#there is still so much that's frustrating me that i can't put into words

[pomegranate-theater]

helloo i wonder if you have no problem with the idea of reader passing out during an intercourse?🥹🥹🥹 if that so, could you please write yandere phainon with reader who always reject his affection—even the smallest affection—despite already living together for almost a year or even more? then one day he just snapped and tying reader's hands to the bedpost, then mercilessly—but also gently—having his way with her until she overwhelmed and can't think of anything else other than "maybe his love is the only thing that i need" then eventually passed out? and phainon, being the sweet 'lover' he is, giving the best aftercare for her even when she's still lying unconscious. oh! it'd be great if you could put nipple play here and there. OMG i'm so sorry i talk too much, i hope you don't mind😭😭😭

BITTERSWEET / YANDERE PHAINON

cw: female reader / non-con / bondage / overstimulation / rough sex / nipple and breast play / phainon is kinda delusional / passing out during sex / aftercare / kinda angsty. not suitable for minors or anyone uncomfortable with the mentioned warnings. word count: 2.1k

Note: I tried my best to fit the description into the fic, and I hope everything still blends together well! Let me know.

Could a man being so cruel with you still try to exude sweetness? Because the ropes he chose to tie you with were silky ribbons, with him not daring to chafe your skin or even strain your wrists — should they tug against the headboard. The carefulness of the gesture didn’t mean he gave you any freedom in your movements, however — the binds were still meticulously twisted, not able to be broken unless you possessed a Herculean strength.

“How did this come to be,” Phainon said with bitterness, too shaken up by his frustrations and despair to be stopped in his actions of fucking into you to have a chance to realize the repercussions of doing this to you. “Almost a year of living together, almost a year of me pouring out my heart for you…” his hands gripped harshly on your hips, making you cry out from a small ache, and all you could have done is wrap your legs around his hips tighter if the upper limbs were restrained above your head.

“… and yet, you continue to break my heart repeatedly. I’m starting to think I’m not the selfish person here,” he hissed, and you felt your mind slipping away somewhere, far away, to escape the fire coursing through your nerves.

When Phainon first cornered you after you had yelled at him today, once again, for not respecting your space with what you deemed as clinginess, despite it being scary if out of the range of his typical behavior, you still asininely assumed he’s just agitated and affronted by your additional rejection. Unfortunately for it it turn to be punitive, when soon after he was pouncing on you this way — tying you up, eating you out until your clit was too numb to feel any pleasure, and now — fucking you like an animal, while shifting the blame at you.

You couldn’t be at fault here, in any way, if you’ve never asked him to become your lover nor did you ever have to accept anyone’s affection — no matter how unconditional, well-thought or sacrificial they could be. But put a man to be so desperately in love with you, reaching levels of unhealthily obsessive, and he’ll start to feel entitled to you involuntarily to him.

As he fucked you, and fucked you, and fucked you, not giving you any moment to be spared of him stretching your pussy and digging deep inside with his cock. Your indignant protests have gone quiet at this point, replaced with pleads for mercy as your sensitive body was being lit up when he was forcing you with an intention of making you cum again — this time on his dick, towering over you pliant body with him on his knees between your thighs to be thrusting hard into you.

“P-Phainon, I can’t—” you were sobbing at this point, not even capable of focusing on any specific part of your body, if every was tormented in some ways — so you felt overwhelmed everywhere’s. His cock was hitting your insides with too much depth and scraping them with fast frictions, his hands moved from hips to your breasts to be fondling them; and your clit was sore from both previous actions and now his hips constantly running the ache with thrusts.

“Well, maybe not everything happens to be about you for once—” he spit with venom, and his fingers skillfully massaged your buds between his fingers. Your body lunched upward, the stimulus shattering your last remains of sanity. Could a person die from being overstimulated so much? He’s tortured you with foreplay, if you could call it that, now his cock was his next lesson for you.

When your body went slack, mind fuzzy and difficult to follow up with anything, only then Phainon softened — pitying was visceral to him. “Must you really be so cruel and treat me like I’m a dictator with your rebellion, if I’m only trying to show you my love?” he asked with longing, and slowed down for you sake. In this state, your mind was more susceptible to anything he could throw at you.

“P-phainon… I’m sorry,” you choked out, your sobs having died down but the feeling of being minced in every inch of your body remained.

You either knew how to play him well, what vulnerabilities of Phainon to tug at; or you were genuinely sorry — he couldn’t tell, but didn’t he wish to hear more of your kindness.

“Do you mean it?” he asked with a hope for your benevolence, and grabbed your legs to throw them over his shoulder, before he leaned down to be on top of you — face to face. You were drenched in your sweat, your eyes barely held up with his, and your breath was disturbed.

Somehow, it only made you more beautiful to him; regardless of him being the meanest he has ever been. He was making you his, if you didn’t want to be his. Maybe he’s been too lenient. Maybe he’s given you too much benefit of the doubt, thinking you just need to adjust to him — it’s been more than eleven months now, and he’s been kind, wasn’t he?

Begrudgingly, you agreed. You were losing your mind in this situation too, especially you — at this point, the singular aspect that could prevent your life becoming from more of a ruin was giving in to him. There was no way Phainon would ever let you go, not if he’s not dead, so you could either continue struggling or… try to make the best of this situation to live a better life. “Y-yes, I’m sorry. I know you care…”

It was as if your words whipped him, making him still, as his blue eyes looked at you with disbelief. An acknowledgment, no matter how minuscule compared to the amorphous affection and devotion levels he has expressed when being with you, was a blessing and felt like a greatest of gifts. Perhaps, he’s made a good choice coming at you this way, and should have nipped that in the bud much sooner — in his opinion.

A man now vivacious kissed you with joy and excitement, and withdrew few seconds later when hearing your whimper. “Sorry, I must have exhausted you. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle now.”

Hearing him signal he’s not done yet, just more careful, made you want to protest again. Yet, you didn’t, scared of bursting his bubble or bringing his wrath back. “Okay…”

“That’s right,” he said with pride, and still slow in his thrusts, his lips kissed all over your collarbones, gently, to not further fray your nerves. Phainon knew — at least has learned it today — that you were holding particularly erogenous areas in your breasts. That’s why his lips nipped at the soft flesh.

With your hands still tied, you couldn’t grab at his hair to have something to hold onto; you only grazed your skin with the sting and writhing of the material as you tried to tug your hands away from the headboard. “No… not here!” you begged, trashing under him.

“Shh. I’m being gentle, as per my promise. You can take it, if my only wish is to make you feel good.” You couldn’t explain it to him that feeling good wasn’t the problem here; sadly, once this man sets his mind on this idea, he couldn’t stop.

“And it does feel good, doesn’t it?” he inquired. It did pleasure your body, unfortunately not fully exploitable to you if you felt out of control and way too intense… though, with him looking at you with hope, you muttered “yes”. The sooner you let him finish, the sooner he’ll snap out of his trance — and maybe you’ll manage to let yourself fall too.

You wanted to take it back when his lips wrapped on the right nipple and sucked, nerves in your plush flesh feeling prickled with needles.

“Oh, gods, Phainon, it’s too much!” you cried out, tears spilling on your face again. The drain concerned him for a moment, and he looked up at you, wiping tears for you.

He knew he should be stopping at this point. But there was something in him, not even fueled by sadism, that wanted to see how far he could push you — for his own satisfaction and comfort, so he can be assured in his belief you’re his. Maybe it was control-driven, but having control over you meant he had you.

“Then let it go. Let it all go, and everything will be alright,” he smiled, way too innocently for your distress, and lunged at the other nipple with a doubled fervor. His hips were now awful to you again, chasing the intense unravel from you. He wanted to see you get lost entirely, so he could impose your mind with him only.

His hands under your bent knees, he split you on his cock fast and deep, hitting a spot below your cervix that made you feel lightheaded. His lips were vicious too, swelling the nipples. You couldn’t speak anymore, only make almost screeching noises, among skin clapping and wet stirring sounds reverberating from the walls of a bedroom that should have been a safe haven.

His mouth finally left your nipples and he moved himself closer to you between your legs, his arms sliding upwards — his hands were now holding the sides of your head, his face so close your noses were almost touching, and your legs rested bent over his forearms.

“My love- please, tell me you love me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking, as he sped up his thrusts in chase of anything from you.

To his shock, you reciprocated the words, albeit meekly, “I love you.” Phainon couldn’t be sure if it was you meaning them, or if you simply were repeating anything when your brain was dead and soaking anything like a sponge — but he closed his eyes and pretended it was an honest confession.

“Thank you, thank you…” he moaned when you tightened around, so nearing your orgasm, and hid his face in your neck. “Thank you so much. I love you so much, I could just die—”

You meanwhile, couldn’t even hear his manic ramble, busy with your body getting so light you thought you could fly away. The overwhelming pleasure and approaching demise in form of the orgasm was rushing your blood to be hot and fast through your veins. You weighed nothing, when the final peak of the day was by overly stimulated furnace of your body, and the climax would be your last straw.

The pressure in your abdomen snapped, making you twitch around his cock violently, and you couldn’t even scream when finally lost consciousness, not able to handle the blood pressure change.

He didn’t notice yet, rapt by the ecstatic state of having both of your pussy and your “devotion”; not until he was done filling you up with cum — even with your body limp, he was clueless.

“You are unreal,” he sighed contentedly, trying to bury down the arising guilt coming with the pleasure being lifted off. When not hearing your response, he suddenly snapped his head up, and gasped when seeing your unconscious form. Phainon gently shook your shoulder and when you didn’t wake up, palpated for your pulse — thankfully, you were alive, just shaken up by the intense experience.

A dutiful lover he was, he gently pulled out, witnessing his seed drip out onto the bedsheets under you. You could be waking up any moment, and him not wanting you to panic by discomfort, he was quick to clean you up and dress you up — no matter if sad by the loss of skin to skin contact, all gentle and delicate for you and your sensitive body.

He was conflicted and flickering between two emotions — guilt and satisfaction. Guilty from pushing you so far, and jubilant from your submission and admission (whether honest or not, time will verify).

When you began to awake, slowly coming to the realization of what has happened as you regained your bearings, you didn’t find it in yourself to struggle. Too exhausted physically and wiped out emotionally, you let him hold you.

“I’m so glad you’re awake. I was extremely worried about you, my muse,” he was now in a cosseting mood, speaking to you as if you were a sick baby of his. That’s why while running his hand over your back, safely nested in his arms, he spoke sweetly; as if it wasn’t all his fault, just duty doing to finally make you see his efforts and love, “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m sore…” you replied with no enthusiasm; to which he didn’t deflate, assuming you’re as tired as you say. “Hm, I’m sorry for that, but I’m sore with our intimacy, we finally have made amends.”

“Amends”, he says. You didn’t want to make any; however, what other choice did you have at this point? You had to survive somehow.

“… Yeah,” when you confirmed and even cuddled up closer to him, he smiled beaming with happiness, and was quick to be on his feet. “Stay here.” Not that you could walk anywhere. “I’ll bring you some water and food, and then I’ll massage your legs-”

When Phainon disappeared out of the room, you closed your eyes with resignation — you even missed the warmth of his body and hoped for its quick return.

[mosskissed]

best friend shidou, who is a complete and total nuisance any time he goes out with you and your other friends — hovering around you like a shark, baring his teeth and scaring off anyone who shows any sign of interest in you. you've officially gone and invited the world's greatest cockblock, and the best part?

you've never even realised it until tonight.

("dance with us," you begged your friend from work, tugging on her hands when she looked content to stay seated in the booth with the rest of your coworkers.

she snorted and glanced over your shoulder, no doubt at where shidou was lingering while he waited for you. "i'm nowhere near drunk enough to third wheel you and your guard dog; i was half-expecting him to start humping your leg in the middle of the club last month. do us all a favour and bang it out already, would ya?")

you hadn't taken her seriously at the time, scrunching your nose up at her words but letting shidou pull you away to a spot near the corner of the dance floor. even then, her remark only echoes in your mind a while later when a guy tries to dance with you.

he's cute, entirely your type — but you never get to give him a proper chance. you're jerked backwards when shidou curls a toned arm around your waist, anchoring you in so you're left pinned against him with just enough wiggle room to keep swaying your hips to the beat of whatever song is playing.

you've never been bothered by how clingy he is; it's hard to be put off by that stuff when you've grown up sharing single beds together on sleepovers. but the way his arm tightens around you? and the way he snarls at the guy to fuck off? this is definitely something that needs to be nipped, you think to yourself when he only backs off once the other guy has walked away.

maybe this is on you for never taking him seriously. shidou's always been possessive, from toys to favourite characters to you, he's never been great at sharing. somewhere along the way, you must've learned to turn a blind eye to it, and now you've landed a best friend who can't let anyone else so much as look at you.

your parents did always gush that you'd make a perfect couple when you grew up. you'd never really thought about it past the rush of embarrassment it filled you with; it sounded so gross to you as a kid, even though shidou would just grin at you every time he heard it.

he still smiles at you like that now, sometimes. it never fails to make your stomach flip, inexplicably nervous.

years of hearing stuff like that must've filled him with some strange sense of ownership over you, but whatever claim he thinks he has on you needs to be stopped now before it becomes a genuine problem somewhere down the line.

your decision is made for you when you witness another guy smile at you, making as if to approach before catching sight of shidou and whatever face he's pulling behind you back at him. you sigh mournfully at the 180 he does, tactfully withdrawing into the crowd.

you grit your teeth before turning to face shidou, resenting the way he has to bend down to get close enough to hear you. "you've gotta quit it," you say flatly.

he doesn't waste a second. "quit what?" you can see the way he's biting down on the inside of his cheek to try and smother a smile before it can show, head tilted in faux-innocence.

you frown, only growing more frustrated when he smooths the crease between your eyebrows out with his thumb, clearly not taking you seriously. "you’re scaring everyone away from me! i wanna go home with someone tonight, ryu—"

whatever you're about to say next is silenced at the way he looks at you. it's scathing, his face twisting in a way that suggests you've just said something incredibly dumb. "... i'm not stopping you."

"you're so annoying!" you're full-on scowling now, aggravated at him playing innocent when you've personally witnessed him intimidate two different men away in a 5 minute timespan. "what do you mean you aren't stopping me? you won't let anybody come near me!"

he's straight up grinning at this point, all teeth, and you know now that this conversation isn't going to achieve anything tonight. you huff and step back, ready to just call the night a bust and head home for the night.

you're stopped by shidou grabbing your hips tightly through your dress, palms burning hot through the fabric while his fingers dig in tight enough to bruise, pulling you in close until you're flush against him.

you're too busy trying to regain your footing to notice it right away, but then he pushes his hips forward purposefully and you feel it — the unmistakeable feeling of his cock, hard against your stomach.

you freeze like a deer in headlights, eyes darting straight up to see what he's trying to pull. this close, you can see how long his eyelashes are, the dizzying scent of his cologne mixed with a hint of sweat slowing your brain. it felt big, you think helplessly to yourself, rubbing your thighs together absentmindedly. since when has your best friend been packing?

"i told ya, i'm not stopping you from going home with someone tonight," he shrugs. a filthy grin splits his face when lets one of his hands drift from your waist to your ass, palming a greedy handful and pressing you against him firmer — and god, did you just feel his cock twitch? "but if you even think about taking some loser back to your place instead of me, i'm not responsible for what happens to 'em."

[lotusloong]

I think there's not a lot of MKR stuff and it's making me sad 😭

Do you have some more headcanons about him? And would he react if reader was shy around him but would always try to look at him while he isn't (it's not oblivious that reader likes him, she/they are just way too shy to make a move XD)

Would he do something about it ? 👀

More headcanons coming up!!

So, MKR!Wukong is very…emotionally guarded. He's very hesitant to admit he cares about others because he's very used to having things taken away from him. 

But even if he doesn't tell you how much he cares with words, he definitely does with actions. 

You know that one moment where Fruitie is sitting on his shoulder but falls forward and without even looking Wukong catches him and puts him back, refusing to look at the cute spirit or acknowledge that he cares for his safety? That's something that happens with you often as well. 

You're helping set up camp and Bajie leaves you to struggle lifting heavy stuff? Wukong just steps up behind you silently and takes it from you, relieving you of the weight so you don't hurt yourself. 

If it's been a day where you can't find much food to eat for dinner that night, you don't go hungry. Wukong will notice that your portion of food is smaller than anyone else's and simply grab your bowl before shoving his own into your hands. You won't even get a chance to argue, to give him back his food, he's already eating from yours so you have no choice but to accept it. 

