your tongues and the summer heat kisses your cheeks. There’s another girl. She’s older. You're in a bathroom stall together and she laughs at all your jokes and calls you pretty girl.

Some are dead and some are living. In my life, I’ve loved them all.

An old man wearing a police hat. He reminds you of your father. Gruff and bitter but he lets you tease him. A cabin in the woods and the waffles he always made for you. A home he has made for you and his daughter. 

There are cold, blue eyes. The boy is your age but the anger within him resembles your father’s. He’s violent. Alone. He’s all alone. Blood drips from his body and you hear a girl scream his name. Billy. 

Your mother cradles your face as you cry. She tells you she’s sorry. Your brother tells you he misses who you used to be. The kindness that you burned to spite your father. 

Soft lips kiss your stained hands. The mouth whispers reassurances. He tells you he loves you. Late night drives. Kissing underneath the stars. Constants and honey and forgiveness. 

A charm bracelet. Building a fort in the rain. Biking to houses with a band of kids in tow. Singing songs in a field. Bickering and loyalty and friendship that leaves you in awe. 

Though I know I’ll never lose affection for people and things that went before.

Memories float through you, into you, around you. 

And you remember. 

I know I’ll often stop and think about them.

You remember everything. 

“Y/N!” 

Steve’s voice pulls you back to where you belong. He’s pleading. Dustin’s screams cut through the noise in your head. Everything is muffled. You can’t move. Why can’t you move? They’re screaming for you and you can’t get to them. 

In my life, I love you more.

But you love them. With everything within you, you love them. There is a blinding light of molten warmth of love in your rib cage. They put it there. It melts your bones. They need you. All this love within you is theirs, so why can’t you move?

“Y/N, angel, stay with me.”

You want it more than anything. You want to stay. You want to live. You can’t leave them behind. Any of them. Steve and Dustin and Jonathan and Robin and Nancy and Max and–

Pain erupts in your ankle as your body lands harshly on the ground. It shocks your system, causing your eyes to fly open. 

Steve is cradling you in his arms. He holds onto you desperately and he’s crying. Sharp inhales expand your lungs as sobs choke your breath. Your skin slides against Steve’s and he’s warm and rough and littered with scars and you aren’t sure if any of this is real.

But Steve is holding you. If this is some sick, twisted vision, then at least you’ll die in his arms. Your death will have been worth something if Steve’s face is the last thing you see. Yet when you look into his eyes, the fear and desperation within them is real. The tears are real. The agony and love is real. 

He’s real.

“Y/N! Angel, oh my God.” Steve’s hands grip your face. He’s ashen and music still plays. His pleas are muffled by it, you can barely make out what he’s saying. He risks looking away from you for a second. “Dustin! She-she’s awake!”

Within seconds your brother falls to his knees and presses his face to your stomach. He’s crying. The hot tears burn your bloodied skin but your weak hands still find him anyways. You hold Dustin tightly, selfishly. When you try to bury your face in Steve’s shoulder, something solid knocks against your head.

“Keep your headphones on.” Steve blocks your hand from taking them off. He isn’t letting you take them off ever again.

Headphones. The music playing, the memories that guided you home. Steve had saved you with your walkman. The realization causes you to jerk in his arms. You’re alive. This is real. Vecna almost killed you. You escaped.

Then where is Nancy?

“Nancy–” You try to get up, but Steve and Dustin hold you down. Panic swells in your chest. Nancy was with you. Vecna brought the two of you into his world, yet only one of you made it out. “Where is she? Is she–?”

Steve’s eyes betray him, revealing to you where Nancy is. She stands across from you, catatonic, and suddenly all the fear is back again. Tearing out of Dustin’s and Steve’s grasps, you run towards her. 

“Nancy!” You shake her viciously. She has to wake up. It can’t just be you who gets to live. You won’t let him win. Not like this. Above you, you see Max and Lucas running around. Eddie’s trailer is a wreck. They’re searching for something. “What are they looking for?”

Dustin tugs Nancy’s arm. “Music for her. It’s our only option.”

“Music.” you mumble, the song from your childhood still playing through your headphones. Nancy needs music. It’s the only way to get through to someone under Vecna’s curse. It’s what saved you. 

A song from your childhood brought you back to the ones you love. With Nancy’s life on the line, the song has to bring her back to you, too.

Ripping your headphones off, you shove them onto Nancy’s head. Steve and Dustin scream at you to put them back on. Your body had been floating not even a minute ago, but you don’t care. Ignoring their protests, your fingers fumble trying to find any possible song on the mixtape that can save her. 

“Please,” fresh tears fall onto the walkman. You can’t lose Nancy. Your relationship may be strained and complicated and tainted by a history neither one of you created yourselves, but she’s your dearest admiration. The world would be dim without her spark. You’ve lost so many people in your life. Pressing your forehead to Nancy’s, you breathe out, “Not you. I can’t lose you, too.”

A strangled gasp escapes Nancy’s mouth. The sound startles you, barely giving you or Steve enough warning to catch her as she falls. 

“You’re okay,” you brush her hair out of her face. Nancy’s chest rises and falls quickly. She’s hyperventilating, in a deep state of panic, and you hold her face delicately. She’s like a frightened deer, you’re afraid you’ll speak too loud and scare her away. “You’re okay, it’s okay.”

Steve is careful not to move her in his arms. “Breathe, Nancy. We’re right here.”

The words are meant to be calming. Your hands on Nancy’s face are meant to make her feel safe, loved. But she stares up at you and Steve with tears in her eyes and despair etched into her skin. 

Nancy begins to cry even harder and you don’t know what to do. “I need you to breathe–”

“The-the music.” She tries to sit up, but Steve won’t let her. Arms weak, she struggles against him. She looks at you frantically, trying to tear the headphones off of her. “You-you need them. He almost-he almost got you. The things he showed me, they were–”

Nancy sobs again, barely able to look at you out of guilt.

She remembers what she saw in your vision. 

The knowledge of this is ice cold against your skin, but there’s something else in Nancy’s reaction that unnerves you. This isn’t just about her now knowing your insecurities regarding her. This is something deeper. Bigger than any estranged relationship.

Vecna made her see something else.

Swallowing deeply, you level your eyes to hers. “Tell me everything, Nancy.”

And she does.

– 

Max’s trailer is all you have left. The cops swarmed Nancy’s house the second Patrick’s body was found. Your home is barricaded off from the public. They’re looking for Dustin, for you, and you don’t want to imagine how distraught your mother must be right now.

For lack of better words, it’s fucking depressing sitting in Max’s trailer surrounded by everyone. Exhaustion ghosts their faces. 

Lucas can’t seem to look away from you, the exhaustion of fear dulling his skin. Max taps her fingers anxiously. She hasn’t left your side since you’ve returned. Eddie nods at you, solemn. Erica, who arrived after the cops interrogated her, gives you a pitying look. 

Robin and Dustin hover you as if afraid you’ll disappear. Steve sits on the couch and presses his legs against your back as you sit on the floor; he needs to feel the heat of your body at all times. A reminder to him that you’re still alive. 

Nancy stands across from everyone. She insisted on doing this herself, that you didn’t need to be standing with her. While she’s always been stubborn and brave, you know she only does this because of the guilt. 

“He showed me things that haven’t happened yet,” Nancy rasps. Her eyes remain on the floor. She can’t look at anyone while she describes all the wreckage she saw. Downtown Hawkins on fire. Dead soldiers littering the streets.  

“And this giant creature, with a gaping mouth. It wasn’t-it wasn’t alone.” Nancy bites the inside of her cheek. She can’t afford to be afraid now. “There were so many monsters. An army. And they… they were coming into Hawkins. Into our neighborhoods. Our homes.”

Your nails dig into your palms. The sting quells the fear that rises within you. The more Nancy describes, more fury replaces your nausea. Hawkins is your home. There are so many good people within this town. Your family. The Wheelers. The Byers and the Sinclairs and the Mayfields and everyone else. 

So many innocent lives. All reduced to rubble and death by a rotting corpse from the Upside Down. 

Yet you still can’t get a hold of El. The only person who truly has any idea of how to stop Vecna is gone. She’s across the country with a landline that apparently doesn’t fucking work. It’s bullshit. It’s all complete and utter bullshit. 

“He showed me my mom. And Holly. Mike… And they were all–” When Nancy breaks, your fury melts into sympathy. You’re walking over to her in seconds, and Nancy throws herself into your arms as she cries. 

“He won’t hurt them.” You promise her, though it’s an empty promise that you both recognize. Neither one of you has any idea of how to stop Vecna. But Nancy clings to the comfort and allows herself to be weak. 

Lost in your worry for the girl, you miss Dustin speaking to you. He clears his throat awkwardly, raises his voice. You turn your attention to him, nodding to indicate you’re listening. 

“Did you see the same thing as Nancy?” Dustin asks you, shifting uncomfortably. The reminder of your body rising into the air only hours ago burns. “Did you… did you share the same vision?”

You and Nancy stiffen at the same time. She pulls away from you as if you’ve burned her. The shame of what she saw in your vision… Too much was revealed to her in an unfair way.

No one can ever know what you saw. It’s too painful, too embarrassing, but you know that the information could be important. Clearing your throat, you answer with what you can. “No, he didn’t show me Hawkins, just my…”

Your voice trails off. Everyone looks at you expectantly, waiting for more. Nancy described her visions in such detail, yet all you can give them are a few words. 

“Just my insecurities.” You clear your throat again. “He was trying to scare me. Similar to what he showed Max. I only got out of it because Steve saved me with the music.” He smiles at you, though it’s pained. Trying to ease the heaviness in the room, you shrug halfheartedly. “The Beatles. Saving lives since 1986.”

It works, albeit with minimal reactions. 

“The Beatles, huh?” Eddie gives you a weak smile. “That’s really what you consider music?”

“I almost died. Cut me some slack.”

Eddie opens his mouth to say more, but Steve shoves a hand in his face and shuts him up. He’s anxious. He hates how much the nine of you still don’t know. He doesn’t want to believe that Nancy’s vision had been real. “Maybe that’s all Vecna is doing. Trying to scare us. It’s not real.”

“Not yet.” Nancy lets out a defeated laugh. She isn’t convinced. Neither are you. That’s when she reveals the gates. How there were four of them spread across Hawkins. “This wasn’t the Upside Down Hawkins. This was our Hawkins. Our home.”

The hair on your arms stands up. He’s targeting your home. The fury is back; you hate Vecna. You hate him with everything within you.

Yet, in sickening irony, from the little you know about Vecna, you do know that nothing he does is accidental. He wouldn’t show Nancy four gates without it meaning something. A deep, awful churning sensation constricts in your esophagus. “Is he… trying to combine our worlds?”

“Four chimes.” Max finally speaks up. “Vecna’s clock.”

Everyone turns. Max only looks at you. “It always chimes four times. You heard them, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” your mouth is dry. The chimes were the first thing you heard. It was how you knew Vecna had gotten you. “I heard them.”

“I heard them, too.” Nancy whispers. 

The room almost seems to hold its breath as everyone comes to the realization at the same time; you’re too afraid to breathe life into the words. Vecna has been telling you his plan this entire time. 

“Four kills.” Lucas slowly looks around the room. “Four gates… End of the world.”

His voice trails off and Dustin’s stomach drops. He studies everyone’s faces. No one seems to realize yet what he has. Dustin looks at you and for the first time in his life resents his intelligence; he wishes he could be naive. 

“If that’s true…” Dustin can’t say it. He can’t bring himself to say it.

“Then he’s only one kill away.” You finish for your brother, instinctively looking at Max. While everyone reacts to what you’ve said, cursing and filling with dread, you and Max stare at one another. You’re both thinking the same thing. 

Vecna is one kill away, and you’re both marked. 

Max’s jaw clenches. She can practically read your mind, knowing that you hope the death will be yours. That you’ll do anything to be the final kill if it means saving her life. All you’ve done this entire week is ensure Max’s safety. You’ve put her life above yours again and again. 

When Vecna almost killed her in the cemetery, Max heard you beg him to take you instead. It infuriated her.

There were you, ready to give up your life for hers without even considering how your death would affect everyone else. Max’s death would go unnoticed. She knows this and she’s accepted it.

But your death would fundamentally alter the earth’s makeup. You are the warmth that her and everyone else needs to survive. If you died because of Max, she knows everyone would blame her. It would be one more death that she caused. Your ghost would join Billy’s. 

Max shakes her head at you. A small, subtle and curt shake. One meant for only you to see. You breathe in sharply. Her stony gaze sears into your skin. The message is clear: Max won’t let you die, either. 

“Try Byers again.” Steve’s urgent voice prevents you from trying to argue with Max. He doesn’t see the interaction. He’s too lost in his own mind, mentally sifting through every possible solution he can come up with. Someone has to know something. “Try calling him again, Y/N.”

Steve is anxious and the crease between his brow deepens when he looks at you. He can’t let you die and you don’t have the heart to remind him that you’ve tried calling the Byers home repeatedly this week, just to be met with a busy signal. 

Instead you sigh and walk over to the phone. Dialing the long memorized number, the line rings. And rings. And rings again. Until the beep of the busy tone alerts you that the line is full. “Damn it!”

You slam your fist against the wall, frustrated tears threatening to spill over. Dustin bites his lip at your reaction. “Guessing he didn’t respond.”

“Maybe she typed it in wrong…?” The death glare you send Steve quickly has him backtracking. “I-I mean it’s possible!”

“The Byers are like Y/N’s second family, dingus.” Robin flicks your boyfriend’s head for you, which you appreciate her for.

You try dialing the number again, but the same thing happens. It rings a few times before the busy signal drones on. Frustrated and worried, you slam the phone down. “No answer. Again. It’s been like this all fucking week.”

“Didn’t you say Joyce has that new telemarketer job? She’s always on the phone. Mike never stops whining about it.” Dustin tries to reason.

Max looks at him, skeptical. “A busy signal for three days?” 

“I’ve never gone this long without hearing from them. They always answer…” fear pricks your skin. “Someone always calls me back. El, Will, Jonathan… something’s wrong.”

“She’s right. It can’t just be coincidence.” Nancy’s uncertainty mirrors your own. The two of you are the closest to the Byers. Their silence is unnerving. 

“What are the odds that something is happening in Lenora?” 

Nancy frowns at you. “Pretty high. And whatever is happening there, it has to be connected to all of this.”

“But how?” 

Everything that has ever happened in Hawkins has remained in Hawkins. While you don’t understand how or why, the Upside Down is tied to this shitty town. It doesn’t make any sense for it to spill over into California, hundreds of miles away.

“I don’t know.” Nancy looks out Max’s window, her face hardening. “But at least Vecna can’t hurt them.”

You laugh bitterly. “I never thought I’d be so happy that they’re in California.”

Every day you miss the Byers like an open wound. You miss Jonathan and his slanted smile. Will and his tenderness. El and her sweet laugh. Joyce and her warm embrace. Their absence is palpable in your life, but for once you’re relieved that they’re gone.

They’re as far away from danger as they can possibly be. Vecna, as far as you know, can’t reach them from Hawkins. Though you may not know why they’ve gone radio silent, at the very least you know they’re alive. 

“I’m not just talking about how far away they are.” Nancy turns to you. Color has returned to her face. Her eyes are bright again and she’s alive with an idea. “Vecna can’t hurt them if he’s dead.”

Nancy Wheeler has always been protective of the ones she loves. You both are; it’s what has tied the two of you together. The only difference is that Nancy sees red where you see cautionary yellow. 

“We have to go back in there. Back to the Upside Down.”

You almost pass out from how quickly you stand. “Are you insane?”

Steve grabs your waist, steadying you, while Eddie rocks back and forth on the couch mumbling to himself. Robin lets out a scared squeak and you can practically see every possible way you can die in the Upside Down before your very eyes. 

“We’re going to die,” you laugh hysterically, finally reaching your breaking point. “Nancy, we are going to die if we go back there.”

“Not if we’re prepared! This time we’ll get weapons and-and protection. We’ll go through the gate, find his lair, and we’ll kill him.”

“Oh, because it’ll be that easy, right? Look,” you break from Steve and grab Nancy’s arm, forcing her to look at you. “I’ve always gone along with your plans. But this? This is too far.”

Steve joins you, looking equally as overwhelmed and alarmed. “Y/N’s right. And, might I add, the only reason you survived is because he wanted you to. He’s not scared of us!”

Nancy falters for a moment. She knows Steve is right. Everyone knows that it wasn’t your music that brought her back. Vecna only allowed her to survive because he could. 

“He let you live because somehow it’s all a part of his plan.” You urge, frustrated that Nancy can’t see what you see. “What if this is what he wants? He knows us, he’s been watching us. He knows you, Nancy. You could be falling right into his trap.”

“And it’s a fucking good trap!” Robin jumps to her feet, already starting to pace as she mumbles to herself. “We were wrong about Vecna. Henry? One? I’m sorry, what are we calling him now?”

Everyone gives her a different response, and you chime in with your own suggestion: “Bitch.”

“I like bitch, but it isn’t really PG, is it?” Robin cracks a smile before remembering where she is. She rambles on about how all you’ve managed to learn about Vecna is that he’s a sick, twisted version of El with deadly powers. “He could turn us inside out with a snap of his fingers. It’s not a fair fight.”

“Then why fight fair?” Dustin finally speaks up. He’s thought of something, too. “You’re right. He’s like Eleven, but that gives us an upper hand.”

Frustratingly, your brother has a point. Ducking your head, you voice what he’s thinking. “Which means we know her strengths and weaknesses.”

“Exactly.”

“Weaknesses?” Erica looks at you and Dustin as if you’re insane. 

Dustin explains how El’s powers work. When he mentions the trance she always seems to fall under when she remote-travels, Lucas snaps his fingers. “That would explain what Vecna was doing in that attic.”

“And when he attacks his next victim–”

“His body will be defenseless…” you breathe out, hope igniting in your chest despite your attempts to snuff it out. 

Steve scoffs at you. “Defenseless? What about the army of bats?” He motions towards his bruised neck before pointing down at your thigh. “I mean, I love you, but I think you’re missing most of your thigh.”

“Only a quarter is gone.”

“Y/N.”

“Okay, maybe a little more.”

Dustin waves his hands at you and Steve. “Alright, we get it. The bats were a bitch, but all we need to do is find a way to distract them.”

“And, uh.” Eddie begins to rise from the couch. “How do we do that, exactly?”

“No idea.”

Eddie sits back down. You smile at him, tight lipped. He should’ve expected an answer like that, honestly. 

Dustin doubles down on his plan. “It’ll be like slaying sleeping Dracula in his coffin.”

But there are components to his plan that the group still needs to figure out. “We’d need someone to lure him, get him into the trance in the first place.”

Robin nods eagerly at you. “My thoughts exactly, and we don’t even know who he’s going to attack next–”

“Yeah, we do.” 

Your heart stops. 

Everyone turns to Max. She only meets your gaze. Her jaw is set, the same hardened look in her eyes from when she shook her head at you returns.

Knowing where this is going, you stand in front of Max and block her from the others. “No.” 

“I can still feel him–”

“No.” You can’t believe Max is even entertaining the idea of you letting her be the bait. As if you’d ever put her in that kind of danger. Like you wouldn’t die a million times if it meant she got to live once. “You know I won’t let you.”

Max glares back at you. “I’m still marked.”

“So am I.” A bitter laugh. “We’re both cursed. You and me. We’re one in the same, but I’m not letting you be the bait.”

“What, so I’m just expected to let you sacrifice yourself?” Max laughs incredulously. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well. Max Mayfield, the one who killed Hawkins’ sweetheart, responsible for yet another death!”

You try to reach out to her, but Max stumbles back. “No one is dying, alright? And you wouldn’t be responsible for my death. I’m choosing to do this. You’re-you’re just a kid, Max. It’s my job to protect you–”

“I never asked you to protect me!” Max screams, startling you into silence. The volume of her voice seems to surprise her as well because she takes a step back, breathing heavily. “I never… I never asked for any of this.”

Silence swallows the room. Max looks at you, her eyes pleading. Her words swim in your head. What did she mean by being responsible for another death? That she would be blamed for yours? 

“You didn’t ask me to protect you,” your voice shakes slightly. Holding her gaze, you allow your tears to fall. “But I never asked to lose you, either.”

Max breathes in sharply. Your words cut through her guard, breaking down the last of her walls. She’s silent again. 

“Neither one of you are going.” Steve is next to you now, hand falling against your back. He looks between you and Max, voice gentle, but firm.

“What if we… leveled the playing field?” Dustin hesitantly suggests. Lucas and Steve frown at him, shocked he’s even considering any of this seeing how protective he is of you. Dustin sighs, rubbing his face tiredly. “Look, they’ve both had visions. They’re both next. And whether we like it or not, Vecna has only doubled his chances of winning.”

Eddie stares at him in disbelief. “What, so we just have them both be the bait? Toss ‘em both to Vecna and see which one he bites?” 

“I’d word it better, but…” Dustin bites his lip, staring at you. “Yeah.”

Behind you, Steve tries to shove past the others to get to you. Only Lucas stops him, shaking his head at the older teen. Now isn’t the time, Lucas knows that Steve will say something he'll regret. 

Steve wants to scream. He doesn’t at all like what he’s hearing, but when he looks at you and notices the interest in your eyes, he feels his heart drop. You’re really considering this. You’re really willing to put yourself in danger to save Hawkins.

Because it’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done. You’re too good for this world. Steve can’t let you get hurt, not like this. 

Tentatively you look at Max. “If one of us is in the Upside Down…”

“And the other in the attic in Hawkins.” Max continues for you, relieved you seem to understand. “He’s guaranteed to find one of us. And whoever he chooses, we just… we just need to keep him busy long enough so that the others can get into the attic.”

A game of luck disguised as a compromise. Even though luck has never been on your side, Max won’t back down from this, and neither will you. 

However this story ends, you hope that it’s your body that is buried. Max, thinking the same thing, smiles pitifully at you. Reaching a stalemate, all you can do now is smile back at her.

“Do me a favor,” you turn to the rest of the group. “When you stab him, blow him up with whatever explosives Dustin inevitably comes up with, however you end up killing this piece of shit… Try not to miss.”

“For both of us.” Max says. 

Steve’s hand presses harshly against your back. He’s biting his tongue. You can feel all the unsaid resentment and protests that die in his throat. Exhaustion darkens his eyes and you want, more than anything, to promise him that everything will be okay.

But you can’t. 

Not this time. 

– 

Eddie slams down a massive flier onto the table. With big, bold letters and an abundance of American flags in the background, the flier is your worst nightmare.

“‘The War Zone?’” You look at Eddie uncertainly. “Not a very welcoming store name.”

“That’s because it’s not a very welcoming store, princess.” He winks at you. “But I’ve been there before, and it’s huge. They’ve got everything you need for, uh…”

“War?”

“I was gonna say killing things, but war works, too.”

Robin pokes your side, gently moving you aside so that she can look over Eddie’s shoulder. “Think fake Rambo has enough guns there?”

“Well there’s a grenade sale going on, so.” You shrug at her. “I’m willing to bet they’ve got enough guns. And an aversion to laws.”

Robin still looks unsure, but Eddie quickly explains that the War Zone is far enough away from Hawkins that no one will recognize any of you there. With a wanted murderer and multiple accomplices in your group, anonymity is your only option. 

“But if we’re trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn’t go to some store called the War Zone.” Erica points out, which you snort at.

“She’s not wrong.”

Nancy sighs. “Normally I’d agree, but we need the weapons. I think it’s worth the risk.”

Lucas agrees, but Dustin reminds everyone that you currently have no way to get there. Steve’s car is gone and all you have are bikes and prayers. 

Eddie smiles wickedly at your brother. “Who said anything about bikes?”

“What, you got some car we don’t know about?” Steve asks him.

“It’s not exactly a car, Steve. And it’s not exactly mine, but… it’ll do.”

You step in between Steve and Eddie. “What do you mean it’s not exactly yours?”

He ignores your question and looks at Max. “Hey, Red, you got a ski mask, or a bandanna, something like that?”

“Why the fuck do you need a ski mask–” You hit at Eddie’s chest, worry growing more and more by the second. 

Eddie catches your hand that swings down at him, a devious smile. “Have you ever stolen a RV, Y/N?”

“No. No fucking way.” You’ve never hated an idea more. “That’s someone’s home. And-and it’s a crime. A huge one at that, like insanely huge and very, very illegal–”

Dustin pats your back, laughing to himself. “C’mon. Lighten up a bit. Do it for science, for the world!”

“What does science have to do with any of this? We’re talking about literally robbing someone’s entire livelihood to go kill some wrinkly old guy and there’s no way in hell that I am ever agreeing to stealing a RV–”

You end up stealing a fucking RV. 

Eddie is wearing a ridiculous ski mask that Max once wore for Halloween as he guides you through the trailer park. Weaving in and out of mobile homes, Eddie finds his target and throws himself through the window. 

Steve jumps in next, leaning out the side so that he can then help you climb through. The window is just tall enough to be painful to squeeze into, and you let out several choice words as Steve pulls you up. 

“You alright?” He asks you once you’re in.

“I hate everything about this.”

“Henderson, you got anything sharp?” Eddie whispers from the driver’s seat. He’s holding a bunch of wires that all look the same to you.

Digging into your pocket, you toss him your knives. “If anyone asks, you stole them from me.”

Eddie smirks at you, flicking the knives open and cutting random wires. He works quickly, with practiced ease, and Steve notices, too. “Where’d you learn how to do this?”

Eddie’s fingers tie wires together and he laughs sarcastically. He explains that his father was the one who taught him, bitter and relentless. “I swore to myself I’d never wind up like he did, but now I’m wanted for murder, and soon, grand theft auto. So, uh. I’m really livin’ up to the Munson name.”

“Aren’t fathers lovely?” You force a laugh, but you can still feel the heavy weight of your father’s hands around you. The vision, how real he had seemed. Eddie gives you an odd, slightly concerned look, before Robin suddenly appears. 

“Eddie, I’m not sure I love the idea of you driving this thing.”

You bite your lip. “Honestly, I also don’t like the idea.”

“Oh, I’m just starting this sucker. Harrington’s got her.” Eddie leans in close to Steve, almost flirting with him. “Don’t ya, big boy?” 

Steve’s off-put expression, the pure joy in Eddie’s eyes and Robin’s utter confusion, it all makes you laugh hysterically. This entire situation is so fucking bizarre. Here you are, hotwiring a RV with Eddie goddamn Munson while he flirts with your boyfriend. 

The engine sparks to life, cutting your laughter short, and within seconds the married couple who owns the RV is pounding on the windows. Cover blown, Steve curses and shoves Eddie out of the way so that he can throw you against the passenger seat. 

“Get ready!” Steve shouts after making sure you’re secured before jumping into the driver’s seat.

Heart pounding, you quickly shout over your shoulder to the kids. “Everyone, hang on!”

Dustin scrambles onto the back window and holds on for dear life. “Drive, Steve!”

Throwing his foot on the gas, the RV pulls out of the trailer park with impressive speed. For being more home than mobile, you have to tightly clutch the sides of your seat in fear of flying forward. 

“Shit, they look pissed.” Dustin watches the couple run after the RV, but it’s a lost cause.

“I mean, it’s not every day you lose your house and your car in one fell swoop.” Robin says, body jolting due to the rough terrain. 

Steve screams, telling everyone to hold on, before he barrels through a pile of garbage. The RV takes a rough turn, tilting slightly, before finally finding the road. The tires squeal, but Steve manages to steady the vehicle and grace you with smoother driving. 

“We’re felons.” Your eyes are squeezed shut as you rub your stomach, nauseous. “I can’t believe we just stole that poor couple’s home.”

“Think Spidey would understand?” Steve spares you a glance as he drives.

“Don’t ever evoke his name while committing a felony.”

– 

For the first few miles, all you could focus on was the squeezing knot of guilt in your chest as the adrenaline crashed. Every car you passed set you on edge. Every passing second you were terrified you’d encounter cops and get pulled over, sent to jail.

However, after about fifteen miles, you finally settle into the drive. Despite all you’ve been through, it’s still a beautiful time of year. The spring trees are green and soft music plays on the radio. Everyone is quiet, looking out the windows or talking amongst themselves.

Steve looks at ease driving the RV, the dewy sun framing his beautiful face. This is the calmest you’ve seen him all week. Feet propped up on the dashboard, you poke his arm. “You look real comfortable driving this thing.”

He smiles softly, shrugging. “It’s not half bad, considering this is a house.”

You giggle, smiling along with him. A comfortable silence follows and the music floats around you. The guitar strings are sweet, melancholy, and they make you miss your father. “My dad used to play this song on his guitar.”

“He did?” Steve seems surprised you’ve brought your father up, and you don’t blame him. It isn’t often that you talk about him.

“Yeah,” you’re not sure why you’re telling Steve this. Not now, at least. Driving a stolen RV to a war store for supplies. “He’d play it around bonfires. Everyone loved it. It was… it was nice.”

“Did he… play any other songs?” Steve doesn’t want to push you. He’s honestly just grateful you’ve shared even this small snippet of your life with him, but Steve will always want to know more about you. 

You pause for a moment. You’re not used to talking about this with anyone else. Only Dustin and Jonathan. “The Beatles. He really loved the Beatles.”

“Sounds like your dad had good taste in music, then.” 

“Yeah,” smiling to yourself, you allow this one good memory of your father to linger. “He really did.”

After a beat of silence, Steve clears his throat. He doesn’t want this softness to end. “Thank you for telling me, angel.”

You shrug, cheeks burning. You’re uncomfortable with the sincerity. You know Steve is being genuine, but the foreignness of revealing yourself is still unsettling.

Not wanting to lose this vulnerability yet, Steve risks looking at you. “Dustin told me about him, you know. Your dad, I mean. He told me what he did. And I-I’m really sorry, Y/N. I am. Your family didn’t deserve that.”

You’re quiet. 

“I understand, now.” Steve doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. Not again, not like he always seems to do. “I-I had this dream, you know, that I’d have this really big family. I’m talking, like, a full brood of Harringtons. Like, five or six kids.”

Even though you laugh a bit, his confession stings. You know exactly why Steve has always envisioned a big family for himself. His home was never really a home. His family was never really a family. 

You’ve only ever met Richard Harrington once, and you will always remember how cold his eyes were. 

“And what would you do with these six kids of yours?” You entertain Steve’s dream because you love him. Because you know that no one else will.

Steve blushes slightly, although relieved that you’re at least responding to him again. “I figured every summer, all of us Harringtons would pack into something like this and just see the country. You know, the Rockies, Grand Canyon… maybe even the Shenandoah valley in Virginia.” 

It’s your turn to blush. Steve wants to take his kids to where you grew up. “That sounds really nice, honey.”

Steve looks at you hopefully, adoration in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you know your eyes reveal your fondness for him, too. “Although six kids might be too much. I think three is all I’d agree to.”

Steve catches your slip before you do. He watches, bashful and giddy, as you realize what you’ve said. How you unconsciously told him your kids would be his kids. While you blush furiously at the implications, Steve’s heart flutters. 

So you do see a future with him. A family. 

Seeing Steve’s bashful smile, all your embarrassment fades away. He loves you, pure and unabashedly. All he wants is his future to have you, and you finally understand that you have a safe place to land. Steve will always be there to catch you. 

“You’ll be a good dad, honey.” He isn’t like your father. Steve doesn’t know how to abandon someone. It isn’t in his blood.

Steve ducks his head, smiling even wider. He thanks you softly, eyes flicking between you and the road. The strings that were twisted between you straighten. The knots come undone. Smiling at him again, you feel someone’s eyes on you.

When you turn around, you find Nancy quickly looking away. She pretends that she hadn’t been watching you and Steve, though she does a terrible job at it. Sighing, you kiss Steve’s forehead.

“I’ll be back.”

He tries to ask you where you’re going, but you’re out of your seat before he can finish his question. 

You sit next to Nancy, shoulder bumping against hers as you do so. She doesn’t look up at you, too busy pretending to be engrossed in Eddie’s War Zone flier. Her eyebrows are knit together and you know she’s anxious about it all.

Gently nudging her, you prompt Nancy to look at you. When she reluctantly does, you ask the question that’s been burning your tongue all morning. “How much of my vision did you see?”

“I-I’m so sorry.” Nancy breaks immediately. Unable to look at you, she turns her head and closes her eyes. “He… he showed me Steve. He made me listen to your cries as he and I–” Her voice cracks, nausea builds. “I heard what he told you.”

Your face burn in embarrassment. While you appreciate her honesty, you hate that Nancy saw you in your most vulnerable state. You hate that she had to see that your deepest, innermost insecurity is her. 

“It was real, wasn’t it?” Nancy hesitantly asks. Her lips are chapped and her voice is rough from disuse and uncertainty. “You really do think that Steve will never forget me.”

She knows she shouldn’t be asking you any of this. She knows that too much was shown to her, more than you’ve ever shown to anyone. Nancy doesn’t know what she would do if she were you. To have your deepest fears shown to someone without consent. Without any warning. 

You roll Nancy’s question around in your head. You aren’t surprised that she’s asked it; she’s never shied away from the questions that keep everyone else up at night. Absentmindedly your eyes roam Steve’s body. His shoulders are relaxed as he drives. He knows you’ll return to him when you’re done. 

It is a certainty for him, one only love can provide.

“I know he loves me.” You say slowly, carefully. Looking up at Steve again, your eyes soften slightly. “But I think sometimes I get scared of the hold you have over him.”

Nancy starts to laugh, loud and without any humor. Your eyes widen at her, hurt blooming within your chest. “What’s so funny, Wheeler?”

“Nothing!” She grabs your hand, laughter dying quickly. “God, I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just-it’s ironic, isn’t it? I mean, I have the same fear with you and Jonathan. The hold you seem to have over him.”

Your thumb strokes the back of her hand. In a way, you suppose it all really is ironic. 

Risking it all, your head drops down to Nancy’s shoulder. She allows you to rest it there as you both stare out the window in front of you. “We were their first loves.” Watching the trees pass by, it’s all so very bittersweet. “Do you ever think about that?”

You were Jonathan’s first love. Nancy was Steve’s. 

Nancy hums softly, recognizing the irony as well. The two of you have always felt lesser than the other, yet the boys you love are so blindly devoted to you. Nancy remembers last summer and her cruel words of insecurity. 

“I’m sorry we wasted so much time.” Nancy whispers, and you don’t need to ask her what she means. You know she’s referring to the July phone call. 

“Lost time can always be made up.”

Nancy squeezes your hand. The two of you sit in the quiet for a moment, mending the fragments that were shattered a while ago. The mending isn’t perfect. Some pieces have been lost forever, but the image it creates is the same; it’s still love.

“I know you don’t need me to tell you this, but I’ve never seen Steve so in love.” 

You pick your head up and smile at her, appreciative of the sentiment. “Jonathan is the same, you know. He loves you so much, Nancy. Even if he struggles to show it.”

Nancy doesn’t believe you. You can see it in the way her eyes suddenly darken. The wrinkle in her forehead. She doesn’t believe that Jonathan loves her anymore, and the thought makes you ache. 

“I know he’s been distant lately. He’s been distant with me, too.” The admission is difficult only because you don’t want Nancy to think you’re being cruel. She deserves to know everything. “He’s lonely in California. He misses you more than I think he’s even able to process.”

Slowly, Nancy nods at you to continue; you haven’t scared her away yet. “Jonathan will never admit when he’s hurting, it’s infuriating and admirable all at the same time. But he… he gets lost, sometimes. Jonathan loves you so much that he’s afraid he doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t understand that sometimes love is selfish.” 

Do you ever wonder if we’ve made a mistake?

But you ‘n me? ‘S easy. Always so easy.

Jonathan hadn’t been confessing his feelings for you. It’s only now that you realize this. He’d just been scared, weak. Weak from hiding his fears, his uncertainty for his future and the weight of his family on his shoulders. 

All his life Jonathan has only ever known instability. He was never able to adjust to Nancy’s foundations. It was only when he was finally starting to trust the stability that their fighting began, and Jonathan hid. It was instinctive.

“Jonathan, he called me the other night.” You say, causing Nancy to stiffen slightly. You squeeze her hand again, silently urging her to listen before she says anything else. “It was before the world was ending, obviously, and he… he asked me if I ever thought we made a mistake. Me and him.”

“A mistake?” Nancy shakes her head. 

“Steve and I had a fight earlier that day, and you and Jonathan were having problems, so he just… he was afraid that if we made a mistake choosing you and Steve, then it would mean we made things harder for you, too.” 