He will check on you that same night, asking if you need more food. If you're not full, he's not satisfied. He'll take a late night fly and look for whatever he can find, as far as he needs to go to make sure you're taken care of. 

If you try to tell him it isn't necessary, he doesn't need to go to all this trouble over you, he scoffs and rolls his eyes before grumbling that a good mate provides. So deal with it. 

Speaking of, if you want to watch Wukong blush and stutter like a goof, give him gifts and genuine compliments.

You remember when the Mountain Deity called him handsome? He stuttered and nearly dropped Jingu Bang. He will be acting the same with you. 

“Oh Wukong, you look so handsome today!” He stumbles over his own feet and stares at you like a deer in headlights before regaining control of himself.

Now if you're too shy to do such things, to act so bold, that's totally fine. 

Because he is too. 

If you manage to work up the courage to actually try and flirt with him, he's blushing just as hard as you are and trying so hard to hide it under his grumpy facade.

The two of you will stand like dorks in front of the other, fidgeting with your hands and staring at the other. 

Finally Wukong will let out a frustrated growl and all but shove his clawed hand into your personal space, glaring at the sky. 

“Just-! Just grab my hand already-” He'll huff. When you slide your own fingers into his and actually hold hands for the first time, the two of you will just look back and forth between your linked hands and each other, like you're waiting for something horrible to happen.

As the moments pass you both grow more comfortable and start to relax, shoulders drooping with relief. You'll finally get to take notice of the rough calluses on the palm of his hand and the tips of his fingers, the scars and toughened tissue on his knuckles from fighting. 

His thumb will rub back and forth over your own hand, his eyes watching in fascination, like he can't believe he's actually getting to touch you. 

Now, before you got together, Wukong was very much not a touchy monkey. The only one who could pet him was Master, and that was still a very rare occasion. 

After that first time hand holding session? He's practically glued to you. Hands laced with yours, tail wrapped around your waist or a leg, if you're sitting down he sits down right behind you so he can have his legs frame you and have his chest pressed against your back. 

The only other being who gets to touch Wukong as much as you do is Fruitie, after he joins your journey, and even then Wukong makes it clear he likes your touch the best. Fruitie is more like “this might as well happen/I don't mind so much” and your touch is more of “I love that so much please hold me more” kind of response. 

Everyone else is “stay at least 5ft out of my no-no square or I will bite.”

A relationship with him does require patience, especially if he’s in a mischievous mood! Just because he likes you best doesn’t mean you're free of his teasing. If anything, it makes it worse.

Your little pout when he’s messing with you is just too cute! 

Of course there are other faces you make that he loves just as much as, if not more.

The face you make after he kisses you? That's his favorite. Your eyelashes flutter back open and your pupils are wide with adoration and love, all directed at him - the bastard monkey with no parents, who’s always seen as a problem to get rid of instead of a person who desires basic respect.

No matter what, you are his safe space. A person who he can disappear from the world with, to escape the pressures and annoyances of his punishing journey. 

Someone who makes him happy.

[goatyuuji]

JJK 269: 😐😐😐

*Sigh* i can't figure out where this story is going man, i just- i just wish it's going in the right direction man, please don't let them tokyo revengers jokes become a reality...........Moving on....

So karma....KARMA has been one of the biggest things in JJK, which i fucking loved. Gojo not cremating Geto properly, baam! karma in form of Kenjaku hijacking Geto's body, Miniko & Nanako thinking they can negotiate with King of Curses, baam! they dead, Mahito underestimating Yuuji, baam! instant karma. I fucking love Gege's pen work when it comes to karma and religious themes tbh. JJK really beautiful in a way where it potraits the concept of fucking around and finding out.

So why, pray tell me, does Yuuta not suffer the consequences of his actions when he decided to use his dead teacher's body to get back to fighting Sukuna. You are telling me he gets to go back into his body just like that??? no consequences whatsoever after he defiled his teacher's body to use him as a powerup??? man.......ok then.

One more thing that pissed me off this chapter is the way Kusakabe said 'Gojo should have executed Yuuji'…..huh? HUHHHH???? By that logic Gojo should have also killed Megumi because none of them (except gojo & sukuna) surviving a 1v1 with Mahoraga if Megumi summons it on their ass 😭😭… LIKE WHAT IS THIS LOGIC, how are you gonna blame your incompetency as a sorcerer on fucking teenagers who have no choices at all. Like instead of executing teens, how about training and getting strong enough to fight and win, ever thought of that…maybe Sukuna was right when he said these grade 1 mofos should not be allowed to say nothing. Kusakabe lucky that Choso ain't there with them when he said that shit, my man Choso would have fucked him up for saying that about his younger bro.

I won't even joke about the new shadow style school or whatever was introduced in this chapter...I didn't understand one thing and i won't even try to understand it because them saying 'simple domain is a secret among sorcerers' was a joke enough for me when ALMOST EVERY ONE IN THIS FIGHT KNEW HOW TO DO A SIMPLE DOMAIN and even used it against Sukuna, like dpmo with the 'oh it's a secret, oh we gonna monopolize on this' plotline I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. This is worse than Gojo bringing up Nobara's mom in last chapter, like where the fuck are we going from here man??????

In conclusion: Maybe Sukuna should have killed all of them, especially Mei Mei.

[elarakive]

2 days after i finished from the sidelines and the brainrot is still not fading im gonna

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

even though i feel like i can confidently tell when a piece of art is generative A/I, i really don't feel inclined or really even justified calling someone out for it due to the precedent it sets - especially when artists who DO make their own pieces get caught in the crossfire for being inexperienced or making the choice to be more free-form when it comes to character design / consistency...

[talkorsomething]

Hit my arm yesterday and while i dont THINK anythings like broken or anything like that it does hurt in minorly concerning ways

[murderofravens]

BABY, I'M RIGHT HERE

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader

part: 2/3 [finished]

warnings: large age gap (20 vs late 40s) angst. slow burn. slight infantilization. no use of y/n. codependency. obsession from both sides. unhealthy dynamics. plot with porn. fingering. oral fixation. brat tamer inho. sub!reader. reader is very touch starved. a little yandere vibes. emotional manipulation. i made him very fatherly but toxic oops.

summary: he promised that you will make it out alive. he will make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

word count: 8k more or less

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

please ignore mistakes.

you can't remember half of it. everything happened so quickly— your little moment of bliss shattered by 388's quick warning. the lights went out. one moment you were in young-il's arms, the next he was dragging you down towards 456, who was hiding under another bed. he shifted to make room for you and you crawled to his side. young-il followed.

"stay quiet," 456 whispered, looking around. not much was visible in the dark, but soon enough, the loud noise of bottles shattering and people screaming began echoing through the hall.

"they're killing each other—" you whisper, eyes wide. you shift slightly, raising your head. you try to sit up. "they're killing our side of the people—"

young-il halted your movements with a hand on your arm, "don't move." he hissed. "we can't leave till the guards come in."

"what?" you snap, voice hushed, "if they kill all our people, what's gonna happen in the next vote? we'll lose!"

"there won't be a next vote," 456 added, flinching slightly at another sharp cry. he looked determined. "we're stopping this today."

you glanced at him, heartbroken. you looked out again, heartbeat picking up as you saw player 380 run away from nam-gyu. he was on her tail, visibly trying to kill her. a bottle lay there by the bed, and before young-il could stop you, you slid it out. nam-gyu tripped on it and fell on his face. luckily, it was too dark and he was too worked up to check who it was. you just hoped it gave player 380 enough time to hide.

young-il restrained you then, pushing you down slightly so you were fully sandwiched between him and 456, "don't compromise our position!"

"how much longer?" you whispered, ignoring him. you winced as more sounds of bones cracking and people choking on their own blood took over the entire room. neither of them answered, but even 456 jumped a little as the body of one of the girls on your side fell to the floor.

your eyes widened as the girl's eyes met yours, and then she sputtered out blood before laying there, lifeless.

"don't look." young-il voiced out, craning his neck down to meet your gaze. he clenched his jaw, settling you with a cold glare, "look at me."

"you should've told me this was the plan," you hissed through gritted teeth, squinting as the flashing of lights overwhelmed your senses, "would you be okay if that was m��mphh!"

he put a finger to your lips, shaking slightly as he gave you another warning glare. 456 watched with bated breath, as if counting all the people dying.

the lights go off again, and the room remains dark. only the noises of people fighting can be heard.

"time to move," 456 tells young-il, who nods and begins shifting out of the bed. you follow along, but he pushes you back in, "don't get out until i tell you."

"what?" you frown, confused. your words are quick, "you expect me to hide here while you go out there to do god knows what—

as you speak, young-il grits his teeth, frustrated. he's desperate as he grabs your shoulders. he glances back, makes sure no one sees before silencing you with a kiss. it leaves you breathless. he cups your face and looks into your eyes intensely, "don't get out until i tell you to." his voice is urgent, "close your eyes, put your hands to your ears. trust me, and listen to me for once."

you blink rapidly before nodding, still a little out of it. you don't think you'll ever get used to how good kissing him feels. you wish you could feel it again and again, under better circumstances.

456 hisses for young-il, and he pats your head before rushing away as soon as the doors open. the guards come in, rapidly firing their machine guns towards the ceiling, stopping the fight. you watch carefully, heart dropping to your stomach as young-il and 456 lay there, as if dead, along with 390 and 388. you almost rush out to check on them, but young-il's previous words hold you back. you watch as the guards start putting those devices to the dead bodies' ears, and when they reach your team members, 456 suddenly attacks. the rest of the team similarly manages to take their guns away, and kill the remaining guards. you almost jump out of your skin as a firing match starts— and young-il and player 120 skillfully kill most of them. you look on with bated breath, flinching as the guards fall to the floors. you begin to get out from under the bed, panting. one of the guards was still hiding, and he immediately aimed the gun at you. before you could move, young-il shoots him dead.

you look around the room, swallowing the lump in your throat at the sight of all the dead bodies. so many people with hopes and dreams. people with families, laying there, lifeless. cautiously, you looked around with purpose, before your eyes fell on player 380's body.

she couldn't hide.

you look away, sweat rolling down the side of your head. you clench your jaw and glare at the other team, eyes narrowing with resentment as you catch sight of nam-gyu. swallowing hard, you walk past the bodies, careful not to step on them. your eyes fell on your team members gathering the guards' weapons.

so this was the plan. you frown, rushing forward to help them. the guns are heavy, but you manage to place many of them along with some ammo on the bedsheet laying there.

456 announces the plan— something about capturing the ones who captured them all, and going to their headquarters to make them pay. you shift your gaze to young-il, who stares ahead blankly, as if thinking hard. you wonder if he's scared.

"anyone who knows how to use guns and wishes to join us—" 456 calls out, "please step forward!"

the players are silent, frozen. cowards, you think to yourself. you step forward immediately, and young-il's face hardens so dramatically, it almost makes you laugh. he takes a step towards you, "absolutely not!" he snaps, "stay right there."

"you need all the help you can get!" you argue back sharply. you point an accusatory finger at player 100 and his team. "don't you see? even these so called tough guys aren't willing to go with you! don't put your trust in these people, i can help more than they can! my aim's great!"

while you talk, young-il pinches the bridge of his nose, calls your name again gruffly. a warning.

"don't drag us into this!" player 100 interrupts angrily, his lip curling with disgust. "this is madness! you don't stand a chance against them!"

you quite literally snarl as you rush towards him, jabbing a finger to his chest. it makes him stumble backwards, "you had no issue with risking our lives and your own for money, but standing up to those who caught you is where you draw the line?" you glower at him, scoff at the rest of his team. to emphasize your point, you gather saliva in your mouth, spit it by his shoe. "fucking pussy !"

young-il quite literally snatches you away by the collar of your jacket before the other team can do anything. it's a little baffling how swiftly he moves, even while carrying such a big gun. he takes you to your side of the bunker, shoves you onto the bed, "don't make me tie you up." he grunts threateningly, "you are not going and that's final. you're built like a bird, you won't stand a chance against armed guards. i refuse to watch you get killed."

456 calls out for you, voice soft but urgent, "it's best if you stay here. we won't be able to focus if he's— if we're worried about you."

you grit your teeth as you scowl at young-il with glassy eyes. they're tears of anger. you want to scream at him. you want to pull him towards you and never let him go. you look at your team, watch with longing as player 120 guides them on how to use their guns. she's brave and badass, it makes you want to be like her.

"and you're okay with getting killed?" you drift your attention back to young-il, voice cracking. "what am i supposed to do if something happens to you?"

young-il sighs, gaze softening as he kneels before you . your lips wobble as you glare daggers at him, eyes narrowed. he shakes his head, "i'll come back to you alive."

you scoff bitterly. "how can you be so sure?"

"i just am."

"promise me." you hold your pinky up, clenching your jaw as you stare at him intensely, "promise me you won't die. promise me you'll come back for me."

he looks at your pinky, and then at you. you've always found him harder to read than other people. but you see reluctance in his eyes. he sighs, before raising his own pinky, joining it with yours. the contrast between your hands would've been comical if you were not in this shithole. he gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"i promise."

you can hear player 100 yelling at his team, clearly talking shit about you. you look over young-il's shoulder, and he glances at the old man too before turning to you knowingly.

"don't get in any trouble while i'm gone." he whispers softly. he reaches behind his back. "and just in case— i want you to have this."

it's a pistol. he probably took it from one of the dead guards. your eyes widen and you look at young-il. he teaches you how to unload it, and reload it, and how to work the safety, before placing it in your palm. your gaze never leaves his face. questioning.

"you've made enemies here," he explains, as if it's obvious, "if any of the men there try anything—"

"you want me to kill them?" you quirk an eyebrow.

his mouth curls into a smirk, "i want you to be safe."

he gets up, and as player 100 looks at you again, you jokingly aim the gun towards him. he jumps back in fear, stumbling into the younger men at his side. you chuckle, and young-il lowers your hand. "behave."

it makes your heart jump.

"why does that kid get a gun and we don't?!" one of the younger men yells. young-il ignores him.

you grin at him almost childishly. he shakes his head before addressing 149— the old lady who got here with her son.

"don't let her leave," he tells her, giving you a stern, sidelong glance. you roll your eyes.

before he can leave, you grab his hand and look at him intensely. you can only hope your eyes can convey what you can't verbally, not in front of people. for his sake.

"be careful." you decide to say, voice cracking. you memorize every feature of his face, with only one thought in your mind.

you're not allowed to leave me.

he nods, looking away before walking to his team. you yell at them too, telling them to be careful and watch as they carefully exit. you look on with longing as you watch them go, before glancing down at the gun in your hand, and then at the door again. soon enough, you can hear the faint sounds of guns firing. it makes you jump, but player 149 puts a hand on your shoulder, comfortingly guiding you to sit beside her.

you almost contemplate rushing out, what would these people even do? stop you? you have a gun in your hand, although you wouldn't want to pull it on 149. she's a good lady. people are already scared. you don't want to make it worse.

so you stay, and hope that young-il keeps his promise. pinky promises are sacred. you either keep them, or you die.

you decide that if he dies, you'll just bring him back to life somehow and kill him again.

you don't remember how long you wait. multiple times, you stand up and pace around the room. agitated, scared. every gunshot has you looking at the door again and again, hoping that somehow young-il will decide to burst through it. 149 tells you to be calm, tries to distract you with your life outside the games. it doesn't work.

thankfully, the pistol in your hand had scared the other team enough to not try anything with you. they talk within themselves, trying to busy themselves with conversations and anxiously bouncing their legs as they look at the ceiling. you wonder how they can be so calm after killing your team.

"you people are cowards." you say to no one in particular. the message hits the target though, because the ones who weren't willing to go and help shift uncomfortably.

"you'd rather die losing to a stupid game instead of a noble death trying to help people," you chide, chuckling bitterly. 149 tries to stop you from talking, but you shrug her words off with a shake of your head. you stand up and face the other team again. "it's shameful. you had no problem killing others who were in the same position as you, but your oppressors is where you decide to stop?" you gesture towards the dead bodies. the sight of blood doesn't make you squeamish anymore. it just makes you sad.

"these people died because you wanted to keep playing." you hiss, "you killed them."

the people on the other side don't respond, instead lowering their gaze to the floor. you look at nam-gyu sitting on the side, fiddling with something. you want to kill him. you want to kill everyone who stopped you from going home, who became the reason more innocent people died. your morals are a bit fucked, you think, but you're okay with it. people who do bad things deserve to die. you raise the gun, aim it at player 100. he flinches, and sits straight up, raising his hands. his team members shuffle away from him, and it makes you snicker. when he's on death's door, they abandon him. "have you gone crazy!?"