The wrinkle in Nancy’s forehead lessens, but only by a fragment. She’s listening, she’s trying to follow along, but she’s been so hurt for so long that it’s difficult for her to distinguish fact from fiction. 

“Loving you has always been easy for him to do, so he got scared when the ease fell away.” Your eyes never leave Nancy’s. “Jonathan didn’t understand that love can be just as hard as it is soft. You can’t have one without the other.”

Nancy is quiet for several long moments. She sits with your words, allows herself to think through them. To trust where they came from and know that they’re meant to help, not hurt. Eventually, Nancy exhales after months of holding her breath. 

“‘Love can be just as hard as it is soft’.” Nancy laughs, short but genuine. “I like that.”

A laugh echoes from your own chest. “Thanks, Wheeler. Came up with it myself.”

“It’s me who should be thanking you.” She ducks her head, suddenly shy. “Thank you. For everything.”

You squeeze her hand one last time. Recognizing her thanks as a polite dismissal, wanting to be alone right now, you kiss the back of her hand before rejoining Steve up front. 

Steve catches your hand before you can sit in the passenger seat. He kisses it, the same as you did with Nancy’s. “What did you two talk about?”

Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, you catch Nancy’s eye in the rearview mirror. She winks, secretive and teasing, and you wink back at her. Sitting down, you prop your feet back up on the dashboard. 

“We were just catching up.”

– 

By the time Steve pulls into War Zone’s parking lot, it’s packed with cars. There are way more people than expected, concerned families running around with guns they don’t know how to use.

“I guess a grenade sale draws in a big crowd.” You whistle low, eyes following a dad and daughter bickering over a baseball bat. 

Steve parks the RV and turns around in his seat. “Alright, dipshits. What’s the plan?” Robin rolls her eyes. “Don’t call us dipshits, dipshit.” 

“Obviously Eddie stays in the RV. He’s Indiana’s most wanted at this point.” Eddie tips an imaginary hat at you. “Dustin and Lucas, you guys should stay, too.”

Your brother makes a disgruntled sound. “What do you mean I’m staying?”

“You’re both in Hellfire and a lot of people with guns want the club gone. I’m not letting either of you step foot in there.”

Lucas sags in his seat, but he doesn’t argue. He knows you’re right. Dustin, however, continues to argue. “Did you forget that I almost watched you die ten hours ago? I’m not leaving you.”

Annoyance softening, you tug at Dustin’s hat playfully. “Don’t worry about me. We grew up with hicks, I know how to fend them off.”

“Plus we’ll be glued to her side, little Henderson.” Robin points at Steve, who nods quickly. “We got her.”

It takes some more arguing and a bribe from Eddie before Dustin eventually calms down. You leave him with Lucas, trusting they’ll be fine on their own. Steve holds his hand out and helps you walk down the RV’s steps and into the store.

Inside, a swarm of people are running around. The entire point of driving all the way to the War Zone was to avoid Hawkins, and yet here everyone is: stocking up on pistols and mace.

“Let’s… be fast.” Nancy eyes everyone wearily, and none of you hesitate to agree.

Splitting up, you, Steve, and Robin head towards the gasoline section. You’d suggested it during the drive here. Fire has always been the most reliable weapon against the Upside Down. 

Eyes scanning the gasoline aisle, you make a mental list of what else you may need. “Okay, I think we should get at least six of these–”

Steve must see something in another aisle, because he whips around and screams behind his shoulder, “Be right back!” 

Robin frowns. “He has the attention span of a dog.”

“Don’t say that,” you toss another can of gasoline into your cart. “It’s offensive to dogs.”

Giggling, Robin helps you. Loading the cart to the brim, you almost miss Steve’s sudden return. “What do you think, angel?”

Looking up, you almost drop the can you’re holding. In the midst of weapons and ammo within the store, Steve has somehow managed to find a nice, brown army jacket. The material is thick, covered in patches, and the brown looks criminally good on your boyfriend. While you’ll miss his arms being on constant display, you almost don’t want him to ever take the jacket off again.

Seeing your speechless reaction, Steve smirks at you. “I take it you approve?”

“Mhm,” your mouth is dry. 

“Good, because I also found this.” Steve reveals another brown army jacket behind him, only this one is smaller. More your size. Not even waiting for your approval, Steve drapes the material over your shoulders. “And now we match.”

“You’re disgusting,” you grumble, though you both know your heart isn’t in it. The apples of your cheeks burn a cherry red. Taking Robin’s flannel off, you return it to her. “A part of me thinks Steve wants me to wear the army jacket because he doesn’t like seeing me in your clothes.”

Steve shrugs. “Half true.”

“Has anyone ever told you how gross you two are?” Robin gags. “I mean, really, it’s sickening how annoying you…”

Her voice trails off. Mid insult. Something she has never done before in the two years you’ve known her. Confused, you look up and notice her lovestruck expression as she stares at something. Following her line of sight, you almost laugh when you find the familiar red curls standing across from you.

“What are you gonna do? Stand and gawk?” Steve teases Robin, amused by the series of events.

You elbow his side. “Be nice. All you did was gawk at me for months.”

“Both of you, shut up.” Robin commands, voice breathy. Her eyes never leave Vickie and she takes a step forward, finally having the courage to approach her, before some guy comes up behind Vickie and scares her.

Vickie yelps, turning around to tell the boy off, but instead he takes her into his arms. The guy is tall, lanky but sure. He stares down at Vickie like she’s some prize and your stomach twists into knots. 

When their lips connect, you can almost feel Robin’s heartbreak. Her face drops and the light in her eyes is extinguished. Vickie turns, face paling when she sees Robin, and the entire ordeal is too much for her to handle. 

Robin’s shoulder knocks roughly against yours as she flees. You call after her, wanting desperately to follow. You know how cruel unrequited love can be. “Robin, wait!”

But Steve stops you, gently pulling you back. “Give her some space.”

As much as you want to argue, snatch your arm back and run after your heartbroken friend, you know that Steve is right. Robin has always preferred seclusion to public displays. She’s never wanted anyone’s pity. When she’s ready, she’ll find you and Steve and you’ll give her all the sun’s rays to melt the ice of rejection.

Steve helps you look for whatever else you’ll need. You roam the aisles, both silent and worried for your friend. At one point you end up in the knives section. When you turn your head to ask Steve his opinion on a silver hilt you find, the question dies in your throat.

Nancy is across the store, holding a rifle while Jason Carver stalks closer and closer to her.

“He’s like a goddamn plague,” you sneer to yourself. Quickly catching Steve’s attention, you motion over to the two teens. “We got a problem.”

Steve curses, also exasperated seeing Jason, but when he tries to walk towards them you stop him. Shaking your head, you block his path. “I love you, but if you go over there right now you’ll make everything worse.”

“That’s not true!”

“Steve.”

He falters. “Okay, well. What do you want me to do?”

“Go find Erica and the others and tell them we’re leaving. Clearly we’ve overstayed our welcome here.” Smoothing down your new leather jacket, you fix your hair and adjust your shoes. “As for me, I’m really hoping Jason still has that crush on me from last summer.”

Steve gawks at you, but you shove him towards the exit and beckon him to do as you say. Jason has only gotten closer to Nancy during your conversation. He leers over her, gripping the rifle with possession. 

Trying to keep your steps slow, casual, you analyze their body movements as you approach. Jason smirks at Nancy, as if he knows all her secrets. “Well, you look nervous.”

Nancy swallows. “Like I said. Scary times.”

Jason doesn’t like her answer. “Now, your brother. Is he here with you, by chance?”

Hearing him mention Mike, your heartbeat races as you practically sprint towards Nancy. Your appearance is abrupt, you’re breathless from exhilaration, and when your body slams against Jason’s, you feign sympathy. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Body turned towards Nancy, you nod at her once, reassuring, before forcing a smile on your face and spinning back around to Jason. “Long time no see, Carver.”

“Y/N.” He doesn’t return your smile. 

Tension thick, you pretend not to notice it. “Sorry for interrupting, but I found the bat Nancy was looking for earlier and was dying to show her.” Tilting your head at her, you indicate towards the exit with your eyes. “Wanna check it out?”

She nods, understanding the hidden meaning behind your words. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Not so fast.” Jason still hasn’t let go of Nancy’s barrel. He tugs it back, forcing you and her to freeze. “I asked Wheeler here a question. Have you seen Mike?”

“No.” Nancy doesn’t flinch away. “He isn’t here.”

Jason then looks at you. There is no warmth in his gaze. “And your brother, he’s in that Hellfire club too, isn’t he? Have you seen him around?”

“I’m not my brother’s keeper.” You keep your voice cold, neutral. Jason is trying to get a reaction from you. He wants you to be scared of him. But you’ve dealt with worse men than him. Wrapping your hand around his arm, you dig your nails into his flesh. “You understand, right?”

Jason’s mouth twitches. His composure is quickly slipping and Nancy uses the slip against him, Tightening her grip on the gun, she pulls it against her chest. “Let go.”

His hand remains. They maintain eye contact, neither looking away. Your nails dig even deeper, the skin beneath them breaks. Hot blood seeps into your nailbeds and Jason finally lets go. 

He rubs the crescent indents in his skin, chuckling darkly at you. “Quite a grip you got there.”

“I tend not to let things go.” A sickly sweet smile crawls onto your face. 

Jason smiles back at you, holding your gaze for another few seconds, before finally walking away. He doesn’t say anything else. The moment he’s gone, you lace your fingers through Nancy’s and run through the store to find Steve and the others.

“That was close.” You duck behind a cart, nearly running into one of Jason’s goonies.

“Too close.” Nancy finds Robin, pointing towards her as she looks for an opening to run. “Think you’ll be able to run?”

“Not really much of a choice, is there?”

And you run. Weaving through what feels like the entirety of Hawkins, you and Nancy manage to break through the store’s exit with Steve, Robin, Max, and Erica in tow. Bursting through the RV’s door, it’s a mess of bodies flailing into seats and screams.

“We need to leave. Now!” You shout at Dustin and the others, having no other time to explain further. “Everyone find a seat and stay low.”

Dustin screeches at Steve to drive while everyone scrambles to do as you’ve said. Hands shaking as you buckle your seatbelt, Steve only has enough time to shout “get ready!” before he’s starting the engine.

The War Zone sign fades into the distance. 

– 

The further you drive, the thicker the air in the RV becomes. Unease creeps over the seats, onto your skin. Nancy sits with all the bags around her as she and Robin sort through them. Dustin watches them, knee bouncing up and down.

Nancy talks first. Slowly, piece by piece, her and Dustin come up with a plan. 

“We’ll need to split into groups.”

“But how many? And where would everyone go?”

Nancy pauses for a moment. “One group in the Upside Down and one group at the Creel house. That should be enough, right?”

You raise your hand as if you’re in school. “If I may, I’d like to remind the class about the bats. We aren’t getting anywhere if they’re eating us alive.”

“She’s got a point.” Dustin says. 

Nancy sighs, but she doesn’t have an answer. 

“What if we had another group in dimension hell?” Eddie suggests. “Ya know, distract the little fuckers while the main group goes and be heroes.” 

“I don’t know,” you shift in your seat. You’re already risking a lot having a few of you go back into the Upside Down. The thought of risking even more lives makes your skin crawl. “Ideally, the less of us in the Upside Down, the better.”

Steve nods. “I’m with Y/N on this one. We don’t all need to go down there. It’s creepy and freakishly cold.”

“It’s our only option. Whoever goes there to kill Vecna will need all the help they can get.” Max says. “If the bats get to them first, then it’s pointless.”

Lucas nods, agreeing with Max, and Dustin has to nod as well. She’s right. There needs to be a third group if there’s any hope of pulling this off. 

Nancy, seeing the growing agreement between everyone, nods. “Alright. Then it’s settled. There’ll be three groups. Me, Y/N, Steve, and Robin will go to the Upside Down and track down Vecna.”

She waits a moment, giving time for anyone to protest. When no one does, she continues. “Y/N will have her walkman, but she won’t use it unless absolutely necessary. If Vecna chooses her, Steve will watch her while Robin and I go into the attic.”

“I’ll be the best goddamn bodyguard there ever was.” Steve jokes, trying to laugh away the discomfort of knowing your life will be on the line of luck. Knowing what he’s doing, you kiss his hand softly.

“If you fuck up and get my sister killed, I know how to procure acid.” Dustin forces Steve to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. The older teen gulps.

Touched, you preen at Dustin. “That’s the nicest threat anyone has ever said for me.”

It gets him to laugh, which you’re thankful for. Nancy cracks a smile as well, but it dims when she remembers where she is. Where you all are. 

“Max, Erica, and Lucas will be at the Creel house. They’ll have her walkman as well. If Vecna chooses her, Lucas needs to be ready.”

The teen slowly nods at Nancy. He hunches his shoulders, places the weight of Max’s life upon him. You’re not entirely comfortable with leaving the kids alone at the house, but it’s the safest location. You’d rather they be in Hawkins than the Upside Down.

You’ll give Max your knives. You’ll show her how to use them and you’ll pray that she never has to. They’ll be fine.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. The mantra that is keeping you sane. 

“Eddie, would you be alright with distracting the bats?” Nancy turns to him, the question posed more as a silent challenge. It was his suggestion; now he has to be willing to lay his life down for it. 

Eddie pales at the question. “I-I mean I guess? Like, would I be-I don’t know, screaming at them? Or-or running around like an idiot, or–”

“I’ll go with him.” Dustin interrupts, saving Eddie from a nervous breakdown. 

Your head spins around the second you hear his voice, cold with fear. “No–”

But Dustin expected this reaction. He meets your fear with a leveled response. “Y/N, this is the only way.”

“I won’t let you go into the Upside Down!” Screaming, voice raw, panic sets in. This is all wrong. Everything is wrong. You could die tonight, Max and Lucas and Erica will be defenseless in a house that you can’t reach, and now your brother wants to go to the place that almost killed you?

It’s too much.

“And I won’t leave Eddie behind!” Dustin screams back at you. “He needs me, and if it means the bats won’t try to kill you again, then I’m doing it.”

“But–”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Y/N. We kinda need them.” Robin tries to placate you, but you’re seeing red and you can’t breathe.

Eddie manages to catch your eye. He lowers his voice, the most sincere he’s ever been. “I promise I’ll protect Dustin with my life. Alright? I won’t let the shithead die.”

Only it’s the wrong thing to say. Your ears are ringing and your chest feels like it’s about to explode. Anger and fear and despair all claw at your throat, begging to be released. 

“Do you really think I can’t protect my own brother?” You hiss at Eddie, teeth clenched and face burning. The words tumble from your mouth before you can even really stop them. You’re blinded by anger, by the overwhelming feeling that you’ll lose. 

You can’t protect everyone on your own. Not this time, not like you’ve always done. Your entire life you’ve given everything within you to protect the ones you love. Pieces of yourself have been broken, bruised, exhausted from it; but it’s all you know. 

You’ve never been good at asking for help. Never trusted anyone enough to love and care for your family with the ferocity that you do. 

But now, faced with something much bigger than yourself, your greatest fear has come true. You have to let go. You have to trust that someone else will be there for your loved ones when you can’t. There’s nothing else you can do.

And it’s fucking terrifying. 

Eddie clears his throat in response to your sudden outburst. The RV falls silent. Eyes stare at you and you turn away in shame, facing the windshield with tears in your eyes. Steve can’t keep his eyes on the road knowing you’re upset.

Eventually there’s a field and Nancy tells Steve to park. With nowhere else to go, the open field will be your basecamp. There are weapons to be made, final moments to be shared. 

No one wastes any time getting out. The RV empties quickly until it’s only you, Dustin, and Steve who remain. Your brother clears his throat awkwardly, standing before you with his arms tucked behind him. 

“Code blue?”

Strings twinge in your chest, but laughter floods anyways. “Yeah,” you wipe your eyes, already crying. “I think we’re due for one.”

You get up from the passenger seat, giving Steve a quick but reassuring glance. He understands without having to be told that you need to be alone with your brother. Giving you some privacy, he turns away while you and Dustin head towards the back. 

Sitting down, Dustin immediately falls against you. You butt heads, playfully and childishly, and you want to cherish these small moments with your brother forever. 

“Please don’t be like dad.” Dustin whispers, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. 

Your throat closes. “Dustin…”

“You can’t leave me. Not like he did. You can’t-you can’t do that to me and mom.” There are tears in his eyes. 

The mention of your mother makes you cry as well. You miss her, you haven’t seen her in days and all you want is to have her hold you one last time. To hear her call you her sweet girl again. To etch her love for you into your skin. 

“I won’t leave you,” your fingers grip Dustin’s arms. Your body shakes, so does his. “I-I won’t. I love you, okay? More than anything in this world. I’m your sister, and I know I haven’t been a very good one recently and I know that I can’t promise that everything will be okay, but–”

“All I want from you is for you to come home.” Dustin rasps. His eyes shine and he sniffs, shaking his head fondly, albeit annoyed. “God, that’s all you have to do. Don’t be like him, don’t leave the house empty. That’s all I want from you, Y/N.”

Brushing his hair back, the promise you make doesn’t burn how you expect it to. “I’ll come home.”

“Good.” Dustin throws himself into you, arms gripping you tightly. His hair tickles your nose and his hat almost pokes your eye out, but you hold onto him anyways. 

“Yo, Henderson!” Eddie’s voice calls from outside. There’s a bang on the RV door, followed by a quiet curse for presumably injuring a hand. “Come help me with these trash lids. The nails are bitches!”

“Trash lids?” You ask Dustin.

He shrugs. “Weapon against the bats. Could be worse.”

You snort, pushing the kid away. “Go help Munson. With his luck, he’ll lose an eye wielding a hammer.” 

Dustin also laughs and allows your body to leave. He stands up, lingers in the doorway, before smiling one last time at you. Your promise to him melts into his skin. He’s chosen to believe you; you have to choose to believe yourself as well.

When he’s gone, the silence in the RV almost drowns you. There’s a dull roar in your head. Conversations echo. Nancy’s confessions and Dustin’s terror. Max’s sacrifice. How long it’s been since you’ve been alone.

Your head drops to your hands. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to salvage what little of your sanity is left. 

A body lands next to you. The smell of bergamot and spice is like a salve to your open wounds. Hands grab your body, pull you flush against a chest. Without having to look, you know Steve is the one holding you.

He lays you down onto the couch and you curl into him instinctively. You use his body to shield you away from the world, feeling like a little kid again. Your bones ache. Steve rubs your flesh as if to dispel the pain that is always there. 

“I know you want to be alone right now,” his chest vibrates against your cheek as he speaks. “But can I just say that I hate this plan?”

His honesty is refreshing, candid and desperately needed. It causes the corners of your mouth to tug upwards, ever so slightly. The ache lessens, the echoes aren’t as deafening. 

Pressing your nose against the base of Steve’s neck, you allow yourself to be weak in this moment. To be soft, vulnerable, trusting that he’ll catch you. “I don’t want to die.”

Steve kisses your forehead, lips warming the cold skin underneath. “I know.” His finger strokes your cheek. He memorizes the lines and dots that litter your face. Old scars, new ones that will never really go away. “It’s a good thing I won’t let you.”

You smile again. No one can promise anything anymore. Yesterday you almost died, today you will use your life as bait, and tomorrow you might never see. Nothing is promised. Not anymore. 

Yet you believe Steve. 

“What did you see in your vision?”

The question is whispered and velvety. You haven’t talked about last night, but Steve knows whatever you saw is weighing on you. He can see the way you carry it on your shoulders, tired and aching. He noticed the tension between you and Nancy, the unyielding fear of letting your brother go. 

Your eyes meet. The brown honey in Steve’s eyes reminds you that he’s real. Here, in his arms, you’re safe. You could confess all your sins to him and Steve would kiss the impurity with holy lips and call you angel. 

Taking a deep breath, you tell him everything. 

“He took me to a field. I recognized that it was Virginia the moment my feet touched the grass. I could see my childhood home up the hill and there was someone calling my name.” Your father’s voice echoes in your ears. You can’t remember the last time he called. “It was my dad.”

Steve pulls you closer.

“I ran to him, even though I knew it wasn’t real, but–” you were a child when he left. The wound will never fade. “I had to see him. I just… I wanted to remember what it was like to be held by him.”

Warm. You remember the warmth.

“Then suddenly I was falling. I screamed, but-but no one could hear me. I was in the woods. The same woods Will disappeared in and I was so scared he had him. That it was all my fault again. I was the one who lost him again. I started to run. I-I had to find him… But he wasn’t there.”

How many times had Will called for you the night he disappeared?

“He’s safe in California, Y/N.” Steve reminds you, tucking hair out of your face. He wants to smooth the worry lines in your face, mold your skin into something calmer, happier. “It wasn’t real.”

“I know none of it was real, but the things Vecna showed me…” Unable to bear saying anything else, you give yourself a moment to breathe. Nothing had been real. But it had felt real. 

Steve frowns, sensing that there’s something else. “What else did he show you, angel?”

“You,” you breathe out, too weak to find any other way to say it. “He showed me you.”

Surprise mars his pretty face. “Me?”

“Nancy, too.” Wiping a tear, you fix Steve’s hair, needing something to distract yourself with. You don’t want to tell him any of this. Shame coats your body but the love in his eyes subdues it. “Vecna preys on your fears, your insecurities, and for me… He showed me you and Nancy together. Having sex.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. 

“He told me that you’d never forget her. Not as easily as my father forgot me, at least.” You laugh bitterly. “He has a sick sense of humor. I’ll give him that.” 

Still Steve remains silent. 

But for once, his silence doesn’t scare you. There’s a trust behind it. An understanding that he wants you to continue, to tell him everything. And you do. 

“I’m scared my guilt will suffocate me.” The confession falls from your lips as easily as a prayer does. “I’m scared of starting a life with someone that I can’t control. I’m scared that I’ll always be abandoned. That I’ll always be second to Nancy. Every boy I have loved has loved her. Who wouldn’t be terrified of that?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, angel.” Steve cups your face. He doesn’t know what he feels right now. Anger, for both you and him. Agony that he can’t absolve you from the guilt, from the thought of him leaving you. “I love you. Only you.”

“I know you do,” you bring your hand to his face as well. He leans against your palm, gaze tragic and loyal. There is no doubt that he loves you. That has never been what you’ve doubted. 

It’s always been the how. 

How he came to love you. After Nancy. After she left him. After you picked up the pieces she left behind. The love that you know is yours is genuine, but you’ve always been terrified that the foundations of it are false. 

With Steve staring down at you as if you’ve hung the sun and moon for him, you ask him the question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind ever since he crashed into your life. 

“Would you have loved me even without Nancy? If we hadn’t fallen together because of her, would you still have fallen in love with me?”

The answer comes easily to Steve. “Always.”

And it’s everything you need from him. One word, but it’s enough. 

Your fist grips his shirt. A tug, no time to prepare, and your lips crash together. There is nothing soft. The kiss is bruising and it is rough and hard and urgent. Everything left unsaid between you and Steve rises to your lips and melts into your tongues. For every broken promise, there is a bite of skin, a lick of flesh. For every hurt you brought upon the other, there is a soft moan of an apology.

Heat pours from your teeth and into Steve’s lungs. Your breaths become one, your heartbeats overlap and he is everywhere. He is an explosion of light festering on your skin. 

“I see more than just a future with you,” Steve whispers against your lips, hushed and aching. It takes everything within him to pull away for even a second. He kisses you again. Over and over until he’s memorized every crevice of your lips, the cracks on them. “I see my entire life with you.”

Steve breathes you in, hands cradling your face as if to steady the dizziness within him. He looks into your eyes, follows the flushed pink of your lips and your staccato breathing. He takes you in and hopes he never has to forget the way you look when you are in love. 

“I would wait forever,” lips skim the length of your face. Feather light kisses trace your nose, flutter against your eyelids. Inhaling sharply, Steve rests his forehead against yours. He stays there. He will never leave. “I would wait forever if it meant I could start forever with you.”

This is love. This is what can never be taken from me.

“Hey! Lip smackers!” Robin bangs through the RV door, scaring the shit out of you and Steve and causing you to spring apart. She smirks at your reaction, though she tries to cover it with a scoff. She crosses her arms. “Are you assholes gonna help us, or are you too busy swapping spit?”

Steve’s face turns fire red. “Do you always have to be so vulgar?”

“It’s why people find me so charming. Right, Y/N?”

“As long as the nickname ‘lip smackers’ doesn’t stick, I’ll agree with whatever.” You say, getting off the couch. 

Robin laughs. “I actually kinda like it. Has a nice ring to it, ya know?”

“No,” you and Steve say at the same time. Your “no” is more bored while Steve’s is more panicked. 

Rolling your eyes at his affronted reaction, you pat his cheek lovingly and press a quick kiss to it. “Nicknames aside, I should go. There’s one more person I need to talk to.”

Steve tilts his head at you, silently asking who, but you don’t respond. Instead, you turn to Robin. “Whatever you make him help you with, just promise me you won’t scar his pretty face. I have to look at it for the rest of my life.”

Robin grins, secretly relieved the two of you finally seem to be okay again. “No promises, pretty girl. He’s gonna help me make molotov cocktails and we all know his hair is a fire hazard.”

“Ha ha,” Steve laughs boredly. “Very funny.”

You giggle alongside Robin, leaving them to grab their needed supplies. The sunlight outside kisses your skin and in the distance you find Eddie chasing Dustin around. They wield their makeshift shields around, laughing like children.

The image of them before you leaves you breathless for a moment. Even when everything seems grim and hopeless, Eddie has still found a way to make your brother laugh.

They don’t see you approaching them. You have to sidestep Dustin, who nearly runs into you. “Woah!” You grab his shoulders, steadying him. Something pokes your thigh, and when you look down you realize it’s his nail filled trash lid. “God, you’re bound to poke someone’s eye out.”

“What are you doing here?” Dustin asks you, looking around for Steve.

“I came to ask if I could steal Eddie away from you for a second.” You respond, shrugging as if you’ve ever offered to interact with Eddie outside of Dustin. “I need to talk to him.”

Both boys widen their eyes. Eddie pales, while Dustin narrows his eyes at you. “The last time I let you talk to one of my friends, you ended up making him your boyfriend.”

Eddie blanches while you flick your brother’s forehead. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t want Eddie to be my boyfriend.”

Without another word, you grab Eddie by his jacket and yank him away. Dustin shouts at you that he’ll rat you out to Steve, but you don’t care. Eddie is a mumbling mess, unsure what you want with him and slightly terrified he’s done something wrong. 

When you’re far enough away from everyone else, you finally release him. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you look at Eddie. “I owe you an apology.”

“Oh.” He blinks. This definitely hadn’t been what he was expecting. “Can I ask what for?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know I kinda lost my mind earlier. You can say it.” You roll your eyes. “I won’t kill you.” 

“Says the girl who held a knife to my throat.”

“Water under the bridge.” Your fingers fidget. You know this is the right thing to do, but it still makes you uncomfortable. “Look, it was wrong of me to snap at you. I, uh. Get pretty defensive when it comes to accepting help.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, although his eyes flash with slight amusement. 

You clear your throat. “I guess I also struggle to accept when I’m no longer needed.”

“Bullshit.” Eddie laughs in your face. “The universe will always need Hawkin’s sweetheart. Don’t sound so pessimistic, sunshine.”

“You never shut up, do you?” You cut him off, glaring. Here you are, trying to be vulnerable with him, and he’s laughing at you. “Jesus. Anyways, what I’m trying to say is, I shockingly have found myself tolerating you.”

“Gee, you really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“I try,” you glance quickly at Eddie, smirking, and he smirks back. “For a long time, I didn’t understand what Dustin saw in you. You were a total jackass with a giant ego, but I guess these last few days have proven you’re only a tolerable jackass with a moderately oversized ego.”

A surprised laugh leaves Eddie’s lips. “Wow, you really aren’t holding back.”

“Figured we’re overdue for some honesty.” You hate being vulnerable, but Eddie deserves this. Swallowing down your nerves, you finally confess the real reason you’re here. “I’ve never had to place Dustin’s safety in someone else’s hands. I’ve always found a way to be there for him, even through years of constant hell and monsters. I’ve always… I’ve always been the one to protect him.”

Eddie’s laughter is gone.

“But tonight I can’t. Tonight, all I can do is make you promise me that you’ll keep my baby brother safe. I-” Your voice breaks, there are tears that you don’t want to fall. “I need you to promise me, Eddie.”

He sucks in a breath. The boyish humor he so often portrays is stoic. He’s serious, perhaps for the very first time since you’ve met him. 

The two of you stare at one another, both unwavering, before Eddie slowly, almost mischievously, extends his pinky to you. “I promise.”

Linking your pinky around his, your cheeks burn from the suppressed smile. 

– 

The sun is setting when everyone climbs back into the RV. No one speaks. There isn’t anything else to talk about, driving to the Creel house. 

The silence weighs heavily upon the car, setting alongside the sun. You sit in the passenger seat, holding your knives to your chest with your headphones dangling over your neck. There is still blood staining the bandage on your shoulder. The bites on your thigh aches. 

You’ve done all that you can. You keep repeating this to yourself, over and over again like a prayer.

You’ve prepared, you’ve planned, you’ve sacrificed. There isn’t anything else you can do. All that’s left is the end. 

Steve sits next to you, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. His forehead is creased and his shoulders are tense. The closer you get to the house, the more he draws into himself. 

When you finally get to the house, Erica, Lucas, and Max almost leave without saying anything else. While there are no more well wishes to give, no more luck to spare, you can’t bear the thought of leaving them without hearing their voices.

“Be careful,” you follow after them, exiting the RV as well. The three of them turn to you, bittersweet smiles on their faces. They knew you’d do this. 

“We will.” Lucas reassures you, refraining himself from reaching out. He knows that if he hugs you now, he may never let you go. Instead, he ducks his head at you. “We’ll see you later, alright?”

Blinking back tears, you nod back at him. The siblings walk away, leaving you alone with Max. A part of you wonders if they planned this. Stepping towards her, you try one last time to exchange her life for yours. 

“Can I at least ask you not to antagonize Vecna? If you try to persuade him to take you instead, I’m haunting your grave.” It’s a vile thing to say, a joke that you know you’ll come to regret, but it’s the only way you know to get Max to laugh one last time. 

Max does laugh, but she also doesn’t promise you anything. Instead, she exchanges her life for yours. “If he chooses you, remember to picture your good memories. Hide in them. Run to the light.” 

You nod, you’ve spoken briefly about her plan before. It makes sense, in a way. Instead of getting trapped in the bad memories Vecna shows you, you need to hide in the good. Except what Max says next hadn’t been discussed. 

“It’s what Billy tried to do with you. You were his light.” 

It catches you off guard, freezing your lungs. 

“His final words… they took me a while to understand. But I think I know now, and I don’t want you blaming yourself for any of it.” Max’s gaze softens. “You told Billy to find you, and that’s what he tried to do.”

But if you need anyone to talk to, about anything, come find me, okay?

Talking to you… sweetheart.

Like pieces of a puzzle, everything falls into place.

Unable to stop yourself, you throw your arms around Max. She tenses, and you almost release her with an apology, before she melts; she hugs you back. It’s been a long time since she’s done that.

“Billy was trying to find the light,” she whispers into your ear. “That’s how we’re going to survive.”

And you believe her.

-

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[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Ever Since We Met

Spoiler: Jason dies in the warehouse. ~1.5k words

Jason Todd is six years old and snot nosed when he falls in love with his best friend. Sure, he doesn't exactly know what love is, but he makes sure he's standing next to you when the class lines up so he can hold your hand.

He gets a weird feeling in his stomach (he’s not completely convinced that it’s jealousy, despite what the teacher tries to explain) when you follow other kids around the playground instead of him.

But, he does recognize the excitement he feels when you seek him out to be coloring partners during class instead of the girl sitting next to you.

He loves you as much as a six year old can. Especially when he gets to sleep over at your house and you turn your bed into a fortress of blankets and pillows for you both to sleep in. Those nights are his favorite, and you both drift off to whispered stories and hushed giggles.

Jason Todd is ten years old and getting used to growing pains when he develops a crush on his best friend. At least, he thinks it’s a crush. It feels different than being in love, even if he hasn’t quite grasped the fact that he is in love.

He's more hyper aware of what he does now, how he treats you. Sometimes, the way you smile makes him stumble over his words, and his face go hot. He distracts himself and you from it by asking about homework or that one TV show you that you watch on Saturday mornings.

Jason decides he likes that you’ll press to his side when you’re reading, lost in your own worlds together without a need to fill the silence, crush or not.

He likes that you’ll trade half of your sandwich for his and sneak him doodles and notes during class. (He won’t admit it, but he keeps them in a box under his bed. Sometimes they’re the only reason he doesn’t run away from it all)

He doesn’t bother to mask his obvious preference for you, even when the other kids try to tease him for his crush.

You’re always quick to threaten anyone who tries to put him down, anyway, and he’s more than happy to do the same for you. And when you offer him a high five for scaring off some of the older kids, He decides it doesn’t matter if it’s a crush or not, as long as you stay his best friend.

Jason Todd is twelve when he becomes Robin. It’s hard, well, not being Robin, that’s a magic entirely its own, but being away from you.

He lives in a manor that's bigger than the entire floor of the apartment building he used to live in. He's learned how to do a backflip while throwing a punch in midair. He has more at his fingertips now than he's ever had in the entire first eleven years of his life.

But he misses you. Sometimes, it feels like a phantom limb. Something he's always reaching for, but never quite grasping. It helps that you've gotten a scholarship to his new school, but it's still not enough.

He can't explain it, but he gets greedy for your time. You don't seem to mind the sporadic hangouts, or how often he has to cancel or leave. He kind of wishes you would, just to show that you care as much as he does.

He redoubles his efforts to be a good Robin when you tell him about the dealer that moved into the apartment next to yours. He resolves to be a better friend when you tell him the fancy suits he has to wear to galas look good on him.

His feelings don't change once, even if he hasn't quite found a balance between vigilante and civilian, he knows you're the one thing he can't let go of.

Jason is fifteen years old and about to die when he realizes the person he wants to see most is you. He's always known it, in the back of his mind, but as the blaring red numbers tick lower and lower, he just wishes he could hear your voice one more time.

It's you. Always been. And he's never said it. Never let you know.

His body aches. His leg is twisted the wrong way. His breathing is shallow and raspy. His vision is blurring, and he wants to live. But his mom is still trapped in this warehouse with him, and he's Robin. Robin helps, and that's what he'll do.

Jason drags himself to his mother's side to help, moves despite the gnawing, indescribable pain with every movement.

He's still trying to help, trying to sheild her from harm, as the numbers drop to zero. Zero. Zero. Zero.

What happens next doesn't hurt more than anything else did. And he has enough time to picture the color of your eyes before it all goes to black.

Jason Todd is eighteen when he dons the name Red Hood and becomes Gotham's biggest crime lord in a matter of months.

He stays far away from you, even if your memory has haunted him since the moment he woke up in that cursed pit. (and if he tries to remember, the moment since he first woke up in his own grave)

He's eighteen still, when his empire crumbles and he's left without a path, a purpose. He carries the weight of his years with the league, sags under the strain of not knowing who he is anymore.

He stays far away from you, sticks to the cracks and shadows of Gotham until his name is no longer whispered in fear. Then, and only then, is he brave enough to take off his helmet in front of you.

It's a relief and a terror all at once to finally see the color of your eyes from something other than a memory, and when his heartbeat starts to stutter, he knows he's never really grown out of being in love with you.

You've gotten older. (He shouldn't be surprised, he has too. He just always pictured you growing old together)

Your eyes still light up like he's your favorite person in the room. (He thinks he's allowed to be surprised about that)

But it's when you breathe out that he's home, that he figures out you've been waiting for him. Neither of you seem to know what to say after that, but you don't run for the hills in terror. And for the moment, that's enough.

Jason is twenty-one and passing the first (legally) acquired bottle of alcohol you've ever bought. You laugh about how it still tastes the same, and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest at the sound.

He loves you. It sings in his blood, settles on his tongue, he just doesn't know how to say it. He shows it, or at least he tries, but sometimes he's still waiting for this all to be a dream. It should have been impossible, how easily he slipped back into your life.

It was easy. So easy. Everything was easy with you. That's probably why he spills his guts.

He doesn't quite say it the right way, doesn't manage to get the word 'love' out. But he says enough to get his feelings out.

It's not poetic, not grand as you deserve, but somehow he manages to articulate the way butterflies create a hurricane in his stomach when you're around, how his gaze is always drawn to you, how he can't help but lean into the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch.