"game or no game, you were meant to die." you clench your jaw, your mouth twitching. "shall i kill you, old man?"

you don't get to pull the trigger. you're interrupted by player 388 rushing inside, panicked and covered in blood. your eyes widen, and you go straight to him, grabbing his shoulders. he looks shaken up, "what happened? where's 001? is he okay? did you find—"

"gather all the remaining ammo," he says shakily, fumbling over his words, "we ran out. i need to take some back."

you nod, and 149's son comes to help you check the dead guards' gear and gather the remaining ammunition. 388 wraps it up in a jacket, and rushes to the door, before suddenly stopping. you pause, looking at him, sweat breaking out across your skin. there's a bad feeling in your stomach. "what's wrong? aren't you going?"

he doesn't respond. you can't see his face because his back is turned to you. a moment passes and you step forward cautiously. he drops the walkie talkie, and your eyes fall to the floor where it lands— where you can hear the voice of player 120 asking where he is. they have no ammo.

"i can't do it." 388 whispers, shaking. he rushes back to his bed, drops the little makeshift bag full of ammo and cowers into himself. your eyes widen. you look at the walkie talkie, and back to him. if they don't get ammo soon, they're going to die. you rush to the bed, shoot 388 a frown— you consider comforting him, but you have another priority now. you grab the bundle and turn to leave.

149 runs after you along with a few others, pulling you by the sleeve of your jacket. she's trembling with worry. "your father told me not to let you leave—"

amidst the chaos, you let out a chuckle.

"he's not my father," you reply, yanking your jacket from her grip and composing yourself. the sentence would've had you cackling in a better situation. you can't wait to tell young-il about it. you can understand why she'd think so, even though you and young-il look literally nothing alike. the opposite, really. he's like a father in spirit.

your face hardens and you address the crowd. "they need help. is anyone gonna come with me?”

nobody moves. you scoff bitterly. predictable.

149 looks at you helplessly, pushes her son to grab you. when he advances towards you, you pull out the gun and hold it to his head, eyes crazed as you pull the safety. you warn him dangerously, "step back."

he raises his hands and steps back, lowering his gaze. holding the bundle to your chest, you walk backwards, aiming the gun to both sides of the room and ensuring no one grabs you. you look at 149, meet her crushed gaze and mouth an 'im sorry' to her before running out as fast as you can.

you're quite sure you got lost. you're running as fast as you can, trying to follow the sounds of the gunshots, and looking for any bullet holes or signs of struggle. you look up and see broken cameras, and recall 120 shooting them back in the hall. you follow them until one of the red guards encounters you, immediately raising his gun. he's slow, infuriatingly so— but it doesn't matter because in your panicked haze, you shoot him in the stomach, then rush forward and kick his gun away before running off.

you can see your team. you let out a breath of relief, and as soon as 120 meets your gaze, she gasps. you shake your head and quickly slide over to her, giving her the rest of the ammunition. she quickly reloads, and you toss the rest to the other players, before looking around frantically, flinching at the gunshots. "where's 001 and 456?" you ask her.

"control room!" she points towards the end of the hallway, and you nod before advancing. she tries to protest but you're quicker, and she's preoccupied with firing. luckily, the guards never seem to fire at you.

there are two sides. you hesitate, before finally taking the left one where you just heard two gunshots. you quickly rush forward, pistol held protectively. the whole area looks like some sort of purple maze, and you're wary as you walk, scared that a guard might jump out and shoot you.

finally, you see your young-il's back. he's crouching on the floor, looking at a dying player. the relief you feel is baffling. your eyes widen, and you call out his name. "young-il sir!"

he tenses, turning back so fast that you worry he'd get a whiplash. visibly stressed, he rushes towards you, shaking his head, "no— no, no, no, no, no, what are you doing here!”

you run towards him, almost tripping on the stairs. he grabs your shoulders, shakes you aggressively, "i told you not to fucking leave!"

you almost flinch at his tone. it's strange to see him swear. you answer him shakily, panting, "they— they ran out of ammo, i couldn't leave you!"

he looks upset and shaken up, clenching his jaw as he pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbling incoherently to himself. you turn towards the dying player, your expression pained. he tries to point at something, but you don't understand what. you kneel towards him, and his hand falls down. his croaking stops.

suddenly, you hear the footsteps of guards heading towards you. before you can move, you're surrounded. you hold onto your gun, shaking as you quickly stand up. you swallow hard, unblinking as they aim their guns at you.

that’s when you notice it.

they're aiming at only you, and not young-il. it makes you feel strange.

you look at him, and he's taking sharp breaths, as if trying to compose himself. or trying not to scream with rage. it's odd, how relaxed he looks. tense in the face, but relaxed in the way that he didn't take an offensive stance, or feel surprised at the sight of the guards. you frown in confusion, before he flicks his hand. the guards lower their guns.

you blink a few times, swallowing the lump in your throat, dread settling in your stomach. you look at the guards, then at young-il, who refuses to meet your gaze. you repeat the action.

guards. young-il. guards. young-il. then the players on the floor. then back at young-il's face. and it takes you a moment, but the realization sets in.

the guard letting you go to the restroom when young-il was by your side, him conveniently appearing to save you when you went exploring, him walking with that air of authority. how the guards never seemed to look at him too long. how easily he killed the man during mingle without a second thought. how one look from him had the guard lowering his gun during voting. how he was sure he wouldn't die. things that you never should've looked over.

you step back, your breathing getting ragged as you slowly raise your gun towards young-il. the guards point their guns at you again, ready to shoot. he stops them by raising his hand in warning. he clenches his jaw, his eyes unreadable and guarded.

"who are you." you demand tightly. your voice shakes pathetically, it makes you wince. you've never been this scared of anything in your life. not even the games.

"it doesn't have to be this way." he says quietly. his voice seems different, deeper. gravely. he holds his hand out to you in what he hopes is a comforting fashion. "put the gun down."

you step back, putting your finger on the trigger, just the way he taught you. ‘i want you to be safe,’ he'd said.

"i asked you a fucking question!" you yell, voice cracking. your gun feels slippery in your hands. it almost falls. you fumble trying to keep a tight grip on it. all this time, the prospect of death felt a little comforting with the idea that you'd have young-il by your side if it happened. but now, it just terrifies you. it looks bleak.

you sniffle, lips wobbling as fresh tears roll down your cheeks. you were always fucking unlucky. the first time you like a man this much, he turns out to be the bad guy. you feel utterly pathetic and terrified.

his eyes dart all over your panicked face before he gestures towards one of the guards, who raises his gun. there's a flash of guilt in his eyes that you can't miss. it makes your blood freeze. you refuse to die alone.

you straighten your aim towards young-il and pull the trigger. two gunshots ring out, and you don't get the time to react before something stings your chest, and you fall to the ground.

your vision goes black.

there are no dreams, no last memories. no flashes of your life. there's this heaviness in your chest, like someone is suffocating you.

you wake up with a startled gasp, sitting up immediately. your vision looks blurry, but with a few blinks you can make out a room. a lavish room with a closed window on the side. you frown in confusion, before putting your hand to your chest. there's no bleeding, no pain except the one in your muscles.

you swallow hard, your throat feeling dry. for a moment you wonder if it was all a dream, but when you try to move, you realize your right hand is chained to the side of the bed— with those strong black straps with locks that they used in the second game. you pull at it a few times, breathing getting heavy as you look down on yourself. your bloodied green jersey has been replaced by a comfortable pair of pink pyjamas that cover your arms and legs. you raise your hand to your head, and there's a small bandage on the right side of your face that you remember previously scratching in the bathroom.

you struggle a little, try to look for a way to unlock the straps, but it's like the room is purposely empty. absolutely no sharp or heavy objects to help you escape. like a prison cell.

you think of young-il. is he dead? you remember pulling the trigger. you knew the risk that came with aiming the gun at him when you were surrounded by guards— you just had this thought that if you were going to die, you would drag him with you. he won't get to live after what he'd done.

you don't get to brood about your thoughts for long, because the door opens and he steps inside— a man dressed in black, with a creepy mask. it makes you feel uneasy. you touch your chest again, look at him with a questioning gaze.

“it was just a tranquilizer.” he answers your silent question, voice distorted through the mask.

“is this really necessary?” you ask dryly, rattling the chain on your right hand.

“do you feel comfortable?” the man asks, gesturing towards your clothes.

you grit your teeth, “cut the bullshit. who are you?”

the man sighs, looking down, as if disappointed. he looks at you again before taking off the mask, and you feel like throwing up.

his hair looks different — slicked back with gel. his eyes look tired, even more so than back at the games. he looks more intimidating this way. you feel a strong urge to leap across the bed and ruffle his hair so he can look familiar again.

you have so much to say.

why did you do this? who the fuck are you? how are you still here, when i so clearly remember shooting you?

“you're alive,” you instead remark dryly. young-il gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“your aim needs more practice,” he says quietly, patting his right shoulder. “barely grazed me.”

the idea of having hurt him almost makes your chest ache, but you remind yourself of who he is.

you sniffle, lips wobbling as you look at him. your dear young-il. who comforted you, protected you, held you and kissed you so dearly. he really made a fucking fool out of you.

“and what's all that for?” you tilt your head towards his hand. trying to put on a mask, just like him. a brave face.

he places the mask on the table, walks over to sit on the side of the bed. you flinch, moving away from him slightly.

he notices, and it hurts more than getting shot. he doesn't dare reveal that on his face.

“is your name even young-il?” you ask quietly, voice strained.

he shakes his head. you snort bitterly.

“i'm guessing you're the big boss then.” you remark flatly, looking around the room. forcing yourself to appear nonchalant. he wants to tell you to drop the act, because he can still hear your voice faltering.

he nods, “something like that. i design the games.”

you bite down on your lower lip to stop it from wobbling. nobody knows the strength it takes trying not to cry. you lower your gaze to your lap.

your next question is pathetic. you would expect yourself to scream and threaten him to let you go, but there's only one thing on your mind.

“was i a game to you too?” you ask quietly. you don't want to know the answer. perhaps you would've preferred it if he killed you.

he sighs, averting his gaze. he utters your name softly, and you feel like a weak woman because you still like the way he says it.

your voice almost waivers when you ask, “are you going to hurt me?”

he looks at you, blinks a few times before answering honestly. “don't make me.”

you hold back the urge to sob. your left hand comes up to clap over your mouth, and he looks away as you cower in on yourself. how can he say that, after covering your eyes and pulling you into him to ensure you didn't get scared by people getting killed? you wish there was atleast a lamp on the side table, maybe you could've cracked his skull to free yourself from this fear. and to take revenge for playing with your heart.

“you ruined everything.” he admits, voice growing tight. solemn. he clenches his jaw, mouth twitching with barely disguised anger. “i went into the games because of gi-hun, to make sure he doesn't stop the game. and then ended up paying more attention to you than him.”

you release a shaky breath, pulling your knees to your chest. your mouth twists with emotion. gi-hun. player 456. your eyes widen, heart leaping out of your throat.

“is he okay?” you ask, voice cracking with concern, “is he alive?”

his head snaps up— gaze hardening almost dramatically. his eye twitches, and he gives you a tight smile. it doesn't suit him because it's not the one you're familiar with. “are you worried about him?”

you glare at him, eyes narrowing.

“he’ll be fine.” he adds nonchalantly. his voice sounds different— cold in a way that makes goosebumps rise on your skin. “would you rather be with him than me?”

you snort bitterly, looking away with a roll of your eyes. he can't be fucking serious. he has the audacity to be jealous after what he's done to you. he is so unbelievably ridiculous.

“put me back in the game.” you hiss through gritted teeth.

“i can't do that.” he shakes his head, “you will die in there. you won't survive the next games. i made sure they get increasingly difficult—”

“i'll win!” you argue, “i’ll beat them all and win, stop treating me like a fucking child—”

“you are a fucking child compared to me!” he bellows, making you flinch. your gaze never falters as you grit your teeth, looking at him with all the rage you can muster. he grabs your jaw, squishing your cheeks so hard that your lips pucker. he would've kissed you if he wasn't so fucking angry. his voice is harsh as he continues, shaking your head. “you! are quite literally a baby compared to me and the others in there. they're ruthless animals who won't hesitate to rip you apart to win. you're going to die in there and i wouldn't be there to save you!”

his words have your stomach churning, because he's right. but that doesn't matter to you.

“since when do you care?!” you snap challengingly. your words come out muffled.

he glares back at you, his nostrils flaring with anger, “i wish i didn't care.” he hisses, voice low. hoarse. he leans towards you. “oh how desperately i wish i didn't care about you.”

your heart begins to race as you stare at him, dumbfounded, unable to speak. he looks into your eyes, then glances down at your lips, before making eye contact again. he lets go of your face and straightens up, composing himself.

“you almost ruined my entire plan.” his voice is collected, almost guarded. “you consume my every waking thought ever since i felt your head against my chest. do you know how many times i had to warn my guards not to shoot you? especially with how many times you kept crossing the line?”

your breath hitches, and you open your mouth to argue. he doesn't give you a moment to speak.

“i'm not sending you back in the games where you can die.” he continues darkly. he brings his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. the action is gentle— a stark contrast against what he previously did. the situation you're in, the kind of man he is. you blink at him, eyes teary. his gaze softens just slightly. “you made me promise not to abandon you. I don't plan to.”

“you're a sick man,” you whisper. you can't believe he's holding that against you— your promises from when he was deceiving you, “you designed those fucking games. you can stop them anytime you wanted. i got stuck here because of you, you killed all those innocent people. you're a sadistic, psychotic asshole—”

he shoots you a warning glare, pressing his hand against your mouth. “don’t test me, brat. ”

you sniffle, letting out a pained whimper. you push his hand off your mouth, “let me go.”

he looks unamused, “i can't do that.”

“were you not planning to leave me?” you try to reason with him, desperate. “when you left with the rest of the team? you wouldn't have come back after that—”

“i would've found a way to get you home.” he admits quietly. “i had a plan. but then you came running after me like the brat you are. you never listen.”

“then let me go now!” you protest heatedly. his words have your heart hurting. if that's true, then you're the one who sealed your fate. another impulsive decision ruined your life. “i told you about me. i told you about my mom! i miss her. she and my sister—" you almost choke on a sob as you croak the words out, the mere thought of them driving you to insanity, "they need me."

“i've settled your father's debt,” he mentions after a moment of silence, looking deeply into your eyes. he hopes it gives you some comfort, stops you from wanting to leave him. “you don't have to go back. they'll live a life of ease.”

your blood runs cold. that means he knows where they are.

“do you expect me to fucking thank you?” you can't hold back the tears rolling down your cheeks, shaking your head, “i wanna go home.” you sniffle, “you ruined our lives. you played with my feelings and my life. people are dead because of you. how can you say you'd have let me go home one moment, and then refuse it the next?”

"don't hurt them," you speak again, leaning forward almost pleadingly. perhaps you shouldn't piss him off. you're not the kind to beg for your life. but your family? now that's another thing. "please keep them out of this. dont hurt them, please."

"i won't," he says airily, his dark eyes deeply boring into yours, "not if you don't give me a reason to. just be good."

you sniffle, violently trembling. be good. you'll be good. for your family's sake.

his hands cup your face and you flinch. his thumbs brush the tears away. you avert your gaze. you can't meet his eyes— you resent him.

you resent yourself because his touch still makes you feel an odd sense of comfort.

"this is torture," you choke out, "why are you doing this to me?"

he says your name softly, guides your face up to look at him, “i’m selfish.” he admits. “the moments i spent with you.. was the happiest i've been in a… long, long time. i'm not ready to let go of that. ever. ”

he has lost everything. his wife, his baby. his brother. his humanity. only now he has control over his life, enough resources. he can change fate with a flick of his finger. he's not going to lose you, not after you've made him feel human again, for the first time in years. you've ripped open his ribcage and climbed inside, sealed it shut with your touch. he hasn't been needed by anyone like this— it gives him a sense of purpose. he doesn't trust himself to not lose his mind if you're ever out of his sight. he'll make sure you're by his side, where he can hold you and comfort you. whatever it takes.

you shake your head, lips wobbling. you try to pull away, your free hand coming up to hold onto his, to pry it off your face. he doesn't let up, instead climbing towards you and invading your personal space as he presses your foreheads together.