Maybe he says a little too much about how he's been head over heels since the day you've met, because you just stare at him.

He's almost ready to run, to blame it all on the one measly shot he's had. This is, until you kiss him. And oh, it's everything he never dared to dream it would be.

It's a little messy, sure, the angle a little strange as you crane across the couch to tangle your fingers in his hair. But it's perfect, it's you, and Jason falls in love all over again.

Jason Todd is twenty-three and still learning how to say I love you. It's not that he loves you any less, if anything, he loves you now more than ever. It's just still something he's getting used to.

Love is something you've given to him so freely, something he's happy to return. But it scares him, sometimes. He worries that if he says it out loud too much, the universe will realize how great of a gift he's been given, and rip it away.

It might be irrational, but he holds the word love close to his heart anyway, unwilling to test fate anymore than he already does by putting on that red helmet.

He whispers it to you in the dead of night instead, says it with touch instead of sound, shows it with soft, shine of his eye. He squeezes your hand when you say it to him, does his best to make it clear he feels the same, even if he can't get the words out.

He'll get it eventually, figure out how to get it off his tongue. He has to.

Especially if he wants to show you the pretty little band of shining, precious metal he has tucked away in a velvet box.

[rrrrinmaru]

calculated risk (but boy am i bad at math) (sylus x mc) (nsfw) pt 2

wc: 4.8k rating: E warnings: NSFW content, dirty talk, handjobs, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, thigh fucking (intercrural), orgasm denial, penis in vagina sex (just the tip), dom!sylus sub!mc, male-centric pleasure because mc is being denied brief: you lose a bet to sylus and you have to do whatever he wants for 24 hours // recommended to read part 1 here for context // part 3 finale here

Being unable to refuse Sylus for twenty-four hours is not one of your smarter decisions.

To be fair, you didn’t decide much of anything. You lost a bet—rigged, you would argue, if he would care to listen—and he chose his reward. 

You would put up more of a fight if he weren’t so intent on ruining you.

“Sylus,” you gasp, the sound weak and shaky. It’s more an exhale than a word at this point. Your lungs feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves and your knees are going to give out if he keeps trying to mouth wetly at your clit—

He kisses your pert clit, laughing at the way it makes you clench around nothing. “What an excellent view,” he murmurs, lips brushing teasingly along your cunt, the tip of his tongue darting out to slide along the slick wetness dripping down your thighs. You cry out, legs shaking as you rock forward on your toes. You’re not sure if you want to move away from his mouth or sit back down on his face to chase that clever tongue. “Hips up, sweetie.”

“I hate you,” you whine weakly. Your entire body is trembling from the effort of holding yourself up, thighs tensed as you try to prop yourself up higher. Your forearms are braced against the desk in his study, palms wet with sweat as you try to sweep away any stray papers. Sylus probably doesn’t care, but you don’t want to hear the smugness in his voice when he holds up a piece of paper with ink streaks all over the surface and accuses you of messing with his work. 

You tried to hold yourself up at first, propped up on your elbows enough to look back and see a head of silver hair. Fingers on your bare ass, skirt hiked up to your waist and pooling on the table—you could see the way his fingers dug into your skin, kneading the plush fat of your ass as he spread you the way he liked. Wide open and dripping, cunt hole twitching sporadically the longer you went without any stimulation.

If he wasn’t touching you, then he was looking at you. 

Then he put his mouth on your pussy, that hungry tongue digging into your cunt as if he truly wanted to eat you alive. The sucking sounds from your cunt were obscene and they made you drop your head to the silver surface of the table in an attempt to cool your flaming cheeks with the chilled metal. 

It didn’t work. Not when Sylus groaned after a while, fingers flexing against your ass to push you up higher so he can get a better angle to work at your pussy.

“Just let me cum,” you try pleading with him. Sylus hums, the vibrations going straight to your throbbing pussy and making the ache worse. 

“I don’t think you get to call the shots here.” There’s a thread of amusement in his voice—it’s a thread you want to grip between your fingers and snap. “Twenty-four hours, right?”

You’re not above setting your pride aside if it means you can cum. You’d be the first to fling it out the window when he’s got you on a high wire like this, so close to tripping over the edge you swear you can taste it. 

“Please, Sylus,” you moan, breath hitching when he latches back onto your clit midway through your words. You want to say something else, like I’m begging you, please just let me cum, I’m so fucking close, but he gives your swelling clit a particularly hard suck and your entire mind goes blank. It’s just straight pleasure, a fire rushing up your spine and making your eyes roll back on instinct. 

Your knees involuntarily go limp. You can’t hold yourself up, not when your upper body is balanced uselessly against the desk and your legs aren’t listening to you. In the split second where your toes slip against the floor, you’ve resigned yourself to tumbling to the ground and getting a bruise on your hip in the process.

But Sylus laughs, pulling back just enough to press an open-mouthed kiss to the hungry hole of your pussy, and slips his hands down to cup your ass. He pushes you up, forcing you to slide up on the desk—your hands flail weakly, scrabbling for some sort of purchase and finding none. You must hit something because there’s a brief snap of pain against your knuckles, and you think something tumbles to the ground. 

You don’t know what it is, though, because Sylus is suddenly hunched over your back, his chest pressed up tightly against you with both hands coming around to the front of your thighs to pull your legs further apart. 

“You’re so cute when you’re like this,” he pants into your ear. His voice is a low, rolling sound that goes straight to your clit. You try to close your legs to put some pressure on your pussy, and that makes him chuckle. He forces your thighs apart with ease. You’re not putting up much of a fight, not with how weak your muscles are and how the only thing you can focus on is that you’re this close to cumming.

“Please,” you beg, words escaping you. There isn’t anything else to say—your mind is a blur, clit and pussy twitching from the heat of Sylus’ hands just centimeters away. You want those hands on you, in you. You want him to bully your clit between his fingers, pinching and rolling your swollen clit while fucking two other fingers into you. Three fingers into you. Fuck, you’re wet enough that you think he could make four fit, just slide them in without any preamble and make you cry out from the stretch. 

Even the thought of it is enough to make you shiver. You moan, eyelashes fluttering as you weakly attempt to rock back into his hips. The line of his cock is hard against your skin, the metal zipper pressing into your ass. 

“Look at how desperate you are,” Sylus whispers. You can feel the shadow of his smile against the shell of your ear—his upturned lips rub against your heated skin, his breath burning a brand into the space where your ear meets your jaw. “Like a needy kitten in heat for a thick cock to fuck her stupid. Your clit is swollen, dollface.”

As if to prove a point, he presses against the underside of your clit with his thumb. It’s sensitive there, and he’s brought you to the edge and left you wanting so many times that this small movement is enough to make you jolt, a cry escaping your lips before you can even think to force it back. Your hips shudder, rutting against his thumb without any real thought or purpose, and he lets out an amused huff. 

“So twitchy. Is this pink pussy all for me?”

His other hand slips down, fingertips tracing the seam of your pussy. You’re so drenched you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy—the sticky sound when he dips one finger into your cunt and pulls it out, so quickly that you barely manage to clench around it for the slightest hint of pressure before it’s gone again. 

“Again, again—Sylus!”

A warm tongue runs along your neck. “Patience, sweetie. One finger isn’t enough for you?”

You are going to burst, and you swear you’ll take him with you. “More, please, I’m so fucking close—”

Two fingers fuck into you. They’re crooked at the knuckle, slamming up against the sensitive spot inside of you and you shriek, legs shaking so hard that Sylus has to lift you up again to press you against the table. 

“Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly, vision blurry. “I’m—fuck, Sylus, nnngh—close, I’m—”

Your cunt tightens, clit twitching on Sylus’ thumb, and the heat enveloping you abruptly disappears. Your cunt is empty again, clinging onto nothing, and your clit is left with nothing to rub against, and there is nothing holding you up and you’re sliding off the desk. 

Strong arms come around your waist, scooping you up and onto a familiar lap. Sylus must have pulled his chair over, but you’re not concerned about that. You’re not concerned at all about the finer logistics of how he got you onto his lap. 

You’re concerned about how your pussy isn’t filled, how your thighs are still spasming from the brute force of an orgasm ripped away from your grasp like that.

You had it in your fingers. You were this close to cumming. One more slam of his fingers into your cunt and you would have tipped over and it would have been so good. 

“You can take it,” Sylus tells you, eyes gleaming. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

You stare at him. Is there a knife in the vicinity? Hell, a gun?

“Look at that expression. Are you upset?” He asks with a gleeful, knowing look in his eyes. “It’s just one orgasm, sweetie. Be patient.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out for a while. “Twenty-four hours?” You ask eventually, voice hoarse from crying out just seconds before, when you thought you were en route for cumming your mind out. 

Sylus shrugs, eyes closing briefly as he rolls his shoulders in that lazy manner of his. “You’ll cum soon enough.” His crimson gaze lands on you. Half-lidded and smug, like he’s pleased at how distraught you are from being denied an orgasm twice over. “If you can’t wait, I could tell you about how I plan to have you for the rest of my time. A little preview, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want a preview. I want this—” you reach down, fingers wrapping challengingly around Sylus’ stiff cock through the fabric of his pants. His breath catches, eyebrows rising as he looks down, admiring the way your fingers look against his outline of his cock, then he drags his gaze back up to you. 

His fingers thrum lightly against the sensitive skin at your waist. “And what will you do with it once you have it, dollface?”

You squeeze it, mollified by how it makes him tilt his head back and inhale sharply. It’s unfair how sexy he is, how good pleasure looks on him. He looks hedonistic like this, with his eyes closed as he lets the pleasure roll throughout his body, stemming from the hard cock beneath your fingers. You can feel the heat of it spilling through the fabric, and you’re tempted to pull his zipper down and sneak his cock out to sit on it. 

“Fuck myself on it,” you admit frankly. Your pussy clenches at the thought, and you dig your thumb into the head of his cock, hard enough for him to let out a pleased grunt. 

“Nngh, naughty girl. That wasn’t very nice of you,” he pants, opening one eye to look at you. But he doesn’t do anything to stop you. All he does is sit there, head lolling back far enough to expose his Adam’s Apple and the dip of his clavicle. As if waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You have half a mind to hop off his lap and leave him to settle it by himself. He deserves it, you think petulantly. If you can’t cum, then he shouldn’t get to soak in the syrupy pleasure of cumming either.

But you think about the heft of his cock. The way it feels in your palm, thick and heavy. The pearls of precum beading at the tip, the visceral proof of how aroused he can get at your touch. The way he flinches when you pull at his cock too tightly—the instinctive flinch, and then the gradual relaxation as he revels in the sensation. 

“Oh? Are you going to make it up to me?” He murmurs, feigned surprise in his voice as you pull the zipper down. He lifts his hips up helpfully, just enough for you to fish his cock out. 

You don’t bother replying to him. Instead, you steady his cock and suck on the insides of your mouth for a while. 

Then, you open your mouth, tongue out and resting on your lower lip as a trail of saliva drips from your mouth and onto Sylus’ cock. 

You see the way his cock jerks, precum spilling furiously from the tip. And when your saliva pools on Sylus cock, dripping into the slit and mixing with his precum—

“Fuck,” Sylus curses lowly. “Fuck, sweetie, you—”

You look up. Sylus’ pupils are blown wide open, dilated beyond belief as he stares at your mouth. His cock twitches, throbbing beneath your fingers and you slowly start to stroke, the slide made smooth by your saliva and his precum. You rub the pad of your thumb at his slit, playing with the sensitive head of his cock until he jerks, hips snapping up as he growls and tightens his grip on your waist. 

“You’re going to give a man ideas,” he groans, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. His gaze is hazy with arousal, and he looks at you with the confidence of a man who knows that you know he’s about to cum. His lips are crooked up in a taunting smile. 

You lick your lips. He looks good enough to eat. You had this cock in your mouth just hours ago, bruising the back of your throat, but you feel like sucking it again. You feel like running your tongue over the thick length of this cock. 

“I should edge you too.”

Sylus tilts his head. “You could,” he says agreeably. “Until I ordered you to make me cum. With your mouth. Your tits. Your fingers.”

His eyes drag down along the line of your body, pausing meaningfully at each location he mentions. “Your thighs,” he continues, looking straight at the sticky and damp patch between your thighs, tracking all the way up to your pussy. 

You shiver, clit pulsing at the thought of him rutting between your thighs. 

“Oh? You liked that, didn’t you?” He smirks, a pleased air settling on his shoulders as he looks you over. “Put your fingers to work, sweetie. I know you know how to use them.”

Some part of you really wants to resist on principle. But the horny part of you prevails, and you watch with satisfaction as you pull Sylus to the brink in a handful of minutes—he groans, a deep and hoarse sound as his muscles roll with the effort of keeping still so you’re balanced on his lap. His cock throbs heavily in your hand, betraying how he’s barely hanging on to his self-control, and you watch with bated breath as sticky cum spurts out in your palm.

You cup his swollen cockhead, catching the streaks of white cum on your fingers so it doesn’t stain his sweater. He makes a delicious sound when you rub the head of his cock against your palm while he’s still cumming—the overstimulation makes him twitch, fingers clenching at your waist over and over again as if to ground himself with the touch of your skin. 

“You made a mess,” you note idly, stroking him through the aftershocks. “Are you going to clean up after yourself?”

Sylus huffs, still breathing heavily with every pass of your hand, hips rutting up instinctively. “Decide where you want me to lick it off,” he grunts, free hand pulling your dress all the way up to your collar to expose your breasts. He licks his lips, giving you a pointed look as he blatantly stares at your tits, and you can feel the way your nipples harden under his gaze. 

“Go on,” he murmurs, breath catching when you rub at the underside of his cockhead. “Tits or cunt, sweetie? I’m feeling generous enough to let you choose.”

You want his mouth on your cunt again, but if he brings you to the brink one more time before ruining the orgasm, you might actually kill him. In these trying circumstances, having him lick the remnants of his cum off your breasts might be a better idea. 

Having come to a decision, you take your hands off his cock. Your palms are sticky with his cum, long strands of cum stretching between your fingers, and you reach up to cup your tits. 

Sylus watches intently, eyes glued to the way you pinch your nipples between your fingers. The way you spread his cum all over your tits, leaving white streaks on your skin as you go. His lips are slightly parted, tongue darting out occasionally to swipe across his lower lip as he watches, as if he can’t wait to put his mouth on you. 

His mouth on your chest, you think deliriously. Teeth worrying at your nipples, sucking at your skin until he leaves a ring of bruises across your skin. Tongue flicking those pretty buds until you’re begging for more, for fingers in your cunt—or his tongue flat, letting you rub your tits all over his mouth. 

You can’t decide which is better. So you press your arms together, pushing your cum covered tits up, and offer them to Sylus. 

“Clean them up,” you murmur, and Sylus chuckles.

“How demanding. Even when you have no power to order me around.” His tongue swipes against your left nipple, a fleeting sensation that sends sparks down your spine. “Lucky for you, I am feeling rather hungry.”

==

The torture continues. He corners you on the couch when you’re trying to watch something to get your mind off the hot arousal pooling in your gut for the past few hours. He puts you on his lap, back pressed up to your chest, feet up and planted on either side of his thighs on the sofa. Your hands under your knees just to hold yourself open for his taking as he plays idly with your cunt while watching the show you put on.

He keeps up a loose commentary about the show, laughing lightly when the male lead appears shirtless in the shower. “Is this what you watch in your free time?” Sylus asks, three fingers deep in your pussy while rubbing insistently at your clit. “Naked men in the shower?”

“Mmmph!” You moan, eyes rolling back at the electricity sparking in your veins. His fingers are thick and clever, pushing up against the bundle of nerves inside your pussy with such damning precision that your entire body is shaking from the effort of not cumming. And it’s like Sylus knows that, with how he shifts you easily in his lap, pulling you tighter against him and fucking rougher into you with his fingers. 

Like he’s trying to push you all the way to the brink. Like he takes pleasure in the way you deny yourself just to be obedient to him. 

“You’re missing the good parts,” Sylus continues, murmuring quietly in your ear. His voice isn’t loud, but your entire world seems to have shrunk to focus solely on him. His fingers, his heat, the puff of his breath against your ear. You’re looking straight ahead, eyes half-lidded, but you’re not seeing much of anything on the screen.

“Sylus,” you whine, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers. “Please, please, it’s been hours—”

He bites the shell of your ear, hard enough to sting, then runs his tongue wetly over the mark. “Patience,” he coaxes, even as his fingers pull at your clit hard enough to make you cry out, hips jerking forward uncontrollably. 

You’ve kind of had it with patience, but when Sylus lets go of you, third orgasm ruined, you take a deep breath and hold yourself back from strangling him. You do need his cock hard and alive to fuck yourself stupid on, when he’s stopped being so unhelpful. 

You go to bed early, nerves tense and temper high. If you punch the pillows around a bit before settling down and yanking the covers up to your chin, that’s between you and the bed. And Mephisto, who is likely reporting everything back to Sylus the moment you fall asleep. 

It takes ages, and a lot of tossing and turning in bed, but you must have fallen asleep at some point because you wake up to your legs in the air, held together by one hand wrapped around both ankles, and an unbearable heat between your thighs, pushing insistently against your clit.

You gasp, still dizzy from sleep and distracted by the wet slide of something against your pussy, hot and demanding. It drags along your slit, bumping the underside of your swollen pearl on every upstroke. It’s a slow, tenacious fire that builds in your gut, stoking the dying embers and coaxing the flames to roar up your spine once again. 

“Awake?” The voice is low, closer to a growl than anything else. “Go back to sleep, sweetie. All I need are your thighs and this sweet little cunt.”

His hips roll against yours, driving his cock further along your pussy. He fucks your thighs slowly, so fucking patient as he chases his orgasm—patience that you don’t have. You would try to coax him to fuck you harder if you weren’t still half-awake, vision bleary as you weakly clutch at the bedsheets. 

You’re not even sure what’s happening. All you know is that your pussy is aching, throbbing so badly for something, anything to be stuffed inside. His cock saws between your thighs, the slide made smooth by the copious amount of slick you’re dripping, and you moan when the head of his cock bumps against your clit. 

“More,” you gasp, the word rattling in your throat. “Sylus, please—”

“Shhh. Go back to sleep.”

You shake your head as best you can. Your back arches, trying to roll your hips up into his to get a better angle. To put more pressure on your clit. You’ve been denied for so long that you’re tiptoeing on the jagged knife’s edge—you just need a bit more, a little more of something, and you know you’ll cum.