“i don't know about you kids, but in my time, pinky promises were a big deal,” he says lowly, the side of his mouth quirking up. he's trying to joke, he wants to see you smile again. the way you did when you looked at him— with stars in your eyes. like he's your hero. nothing else has ever made him feel more alive. “i’m afraid i can't let you go.”

you let out a shudder, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushes you till your back collides with the bed. you shake your head, voice tired. “just kill me.”

his face drops, and he looks at you coldly, “you think i'd have you here like this if i planned to kill you?”

you don't respond to that, your chest heaving. everything hurts. your head is pounding, and you feel faint.

his thumb brushes across your cheekbone. he looks at you tenderly, analyzing every feature of your face.

“you know, i really expected you to struggle harder against me.” he observes. the words make you feel embarrassed. your skin heats up with shame, and you clear your throat, looking anywhere but him.

he might be right, you think. you've struggled a little, yes, but he can tell you have the ability to be so much more insufferable. but you're not, not yet. it's fucked up. because even after everything, for some reason you can't seem to brush him off you. you can't seem to let go of the comfort and hope he provided you in one of the most terrifying moments of your life.

you convince yourself it's because your family's life is on the line. not because of your personal feelings.

you don't answer him. you don't have to either, because judging by the small smirk creeping on his face, he knows.

“i'll take care of you,” his face softens. he's trying to convince you. there's a desperate edge to his voice. you look so utterly beautiful to him— your complexion glowing even more because of the pink pyjamas he got for you. in that moment he makes a mental note of what color clothes he'd shower you in the most. “those people down there that you're so desperate to save? they would've thrown you under the bus to win. they don't care about you. i'll make sure you're safe. the life you were living before was worthless. let me look after you.”

“i hate you,” you whisper, voice cracking. another tear rolls down your cheek, and he wipes it away. you don't mean it. he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“i know.”

you don't get to speak again, because he tilts your head up and crashes his mouth onto yours in a bruising, punishing kiss. it makes you wince, and you choke on a soft sob. against your better judgement, you kiss him back.

the moment your mouth parts under his, he takes the chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding in. he moans into your mouth, holding your face as he climbs over you completely. you contemplate biting his tongue off, but you don't. as if reading your mind, his hand comes down to gently squeeze your throat— just enough to make you feel a little lightheaded. you gasp softly, eyes blinking dazedly at him. he pulls his mouth away, then places a soft peck upon your lips. then another. and another. you take greedy breaths as you squirm under him. his hand leaves your throat and slips under your top and you jolt at the feeling of his warm hands against your tummy. his mouth trails down, leaving soft kisses across the smooth skin of your neck.

“you’re sick.” you gasp shakily, throwing your head back, giving him more room to place his wet kisses upon you.

“you're the one letting a man like me touch you,” he whispers hoarsely against your neck, voice slightly teasing. “maybe you're just as sick as i am.”

his words make you shiver. you consider them, and you force yourself to think of all the people back there in the hall, ready to march to their deaths tomorrow. your eyes open and you snap out of your trance.

you use your free hand to push slightly at his chest, gaze pleading, “don't kill them,” you whisper. “let them go. atleast our team. they're good people—”

“are you really doing this?” the switch in his voice has you quivering slightly. his hand comes up, grabs your hair. it stings just slightly. a warning. "do you think they would've been this desperate to save you?"

you let out a noise of protest, looking at him helplessly. trying to touch a string of empathy within him. he has none, not anymore.

“they knew what they were getting themselves into. there's no favoritism. you either win, or die.”

your ears ring, heart pounding against your chest. “then what am i?”

he smirks, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

“you're my little girl.” he noses the side of your neck. goosebumps rise on your skin, “don't bring that up again.”

you grit your teeth, feeling even more remorseful. is there no way to change his mind? even being responsive to his affection doesn't help.

but you're not being docile to change his mind.

you realize you're pliant because you like being under him.

your logical side forces you to speak. your guilty conscience doesn't allow you to get too comfortable under a killer. "this feels wrong."

he stops, clenches his jaw with restrained anger. he squeezes his eyes shut, mentally counts from 1-10 to avoid doing anything he might regret later.

"let me make you an offer," he pulls back, cocking his head to the side. his eyes are unreadable, voice flat, "i'll let them go on one condition."

your eyes widen with hope, and you nod enthusiastically, eager for him to speak.

"with every player i leave alive—" a small smirk appears on his face, despite his best efforts to hide it. "i'll kill someone you love."

the way terror seized you was suffocating. your throat immediately felt dry, eyes widening with shock. you stared at him, motionless, images of your family, your friends, flashing through your head. his hand gently splayed across your stomach, pressing down a little.

"a life for a life." he announced again, giving you a tight lipped smile, "how does that sound?"

"no." you warned, clasping his wrist desperately with your free hand, breathing rapidly. "no— no. please don't. i'll— i'll stay with you. i'll do anything you say, just—" you held back a sob, "please don't hurt them."

in life threatening situations— people only look out for two types of people. themselves, and the ones dearest to them.

he smiled fully then, amused. predictable, he thinks, before leaning back down, "then conversation's over."

"you made the right choice," he whispered. you didn't bother struggling, squeezing your eyes shut. his hand pulls down your top just enough. his mouth quite literally waters as he bites down on your exposed skin, leaving cherry red bruises across your collarbones.

you have no choice, you tell yourself. it's okay to get comfortable now. you couldn't have done anything.

you mewl, and he slips two of his fingers in your mouth, watching intently with a hungry gaze as you suck on them enthusiastically— just like back in the hall. your eyes flutter, and you mumble incoherently as his fingers gently thrust in and out of your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. it’s messy and sloppy, and the sight of your saliva slipping down your chin makes him moan softly, “my pretty baby.”

you whimper as his hand slides down to your bottoms. you wait with bated breath as you look at him with hazy eyes. his hand slips down into your panties, and a desperate moan escapes your bruised lips.

“i just want to ruin you,” he chuckles breathlessly, teasing your entrance. he hovers over you, looks at you like a starving man as he pinches your clit. you yelp slightly. he taunts you, gaze full of faux innocence as he raises his eyebrows. “does it hurt, huh, sweetheart? do you want daddy to make you feel good?”

“oh fuck—” the moment that word comes out of his mouth, in his soft, breathy voice— you moan. you're pathetic. it's whiney and high pitched and so utterly desperate, it makes him proud to get a reaction like that out of you. and suddenly he understands a little more why you got so attached to him. he pecks your lips again, and smirks against your mouth. he teases your entrance with a single finger.

you whine, “please.”

“what did you say, hm?” he pretends not to hear you, pushing two fingers in. you've never been brave enough to use two even while masturbating— and his are long and thick. the stretch makes you wince. “come on, baby, tell your old man what you said.”

you try to capture his lips with yours again in hopes that he would stop teasing you. he chuckles breathlessly, then lets out a soft moan at the way your walls clench around him.

“i’m a sadistic, psychotic asshole, right?” he throws your words back at you, and you wince. you squeeze your eyes shut, bite down on your lips to hold back a needy whine. his fingers pull back and then thrust again, curling slightly. his thumb goes to your clit, rubbing it. you take a sharp breath, squirming on the bed as you moan again. he doesn't let up, “is that not what you called me? and now you want me to make you feel good?”

his voice grows serious again, face hardening. his motions stop. “apologize.”

your eyes snap open, and you look at him, surprised. “huh?”

“apologize,” he repeats, “for everything you said earlier. and i'll consider making you cum.”

that gets you to clench your jaw. you glare at him with narrowed eyes, chest heaving with frustration. but you won't do it. if anyone should be apologizing— it's him. he was the one who deceived you and ruined your life. and he hasn't apologized even once. he must think you're stupid. hell would freeze over before you apologize.

you almost reconsider your decision— but then again, his threat only stands if he leaves the players alive. he didn't say anything about language. you shake your head, your previous stubbornness taking over. “not a chance in hell.”

he snorts, looking at you, unamused. his facial expressions don't change, but you can see it in his eyes. little things like a twitch give him away. your heart drops as he pulls his hand out completely, his fingers glistening and wet. he brings them to his mouth, sucks the juices off so casually that it leaves you dumbfounded and flustered.

“i have no patience for brats.” he nods, standing up. you stutter over your words, mouth opening and closing like a fish. much like it did when you first met.

“b-but—”

“i have some work to do.” he announces coldly. you wonder if he's going to do something bad. he's having the time of his life, sexually and emotionally tormenting you. “i'll be back in a bit. i asked the guards to bring you some chocolate milk. feel free to tell them your favourite food for dinner.”

the sudden change in events has you so unbelievably baffled that you can't say a thing as he begins to leave. it's brutal, and it almost makes you want to cry.

“sir?” you call out softly, almost timidly. unsure of how to address him. you're not going to take a risk.

he stops midway, before sighing to himself. he turns to you, looks at the desperation in your eyes.

“inho is fine.” he remarks flatly, swallowing hard. he doesn't know why he decided to reveal his name to you.

perhaps because it would give him another excuse to not let go of you.

you keep looking at him, a devastated expression on your face. like you're dying inside. and maybe you are.

your only source of comfort is gone. you'd gotten too used to it in the past few days. now you wish you'd never met him.

the emotion on his face is unreadable as he walks back to you. he places a soft kiss to your forehead and turns to leave. you grab his hand. the prospect of being alone leaves you terrified. maybe if you can convince him to stay, be good for him, he wouldn't hurt your loved ones. you'll behave.

you start to miss how things used to be.

if things were different, he would have come back to you. he would smile as he walked through the door, and you would finally feel your heart pumping blood as you run to him. he'd drop his gun and hold you, and you'd cry into his chest. he'd ask you if you caused any trouble, and you would take him to your bed and tell him everything. you would tell him that 149 called him your father, and he would laugh— his old man laugh which sounds so sweet and makes his eyes crinkle. he would ruffle your hair and say something along the lines of, ‘with how many times i've saved your ass, i might as well be.’

from a younger age, all you've ever desired is comfort, something you never received. someone to hold you when you cry, to take care of you. protect you. you're sick of being the tough one. the mere idea of it was so far away for you, that the first show of affection and reassurance had you getting this terribly attached. perhaps, inho's biggest crime was taking that away from you.

“inho.” you whisper, visibly crushed. you don't even feel horny anymore. you just miss his comfort, his soft words of reassurance. his laugh. your eyes grow teary. “please don't leave me.”

he looks at you, contemplating. he sighs defeatedly, before grasping your hand properly. it's so warm, and you choke on a soft sob as the reality of your situation sinks in again. you're done for. there's no escape. you're alone, and there's no one to save you. your young-il will not come swooping in to protect you, because he was never there in the first place. you don't even realize when you break down into heartbreaking sobs, breathing ragged.

he isn't used to showing much physical affection. not after what he went through, not until you. and now with you like this, something softens within him. he sits back down on the bed, wordlessly leaning into you, his arms open. you feel utterly pathetic at how quickly you crawl into his lap, burying your face in his chest. you feel like you're betraying your team, but do you have a choice? perhaps you did. you could've chosen to be tough and refuse his affection. but the stakes are different now. your family's life is on the line.

you never stood a chance, not after you met him.

and you don't want to think of a single instance where you don't get to experience being held by him.

your morals are more fucked than you thought. even after all the threats, after him practically forcing you to stay, you can't help but desire his affection. you'll be selfish for once. what could you have done anyway? you would've died in there, and your family would be alone. if what he said is true, atleast now they can live a life of ease without any debts.

as for your team, 456 will look out for them. he's alive, afterall.

you force your mind to be silent.

“i miss you,” you wail painfully, your free hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.

he holds you like a child, a hand pressing your head close, the other wrapping around your waist. he shushes you gently, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. he doesn't regret anything he did. you'd made him promise to come back for you, afterall. he always keeps his word. “i'm right here.”

you lean into his neck, and breathe in the smell of him. you squeeze your eyes shut till your sobs die down into the occasional hiccup. the stretch of your right hand and the rattling of the chains is another reminder of where you are.

perhaps if you stay hidden against his chest, you can try to convince yourself it's still your young-il holding you like this.

A/N: so! that's the end of dusk till dawn. this story truly was my joker. i tend to add a lot of psychological elements and character interactions so the fic feels more immersive and realistic, like you're really part of the game. i hope you liked it. can y'all tell who my favourite characters are? lol. also, i'm very horrible with smut so i really tried but i just can't write too much 💔 I'm mostly an angst girl as you can tell. anyways, this was a little self indulgent. thank you so much for the support you guys showed me, it truly means everything! i might write blurbs related to this specific couple from time to time, but no promises! maybe if i get good ideas or requests. anyways i rambled a lot. thank you for reading. feedback is always motivating.

tags: @bonelessghoul @cowuies @auspicious-lilana @politicstanner @verouys @gloriousjellyfisharcade @carolinevoight @shadowmoonlight0604 @ancrygurl @sunoon @jessgentleman @colorwastaken @loversroq @clown-around-and-find-out @popcorm @xcinnamonmalfoyx @robertthehoover @iloveoldermen0204 @kpopsmutty69 @iamkali

[accioharrington9]

we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

prompt: four times you spent a holiday with your best friend Steve Harrington and one time you didn't and missed him.

word count: 10.2k

warnings: friends-to-lovers, everyone can see it (including steve and reader but they're both kind of in denial), mutual pining, characters in their mid-twenties, fluff and (some) emotional angst, steve uses a cheesy nickname for reader, mentions of partying and alcohol consumption, some swearing, no use of y/n

notes: hi all, this is the first reader fic that i publish here, so bear with me, i tried my best <3 in light of the year-end celebrations, this fun little idea of a fic came to me and i decided to give it a shot, so i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

🥂🥂🥂

“What are your resolutions for the new year?”

You looked up from your glass of champagne when Steve asked you that question out of the blue. You were both leaning against the kitchen island at Nancy and Jonathan’s apartment, distractedly observing your friends playing a drinking game you had both stepped out of.  You were glad to allow your friends their fun, but mostly, to have a reason to get some alone time, just the two of you. A silent agreement, as always.

“You know I don’t believe in resolutions,” you answered before bringing a flute smudged by your red lipstick to your lips.

“Oh, come on, kitten, humor me for a second.”

You raised an eyebrow at him while he waited for your response with a cheeky smile. You heard Robin burst into laughter from the living room, but you were too focused on Steve’s loose strand of hair and the woody scent of his new cologne to acknowledge it.

“Fine,” you obliged him. “Well, I resolve to quit drinking coffee, exercise more, and buy a new and well-functioning car.”

“You’re full of shit,” Steve laughed. “Like you’re ever going to get rid of Gina.”

“Of course I’m not getting rid of Gina, she’s my ride-or-die,” you said, referring to your personified old car.

“Yeah, emphasis on ‘die’ – you're missing a rearview mirror in there.”

You nudged him playfully, briefly losing your balance but Steve helped steady you immediately, putting a hand on your hips that hovered there longer than necessary. You chuckled for good measure but couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face.

Everyone knew you and Steve had a thing for each other. It had been that way since high school – lingering looks in the hallway between classes, overly tactile during a mundane conversation, pretending to forget something at the other’s house to have a reason to go there again… Everyone knew it, was used to it, and never mentioned anything about it – you and Steve included.

Nothing had ever happened because the timing was always off. If it wasn’t Steve who was dating someone, you were; then you moved away to go to college, and when you came back to Hawkins after graduating, Steve had just left for an internship in New York. Eventually, you grew tired of the never-ending “what-ifs” and made your peace knowing that Steve Harrington would always be more than just a friend but less than a lover. A fine line you both tiptoed in and out of too much over the past eight years.

“What about you?” you eventually asked Steve. “You’re corny as shit, you must have a lot of them resolutions in mind.”

“I only thought of a couple, and they’re not that corny.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Steve laughed again, running a hand through his hair as he reflected on what he’d say. You admired him while he did so. It was frustrating, still having that teenage crush on your longtime friend, not being able to let it go, not entirely at least. You sometimes wished you could be his friend the way Robin was to him, or Eddie was to you. It would make it all so much easier, so much less painful than this in two minds you were both stuck in, this blatant desire for more, this fear that it could all be ruined in seconds, poor decisions fragmenting the illusion of a blissful friendship.

“I thought about learning how to play the guitar.”

“Cliché,” you teased. “What else?”

You could see the turn the conversation had taken when Steve hesitated before talking – looked nervous, even.

“Moving out. Getting my own place.”

You stared at Steve, quiet. You couldn’t say you were surprised – he’d been roommates with Eddie since they both enrolled in community college a few years ago. Even after graduating and getting a job, they stayed that way, because it was simple; splitting the bills, having someone to talk to after a lonely day. But it could only work for so long. It was only a matter of time until one or the other got bored and needed a change of scenery. To you, it was no surprise Steve had that revelation first.

“You sound serious,” was the only comment you could express.

“Because I am,” Steve said. “I started looking at one-bedroom apartments to rent in the neighborhood.”

“Does Eddie know?” you asked.

Steve pursed his lips as he shook his head from left to right. You hummed and couldn’t help but look at the young man in question, with his curly hair tied back in a bun and his poor imitation of some football player his team had to guess the name of. You loved this friend group – you loved the dynamic, the hijinks, and the stability. You loved hanging out with Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan at Eddie and Steve's apartment. You loved everything about it and the thought of losing your bearings, of disrupting your habits, made you too sad for the 31st of December, five minutes away from another midnight of confetti, embraces, and promises.

“You’re the first person I told,” Steve eventually said, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. “I thought you could share some of that wisdom you have to advise me.”

You snorted, lazily knocking your shoulder against his arm. “You buttering up to me, Harrington?”

“Only if it’s working.”

You got lost in his beautiful brown eyes, aware of the subtlest things, like his pinky finger brushing your hand timidly, the mint toothpaste on his breath, or how perfectly he wore the sweater you gifted him. It felt so right, standing close to him and toying with the possibility of the unknown. It always did with Steve.

“Okay guys, it’s officially one minute away from midnight, gather ‘round!!” Nancy exclaimed, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

Reluctantly, you left the little bubble of peace and happiness you had created in the kitchen, Steve following closely behind. As you started counting down from ten, surrounded by all your closest and dearest friends, you only had eyes for Steve.

It had become a habit since you first celebrated New Year’s Eve with him years ago – you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d kiss you at midnight. It was a fantasy you’d entertained ever since you were eighteen, the final and first thought of each year that passed without ever becoming real. Each year, naively, you thought it’d be different. But each year, it was the same old song all over again.

As the clock struck midnight and cheers erupted among the friend group, you hugged everyone. You saved the best ‘til last, heart beating frantically as Steve wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face in his neck, getting drunk on his cologne – pathetic, disillusioned.

“Happy New Year, kitten,” Steve whispered in your ear before kissing your cheek – soft, tender, and terribly platonic, as usual.

“Happy New Year, Harrington,” you kissed his cheek in return, the trace of your lipstick leaving a mark on his skin like a temporary tattoo.

And you were too busy thinking about the undone to notice that this year, Steve held you in his arms a little longer than usual.

🌹🌹🌹

“Bro-lentine’s Day?”

“Is that one of those boys band they keep talking about on the radio?"

You held back a laugh at Steve’s question and Eddie’s comment regarding the odd suggestion Robin had just made. The four of you were waiting in line at a Wendy's drive-thru in Steve’s car, the crescent moon shining its feeble light in the night sky above.

“Why would you even think about spending Valentine’s Day with your loser single friends when you have a beautiful girlfriend you could shower with gifts?” Eddie asked, to which Steve, behind the wheel, concurred immediately.

“I mean, I obviously love you guys, but I mostly suggest that because Vickie’s working a night shift on the 14th and I figured it’d be nice to hang out together, the four of us, instead of just… I don’t know, being alone?” Robin admitted.

“Oh, so we’re your stand-ins?” Eddie exclaimed, feigning offense under your amused attention. “Classy, Buckley.”

“That sounds a hell of a lot like a pity party, Rob,” Steve pointed out.

You laughed along as Robin kept putting her foot in her mouth. It was often like that – Robin and Eddie gently bickering in the back seats while you exchanged knowing looks with Steve, in your designated seat at the front of the car.

The only difference was this time, when Steve searched for your eyes to have a silent laugh with you, you avoided his gaze, pretending to look in the distance, thinking about something you needed to say to him but couldn’t find the courage to.

“Okay, fine,” Eddie eventually yielded. “Let’s do this thing. But I have one condition – we go to Steve’s new apartment.”

“Excellent idea!” Robin exclaimed, enthusiastic.

“I told you guys, I’m not done unboxing my stuff, the place is a mess,” Steve argued as he started the ignition to move forward.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You say that like you have a thousand boxes.”

“It's his plethora of hair products - they take up a lot of room,” Eddie teased, which made Robin snort.

“You’re both hilarious, seriously, I can’t stop laughing,” Steve said with a straight face.

“So, it’s a deal,” Eddie said. “Bro-lentine’s Day at Steve’s new place – no, I’m sorry Rob, you’ll have to find another name, I hate how it sounds when it comes out of my mouth.”

“What do you think, babes?”

You only focused back on the conversation when Robin called your name, looking away from the constellations in the sky.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry babes but count me out of this one,” you said with a sorry smile.

Robin laughed, thinking you were probably messing with her. Steve was driving slowly now that the line ahead finally seemed to clear.

“Right, because you have something better to do on Valentine’s Day, of course,” Robin joked while Eddie chuckled.

You tried not to take offense because you knew it was some innocent banter, but it didn’t stop you from frowning.

“Actually, yes, I do,” you contradicted. “I have a date that day.”

The car braked abruptly, causing a blast of horns from the vehicle behind and surprised yelps from the back seats.

“What the fuck, Harrington??” Eddie ranted. “That’s why I keep telling you you’re a shit driver, seriously, how did you manage to get your license, man?"

“Sorry, I got… distracted for a sec’,” Steve apologized.

You couldn’t bear to look Steve in the eye, so you toyed with the bracelets around your wrists and stared at your shoes, waiting for your friends’ reaction to the news.

“Is it someone we know?” Robin asked bluntly. “It’s the cute guy from the music shop at the mall, isn’t it? I knew he had a crush on you, you’re the only one who got Like a Prayer for half price.”

“It was… actually a twenty-percent discount,” you corrected, even though none of your friends cared about that information.

“Who even asks someone out on Valentine’s Day?” Eddie asked himself out loud. “We have three hundred and sixty-five days a year, why choose this nightmare of a commercialized day deliberately?”

“I think it’s cute,” Robin shrugged.

You attempted a smile, but it was nowhere near convincing. Robin and Eddie weren’t even paying attention to you anymore, discussing with each other the pros and cons of a first date on the 14th of February. You gathered the courage to look at Steve, decipher his expression. He might’ve been trying to get your attention a moment ago, but now, he was just staring in front of him, both hands firmly holding the lower part of the wheel.

“So, you’re really going to abandon me with these two idiots, huh?”

Your laugh at Steve’s rhetorical question was a mix of amusement and relief. If there was one thing that meant more than anything to you, it was the harmony between you two. You knew that as soon as you or Steve dated someone, that harmony was threatened. It had happened before. It was a fatality.

“You’ll be just fine,” you assured softly. “It’s just one night.”

Steve chuckled, finally making it to the pickup window. “Yeah, you’re right. Just one night. Easy-peasy.”

At that moment, you couldn’t have imagined that on the 14th of February, you’d find yourself knocking on Steve’s door at ten in the evening, makeup ruined by your disappointed tears, holding tight to your coat and shame in the cold evening air.

When Steve opened the door and saw you standing before him, he blinked at the unexpected sight of you sniffing and shivering.

“What are you doing here, kitten? Is everything okay?”

As soon as you heard Steve’s voice and the concern he displayed, it was out of your control – another tear rolled down your cheek.

“Oh no. Come here.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice- when Steve opened his arms at you, you dived in, letting him hug you tight, accepting his warmth and empathy.

“Dude stood you up?” Steve asked, voice muffled as his face was buried in your hair.

“Worse,” you said. “He was there.”

Steve huffed, because it could’ve been a funny anecdote if not for the dried mascara that ran under your eyes.

“So, we’re not going to the music shop again, huh?”

“I never said it was the guy from the music shop,” you pointed out.

“You never denied it either.”

You snorted and you felt Steve smile against your head. He was the first to part from your embrace, but you were under the impression he could’ve stayed like that much longer.

“What’s taking so long, dingus?” Robin shouted from the living room. “You need help with the pizzas?”

“It’s not the pizzas,” Steve retorted as you stepped inside the apartment.

Both Robin and Eddie turned around on the couch and looked equally surprised to see you there.

“Is it okay if I crash Bro-lentine’s Day?” you asked sheepishly.

“We’re not calling it that!” Eddie said in a singsong.

“You’re more than welcome to crash Bro-lentine’s Day, babes,” Robin told you while wrapping her arm around your shoulders as you sat next to her.

“I give up,” Eddie sighed before heading for the kitchen.

“What did the loser do to get you like that?” Robin inquired, touching your face where the tears had dried.

“Honestly, he wasn’t even that bad,” you explained. “He just… wasn’t what I expected. I guess I’m tired of getting my hopes up and ending up disappointed every time.” You paused, reflecting on that state of mind. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Robin contradicted with a sympathetic smile. “It’s Valentine’s Day, anyone would’ve expected a perfect date.”

“Hence why you don’t date on that doomed day.”

“Can’t you just let it go already, Eddie??”

You smiled softly at your friends’ innocent quarrel, and you realized in the end, there were no other people you’d rather spend the day of love and romance with.

So, you settled comfortably on the couch in Steve’s new apartment, surrounded by dozens of wrapped boxes and your closest friends with a glass of wine and a cheesy movie to watch, sharing the details of your date with them.

“Well, his loss, darling, not yours,” Eddie said in conclusion to your story.

“Definitely,” Robin nodded.

You smiled lightly and you thought maybe, just maybe, they were right.

“Why are you smiling like that, Harrington?” Eddie then asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no reason,” Steve answered casually before finding a tiny spot between you and Robin on the couch.

🎉🎉🎉

There was nothing more frustrating than being late to meet your friends and having your car’s engine make that hideous sputtering sound as you kept putting the key in the ignition without it ever starting.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you echoed in sync with the car’s noises.

“I see Gina’s being cranky today.”

You glared at Steve, sitting in the passenger seat and enjoying himself a little too much.

“It’s too hot outside, she doesn’t like it when it’s too hot,” you explained to yourself more than Steve.

“It’s the 4th of July, kitten. It’s always hot on the 4th of July.”

“Thank you so much for this enlightening forecast, Harrington, have you ever considered a career in meteorology?”

You bit your lip when you realized how harsh your comeback had sounded. You slowly turned your head to lay regretful eyes on your friend.

“Sorry,” you winced.

“You’re good. I think I know why Gina’s cranky today – she takes from her owner.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother denying it.

The sun was starting to set in a sky adorned with pink and orange hues only summer could take credit for. The air was hot, crickets chirping and bees buzzing while the whole town was already busying itself in preparation for the incoming festivities.

For the past six years, on Independence Day, you’ve met all your friends by the lake on the outskirts of Hawkins to have a barbecue with beers and watch the fireworks. It was a tradition you all honored religiously each Fourth of July.

Except this year, Robin was celebrating with Vickie’s family, Eddie was working at the music camp, which meant you were spending the evening with Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve, a group hangout that looked an awful lot like a double date, and it worked yourself up into quite a state.

“Did you get the Buds?” you asked Steve as the ignition still wouldn’t start.

“Packs in the trunk,” Steve answered straight off.

“And the blankets?”

“In the backseat.”

“The radio for the music?”

“Nance’s taking care of it.”

You fell back in your seat after failing one too many times to start the car and just closed your eyes, sighing heavily. You wiped your hands on your shorts, the summer heat getting the best of you, chest heaving and patience hanging by a thread.

“We can take my car tonight, maybe Gina needs the rest,” Steve suggested. It irritated you even more.

“We always take your car, tonight’s the one night a year we take mine,” you argued, putting the keys in the ignition again.

“We’ll take yours another time, then, it’s no big deal.”

“No,” you just said.

Without a heads-up, you got out of the vehicle. Steve followed you as you opened the hood to check the engine. You were rough in your endeavor, hair falling out on your face and hands quickly stained with oil.

“Why are you being so stubborn today?” Steve asked you, tone cutting sharp like a knife.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! You can tell as much as I can your car’s not going anywhere tonight, mine’s parked right behind and ready to go, so why are we losing time for nothing?”

“She’s just being picky right now but I’m getting there. She needs a little boost and she’s good to go,” you insisted, wiping the back of your hand on your forehead before realizing it’d smudge the oil.

“Yeah, sure, at this rate, she’ll be good to go for Thanksgiving,” Steve said ironically.

You shut the hood close abruptly, shooting daggers at Steve as he stood in front of you with his arms crossed. He looked just as irritated as you did.

“You’re being an asshole,” you stated matter-of-factly.

Steve snickered, eyebrows raising like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“Oh, I’m the asshole in this situation? You’re a fine one to talk!”

“Are you seriously turning the tables on me right now?!”

“I’m not, you’re clearly in a mood today and you’re taking it out on me! Last I heard, I’m not a punching bag!”

Your face twisted into a scowl because Steve annoyed you a great deal, but mostly because he was right. You were far from being good company today, and today was meant to be fun, chill, eventful. You could blame it all on Gina, but you knew that was just the tip of the iceberg.

“I’m just saying I’m going to get the car started just fine, all I need is a few minutes to figure it out. And we’re already late anyway, they won’t hate us for the extra ten minutes,” you said as you opened the hood again.

“This is not about the car and we both know it,” Steve stated, sure of himself. Of course, he was – he knew you like the back of his hand.

You closed the hood as soon as you opened it, walking closer to Steve to face him properly.

“Maybe you should take it easy if you want her to work, you know,” Steve remarked.

“Why don’t you just say what’s on my mind, Steve? Since you apparently know it better than I do,” you hit him with your words.

“But that’s just the thing! I don’t!” Steve exclaimed, his voice raising an octave. “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now and you won’t tell me a goddamn thing!”

“You already know what’s going on with me, I made it perfectly clear – I want my fucking car to start so we can go and meet our friends, as we do every year!”

“And I made it perfectly clear that we can take my car, so why are we still arguing about this??”

“Because it’s the way things are supposed to be!!”

The silence that followed that revelation felt intrusive. You couldn’t wait for Steve to tell you off, to argue with you some more, but instead, he didn’t say another word and just stared at you, dumbfounded. It allowed you to reflect on your behavior of the past ten minutes and you immediately dropped your eyes to look at your shoes, ashamed.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked you then, voice softer.

You sighed and looked in the distance, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s the tradition. On the 4th of July, you come to my place to help me pack everything, we take my car to pick up Eddie and Robin on the way to the lake, we meet Nance and Jonathan there, then, you and Eddie set the barbecue while Jonathan and I take care of the music, and Nance and Robin lay the blankets to make us cozy. And we eat and drink until they shoot the fireworks from downtown – it’s how the day is supposed to go.”

“Right, and it’s how it’s going to go today,” Steve assured, confused.

“No, it’s not. Rob and Eddie are not there this year, and because of Gina, we’re late and missing out on the sunset.” You paused, taking a breath. “It’s what I look forward to the most. Watching the sunset on the lake with you guys. All of you.”

Steve relaxed his shoulders and breathed out like he finally made sense of the underlying problem. He stepped closer to you and his hand cupped your face, willing you to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, I’m going to take a wild guess and assume it has something to do with Nancy and Jonathan talking about moving to Chicago next year for Nancy’s job,” Steve said. “Am I boiling or getting colder?”

The rhetorical question elicited a weak smile on your lips.

“I know Chicago’s not that far from Hawkins, but… I like the way things are right now, you know?” you explained while Steve listened, nodding. “I like that we can hang out whenever we want to, show up unannounced at each other’s place, and whatnot.”

“You can still do that if they move to Chicago. It’ll just take you more than three hours to get there,” he teased you.

Steve did it – he made you laugh. “I’m not so sure Gina would survive the trip.”

“I’ll let you borrow my car, then,” Steve whispered, and even though you were bantering, it sounded like a promise.

You chuckled, the knot in your stomach coming undone as Steve put his thumb to your forehead, stroking where you had wiped the oil stain earlier.

“You look like shit,” he told you unceremoniously.

“And you’re a shitty friend,” you bit back, making you both smile.

Friend. The denomination never felt strong enough to define what you and Steve meant to one another. Yet, it was the only one you used, the only one that brought you comfort, especially in those blurry moments that kept you wondering why that boy had always been so sweet and kind to you, even when you felt undeserving.