But Sylus keeps up this devastatingly slow pace, like he’s taking his time, like he’s savoring the experience of you writhing beneath him. 

“Please,” you beg, eyes fluttering shut. There’s a moment where your voice breaks in two, and you think you might cry if he denies you again. It’s a steady build up, a long trek up a mountain with a payoff you can see, just barely out of reach. 

“Not yet,” Sylus replies softly. There is another hand on your hip, thumb rubbing gently over the skin there. It’s almost a reassurance, an attempt to cool the flames licking over your body, but then he moves your legs over one shoulder so his other hand can join your legs, squeezing your thighs together to create a tighter crevice for him to fuck into. “You can take it, sweetie.”

You’re not sure you can. The back of your thighs are pressed up against Sylus’ chest, the jut of his broad shoulder leaning into your calves. He holds you in place like you’re nothing more than a sex toy he’s using in the middle of the night to try and rub one off. He rocks his cock against your pussy, the full length of it scraping past your slit and peeking through your thighs at the end.

Your clit feels battered and bruised and far too sensitive for the consistent grinding of his cock. When he pulls back, far enough that the head of his cock is positioned right at the mouth of your pussy, you can hear the way you start to whine. 

You can feel it. The briefest touch of pressure, his cockhead nudging at your cunt, teasing your hungry pussy. Like he’s going to sink in and fill you up so full you can feel it in your throat, if you just ask nicely.

But he won’t. He teases your cunt just enough to make you shake, then he continues the slide to make the head of his cock kiss your clit. 

“You’re so mean,” you cry out, voice trembling as your pussy mouths hungrily at the touch of his cockhead. “Please, Sylus, I’m begging, please, please—”

Sylus grunts. His grip on your thighs gets tight, and you imagine you can see the veins in his forearm bulge. You imagine the way he’s frowning, brows taut as he grits his teeth and stares down at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

Restraint looks so ugly on him, you want to say, but the pressure against your pussy grows and your mouth drops open. It feels like some higher power is perched above the two of you, drawing the air from your lungs out, wisp by wisp, as your cunt opens up for the head of Sylus’ cock. 

“You don’t know how fucking good you look like this,” Sylus forces out, gripping you hard enough that it aches, that you know you’ll wake up with handprints on your outer thighs tomorrow. “Good enough to eat, sweetie. Just look at you.”

You open your eyes, hazily looking up. Sylus’ eye is glowing, glinting crimson through the dark, and there’s a ravenous look in his gaze. He looks down at you, searching your body, watching the bounce of your tits every time he fucks into you, the fat head of his cock slipping in just barely.

It’s not enough. There’s a gaping hole inside your pussy, so deep inside you that only Sylus’ full length can reach it to pummel it into submission. Even as you clench around the tip, your cunt mouthing hungrily at Sylus’ cockhead, it’s not enough.

“Just the tip,” Sylus groans, voice tight as he grinds the head of his cock into your pussy. “That’s all you’ll get for tonight.”

You arch your hips up, trying to force him to slip further into you. “More, I want more—”

He laughs breathlessly, hips stuttering when you tighten desperately around his cock. “Soon,” he promises, carefully fucking into you. Sylus keeps his word, feeding you just the tip and nothing else.

“You feel divine,” he murmurs, breathing heavily. The rhythm of his hips falter, a telltale sign that he’s losing control. He’s close, you think deliriously, and flex your pussy around his cock to pull him along at a faster rate. 

“Inside,” you moan, fingers blindly tracing down your body to find his hands, gripping his wrists. “Inside, inside, inside me,” you chant desperately.

“Want me to paint your pussy white?” Sylus coos, hips speeding up. The head of his cock pops in and out of your pussy, bullying its way past your throbbing hole to open you up just enough before he pulls back. It’s a horrible tease, and sometimes he moves too fast, too eager to sink his cockhead into the wet heat of your cunt and he misses. 

It makes him curse, eyes skimming down your body to fixate on your thighs. He watches you with the hungry intensity of a predator on a hunt—the shaking in your thighs, the way his slick cockhead peeks out from between your thighs, the way your chest squeezes tightly every time he grinds flatly along the swollen bump of your clit—

He slides back in your cunt, fucks in harshly, deeper than before, deep enough to make it feel like your breath’s been punched out of you.

Sylus’ cock throbs, pulses hotly inside you, and you can feel the spurts of cum against the walls of your cunt. 

The pooling heat of cum inside you is almost enough to make you tip over the edge. But your clit throbs insistently, demanding attention that Sylus refuses to give you. Your pussy clenches and unclenches tightly around Sylus’ cock, coaxing his orgasm out as he groans from the sensation. 

He holds himself tightly above you, refusing to fuck deeper or pull out. Sylus pants, the sound of his heavy breathing filling up the space around you as you try to catch your breath yourself, fingers still holding on to Sylus’ wrists. 

When he finally collects himself, his cock giving one last jerk inside your pussy, he leans down. Sylus’ face is right above yours, in painful clarity despite how dark the room is, and you look up at him with your heart thudding in your chest.

His gaze searches your face for a moment, then he smiles. 

“Good girl,” Sylus croons, and one of his hands leave your thighs. “Be obedient for a little bit more, and you’ll be rewarded at the end.”

“Twenty-four hours is way too lo—” your voice cracks, going high at the sudden touch of a thumb, wet with slickness, on your stiff clit. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, crimson gaze fixated on you. “Easy does it, sweetie. I’ll give you what you want.”

He brings you to the brink again, and again, and again, until you drift off to sleep from how worn out your body is.

==

© rrrrinmaru 2024 | no unauthorised publication or reproduction allowed

[kurooh]

“ow! did you just pull my hair again?”

“denki, please. that didn’t hurt and you know it.”

“it does hurt,” he insists with a pout, crossing his legs tightly. denki maintains his whiny tone, going so far as to jerk his head to the side so you can’t give him the kiss he not-so-secretly craves.

“let’s see if it does,” you whisper, voice low and smooth. like a wrung out sponge, his mouth loses all moisture and he gasps like a fish until you tug on his hair, closing the distance between you. golden blond strands tangle further around your fingers, your grip tightening sporadically.

a whimper slips past denki’s lips and you swallow it eagerly, humming an affirmative sound into his mouth. the bruising kiss deepens, and the warmth in your tummy ignites into something that burns—the little air between your foreheads sparks electrically before he collapses into you with a sigh. your hand is now lost in denki’s hair, nails scratching along his scalp and eventually settling on the crown of his head.

“baby,” he whines, voice caught in his throat as he grabs at your hips, “need to taste you.”

“aw, denki,” you coo, leaning in to tuck your face into his neck. your cheeks burn with arousal, shockwaves of excitement shooting right between your legs at his simple words. his fingers fidget with the waistband of your underwear, and he bites back a groan when you spread your legs.

“d-don’t make me cum just yet, i haven’t even gotten your clothes off.”

“get to it, then,” you giggle, tugging his hair back and then pushing his head down. he moves with you easily, letting out a soft moan when your thighs are finally on either side of his head.

ever the tease, denki flattens his tongue and licks your cunt over the thin fabric of your panties. he can hear your breath hitch in your throat and taste your soaking sweetness through the cloth; his gold eyes roll back blissfully and he draws out the tease with a small smile.

“ah, ah—take ‘em off, denki.”

the firmness in your voice coupled with the harsh yank on his hair function as motivation to get him listening obediently. looking upwards, denki can see your pleased nods as he moves his mouth lower, his breath coming in steamy puffs against your fluttering cunt. at last, the panties are pulled to the side and he’s able to admire you fully—folds slick with honeyed desire, pussy clenching eagerly.

more saliva pools on his tongue when he finally leans in, experimentally licking an upwards stripe. you taste better than all of his favorite candies; he inhales deeply, taking in the scent of your body wash and letting his eyes focus intently on you.

“well, denki?” you ask impatiently, nails prodding against his scalp lightly. it’s a little embarrassing to be all spread out with him staring wildly, and he thankfully lets out a pleased hum before pushing forward. the tip of his nose bumps against your swelling clit and presses against it hard when he devotes himself to devouring you.

“f-fuck, jus’ like that,” you manage, swallowing hard and willing your hips to remain still. “denki!”

he loses himself in you, his eyes fluttering shut so he can savor you without any distractions—that is until something sharp presses into his scalp.

oh, well. it’s no matter, that sharp thing is probably your nail and an accident; but the sting comes again, accompanied with an unpleasant yank on his hair that definitely takes a few clumps away with it.

“denki!” you gasp, hand rushing to his shoulder to shake it insistently. he looks up excitedly, wondering if you’ll break the news that you’re about to cum for him. “denki, wake up!”

his eyes snap open and he looks around blearily, about to ask a question before the words are torn from his throat and replaced with a shriek.

“ow ow ow! stop pulling my hair!”

“i’m trying to get the bubblegum out!” you argue, combing over a particularly sensitive section. the teeth of the comb sharply graze over his scalp and he whines unhappily, swatting your hands away. “no, i’m almost done.”

“god,” denki mutters in annoyance. “how’d i even fall asleep with you giving me bald spots?”

“i don’t know,” you huff, looking over his shoulder with a hand on your hip. the aggravated look on your face dissipates when you look past his face, and he follows your eyes to his boner. “denki, are you actually hard?”

“well, yes!” he bursts out, cheeks flushing darkly as he crosses his legs immediately. “whatever, just get back to getting the gum out of my hair.”

[alchemistc]

Part One

Oh, I've got plenty to be thankful for

I've got eyes to see with

Ears to hear with

Arms to hug with

Lips to kiss with

Someone to adore

-bing crosby

He keeps waiting for someone to say something. To accuse him of lingering where he doesn't belong, or remind him he'd never actually made it all the way in. To tell him to go home, maybe get a halfhearted promise to let him know how Buck is at some point.

Maddie lays an exhausted head on his shoulder and Bobby sneaks him a slice of pumpkin pie he's apparently been hiding in the tote at his feet. Hen tosses him a power bank with a lightning cord and Karen makes a joke about his holiday attire.

When the coffee comes, Howie takes the trip to the lobby with him, pulls out his wallet and does his damnedest to strong arm Tommy into letting him tip the haggard looking girl another twenty bucks on top of the fifty Tommy'd figured was appropriate for having to balance a literal stack of hot beverages from the parking lot on Thanksgiving. She eyes them both with a smile and Tommy is more compelled the grab the drink carriers from her tired arms than stop Howie.

They're halfway back when Howie purposely slows his pace, and Tommy fights the urge to pick his up and avoid whatever's coming down on him. "So. Was this the wake up call you needed, or can I expect Buck to order a freezer on a Black Friday deal for my garage to store more baked goods?"

He doesn't know what that means.

He can extrapolate, though. "He's been baking?"

"Tommy, I cannot stress enough exactly how much he's been baking."

He'd tried his hand at a few things here and there, but Tommy's used to experimental chef Evan Buckley, not baking Evan Buckley. To be fair, if he'd seen Evan working a KitchenAid, apron tied loose and flour on a cheekbone, Tommy doubts he'd have actually had the time to finish whatever he had planned. That was then, of course.

"What was he doing on that trail, Howie?" That, too, he could maybe extrapolate. He doesn't want to, but he could.

Howie eyes him. Uses his free arm to elbow Tommy in the ribs. "You were the first person he ever invited to a 118 Thanksgiving, you know. My guess? He wasn't in the mood to be reminded of it while there was no room in the oven to bake away his feelings."

Yeah.

Jax had been over the moon when Tommy offered to take his shift, no trades necessary. What would the point have been, when Christmas and New Year's would be unbooked too?

Evan had bribed like six different people to ensure they'd be able to swing dinner on the day. Hobbes had sounded so thrilled to hear Tommy asking for the time off that he'd approved it without even looking at the shift.

"I'm just warning you in advance. The grovelling process is gonna involve eating your weight in loaves, most likely."

And that's that, apparently. No heavy handed warnings, no suspicion about why Tommy hasn't fucked off yet. Like it's some foregone conclusion that Tommy's not gonna panic and bolt a second time. Nothing has changed, yet Tommy gets the feeling they're all expecting some tearful reunion and a return to TommyandBuck.

Tommy slips the tea into Maddie's hands and watches her sniff it in distaste, which is an interesting nugget he'll have to revisit later if -

If.

There's no guarantees, here. That Tommy will be able to articulate how fucking terrified he is, that Evan will understand it. That the two of them will find a way through it together. All he has to go on is a solo hike on a day Evan should have been with family, an apparent bakery full of feelings spread between the 118, and the quiet calm that had washed over him when Eddie prompted him to make a decision.

Feet to the fire, he'd stayed.

---

Maddie's pregnant. It hits him between the eyes right around hour three of sit-and-wait. He's not an idiot, or a fool, and he hasn't spoken to any of these people in weeks so he's not going to announce it to the world, but somewhere in between the sporadic naps on Tommy's shoulder and the way she is attempting (failing) to power through her now cold tea makes him think. She and Bobby had driven here, and it's clear everyone else had been indulging. Maddie's no lush, but he's seen her knock back half a bottle of wine before when she's got nowhere to be.

She excuses herself to the bathroom for a third time, looking a little green, and Tommy ends up locked in a staring contest with Howie that only ends when Tommy mimes zipping his lips.

He still hasn't gotten the story about Eddie and why he's not here.

Bobby and Athena are apparently closing in on a new house.

Howie is less than a year away from having a second kid.

Athena's kids are apparently at Howie and Maddie's, attempting to keep Mara and Jee from destroying the house in the absence of adults.

And Tommy wants.

Wanting has never really been the problem, though. Wanting is the easy part. Wanting doesn't get him over the hurdle of knowing he's not enough. For Evan, for this family he's built that just keeps growing bigger and bigger. It'd been a relief, those first few days after, not to have to wonder which member of the 118 would land in the hospital next, not to have to rearrange something else on his schedule because Evan was convinced he was cursed, or Eddie'd had another shitty call with Christopher.

The relief hadn't lasted. A week in, he'd stayed up all night demolishing the half-bath off his dining room, because he'd been putting it off for months and he'd nearly texted Evan something that was startlingly revealing and left him exposed on all sides. Two weeks in he'd finished grouting the backsplash in his kitchen. And in between, he wondered how Eddie was doing, if he'd made any progress with his son. He'd wondered if Maddie enjoyed the bottle of wine they'd brought back from a spur of the moment trip to Napa. He'd wondered how Nash was doing, if he was readjusting to having his crew and his station back. He wondered how Hen and Karen were, how many things Denny had already gotten stuck in his cast trying to ease an itch.

He'd wondered, and he'd sat in it, and then he'd rewired the shoddy work an electrician had done in his spare room that he kept telling himself he'd get around to.

The wanting never goes away. He just finds new places to put it when he starts to care too much.

"Kinard and Buckley?"

Maddie's still in the restroom. Tommy - has no fucking clue why the nurse is staring at them like they'll just materialize the right people. She sucks in her lips and gives him a dead eyed stare before her eyes dart to his chest. More specifically, the nameplate on his chest.

Tommy blinks.

---

The having is where he's always floundered. Things are temporary. People are temporary. He's always been borrowing. Borrowing time, attention, affection.

For a few months there, he'd really started to think he could handle the having. That he'd get to keep it.

---

"I'm Buckley, he's Kinard," Maddie says from somewhere over his left shoulder, and he turns in time to see her adjusting her jacket, wiping at her lip. She stabilizes, looking unfazed, and stands tall. As tall as she can, at least. "You have news about my brother?"

The nurse glances around the room. No one is bothering to pretend not to be listening. Maddie hovers a wave behind her.

"Ignore the audience, we're all waiting with bated breath to see how obnoxious my brothers going to be. It depends entirely on whether or not he gets pie tonight."

She gives them all a disapproving look. This must not be one of their normal nurses.

Christ. They have normal nurses.

"Well, no pie tonight, but he should be able to eat a sandwich in the morning."

He's fine. He's fine.

Tommy knew going in that most of his injuries were superficial. The ribs had been a concern but with the pain meds and the collar he hadn't really had a chance to exacerbate those injuries. There's no reason he should feel quite so relieved to know that Evan will have a few annoying splints to work around and he'll probably need to rehab his ankle for a couple weeks once it's healed. The concussion isn't ideal, and he'll need help for a few days, but he's fine.

Tommy can feel the tears building.

"He'll likely be out for a few more hours, but I'll let you know when he's set up in a room. Two visitors at a time," she warns. "The concussion will effect his response time. Don't be surprised if he doesn't remember much, loses his train of thought."

Hen shifts somewhere behind him. It feels a bit like she's being held back from correcting the nurse about the normal side effects.

Things move on around him. The nurse leaves, Hen passes a Stanley cup around that definitely isn't filled with water, the normal sigh of relief is released while Maddie drops into the seat next to him with a groan, the team has a strange competition around him to battle for visitor position.

Tommy breathes.

I should go, Tommy thinks to himself, as half the people in the room raise their phones.

His own phone vibrates against his thigh.

A message from Howie, time stamped two minutes - Tommy squints to make sure - two minutes ago, an update on Evan. Another from Eddie reminding them all to give Buck a patent Eddie look from him while they were giving him shit. A selfie of Eddie, with Christopher somewhat reluctantly bending into the picture over his shoulder.

In another thread, he's got three messages from Eddie.

If I have to remove you from this group I'm sending my kid after you with his crutches.

You guys hiked Griffith Park for your Not-A-One-Month-Anniversary-We-Swear date, right?

Send Buck my love. Not like that, though.

Tommy sends back: When the fuck did he add me to his emergency contacts? and then decides he doesn't want to know anyway so he turns off his phone.

---

Maddie goes alone, and Tommy spends the time alternating between tapping his foot against the tile to distraction, and clamping his hand over his knee in an attempt to stop the tapping.

Bobby and Athena go next, then Hen and Karen. Then they're pulling on jackets and promising to save a plate for Buck.

Howie slips away for a few minutes and then returns, looking amused. "You think everyone else got the same greeting?" he asks his wife, who grins tiredly at him, pats his wrist. Her gaze turns to Tommy.

"Should we stay?"

That's a trap of a question. That's an assumption Tommy doesn't have a clue how to handle. He clears his throat. Shakes a few curls loose.

"What makes you think he'd want me to?"

Maddie's perfected the unimpressed eyebrow. It must be a parent thing.