You jumped at the sound of a car honking from the street, bringing you back to reality as you and Steve turned your heads to see what happened. You felt amused, and somehow relieved when you saw Nancy popping her head out the passenger window of Jonathan’s car like a beautifully staged interruption.

“Oh my God, you guys are late too?” Nancy shouted at them. “I told Jonathan to go over the speed limit, and as you can imagine, he was not happy about it.”

Steve laughed, and you followed suit because it was almost ridiculous, how perfect the situation had turned out. Sure, things felt different this year, with winds of change impending, and the future of your friend group unclear. But at least, you were all on the same page.

“While we’re here, get in the car with us!” Nancy offered, gesturing for you to come closer. “Maybe we can still catch the sunset.”

You exchanged an amused look with Steve, silently agreeing that your uncooperative car and your latest conversation would remain a secret you’d share only between you. Your friends didn’t need to know the reason why you were late.

So, you and Steve hurried to put everything in Jonathan’s car, climbed in the backseat, and made it to the lake just in time to admire the remnant of sunset and put everything into place to wait for the fireworks.

And as you put a blanket over your and Nancy’s shoulders, the fire crackling in the quiet of the evening around you, you couldn’t help but search for Steve’s eyes. He was already looking at you, sitting across the fire next to Jonathan. You smiled when you realized, and he winked at you, playful, secretive.

Maybe you were lying to yourself, in the end. Maybe you didn’t mean it when you said you liked things the way they were. Maybe there was one thing you wouldn’t mind changing, you thought as you looked away from Steve to look up at the fireworks now erupting in the sky above.

🎃🎃🎃

“I’m not sure I get it, Robin – who are you dressed as?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question, Nance? Marty McFly? Don’t tell me you still haven’t watched Back to the Future!”

“I didn’t have time.”

“In five years, you didn’t have time to watch a two-hour movie?”

“I work a lot, okay?!”

You were only half-listening to Robin and Nancy’s bickering as you finished getting ready for the Halloween party that your high school classmate Tina and her best friend Vicki Carmichael threw every year.

Usually, on the 31st of October, you would just crash at Steve and Eddie’s former apartment with the group, stuffing your face with popcorn and watching horror movies. But this year, the boys didn’t live at that apartment anymore and it was the last Halloween you’d all spend together in Hawkins before Jonathan and Nancy moved to Chicago next January. You all agreed it called for a memorable celebration, hence why you were now getting ready with the girls at your place.

“So, you mean to tell me you haven’t had time to watch Back to the Future, but you had it to watch all three Star Wars movies, judging on your costume?” Robin asked while Nancy grunted in frustration.

“I told you last week, me and Jonathan are wearing couple’s costumes – he’s Han Solo and I’m Princess Leia, obviously,” she explained while pointing at her long white dress and peculiar hairstyle.

“Couple’s costumes,” Robin repeated. “Kids these days, they’re just talking nonsense.”

“It’s romantic and fun, you’re just jealous you didn’t think about it for you and Vickie,” Nancy retorted as you were starting to think you were in the middle of playground taunts.

“Oh yeah, I should’ve asked Vickie to dress as Doc, it would’ve been crazy romantic,” Robin sassed.

Once the heels were at your feet, you turned around on your chair to stare at your friends.

“You two realize how stupid your fight is, right?” you chipped in.

“We’re not fighting,” Robin and Nancy said in unison.

You rolled your eyes and turned back around to face your vanity and finish your makeup, but it was too late – you had involuntarily drawn the attention to you.

“And who are you dressing as, hot stuff?” Nancy cooed while smirking at your reflection in the mirror.

You hummed the Dirty Dancing theme song to answer her question, and she nodded approvingly, taking in your pink dress and silver heels.

“I love it,” Nancy smiled.

“Thanks,” you said as you stood up. “And you two look equally great, so stop biting each other’s heads off.”

“So, if you’re Jennifer Grey, does it mean Steve’s dressing as Patrick Swayze? I could see him pulling that off.”

Robin’s question took you aback for it came out of nowhere. You gaped at her, face warm and thoughts racing.

“Hmm, no, he’s not. That’d… be a great couple’s costume, for sure. But we’re not a couple, so…” you stammered, awfully self-conscious.

“Well, yeah, but you might as well be.”

“Robin,” Nancy reprimanded her with warning eyes.

“What??” Robin exclaimed while you watched, confused. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what I mean, it’s been going on for years, this… whatever this is. And honestly, we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see it.”

Nancy blushed, embarrassment written all over her face as she rubbed a hand over it.

“I don’t… understand,” you admitted, tugging at the hems of your dress to anchor yourself in the moment.

“There’s nothing to understand, babes,” Nancy said softly. “Robin was just joking. Right, Rob?”

Nancy was now glaring at Robin, who had no option but to concur. It felt like you were missing something there, and you didn’t like it. Were your friends talking behind your back? Were they annoyed at your relationship with Steve? Annoyed at the ambiguity, the unsaid, the attraction? Was it all that obvious as of late?

“I’m sorry, guys,” Robin said with a sigh. “I had a fight with Vickie earlier today and it messed me up a little bit.”

“Oh, babes,” Nancy softened, hugging Robin from the side.

“I know that’s no excuse for being a jerk,” Robin winced in your direction.

“You’re all right,” you said with a sympathetic smile, and both Robin and Nancy seemed relieved.

The three of you talked Robin through her problem until it was time to meet the guys outside. Nancy was the first to exit the apartment, but Robin lingered by the front door, hand hovering hesitantly above the handle. Eventually, she made up her mind and turned over to face you.

“I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for earlier,” Robin told you.

“It’s okay, Rob, I get it. You were upset about your fight with Vickie and said stuff you didn’t mean. It’s fine, it happens to all of us,” you said, wondering why Robin had felt the need to bounce back on that.

“No, but see, that’s the thing – I did mean it,” she contradicted. “I just didn’t say it like I should’ve.”

“And how should you say it?” you asked with a frown.

Robin looked uncertain now, fidgeting where she stood. You imagined that if Nancy were still in the room with you two, she’d probably give Robin an earful.

“When I said that we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see what there is between you and Steve, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” she elaborated under your undivided attention. “It’s just… We’re your friends, and you know, as friends, we want what’s best for each other, I’m sure you feel that way about us too –“

“Robin, cut to the chase, please,” you interjected before she could lose herself in her explanation.

“We just think if you two admitted what you’re both obviously feeling for each other… You could be very happy together. And the rest of us would be too because damn, we’ve watched it happen since high school and it’s about time one of you does something about it, babes.”

You stared at the door behind Robin, wishing to run away from this conversation that was too much for you to handle. It was the first time one of your friends confronted you on the matter, upfront, and you had no idea how to react.

“I’m not expecting you to say anything, don’t worry,” Robin added. “I just wanted you to know what everyone else is thinking. Do what you want with that information.”

You opened your mouth to respond but you heard the distinctive sound of Eddie’s van parking on the street, your sign that it was time to go and end this conversation for good. You rushed to the door, opening it before Robin could and hurtling down the stairs to some extent on your heels. Once you were outside, you breathed in slowly, calming down and processing what one of your best friends had just confided to you.

You and Robin met Nancy on the curb as Eddie slid the van’s side door open to let you in the backseats.

“Evening, ladies,” Eddie greeted.

“Wow, you’re Elton!” Nancy exclaimed after studying Eddie’s costume, a white ensemble with feathers and glitter that was the singer’s signature.

“You could get that but not mine?!” Robin exclaimed, almost offended.

“Move on, Rob, and let’s have fun tonight,” Nancy teased her while sitting near Jonathan, dressed in the easily identifiable Han Solo outfit.

Robin took the passenger seat next to Eddie, leaving you with no choice but to sit next to Steve at the back of the van. Of course. Almost like it had been on purpose, you thought to yourself.

You settled next to him and you were almost insecure, something you’d never felt around him. You resented Robin for not knowing best, and not keeping her mouth shut.

“Hey, kitten,” Steve welcomed you as you smoothed the edges of your dress.

“Hey, Harrington,” you said in return, attempting to smile at him.

You studied his costume as he studied yours. Aviator sunglasses on his head, green jumpsuit, sleeves rolled back under his elbows – Maverick from Top Gun. You'd gushed over the character when the movie came out, and you wondered if it happened to be a funny coincidence or if Steve had picked that costume on purpose.

“Baby,” Steve suddenly said.

“What?” you choked out with widened eyes.

Steve frowned. “Your costume,” he clarified. “Baby from Dirty Dancing, right?”

You processed the information and chuckled awkwardly, feeling stupid. You let Robin get in your head and you hated it.

“Right,” you breathed out as Eddie drove away.

Something passed in Steve’s eyes, and you were not sure what it was. Hesitation, desire, resignation… You watched and waited, fingers laced on your lap, heartbeat echoing in your ears.

“You look… very nice,” Steve told you in a hushed voice.

You knew neither Nancy nor Jonathan could’ve heard it – they were engaged in a vivid conversation with Robin and Eddie in the front of the car. It was an intimate declaration, meant for you and you only.

Your lips parted subtly, but Steve’s eyes caught it regardless. It did not soothe the rate of your beating heart.

“Thanks,” you croaked it, throat tight. “You’re not too bad yourself."

Steve smiled briefly, then did the strangest thing. He leaned in, his face awfully close to yours, and you thought; this was it. He was going to kiss you. Right then, right there, in the back of Eddie’s van dressed as the guy from Top Gun on the way to a Halloween party.

And as much as you wanted him to kiss you, it wasn’t how you wanted him to do it. Not the place, not the time. Maybe Steve realized it too because he moved away as quickly as he had gotten closer to you, clearing his throat and watching out the window like nothing happened.

The party at Tina’s villa was loud, messy, and packed with former classmates – some you were glad to run into, others you made a strong case of avoiding. You had a nice chat with your high school sweetheart, even though you could feel Steve’s eyes on you the whole time. When you couldn’t bear the weight of his yearning gaze, you took a sip of that rum punch Vicki Carmichael had made – a few times.

You fled to the bathroom around eleven to freshen up and have some alone time. You were reasonably drunk, but still conscious enough to notice someone was already in the room when you barged into it.

“Oh, so sorry, I didn’t know someone was in there –”

You cut the apology short when you recognized the person’s reflection staring at you in the mirror.

“Becky, hi,” you said, surprised.

The girl greeted you back, the sound of your name imperceptible amid the party people shouting in the hallway. Now, you were reasonably drunk and very uncomfortable.

Becky was the last girl Steve had dated. They had been together for two years and seemed happy until Becky broke up with Steve overnight. Everyone assumed she’d probably met someone else, but you always felt like that was too simple and there was another more plausible explanation.

“You okay?” Becky asked you.

“Y – yeah, I just needed to cool off,” you mumbled.

You assumed Becky would urge you to clear off and leave her be, but instead, she stepped aside to give you some space in front of the sink.

You closed the door behind you and stood in front of the mirror, silently watching Becky perfect the mascara on her lashes. You quickly gathered she was dressed as Madonna in the Material Girl music video.

“It’s… been a while,” you said to break that awful silence. “What are you up to these days?”

“Small talk, huh? I thought we were way past that.”

You chuckled, ill at ease and too drunk to have a proper conversation. Out of all the girls Steve had dated, Becky was the one who unsettled you the most. You never knew what to expect of her.

“How’s Stevie?” Becky then asked before reapplying some lipstick.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Becky's inquiry, but something turned your stomach. You always hated it when she called Steve that name. It reminded you of a jealous version of yourself you’d rather leave in the past.

“He’s good,” you said casually, no matter your inner turmoil. “You know. Same old, same old.”

Becky’s lips turned into the semblance of a smile.

“I take it you two still aren’t together.”

You felt your heart drop at that comment. What did she mean, “still”? And what was up with everyone and their insights regarding your relationship with Steve?

“It sounded a lot less petty in my head, I promise,” Becky said when you stayed silent.

“It’s not that,” you replied. “I’m just… surprised you would say that.”

Becky sighed and turned around to face you. It looked like she was about to get a lot of things off her chest, and you were not sober enough for that.

“You know why I broke up with Steve?” Becky asked you, and she obviously wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Why all the girls he dates eventually break things off with him?”

You blinked. You didn’t want Steve’s ex-girlfriend to share that information with you. You had absolutely no desire to detain such knowledge. Yet, you shook your head, permitting Becky to say what she really thought, too curious to pretend you didn’t care.

“Because it’s painfully obvious he’s in love with you and we’re just here passing time until he finally has the balls to tell you.”

In love. You had thought about it all with Steve – he thinks I’m pretty; he’s attracted to me; he likes me more than a friend. But never in your wildest dreams had you dared fantasize about these powerful little words.

He’s in love with you, Becky’s voice repeated like a broken record on a loop in your mind. Taunting, hopeful, too good to be true.

You found yourself sitting on the bathtub’s edge, both arms at your side, speechless. Becky leaned against the wall across from you and chuckled like she'd just shared the funniest story.

“Don’t tell me this is shocking news.”

“I…” you started without finishing your thought. You were at a loss for words and your head started spinning, the fateful sentence seeping into your mind faster than the liquor in your system.

“Look, obviously, it wasn’t my place to tell, but you know, despite everything, I always liked you,” Becky confessed. “You were always nice to me, even though I could tell it was not easy for you.”

You lowered your eyes, apologetic. It was true – you had always been nice to Becky. After all, it wasn’t the girl’s fault if you had feelings you’d never dare confess to your best friend.

“That’s why I’m telling you,” Becky resumed. “I’m trying to help you two out. This whole faint-hearted act was probably cute when you were sixteen, but you’re adults now. Are you waiting for him to get married and start a family with someone else to tell him how you feel?”

The mere thought made your heart ache. You didn’t want to picture Steve married to someone else. It made you nauseous.

“Sorry, that was harsh,” Becky apologized.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked her in a whisper, feeling like your head was about to explode. “Why are you telling this to me and not him?”

Becky stared at you like you’d just said the most nonsensical thing.

“Because he’s an idiot and a coward. If you’re waiting for him to make a move, you’ll wait a long time, honey.”

You spaced out for a moment, and when you returned to your senses, Becky was gone, leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts in that bathroom.

Becky was right. Steve was an idiot and a coward. The inebriation clouded all your good judgments, so you got to your feet and walked out of the bathroom to look for Steve. After everything that happened tonight, you were confused, upset, and even angry.

You found him outside by the pool, joking around with some guys from his old swim team in high school. You marched to him, bold and determined, and he didn’t notice you right away, so you hooked your fingers to the fabric around his arm and dragged him behind you. You ignored the guys whistling at you both or Steve protesting and asking what had gotten into you until you walked into an empty room on the side of the villa and closed the patio door behind you.

“Okay, what the hell was that about??” Steve exclaimed, his voice loud in the quiet of the room, away from the party noises and the music. “Have you lost your shit??”

“You’re an idiot,” you told him in an accusing tone.

“Tell me about it,” Steve sassed you.

“And a coward!”

“Oh, so you have a whole list, huh?”

“That’s what Becky said.”

Steve looked at you in silence, processing what you just said.

“Of course, you talked to Becky….” he sighed. “Let me guess – she said I stole her INXS tape? She needs to let it go, she clearly lost it, she can’t keep blaming me for –“

“I don’t want you to get married, Steve,” you interrupted him, blurting out what you had been obsessing about for the last ten minutes.

Steve froze and looked at you like you were insane. And you might just be, you realized. You took a step back, dizzy and embarrassed.

“I… was not planning on getting married any time soon. Where is that coming from?” Steve asked you, stepping toward you.

You bit your tongue, holding from saying another stupidity you’d immediately regret. Suddenly, your choice to confront Steve and isolate yourselves in a bedroom didn’t look like the brilliant plan it seemed to be five minutes ago.

“Forget it, I’m drunk, and I don’t know what I’m saying,” you stammered, head low as you walked toward the door.

“Hey,” Steve brought you short by taking your hand before you had the chance to leave. His touch was tender, your hand fit perfectly in his, and you understood what Becky meant when she said "still not together".

“Talk to me,” Steve urged, lacing his fingers with yours. It was unbearable, how natural it felt. “You used to tell me everything, and now, I have no idea what’s up with you anymore.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, wishing you could go back in time and stop yourself from putting the two of you in this awful situation.

“Come on, kitten, we’re friends, you can tell me anything.”

Friends. You loathed the word that normally comforted you. You couldn’t stand to hear it.