Tommy barely holds in the sigh. "Go enjoy your meal."

---

Evan's been watching the door. It's clear the moment Tommy makes it to the threshold - he presses up, winces, tips sideways just enough to peek around the corner.

"Tommy," he says, and his expression melts.

Tommy's heard some iteration of that name a million times. Tom, from his dad. Tommy, fond and quiet from his mother, who'd never really learned how to speak up before she was gone. Thomas, in school, from teachers annoyed that he wouldn't just apply himself.

He was Kinard, to teammates, then fellow soldiers, to the firefighters he'd worked alongside for a decade before he ever let any of them know him.

No one says his name with quite so much reverence as Evan Buckley. He's convinced himself, over the last few weeks, that he'd been hearing adulation in that tone. But now it just sounds...relieved. Happy.

Evan slumps back and tries to cross his arms in a pout. There are too many cords and wires attached to him for it to work. "I'm pretty sure I'm mad at you," he says, and Tommy steps over the threshold.

---

Hobbes sounds fucking thrilled to find out he's going to be down a pilot for five days.

Evan throws a fit when he finds out Tommy's plan is to sleep on his own couch for the short duration of Evan's stay. Evan wins the proceeding argument and doesn't even complain that Tommy hadn't argued too hard

Bobby brings over enough leftovers to keep them in turkey sandwiches for a week, and Tommy doesn't think to ask how he got Tommy's address.

Tommy breathes. Tommy thinks. Once Evan can hold a train of thought for more than five minutes, Tommy talks.

Evan listens.

---

"So no Christmas," Evan pouts, and Tommy wants to bite it. "And no New Year's."

Tommy shifts a hand over his shoulder, tucks his chin over top of it so he can't see the pout anymore. "We were both already working those anyway."

"Do people do anything to celebrate Presidents Day?"

"Evan."

"Tommy," Evan mocks, and pulls far enough away to catch his gaze. "In the interest of transparency that was mostly a cover so I didn't ask about Valentine's Day."

"Is this you not asking about Valentine's Day?"

His smile is deceptively sweet. "I need help with my sandwich."

Tommy's seen him balancing a glass of water, his phone, two books and a takeout bag in his one good hand. He's absolutely full of shit.

Tommy leans forward to grab the sandwich off Evan's plate for him.

---

"You should stay," Tommy says, an hour after midnight two days into the new year. He's tipsy on his second glass of cheap champagne and he can't think of a reason to keep this in, anymore. Evan crinkles a brow at him.

"I... wasn't planning to go?"

There's a gold crown perched in his curls, and Tommy still hasn't taken the cheap plastic 2025 glasses off. The house is quiet, and there'd been shockingly few fires started by fireworks this year, so he's less tired than he'd expected to be.

"I meant -." Tommy starts, and then pauses. "I meant permanently. You should live here."

Evan laughs. Takes a bite out of his cake, and rolls his eyes, and then...stops. His entire body stills. "What."

It's ridiculous. The very thing that had pushed Tommy up out of his seat just a few months ago, sent him out the loft door with wet eyes and a heaviness in his heart.

"Tommy," Evan prompts, and Tommy catches the hand frozen on the countertop. He'd planned to hold this back, wait until something significant or poignant. But Evan had baked them a red velvet cake and argued with him the entire drive back from dinner about the proper way to fold a towel, and Tommy's tired of denying this isn't everything he's refused to let himself want for decades.

"You don't have to say yes just to confirm you're not breaking up with me," he tries to joke, and it falls flat.

"Tommy," Evan murmurs, quieter but more insistent.

"I'm serious. I want you here. I want -."

"Yes," Evan says, and squeezes his hand before he ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry. Continue."

"I want a life with you." The tears tickle at the back of his throat. He's gonna fucking cry, again. He'd always fucking known opening himself up to this was just an invitation for more tears in his life.

He can't quite convince himself the rest doesn't make them worth it.

"Yes. Again. Tommy, of course." He tips his chin. Purses his lips. "If you're sure."

Tommy swallows down the lump in his throat. He's never been more sure or more terrified of anything in his life. So he tells him so.

The words are like knives, but he works his way through the soreness, fights up past the fear that he's not sure will ever completely go away, and claws past the reminder that it's been a blink of an eye since Tommy walked out on this.

"Well. You can't walk out of your own house," Evan points out when he's finished, and of all things, it's that that snaps the tension of for once in his life prioritizing something other than fucking survival. He tips a grin, curls his elbow to bring their entwined hands to his lips. "It's gonna take years to coordinate another Thanksgiving with everyone," he bemoans, looking suspiciously watery-eyed himself as he holds Tommy's own wet gaze.

Tommy can extrapolate from that.

[tsuvvy]

Reader is injured during a fight with Bane and they refuse to seek medical attention. They hide their wounds from their batfamily and try to heal on their own. However, their condition worsens and they collapse in front of the batfamily. (Reader is the youngest tooo??)

Needing Help Isn’t a Weakness

Pairing: Platonic Batfamily x youngest adopted reader (A little more focus on Damian cause I want to be his little sibling so badly)

Warnings: Mentions of harm, violence, blood, passing out/fainting/collapsing, like one cuss word close to the end

Bane was a nightmare. An idiotic, annoying, nightmare. The guy basically threw you around like a ragdoll. You’d think he had it out for you the way he seemingly targeted specifically you. You’d sustained quite a few injuries by time the fight with the villain was over.

You were leaning over, your hands on your knees to support you. You almost felt what you thought might be your heart seemingly dropping to your stomach at the sight of the gash on your side. You hadn’t even noticed it. You must have been in shock, because the realization of even having it made it start to hurt. You could feel the blood seeping from the wound.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tim asks worriedly, coming to your side after having seen the heavy hits you had been taking in the battle against Bane.

You moved your cape, hiding your side in a way you usually liked to do, even when not injured. “I’m good,” You told him non-chalantly. You were lucky for the habit with the cape, cause Tim might have had a moment of wanting to continue prying on if you were okay, but he left it be.

You’d lied to everyone that asked if you were okay, giving them thumbs ups and ‘I’m okay’s. You rushed to your room, saying you were so tuckered out from the fighting and could do with a good nights rest. You were a little surprised that the family full of masked vigilante detectives didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. But that was until you got to just shy of maybe 7 or 10 steps away from your room.

“What’s your problem?” Damian spoke from behind you, his arms crossed over his chest, his tone accusatory and suspicious. You could almost feel how his gaze narrow on you from behind.

He had seen how you had clutched your side for a moment before letting your arm fall when you heard him.

“Nothing,” You had calmed yourself down, turning your body halfway to look at your older brother. “I don’t have a problem.”

Damian stared at you for a little while. And you stared back. The two of you caught in some kind of staring contest.

“You know you can tell me if you do, right?” Damian asked, his expression softening slightly, “I might be distant, but I’m still your older brother-”

“Adopted. Older brother.” You quickly added on. You had been adopted only recently, not having really taken to the family quite yet. “I don’t need your help or your pity, Damian.” You sighed, turning away.

Damian had stayed in the hallway for a little while, watching you walk into your room. And he heard the lock sound after you closed it.

But he didn’t see how you bit your lip and closed your eyes tight as the pain from the gash on your side radiated throughout your whole body. It was a struggle to get the vigilante uniform off, and even more of a struggled to try and bandage it yourself. You knew the gash needed professional attention, but why do you need anyone else’s help? You didn’t need Tim, Damian, Cassandra, Barbara, Dick, Jason, Bruce, or Alfred’s help.

It made sense why Bruce adopted you. He had a thing for adopting traumatized kids, and you didn’t seem to be any exception to that. You’ve been alone for so long. You’ve fought by yourself, stole by yourself, survived by yourself, and you’ve patched yourself up before by yourself. So why couldn’t you patch this wound?

But you couldn’t deny the flitting moment of thinking to going to any of the bat family for help when you let out mutters of pained whines and cusses as while you sporadically poured the 99% alcohol over it to ‘clean’ it. But that thought was quickly pushed to the side after the alcohol and cleaning part. You messily applied the bandage around the gash. If someone asked if you knew what you were truly doing, you’d be lying if you said yes.

Everything hurt. All of the wounds inflicted by Bane started taking precedence. But the gash most of all over all of them. Your legs and arms were sore, you had a headache, the cuts on your hands and face were stinging. It’s a miracle that you even made it to bed. You somehow got the strength to take a pain pill, and of course, to no surprise, you passed right out.

Luckily your bleeding had stopped not long before you took the pain pill, so you were able to survive the night the best you could with the most amount of sleep you could manage you get. Which was’t a lot..

When you awoke, everything was blurry, and bright, and your headache was back. And your side was just radiating with pain. You let out a whine of pain as you managed to sit up. You really hadn’t thought about how much pain you might be in in the morning.

You pushed yourself out of bed, and basically fell into the door of your room. You moved your hand to the doorknob, unlocking the door and turning the handle. You almost fell when the door you were leaning all of your weight against opened more abruptly than you thought. You managed to catch yourself by grabbing onto the door frame. A silent scream of pain leaving your lips.

Somehow, you also managed to use the wall to walk throughout the house, keeping a hand on the wall while you not even walked. I’d say.. Shuffled or scooted might be a better way to describe how you moved.

You were basically hugging the bannister while you slowly shuffled down the stairs. You could feel the blood soaking the already somewhat soaked bandages. Though you were wearing a thick long sleeved gray sweater with pajama pants.

“Y/n?” Dick questioned, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw you, “You okay?”

You were disoriented. You looked around, but it felt like you weren’t. Everything was a blur, all you heard was static in your ears. Everyone was staring at you with worry. But you couldn’t make that out. All you could make out was how everything began turning on it’s side before everything went black.

“Y/n!” A good majority of people screamed in worry while they watched you fall. Luckily, Jason was close enough to catch you.

You groaned, more of a whine of pain, actually.. It took almost everything out of you to peel your eyelids open. The cieling was weird. The medical equipment next to you was weird. You felt weird. You were in so much pain..

“It’s a miracle she lasted as long as she did with the poor bandaging job they did,” You heard a sigh from nearby. You looked over tiredly to see Barabara was the one that sighed while she had been talking to Dick and Tim.

“Y/n?” Everyone looked towards the opening in the curtain. It was Damian, and he was staring at you. His eyes wide yet worried set on you. “Y/n!” He said, but a bit louder and more enthusiastic in a way. Damian rushed to your side of the medical bed, grabbing your hand with a gentleness that was strange. Barabara, Dick, and Tim had made their way to your other side.

“She’s awake?” Jason questioned as him, Cassandra and Bruce came in as well.

“You are an idiot, l/n,” Damian told you, sending you a glare. But it was different. It looked more emotional. And you guessed it might have been a worried glare considering how his grip on your hand tightened.

“Seriously,” Jason started, he was standing behind Damian, “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you seriously so stubborn you won’t ask anyone for help with something you clearly need help with?”

Honestly, you felt stunned and confused. You looked around at everyone. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You didn’t realize how your grip on Damian’s hand tightened.

“I don’t need help…” Was all you could mutter out, barely above a whisper.

“You’re kidding, right?” Tim deadpanned.

“With all do respect, Ms/Mr/Mx. Y/n,” Alfred appeared in the doorway, bringing little sliders for you to eat. He placed them on a little table next to the medical bed you were laid in. “But you collapsed from severe bloodloss, exhaustion, and because of the pain you were in,” You listened to him intently. Alfred was one of the only family members to be rewarded with such treatment for you, “I’m afraid the gash you had acquired on your side would have killed you if it was left not professionally treated.. And I must also say, dumping 99% alcohol onto a wound is very reckless.” The old man sighed.

You puffed out your cheeks and looked away from him. Your cheeks had colored in embarrassment.

“Y/n,” Barbara took your other hand, “I know it was hard growing up alone, you’ve been conditioned to not accepting other’s help.” She sighed, reaching up to move some of your hair out of your face with a gentle touch. “But needing help isn’t a weakness..”

“She’s right!” Dick spoke up, “It’s actually pretty honorable to know your limits and ask for help.”

“Come on, give them some space!” Bruce spoke up, noticing how everyone seemed to be crowding you. Barbara backed away from your side, your hand falling out of her’s. Damian however stayed at your side, keeping his grip on her hand tight and protective. Damian hadn’t always been the nicest, but he cared for you. Part of him felt the need to protect you. You’re his younger sibling, whether you were adopted or not, it didn’t matter.

“I am proud of you, Y/n,” Bruce patted your head. Your eyes widened, you weren’t sure what to say to such a gesture from the guy. “You need to learn that we all care for you and your wellbeing, we want you safe and happy. So next time you are injured as badly as you were, I do not want to be seeing you collapsing because of your stubborn pride.” He scolded you gently, “That understood?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes, “Yes sir..”

“Alright, good.” He smiled gently and subtly.

“This was great and all,” Jason spoke up, “But I gotta get going,” He rested his hand on your head, ruffling your hair gently yet annoyingly, “Be safe, don’t do stupid shit anymore, kay?” He didn’t wait for you to answer before he left. And after him, everyone else started trickling out with their own goodbyes and see you laters. But Damian remained at your side.

The two of you sat in silence. You looked to the open curtain when Titus came into the room and hopped up onto your medical bed. He had rested his hand on your lap, and you began to pet him with the hand Damian hadn’t been holding

“Never again,” You heard Damian say.

“Huh?” You looked at him.

“Never do something stupid like that again..” He sounded angry, but also worried.. You stared at him for a second, your hand on Titus’ head coming to a halt.

“I’m sorry..” You muttered. Damian didn’t respond for a second.

“Don’t apologize, I understand your reasoning behind why you did it. Just don’t do it again.”

“Alright..” You said softly.

[elliewithcellie]

Lean On Me

summary: Steve needs someone to lean on, too

wc: 1.2k

cw: ANGST, Steve yells at you, curse words, you comfort Steve, gn!reader, let me know if I'm missing anything

a/n: first fic in a minute, and it's barely more than a blurb. I was inspired by a tiktok that said "if i don't see steve cry in season 5 i will riot" and i was like dude yes. I thought I would explore that a little but it turned more into just a hugfest. Either way, here it is.

It wasn’t until Steve dropped off the last of the kids that you noticed a slight change in his demeanor. You supposed he was quieter than usual, but the gang was so rowdy that it was hard for any of you to get a word in edge-wise. Otherwise, it was a meetup like any other. But now, with only the two of you left, Steve’s silence was astounding. Cicadas took silence’s place, chirping the last of their summer song. The streetlamp above flickered in rhythm, serving as the only light illuminating Steve’s solemn face. You dared to unstick your legs from the warm leather of the passenger seat, the sound disrupting his thoughts.

His eyes met yours and smiled, a strained effort in the lines of his face. His eyes were wide, searching for something, and you could tell he couldn’t find it in you.

“You all set?” he asked.

“I’m ready if you are.”

He nodded and pulled out into the road.

“I’m really glad we did this,” you said. “It’s always so good to see everyone again. It feels like home.”

He only hummed in response.

The tires treading over the road filled the voided conversation. Shadowed trees and homes remained your view from the window. You were scared that something happened, that something you did might have bothered him. You ventured to look at him again. His posture stayed upright and rigid, both hands on the wheel. His grip was tight, the tendons taking shape in his hold. His left foot bounced sporadically, and his chest rose and fell in deliberate breaths. And his eyes. His eyes raced frantically like he was reading, his eyebrows pinching together. He bit his bottom lip as if fighting something from getting through. There was something he was holding back. Something was wrong.

The car pulled up to your apartment complex. You opened the car door and paused to look back at Steve. His head was down, his eyebrows still furrowed.

“Steve?”

He looked up at you, a haze falling across his features, his eyes glassy, but the pained smile persisting.

“Would you like to come up? It’s still early, and I’ve been dying to make some cookies. I could use some help eating them all in one sitting.”

Steve chuckled to your surprise. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Sure.”

You both made your way up to your place, your heart racing with every bound up the stairs. You headed straight for the kitchen, and Steve followed you, opting for the stool by the counter.

You tried not to let Steve distract you. It was just premade dough, after all. But his energy filled the confines of your home, swallowing up your serenity and spitting out sorrow. It shook you. This wasn’t like him. This wasn’t him. You were desperate to help him, and it seemed cookies weren’t going to be enough.

“Steve?” you tried. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

You bit your lip. “It—it’s just that you’ve been really quiet today, and I’m just wondering if something happened or—”

“I told you. It’s nothing.” Steve’s breaths shortened, refusing to look at you.

“Are you sure? You know you can—”

“ENOUGH!” Steve jolted up from his chair. “If I wanted to talk, don’t you think I would have fucking talked by now? Jesus Christ!”

You flinched at his words. You were privy to his sarcastic, snide one-liners, but this was new.

Steve took a step back. His hands rattled at his sides, and his breaths shook with each exhale. His voice trembled as he spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking another step back. “I shouldn’t—I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just tired. I—I should go.”

A million thoughts scrambled in your head. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to comfort him, but he scared you. He already snapped at you once. Continuing to pry when he may need to cool off could be detrimental. But you needed him to know that he could trust you with whatever was bothering him. You decided to tread carefully.

“If you want to go,” you spoke softly, “you can go. But whatever it is you’re dealing with, whatever it is you’re holding onto, you don’t have to deal with it alone. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. But tell me. I know you, Steve. I know when something’s wrong. So please don’t lie to me.”

Steve stood still. Every muscle in his body tensed, his eyes frantic, his breathing short and shallow. He bit the inside of his cheek as if in a last-ditch effort to fight his consuming thoughts. Then his posture changed. His shoulders sank, his lip trembled, and he looked away.

“I…I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

And he cried. He wept in the entryway of your home, something you had never seen in your life. You rounded the kitchen counter and pulled Steve into your arms. He held you tight, his whole body shaking you. Tears soaked your shirt, but you didn’t care. Your hand found itself in his hair in an effort to soothe him.

Steve pushed out of your arms and wiped his now rouged face. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your job. I can handle this.”

“What? Not my job? Steve—”

“I gotta go.”

He turned to leave. You grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Bullshit, it’s not my job.” Your voice remained calm and kind. “You think that since you’re the self-proclaimed ‘babysitter,’ that no one’s supposed to have your back?”

“I’m supposed to be the tough one,” he said. “These kids have been through hell. They’re all counting on me to take care of them!”