He’s in love with you. How could he say you were friends when he was the one you called first when your car broke down, when he’d snuck out of college to comfort you after you got dumped by your ex-boyfriend, when he drove you across the country to see your sick grandfather for the last time? How did he have the audacity to minimize what you meant to each other after taking such a significant place in your heart for years and years?

“We’re not friends,” you mumbled.

You looked at him and thought you could see heartbreak in his eyes. You’d hurt him. You’d hurt him badly.

“We’re not?” he asked, his voice breaking in the inflection.

You held your breath as Steve questioned you with glistening eyes. He didn’t understand what you were trying to tell him, and it was killing you.

“You know what I mean,” you breathed out, unable to say the actual words.

He’s in love with you. It was so simple. Why couldn’t he just admit it?

You’re in love with him too, why can’t you say it?  you admitted to yourself.

Because no, it wasn’t that simple. Steve wasn’t the only coward in this situation. After all these years, it was so scary to admit, even more to say out loud. How could you expect him to say it when you were terrified of doing it yourself?

Eventually, Steve let go of your hand, an almost insignificant gesture that shattered your heart into a million pieces.

“Actually… No. I don’t know what you mean,” he said, defeated, before leaving the room.

You did it. You ruined everything, you thought as you sat on the floor and cried your heartbreak away.

🎁🎁🎁

It was supposed to be the merriest day of the year, with children's laughter filling the air and countless presents to unwrap. Yet, your heart was not in it, and you had to hold back tears during dinner that night at your parents’ house.

You hadn’t talked to or heard from Steve in almost two months, and it was officially the longest you’d spent without seeing each other. The thought was excruciating. He was your best friend in the entire world, you were head over heels in love with him, and the absence of him was like gasping for air on the verge of drowning.

But today was a merry day. Today was all about spending time together, eating a nice homemade meal, and reuniting. So, you played the part – you ate dinner, played board games with your cousins, and chatted with your uncles and aunts. You did what you were expected to do, and nothing more.

When you returned to your place, to your sad and lonely apartment, you sat down on the floor, still in your red party dress, back to your couch with a glass of wine, and flipped through a photo album Nancy and Jonathan had given you for your twenty-fifth birthday.

It was a recollection of happy times Jonathan had captured with his camera throughout the years – from graduating high school to renting your first crappy apartment, taking your first trip to New York with the group, and celebrating various occasions with them.

You took the last photo from the album, holding it between your fingers to get a closer look. It was a picture of you and Steve on New Year’s Eve the year before. You were posing for the camera, smiling from ear to ear. You were looking at the lens, but Steve only had eyes for you, holding you in his arms with rosy cheeks. When you looked at it like that, in retrospect and from another’s perspective, it seemed so evident that the guy in the picture loved the girl posing next to him.

You were fully crying now, blurry eyes and stuffy nose in contradiction with the holiday spirit. You were about to put the picture away in the album when something in the back of it caught your eye.

There was a note in the handwriting you would recognize anywhere at any given time – Steve’s. Your heart skipped a beat. It had gone unnoticed the first time you’d looked through the album at your birthday party and none of your friends had mentioned a thing about it. You started to look at a handful of pictures to see if others had something hidden on the other side, but they were all blank. All except for one.

You took a deep breath, pondering. Maybe Nancy and Jonathan were unaware of it, but Steve not saying anything didn’t make sense. This note had been there, forgotten in an album gathering dust in your bookcase, for months, and it could’ve gone on for years had you not felt nostalgic on that specific day.

You wondered if you should read it or pretend you’d never seen it. It was only a few words; they were probably some meaningless inside jokes or more personal birthday wishes. But they could also be something more, much more.

You knew you couldn’t live with the uncertainty, so you gathered your courage and read.

Happy birthday, kitten! Don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but I want you to know you’re my favorite person in the entire world, and I love you. Yours always, Steve PS: stop being a sourpuss just ‘cause you turned 25

It had been there. Right there, under your nose, all along. Yours always.

Before you could think it through, your coat was around your shoulders and you were behind the wheel, ready to drive to Steve’s place and tell him how you felt. Screw the stability and the uncertainty – you loved the boy too and you needed to tell him tonight.

It was past midnight, the air was cold and the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the pavement as you drove a little too fast toward Steve’s building. Your heart was racing in your chest, anticipation mingling with excitement while you rehearsed what you’d say in your head.

You were going to confess your true feelings to Steve. Nothing could scare you anymore.

Except, perhaps, the ominous sputtering sound your car made when you tried to restart at a traffic light.

“No, no, no, no, no, come on, not now!!” you begged desperately.

The ignition wouldn’t turn over, and you could’ve screamed at the sky. Was it some sort of cosmic sign preventing you from making the biggest mistake of your life?

You got out of the car to check the engine under the hood. When you opened it, it did something it’d never done before – it gave off fumes.

You coughed violently as you stepped away from the car, looking all around you and realizing you were alone on the street in the middle of the night with a kaput car and wasted opportunities.

“This is a nightmare,” you told yourself out loud. “This can’t be happening to me.”

Your eyes burned as you were about to cry again, disheartened and pathetic. Then, some headlights on the other side of the road caught your attention.

A maroon car stopped next to you and turned the ignition off. You held your breath, recognizing the vehicle instantly and wondering if the universe wouldn’t happen to be messing with you.

The driver exited the car and eyed yours up and down before chuckling.

“I had a feeling Gina wouldn’t make it through the year,” he said.

You laughed, the sound choked up in your throat at the improbability of the situation. You couldn’t believe Steve was there, rescuing you even without meaning to, always being there when you needed him to, the constant one in your life. As luck would have it, you thought.

“What are you doing here this late at night?” you asked him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he remarked with a smile.

You returned his smile, nervously fixing your hair. The wind was rising, and the air was filled with change and expectations.

“I was… on my way to your place, actually,” you explained, somehow shyly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

A few seconds passed until Steve spoke again like he was processing the information. “That’s funny, I was on my way to your place too.”

You swallowed, unable to stop hoping. “You were?”

“Yeah… Of course, I was,” Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and I realized I never got a chance to give you your present because we weren't speaking to each other, so… Anyways, I can just give it to you now.”

“We’re literally in the middle of the road, Steve.”

He looked around at the empty and silent street for good measure. “Yeah, and it’s not like it’s rush hour right now, I think we’re good.”

You opened your mouth to retort but opted against saying anything else. It was your first interaction with him in weeks, it was out of the question to ruin it just to have the last word.

The young man got something from the backseat of his car and immediately handed it to you. You took it carefully, turning it over in your hand to try and figure out what was beneath the wrapping paper.

“I… don’t have your gift,” you admitted, crestfallen. “I mean, I did get you something, but I didn’t think to give it to you tonight.”

“It’s okay, kitten. Just open it.”

You complied, slowly unwrapping the paper with trembling fingers and shortness of breath as Steve observed quietly.

You were now looking at a book’s front cover, and it might’ve seemed unremarkable at first glance, but it was not some common paperback.

“First limited edition,” Steve explained, even though you already knew. “You talked about it at Eddie’s place a couple of months ago, that it was almost impossible to find today, and you’d love to have it. So, I went to every bookstore in town to ask if they knew where to get it, and one of them gave me their counterpart's number from England, they had to send it all the way here but… Yeah,” Steve concluded, face red and hands in his pocket. “I found it.”

You looked up from the book to lock eyes with Steve. He seemed expectant and abashed, almost anxious of your reaction.

“You went to all this trouble for me?” you asked in disbelief.

He pursed his lips and nodded as if it was that obvious.

“You’re well worth the trouble.”

All this time, you had expected blatant signs, big gestures, and declarations, when Steve had been telling you how he felt in his own way for years. It had always been there – in fleeting touches, longing stares, and understated actions.

“I read it,” you eventually confessed.

"The book?" Steve asked, puzzled.

“No," you laughed. "The note you wrote in my photo album. I read it tonight.”

You noticed the way Steve held his breath at that revelation. Suddenly, you no longer cared that you were standing in the middle of the road with your dead car by your side. Suddenly, all that mattered was the pretty boy standing before you and what you felt for him.

“It was corny, right?” Steve said with a nervous laugh. “I know you don’t like it when it’s corny but –“

“Can’t you just be serious for one minute, Harrington?” you cut him short with an amused eye roll. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel here.”

“I know,” Steve breathed out. “I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel for months now, but I never find the right words.”

In the elation of the moment, your words got a mind of their own, and you heard yourself saying: “Show me, then.”

Friends. A designation you held onto for the past eight years, a status that put things into perspective whenever Steve introduced a new girlfriend to the group, a word that freed you of your guilt when getting into relationships yourself, a term that helped you when you would yearn for something more, something you thought to be unrealistic and unreachable.

That word no longer held any power over you now that you were in Steve Harrington’s arms and he leaned in to seal his lips with yours into a long-awaited and overdue kiss, the promise of a cherished and beautiful future.

You'd envisioned the scene time and time again in your mind, but none of the imaginary scenarios your fantasies created could measure up to that kiss. It was sweet, yet demanding, like you were the air he needed to breathe. He kissed you like he loved - sincerely, tenderly, and intensely. You smiled against his mouth, and your heart melted when he did it too.

When you parted from him, lips swollen and eyelashes fluttering, you felt like everything was finally right and mourned the time you wasted being scared of changes.

“So… What now?” you whispered, getting a strand of hair out of Steve’s face to look at him better.

The boy held your gaze, enamored and enraptured like you’d never seen him before. You enjoyed it while it lasted because it was a momentary bliss until reality caught up.

“Well, first, we’re going to call a tow truck," Steve said as he entwined his fingers with yours. "And then, you’ll bid farewell to Gina,” he nodded toward the car.

Your heart tightened in your chest. You’d almost forgotten about your car. It was truly ironic, how you needed to say goodbye to your oldest partner while embracing a new beginning with your best friend.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” you asked while batting your lashes at him.

“Hey, just because we’re going to make out a lot from now on doesn’t mean you get to do that,” Steve jokingly scolded you while gesturing at your face.

“Do what?” you asked, coy and amused.

Steve laughed and put his arm around your shoulders. “Come on, kitten, I’m taking you home.”

At first, it didn’t feel like much had changed between you and Steve. You were still teasing each other, spending time with the group before Nancy and Jonathan’s departure, and arguing about what car you should buy now that Gina was in a junkyard.

But things had changed for the better, and you realized it on New Year’s Eve when Steve kissed you at midnight, as he would for many new years to come.

❤️❤️❤️

[killerplink]

SHIFT

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: You spend the whole night teasing Dick—subtle touches, flirty whispers, pressing up against him just to watch him struggle. But the second you're alone? He snaps. You wanted to play? Now you're taking everything he's been holding back.

Words: 7,1k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, butt slapping, rough sex, vaginal fingering, edging, multiple orgasms, creampie

Dick fucking hates clubs. The loud music, the sweaty bodies pressing too close, the overpriced drinks, it's everything he actively avoids. But you wanted to go, and, well, there's nothing he won't do for you.

He keeps an arm around you the whole night, not because he's possessive—okay, maybe a little—but because you look too damn good in that tiny dress, and he's had to glare down more than one pair of wandering eyes. You're all over him: draped around his shoulders, whispering against his jaw, grinding against his thigh like you don't give a shit who's watching.

And maybe you don't.

Maybe it's the cocktails, or maybe you just love pushing him to the edge, seeing how much he can take before he snaps. Either way, his patience is running on fumes by the time he gets you in the car.

Now, as he drives home, his knuckles tight on the wheel, you're still at it—still teasing, still testing him.

"Dick," you hum, voice all soft and sweet, your head resting against his shoulder.

You drag your nails down his thigh, just barely brushing against his cock through his jeans.

He tenses, jaw clenching. "Baby."

His voice is warning, firm, but you don't give a shit.

You shift closer, lips ghosting against his neck, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. "You're so tense, baby..." Another kiss, this time against his sharp jawline. "Should let me help you relax."

Dick exhales through his nose. "You've had too much to drink."

"So?" you purr, shameless. Your fingers move higher, tracing the outline of his hard dick. "You're so hard, my love."

He curses under his breath, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "Of course I am," he mutters. "You spent all night rubbing your ass on me like a little brat."

You giggle, shifting in your seat, pressing your thighs together. You're soaked, your panties sticking to your cunt, and you know he knows. He can see it, smell it, feel the heat radiating off you.

"Can't help it," you murmur, lips brushing against his ear. "You're so fucking sexy, baby."

His grip tightens on the wheel, and you swear his foot presses just a little harder on the gas.

"We're almost home," he mutters. "Behave."

But you? Oh, you don't behave. You slip a hand between your thighs, pushing your dress up just enough for him to see. You let your fingers trail over your soaked panties, gasping softly at the contact, putting on a show just for him.

And when he glances down—just for a second, just to see what the fuck you're doing—he groans, deep and frustrated, gripping the wheel like it's the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.

You don't stop there. No, you drag your fingers up, pressing against the damp fabric, rubbing slow, lazy circles right where you know it'll make you shiver. Your other hand grips your thigh, spreading yourself open just a little more, just enough to drive him insane.

"Fuck," he grits out, knuckles turning white on the wheel. His jaw clenches so hard you think it might snap. "You're testing me, sweetheart."

"Mmm," you hum, teasing yourself right in front of him, letting out a soft whimper just to push him further. "You don't like it? Thought you liked watching me, my love."

His breath shudders, and his grip tightens, muscles flexing as he struggles to keep his focus on the road. His eyes flick between you and the street ahead, torn between staying in control and pulling over to ruin you.

"Baby," he sighs, his voice strained, dangerous. "You're really testing me tonight."

"Good," you pout, wide, pleading eyes locking onto his. "I need you."

And fuck, if that doesn't snap the last thread of his self-control. Dick knows you too well by now. Knows how you get when you've had one too many cocktails, how you love to test him sometimes, to push just to see how far you can go before he snaps. And usually? He doesn't let you get to him like this.

Usually, he's more composed. He can handle it because he expects it. Because he knows you. He sees the glint in your eyes before you even make a move, can read you like the back of his hand. But tonight?

Tonight, he's fucking struggling.

Maybe it's the dress—the one he loves, the one that hugs your curves just right and rides up dangerously high when you sit. Or maybe it's the way you look right now, flushed and giggling, a little tipsy, a little messy, so fucking breathtaking he can barely stand it.

Either way, the fifteen-minute drive home is pure torture.

His cock is throbbing, painfully hard, pressing tight against his jeans, and all he can think about is you. Your soft moans, the way you touch yourself just to tease him, the way your fingers trembled when they brushed over your soaked panties.

Fuck. He grips the wheel tighter, jaw clenched so hard it aches, forcing himself to focus on the road instead of the filthy thoughts running through his head.

Because if he thinks about it too much? He's definitely pulling over. Pulling you into his lap, yanking that little dress up around your waist, sinking into your dripping pussy and fucking you right here, right now.

But somehow—somehow—he makes it home without losing his goddamn mind.

The second he parks, he's out of the car, moving fast to open your door. But you're even faster, throwing yourself against him, pressing soft, sloppy kisses against his neck as he exhales sharply.

"Baby," he mutters, trying—trying—to sound stern, but you just hum, nuzzling against his jaw.

Then comes the elevator. You're quiet at first, a little sheepish, standing close but not too close. But the second the doors close? Oh, you're an absolute menace.

At the same time you press the button, you press back against him, your ass grinding against his hard cock like you need him to feel how wet you are, how much you want him. His hands snap to your hips, gripping tight, a weak attempt to stop you, but he can't fool you.

"You're so hard," you whisper, voice all sweet and teasing, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan.

He exhales sharply, fingers digging into your waist. "You're cruel, my love."

You moan, just to push him further, just to make him suffer, and fuck, he can feel how badly you want this, how hot and slick you are even through your panties.

But then, the elevator dings.

And like you weren't just grinding against his dick, like you weren't just whimpering for him, you peel yourself away, stepping out with a little sway in your hips, heels clacking against the floor as you walk toward your shared apartment.

He doesn't move for a second. Just stands there, hands clenched, dick aching, trying to comprehend the fact that you just left him like that. You fumble with your keys, giggling when you can't quite get the door open, and he sighs—trying to sound exasperated, but you know better. He's not fooling anyone.

His large hand lands over yours, steadying you just enough to push the key in the lock and open the door. And then? Then you step inside, looking back at him with that wicked, teasing little smile, like you know he's about to ruin you.

But before he can grab you, before he can even shut the door properly, you take full advantage of just how worked up he is. You press back against him, ass grinding right against his dick, slow and deliberate, feeling just how hard he is for you.