“You’ve gone through hell, too! I know you have. Bottling it up is going to kill you.” You held his hands in yours and pulled him closer. “I know you’re tough. You’re the strongest person I know. But bearing the load of anything alone will weigh you down. So, please. Let me help you. What can I do to help?”

A tear fell past his cheek as his lip began to tremble. He pulled you in for a hug this time, shivering against your touch.

“I really don’t want to talk,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

“That’s ok. I’m sorry I pushed. I just hate seeing you like this.”

He squeezed you tighter in a wordless reply.

You pulled away, now, and wiped some tears from his face. “How about this. I’ll finish making the cookies while you find what channel is playing Full House.”

Steve’s face shifted from sadness to disdain. “Full House?”

You chuckled. “What? It’s a feel-good show!”

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile at the Steve you knew slowly returning.

The two of you completed your roles, and before you knew it, Steve and you found comfort in your couch, his head in your lap, and your hand on his heart.

Steve’s silence stayed steadfast, the background noise of the Tanner’s taking its place. But this time, you didn’t mind. His breaths were relaxed, rising and falling to a steady beat. His hand found itself resting on your shin, playing mindlessly with the elastic of sweatpants. And his eyes. His eyes were calm for the first time this evening. You knew the war wasn’t over, but you were thankful you at least won this battle.

[fivestaralien]

showering affection

-> hyunjin x gn!reader

warnings"+: a little suggestive, a brief ass squeeze, hyunjin being so adorable when drunk and I think that's it word count: 1.4k a.n.// the ama performance?!?!?!?!? I'm so proud of them(╥﹏╥) I wrote this today bc I couldn't not after that... I hope you guys enjoy!! reblogs and comments are always welcome it would mean the world!! lmk if I missed anything as always and stay safe everyone<3

//

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as you catch the weight of Hyunjin in your arms. He cuddles your head into his chest, mumbling nonsense and sporadically kissing the top of your head.

 “Missed you so much, pretty.” He rocks the two of you back and forth. 

 Drunk Hyunjin has always been so precious to you. He was like a clingy baby who couldn’t handle being away from you for longer than two seconds without making it everyone else's problem. Hence why you were picking him up earlier than planned. Seungmin was the one to text you,

 seungmin: please come get your giant man baby he’s getting annoying  you: oh god what did he do now? where are you?  seungmin: the usual whining and crying that you aren’t here. but worse.  seungmin: <shared location>  you: i'm leaving now, just tell him i'll be there asap  seungmin: fucking speed

  Back to the present, Hyunjin begrudgingly lets you go so you can walk over to the front area where Seungmin and Felix were waiting to talk. He’s quick to wrap his hand around yours so he would still have some form of physical connection with you. 

 “How much did he drink? He’s clingier than usual.” You ask as said man hugs you from behind and nuzzles his nose into your neck. He mumbles, “ ‘m not clingy.” You could feel his pout against your shoulder so you comfort him with a squeeze to his hip.

 “Only a few but they always pour heavy here, so he got drunk pretty quickly.” Felix informs you then hands over Hyunjins bag.

 You smile as a thank you and chat with them for a few minutes about funny things Hyunjin was saying and doing while waiting for you. Hyunjin doesn’t last long before he is whining to go home and trying to pull you away from them. The boys tell you to drive safe and then make their way back into the restaurant while you throw Hyunjins arm over your shoulders, walking him to your car. 

 He leans against the car as you fish out your keys from your jacket pocket. Right as you were about to unlock the car, pointer fingers thread through your belt loops and you were pulled into Hyunjins chest. He crashes his lips to yours in a hot and heavy kiss, knocking your breath away for the second time in a span of twenty minutes. 

 His hands come up to cup your face, tilting your head up more so he could kiss you harder. You open your mouth slightly when his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wanting more from you. A distant tire screech breaks you apart but Hyunjins hold on your face keeps you barely an inch apart.

 “Come on let's get you home.” You press your mouth against his a few more times. 

 Your arms move to open his door after unlocking it and then lug him into the seat. It doesn’t surprise you when Hyunjin places his hand, palm up, on your thigh as soon as you sit down. Silently asking to hold his hand and when you accept, you can see him visibly relax at the touch. 

 Hyunjin starts mumbling to himself again, bringing your conjoined hands to his lap then presses multiple kisses to the back of yours. Goosebumps raise all across your body when he continues to travel his lips up your arm, over your shoulder and up your neck. His affection is making you giggle and his breath tickles your neck. Hyunjin plants a loud kiss on your cheek and you remind him that you are driving and to not get too crazy. 

 “Fuck, sorry. Can we still hold hands?” He looks at you with the biggest pout. 

 “Of course we can Jinnie.” You reply with a soft voice. 

 Hyunjin smiles so wide as he brings your hands together again and back onto his lap. When you finally get home he is taking his shoes off and then stripping all of his clothes off, throwing them carelessly on the floor. You knew he was going to the shower, as he always does when he gets home from drinking. 

  “Love, hurry up before I get in without you!” He shouts from the bathroom. 

 “Coming!” 

 You pick up his discarded clothes along the way and eventually put them in the hamper right next to the cabinet when you walk in. Hyunjin is leaning against the glass door of the shower, eyes closed, and you can’t help but just take him all in. 

 Hyunjin opens his eyes from the heat of your stare. He realizes you don’t know he's caught you, so he decides to return the favor. Your eyes widen when you see him checking you out and clear your throat. Your clothes also make their way into the hamper as you try to calm your racing heart. 

 “Why do you get so shy? As if I haven’t eye-fucked you a million times.” He smirks. 

 His boldness, even after all this time, will always make your brain go blank. No thoughts, head empty. 

 “Be quiet and get in.” You motion with your hand. 

 Hyunjin follows the instructions only after you take his outstretched hand. Thankfully he had turned on the water himself so it was the perfect warm temperature when stepping in. You both relax under the stream, helping shampoo and condition each other's hair and then gently washing your bodies. Once you are fully washed off you make the water cooler to help bring down Hyunjins overly warm skin. 

 “Ah! Why would you do that?” He yelps. 

 “Your body temp is too warm honey. I’m just cooling you down a little, stop being a baby.” You tease with a pinch to his side. 

 Hyunjin yelps again, but nods his head after, moving you to where he was standing so he could be under the water instead. He hums at the cold feeling and smiles down at you. 

 “This does actually feel really nice. Thank you.” Hyunjin leans down to capture your lips with his. 

 His hands find their way into your hair as he licks into your mouth, trying to get every last drop of you. Your hands grab onto his sides causing him to shudder a little, so you reach behind him to turn the water off. Hyunjin takes his time when sucking and biting on your bottom lip, hands moving to explore your body. He kisses down your neck and shamelessly squeezes your ass. 

 You pull away at that and he is instantly whining to kiss you more. Complaining even more when you try to move the two of you out. 

 “You’re getting too handsy Hyun, you know the rule. No drunk sex unless we both are.” You remind him with a gentle smile. 

 “No, sorry, you’re right.” He kisses you on the forehead. 

 The towels hanging off the hooks are now wrapped around your bodies. You walk to your closet, Hyunjin not far behind, to grab some clothes. He puts on the shirt and sweatpants then walks back into the bathroom, grabbing the hair dryer. He holds it out to you once you’re finished getting dressed then sits down on the floor right in front of the bed. You easily situate yourself behind him and begin.

 One of Hyunjins favorite things, drunk or not, is when you dry his hair after a shower. The feeling of your fingers running through it and occasionally massaging his head just made him feel so at peace. Almost like nothing in the world mattered anymore other than you. 

 He may be drunk but he also is feeling hazy as the warm air hits him and you continue to lull him to sleep. You turn it off once his hair is decently dry and go back to combing through it. He lays his head all the way back against your shoulder, eyes closed. 

 “Sleepy?” You whisper.

 He just nods his head. Kissing his cheek a few times, you then gently push him to get up which he thankfully doesn’t fight you on. Probably too exhausted to really argue about anything right now. 

 The second his head hits the pillow Hyunjin is out like a light. You can’t help but laugh, sliding in right next to him. He immediately snuggles up against your back and wraps his arm around your stomach. You fall asleep not long after him.

// skz masterlist , all masterlists

[improbable-outset]

𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐓𝐖: overstimulation, fingering. Minors DNI🔞

𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You were his first everything. Kenji knew the moment he returned to Japan and bumped into you again, that you’d be the one.

The one to have his heart wrapped around your fingers.

The one to take his virginity.

He still remembered the bliss he felt when you sucked him off and he experienced his first orgasm. He could still recall the moment his focus narrowed and his whole body was in a trance, completely in control by the intense pleasure your mouth was giving him.

It was the best thing he had experienced, even better because it was with you.

But the first time he witnessed you reaching your own peak, he was completely enamoured. And he would do anything in his power to pull orgasm after orgasm from you, just to see you fall apart under his touch.

“Kenji…it’s too much. I can’t—” you whimpered. Your voice was hoarse and your legs were shaking.

You were laid out on the bed underneath him, a film of sweat on your forehead. You were spent and still drowning in the afterglow from your previous climax.

Kenji fingers dipped his into your core, feeling your dripping wetness over them. He kept moving them in and out relentlessly, trying to get you to reach your peak again.

“Come on, baby.” he coaxed, still moving his fingers. “You can give me one more,”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer back, let alone form a coherent sentence. The wetness from your core made lewd noises which seemed to fill his senses.

Your back arched and your legs jerked instinctively as he curled his fingers inside of you, but he quickly put one of your thighs in place so you wouldn’t move.

He couldn’t help but grin at the sight of you, your lips parted as more moans slipped out of your mouth and your body squirming under his touch.

He leaned in and kissed below your earlobe while his fingers continued at their sporadic pace. “You’re close aren’t you?”

He used his thumb to press onto your swollen clit that had been overstimulated in the last few minutes. Your thighs started to quiver and he could tell from previous experiences that you were going to reach your peak again.

He could feel the familiar contraction around his fingers from your silky walls, just as they always did. Just for him.

He kept his gaze on you, not wanting to miss a second of what was about to unfold. The same sight that he had quickly grown addicted to the first time he witnessed the vulnerable side of you.

Your eyes squeezed shut and your face flushed, allowing yourself to get washed into the height of pleasure for the umpteenth time of the night.

He watched as a look of ecstasy casted on your face before your release hit— your mouth fell open as you moaned out his name, the only fragment your mind could grasp.

He slowed the pace of his fingers through your release. Eventually, he pulled his fingers out; they glistened under the light with your spend.

He wasted no time to bring them into his mouth and taste his handy work on his tongue. He looked back at you as you slowly recovered from your high.

He gave your forehead a quick peck before he moved down to reach your core with his mouth. You looked down at him, your eyes widened as you realised that he wasn’t done with you.

You shouldn’t be surprised by now though.

Another terrible attempt at pnp bc that’s what people like to eat up more or whatever.

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Logan Howlett, the man you are. (Headcanons!!)

Minors, do not interact.

A/N: Y’all. I’ve been in a writing rut, but something about Logan- and Huge Jackedman, by extension- regaining his moment in the spotlight has gotten me back at it. Hugh was 1000% the reason I found out that I have a thing for dilfs, and let me tell you, I ain’t mad about it. To quote one author, who I can’t remember off the top of my head but wrote a KILLER breeding kink fic for Wolvie, “before there was Jensen Ackles, there was Hugh Jackman.” If you know me or my work, you know I’m a Jackles girl, but Hugh? Hugh will always get me going, whether he’s a ringleader, a robot shadow boxer, or otherwise.

TLDR I’m so in love with Hugh/Logan again. I always am, but I’m really on fire rn. Don’t worry, I will be continuing the 2SC series, but I needed this.

As always, all interaction, especially your words, is so very much appreciated!! I hope you like this one! Also, thank you for 120 followers! This account is maybe three months old, this is an insane milestone.

CW: it’s really just soft with a side of spice, the most flavorful being daddy/breeding.

-first of all, this man is a the biter.

-and it’s not always in a sexual sense

-he’ll just walk up to you and gently graze his teeth against your exposed shoulder or neck

-especially at night, after sex or not. He’ll be holding you close- you’re the little spoon ofc🎀- and just nibble on the juncture of your neck and shoulder while you cuddle into him

-honestly, it doesn’t hurt. And he only leaves marks if he wants to, ie when he’s balls deep inside of your little cunt OR wanting to remind the world who you belong to

-he’s just got a bit of an oral fixation is all

-speaking of which, he could be between your thighs for the rest of eternity and he’d be fine with it. He LOVES when you tug on his hair as he makes you squirm, only needing one strong hand to hold you down

-he goes feral when he sees you wearing his shirts

-loves to throw you over his shoulder and to play fight

-he’s interested in anything you’re interested in

-mans can’t cook to save his life but adores watching you and “helping”

-aka being all up in your business when you’re literally just trying to chop an onion

-he can be clingy. Not in a whiny way, in a playfully annoying way.

-will always find a way to make you late to anything. Sometimes it’s for the sake of a quickie, other times it’s because he wants one more kiss or to see the last five minutes of whatever show you guys watch together

-if you’re into daddy, he’s into daddy. Especially if you’re significantly younger than him

-he likes to squish you- your boobs, tummy, ass, wherever. He loves your body for what it is and loves you

-this man is so in love with you, by the way

-he’s old as hell but if you teach him how to text he’ll text you sporadically throughout the day. Sometimes it’s really blurry, almost impossible to decipher, pictures of things that remind him of you, other times it’s “When will you be home?” even though he’s already called you to ask four times. That’s mainly on his days off though- if he’s not doing something or you then he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

-that’s not to say he’s not always thinking of you. On missions, wherever, you’re the first thing in his mind. Give him a locket with a picture of the two of you and chances are he’ll wear it forever

-oh back to the other one he totally texts like an old man. If you try to use slang, or even just use “u,” you’ll confuse him so bad that he’ll think he’s in the future or that you’re speaking a different language. He also doesn’t like emojis, unfortunately 😞

-he’s got a sweet tooth. Loves to bake with you- he can’t cook but he can make a mean batch of snickerdoodles. No one knows why, and he’ll never offer any explanation.

-speaking of sweets that’s why he loves eating you out so much, because you taste so sweet to him

-and all of his nicknames are sweet based- sweetheart, sweets, sugar, etc- with the exception of darling which coming from him would put anyone on their knees immediately

-speaking of being on your knees he loves when you do it. Not as much as he loves eating you out, but he does enjoy a solid blow once in a while

-he’s a sucker for cockwarming, even if it’s barely sexual. Just as a way to be close. If you don’t mind him smoking he’ll smoke a cigar while you do so, and get into a nice soft headspace

-the kink of his that annoys him the most is breeding. He doesn’t want kids (unless you do, which is its own conversation. Personally I don’t so works for me haha) but when he’s balls deep, pushing you into the mating press, it doesn’t matter. Especially if you’re in a place where he can fuck you raw all the time- ie you take the pill, have had a hysterectomy, etc- then he will, and he will always spill his seed deep in you, mind filling with pictures of you all round and swollen and cute even if it’s impossible

-however it is hot when he gets in that headspace regardless of if kids are in the question or not

-hang on I thought of something else and then I forgot it

-uhh

-oh that’s it. Praise. Loves getting it, loves receiving it. If you’re more receptive to degradation he’ll give you that, but he loves telling you what a good girl you are

-also has a blast with brat taming

-anyways back to the soft stuff

-he loves domestic life. Curling up with you on the couch with fluffy blankets and snacks, watching rom coms and other cheesy movies

-he’ll rest his head in your lap if you’re drawing, crocheting, reading, etc

-he loves being petted. Your hands in his hair, tracing his muscles, whatever. It makes him so happy and it’s soothing for him

-and we all know how he’s mr gruff n tuff, right?? Well if he’s really eepy and lying on his lap while you stroke his hair, there’s an ever slight chance you can get him to purr. Don’t tease him about it, though, or he’ll get super self conscious

-if you like to workout he’ll work out with you

-he really likes to box to blow off steam, but if it’s with you and you’re not a fellow mutant it’s more play fighting than anything, but it’s still fun

-he’s a sucker for cheesy dates

-call him ‘Lo’ or ‘Wolvie,’ or any nickname that fits him. He thinks it’s adorable, and owns it. He also gives you like fifty nicknames of his own.

-he loves long walks on the beach if it’s accesible, hiking’s also fun to him

-he’ll never take his anger out on you, ever

-he loves reading with you, just sitting in comfortable silence with your respective books

-that’s all for now!!

If you have any ideas for ficlets or headcanons, my asks box is always open!! Xx

[dollfacefantasy]

shower sex w leon PLEASE

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fem!reader

i feel like re4r leon would be most into shower sex. like when he gets older, the bed is good enough. he doesn't gotta be doing all that to take you there. and when he's younger, he's down for it occasionally but like it's sloppy and needy, a sporadic thing that happens when he's really aching for you.

i think re4r, he's busy all the time, y'know? he's in the prime of his life, and he's constantly being whisked all over the world on one mission or the next. he doesn't always get the time to do things right, to really make love to you like he wants or at least pound you into the mattress like you need.

so the shower will have to do, right?

it starts off under the guise of efficiency. it's just more practical to shower together. but it doesn't take long for that facade to fade away.

he stands behind you, toned body flush against your back. he noses at the back of your head while his arms slide around front to glide over your belly and up to your tits. he squeezes and gropes them before shuffling you over to the sleek tile wall.

he'd been at half mast since seeing your bare form, and with a few strokes, he's rock solid. one hand holds your hips in place while the other is on the back of your neck. you whine, your cheek going numb as it squishes against the hard surface.

"that's my girl. letting me have you anytime, anywhere i want," he grunts before slipping between your wet folds and sliding in.

the hot water still sprays down onto the two of you, and everything is louder. moans echo and skin claps against skin. it feels so fucking good, but it's also torture, not being able to see your lover like this. you can only imagine him behind you, blonde locks soaked and limp against his forehead. the bulging muscles in his biceps glistening with beads of water. his thighs flexing as he pumps into you hard and fast.

"pretty angel for me to use when i need, yeah?" he mumbles while his mouth connects with the base of your throat.

shower sex is quicker than usual with leon, but he gets you to the finish like always. he angles his hips upward and jabs that little spot that causes you to almost fall over. he cums too, some ends up inside, some splats down onto the floor and swirls down the drain.

you're like a doll in his arms afterwards, limbs limp and pliable for him to maneuver how he pleases. he holds you close to his pillowy chest and presses messy kisses across your face before getting you cleaned up for real.