His breath punches out in a harsh growl, hands snapping to your hips so tight it's almost bruising. "You're playing a dangerous game."

"Am I?" you murmur, pushing back again, rolling your hips in a way that makes him curse under his breath. His cock twitches against you, and you grin, knowing just how much you're getting to him. "Doesn't feel like you mind."

"Fuck," he grits out, pressing you against the nearest wall, hips grinding right back into you, making you feel just how much you've been teasing him. "You really think you can pull this shit and not pay for it?"

Your only answer is another slow grind, dragging your ass right over the outline of his cock, feeling the heat of him through both layers of fabric. The way he shudders, the way his fingers dig into your hips—it's intoxicating.

His patience? Snapped. And you? You're about to find out exactly how he plans to handle you.

You step inside the hallway with a soft, breathy hum, throwing your keys into the little basket by the door before carelessly tossing your purse onto the coat rack. Then you kick off your heels, sighing as the ache in your feet fades.

Behind you, Dick moves slower. Slipping off his jacket, kicking off his shoes, rolling his shoulders like he's trying to shake off the tension. But the second that door finally clicks shut, the second the world outside disappears? He's on you.

Big hands grip your waist, spinning you around so fast it makes you gasp. And then he's crowding you against the wall, his chest pressed against yours, his breathing slow and deep, like he's trying, really trying, to control himself.

"You think that was funny?" he murmurs, voice low, dangerous.

Your breath catches as you ask in a soft, almost sheepish tone, "What, baby?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, but there's no humor in it, just pure, raw frustration. "Grinding on me all night. Acting so sweet, so innocent, then leaving me hard as fuck in the club? In the car? In the damn elevator?" His fingers dig into your hips, his lips ghosting over yours. "That was cruel, sweetheart."

Your stomach flips, a rush of heat flooding between your legs. "I—"

Smack.

Your words cut off in a choked moan as his palm cracks against your ass, the sharp, stinging heat stealing the breath from your lungs.

Oh. Oh, he's never done that before. And fuck, you love it.

You make a soft, desperate sound, and Dick stills. You feel the tension in him, the hesitation, like he's waiting, watching, trying to see if he's crossed a line. But you arch into him, pressing your ass back against his hand, silently begging for more.

His breath shudders out of him, and then—

Smack.

The second one lands harder, sending another sharp, electric jolt straight to your aching cunt. You whimper, thighs clenching together, and fuck, Dick feels it. The way your body responds, the way you melt for him, eating it up like you were made for it.

He groans, his hand smoothing over the sting, then gripping hard. "Yeah?" he murmurs, his other hand tangling in your hair, tilting your head back so he can see your face. "You like that, don't you?"

You bite your lip, nodding quickly, breathless. "Yes. Fuck, yes."

He exhales harshly, his cock twitching against your stomach, throbbing. And then? Then he grins.

"Well, in that case..." he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of your ass, teasing, promising. "Let's see just how much you like it."

He spins you around, pressing you up against the wall before you can even catch your breath. His grip is firm, unyielding—one hand on your hip, the other splayed over your lower back, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

And you? You don't hesitate. You know what he wants.

Your hands brace against the wall as you arch your back, pushing your ass up and out, grinding against his dick like you need to feel him. A deep, ragged breath leaves his lips, his fingers tightening on your hip as his cock twitches, aching for you, for relief.

Fuck.

He scrunches your dress up around your waist, shoving the fabric aside, only to be met with the sight of your little red panties, soaked straight through. Jesus Christ. He can see the shape of your pretty little pussy through the lace, the way your folds cling to the delicate fabric, drenched, so wet you've left a spot on his jeans.

And suddenly, he's fighting with himself.

Because fuck, he wants you. Wants to drop to his knees and bury his face between your legs, to fuck you with his tongue until you're begging, gasping, sobbing his name. That's what he usually does, after all. Dick Grayson never fucks before he tastes. It's his rule, his ritual, his religion.

But tonight? Tonight, you've been a brat.

Grinding on him all night, touching him like it was nothing, teasing him with those pretty, drunken smiles while he sat there, barely holding himself together. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't stop, not even in the car, not even when he warned you.

And maybe you thought you'd get away with it. Cute.

A third option slithers into his mind, sharp and wicked. He exhales slowly, dragging his palm over the swell of your ass, feeling the heat of your skin through the thin lace of your panties.

And then? He presses his fingers against your cunt, rubbing you through the slick fabric, slow, torturous, just the barest pressure over your clit, up and down, teasing.

The noise you make is sinful—a soft, needy moan as you roll your hips, seeking more, seeking him.

He doesn't give it to you. Instead, he slaps your ass, sharp and quick, watching the way you jolt, the way your thighs clench together like you felt it between your legs.

And he swears—swears—he sees your pussy flutter around nothing, even through the fabric.

Oh, you really like this.

He groans, low and deep, as he hooks a single finger into the band of your panties, dragging them to the side and exposing your soaked cunt to the cool air of the room. He watches, fascinated, as your folds glisten, all slick and swollen, so pretty, so needy. But he's not done teasing you.

He slides two fingers between your folds, trailing up and down, deliberately missing your entrance, barely brushing your clit. The way you tremble against him, the way your breath hitches every time he almost gives you what you want—it's driving him insane.

"Baby, please," you gasp, voice breathy, desperate.

He groans, slapping your ass again. Your walls clench around nothing, and his cock throbs, painfully hard, aching to be buried deep inside you. But no, not yet. Because he's curious to see how much you can take.

Your whimper is pathetic, desperate, when you try to grind down against his fingers, seeking more—seeking anything—and he pulls them away. You whine, high and needy, hips rolling, chasing after the touch he just denied you.

But Dick? Oh, he's enjoying this far too much.

His cock is aching, thick and heavy, straining against his clothes, the damp fabric sticking to him from how much precum he's leaking. His whole body feels hot, his blood thick in his veins, his self-control hanging by a thread.

And yet, he can hold himself back a little longer. And he will.

He hums, dragging a single finger down your folds, pressing lightly against your clit, circling it—slow, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. You shudder, your thighs trembling as you press your forehead against the wall, panting softly. Then, without warning, he slides one finger inside you.

You gasp, your slick heat sucking him in immediately, coating him in wetness.

He keeps the pace slow, deliberate, thrusting his finger in and out with steady precision, feeling the way your walls clench around him, already so fucking tight. You push back against his hand, desperate for more, needing more, only for his finger to slip out entirely.

"Fuck," you breathe, frustrated, needy, your cunt clenching around nothing.

Dick smirks because God, you're getting so frustrated, and he loves it. His free hand moves to your ass, spreading you open so he can see better, his breath catching at the way your glistening folds twitch, your arousal dripping down onto your thighs.

"Messy little thing," he murmurs, more to himself than you, but you hear it anyway.

Your breath stutters. Dick doesn't tease you like this. Not verbally, at least. But tonight? Tonight, he's feeling cruel. He resumes fingering you, adding a second finger, stretching you just a little, his thumb rolling over your clit in slow, tight circles.

"Look at you," he mutters, almost toying with the words, like he knows how much they affect you. "You wanted my attention so badly, and now? You can't even ask for it properly."

Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he groans, dragging them out almost all the way before plunging them back inside.

"Come on," he goads, voice deep, smug. "Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what you want."

Your nails scrape against the wall, frustration bubbling over, because you do—you do use your words. "Baby—"

And then... he pulls his fingers out. You sob, thighs shaking, your cunt clenching, unclenching, desperate, so close, so needy, so fucking ruined. But he's not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

Because just as your walls flutter around nothing, aching, desperate to be filled, he slides them back in—slowly, so fucking slowly, stretching you all over again, making you feel every inch, every knuckle as he sinks them deep inside your dripping, swollen cunt.

The wet, obscene squelch of your slick-soaked pussy makes his cock throb, and he groans, curling his fingers just right, rubbing against that spot that makes you jerk, makes you keen, makes you shudder.

"Ohhh, fuck, Dick—"

You're trembling, moaning, arms weak as they brace against the wall, legs barely holding you up. Your cunt is wrecked, aching, stretched wide around his fingers as they pump in and out of you.

He's fucking you with them, really fucking you with them now. Hard, fast, each thrust making your slick, messy pussy squelch obscenely. His palm is rubbing against your swollen clit with every movement, sending sharp spikes of pleasure through your already-overstimulated body.

You feel so close, so fucking close, your orgasm curling low in your belly, threatening to snap at any second. Your moans are getting higher, faster, desperate. You can feel it, feel it about to—

He stops and pulls his fingers out entirely.

Your cunt clenches and unclenches around nothing, a pathetic little sob escaping your lips as you whimper, "No, no, baby—please, please..."

"Tsk."

The sound is sharp, cutting through your desperation, making your breath hitch.

And then—

A crack. His large hand lands against your already-flushed ass, a sharp sting blooming across your skin, your walls fluttering from the impact. But before you can so much as moan, he soothes it instantly, grabbing, squeezing, kneading your sore flesh.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice deep, filthy, full of mock sympathy. "So wet, so fucking desperate, dripping all over my fingers like a needy little thing."

Your head is spinning. Your legs are shaking. You're dying. "Please—baby, I can't—"

"Oh, you can."

He shoves his fingers back inside you, hard, your body jolting forward with the sudden stretch. You wail, eyes squeezing shut, back arching as he fucks you hard and fast, his fingers scissoring inside you, stretching you wider as he pumps them deep.

Your walls clench tight, soaking him, making a mess down your thighs. His free hand grips your ass, spreading you open, letting him see the way your pussy flutters and squeezes around his fingers.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice thick, wrecked. "So fucking greedy. You wanted my attention all night, and now you have it. So take it."

Your whole body shudders, his filthy words making your clit throb, making you tighten around his fingers. Your breath catches, muscles locking up as the pleasure spikes too high, too fast, and you know—you know you're about to cum—

And then he stops. Again. Pulls his fingers out. Again. Leaves you a moaning, trembling, ruined fucking mess.

You sob, whining so fucking pathetically, tears pricking your eyes, "Dick, please, I—"

He leans in close. So close you feel his breath against your ear, warm and thick with control.

"You're cumming on my dick," he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, "or not at all."

Your breath catches. And then you hear it. The sound of his belt being undone. The slow zip of his jeans. The soft click of a button. Your heart pounds. You don't dare move. Don't dare breathe. And you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder.

But then you feel it.

Hot, thick, heavy, his dick, pressing between your soft thighs, grinding against your drenched, aching pussy. You whimper, your whole body twitching as he slides between your folds, coating himself in your arousal, his cock dragging slow, deep against your clit.

"God," he groans, voice strained, the swollen head of his cock bumping against your entrance, notching against you, teasing you. "You're dripping. Making a mess all over me, baby."

Your thighs clench around him, slick and warm, making his dick pulse, and you know he's barely holding on.

"Oh, f-fuck."

You're shaking. Whimpering. So soaked you can hear it, each slow, deliberate glide of his cock through your slick folds, each teasing drag of his heavy length over your swollen clit, each lazy, torturous grind against your aching entrance.

It's cruel, the way he does it—his dick throbbing, leaking precum that mixes with the mess between your thighs, the heat of him smearing against your folds, spreading you open just enough to feel it.

To feel him. But not inside. Not where you need him. He slides against your entrance, lets the thick head of his cock push just barely in, lets you feel the stretch, lets you tremble around the intrusion.

And then he pulls back. Slow. Purposeful. Your pussy clenches around nothing. And you sob, pushing back, trying to catch him, trying to make him slip in, but he's faster.

"Ah-ah, my love," he murmurs, strong fingers tightening around your hips, keeping you still as he drags his cock up again, slick and fever-hot, pressing against your clit until your breath catches and your thighs shake.

"So desperate, aren't you?"

He grins when you nod, when you whine, hips twitching, trying to get something, anything, but he denies you again, shoving your panties farther to the side so he can feel every last inch of your messy, aching cunt. His cock pulses, needy, heavy against your folds. And you are soaked.

So wet, it coats his length in a shiny, glistening sheen, his cock sliding effortlessly between your lips, so slick he can feel it drip down his balls, making a filthy mess of both of you. And yet, he still doesn't give it to you.

"Dick, please—"

Your voice is broken, breathless, needy, and it's exactly what he wanted. But instead of giving in, he just smirks. And then he slaps your ass. Hard. The sound echoes through the room, sharp, obscene, your body jolting, pussy clenching so tight he can feel it, even without being inside.

"Please, what?" he breathes, grinding against your slit again, the fat tip of his cock nudging your entrance, teasing your clenching hole.

You cry out, words slurring together as you moan his name, pushing back against him, desperate for him to fill you.

"You're so fucking messy," he rasps, his voice thick, rough. "Such a wet little thing."

Your walls clench around nothing, your body begging for him to finally just—

"Baby, please, I—"

The words die on your tongue the second you feel it. The hot, swollen head of his dick pressing against your aching entrance, thick and leaking, already so fucking hard it makes your thighs tremble. And then he pushes inside.

The stretch is instant, a slow, searing burn that has your lips parting, a gasp breaking free from your throat as your body struggles to take him. He's just so thick, so big, and no matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how many times his fingers work you open beforehand, it's never enough.

He always splits you open so fucking good, always fills you so deep, the blunt head of his cock dragging through your slick, squeezing walls, forcing you to take him, inch by aching inch.

Your pussy flutters, clenching around him, trying to adjust to the stretch, and he groans—a deep, gritted sound that rumbles through his chest as he grips your hips, holding you still, holding you open for him.

"Fuck, baby—"

His voice is wrecked, raw and shaking with restraint as your walls pulse around him, so tight, so wet he slides in almost effortlessly, your slick making a filthy mess of his cock, coating him, dripping down his balls as he sinks deep—

Deeper.

So fucking deep, stuffing you to the brim, his thick cock stretching you open, forcing you to take all of him, and your whole body shudders. And him? He loses it. His restraint—his precious, steady control—snaps like a goddamn rubber band.

Until he bottoms out with a harsh grind of his hips, until he's buried to the hilt, his heavy balls flush against your swollen clit, his cock filling you, stretching you, forcing your body to take him all. And fuck, he feels it.

How hot you are, how tight, how your pussy clings to him, sucking him in so deep he swears he can feel it in his bones, his teeth gritting as you pulse and squeeze around him like you never want to let him go.

And maybe you don't. Because nothing—nothing—feels better than this. Than him.

You're tight. Hot. Warm. Clenching around him. And the way you squeeze him—fuck—his head spins, his vision blurring. His fingers dig into your hips, the bruises already forming, but he can't help it. He pulls out, only to slam right back in.

"Baby—"

Your moan breaks, your body jolting against him as he starts fucking you. Hard. Deep. Fast. The slap of skin against skin echoes through the apartment, obscene, filthy, wet.

He drives into you, his hips snapping forward with a force that has your body rocking, has your thighs trembling, has your pussy clenching around his thick cock like you can't help it.

The way you squeeze him, the way your slick drips down his shaft, making a mess of his balls, making it easier for him to slam into you, deeper, rougher, making your pussy stretch and mold around him, like your body was made to take him.

And you're so fucking tight. So warm, so wet, so needy, your walls fluttering, gripping him like you don't want him to pull out, like you need him, need every inch, need every ruthless, punishing thrust that makes you whimper, that makes your knees threaten to buckle beneath you.

But he doesn't let you fall.

His grip on your hips is firm, unyielding, possessive, fingers digging into your soft skin, keeping you steady as he ruins you, as he forces you to take it, every brutal snap of his hips, every stroke of his cock dragging along your aching, swollen walls, pressing so deep it feels like he's in your fucking throat.

Your pussy clamps around him, and he grunts, the sound low and rough, his rhythm stuttering for just a second before he drives into you harder, making you gasp, making your eyes roll back, making a fresh wave of slick spill down your thighs.

And he loves it. Loves how messy you are, how fucking perfect you feel around him, how your cunt flutters and clenches every time he slams deep, every time his heavy balls slap against your slick, swollen clit, every time his cock stretches you to your limit, but you still take it. You still need it.

And he gives it to you.

Fucking you like he owns you. Like you belong to him. Like he's not stopping until you're falling apart around his dick, soaking him, creaming all over him, until your body is trembling, until you're so fucked out, so wrecked, you can't take another second.

"You wanted this, huh?" His voice is rough, ruined, breath ragged as he pounds into you. "Wanted to be fucked like this? Made me wait all night—fuck—all fucking night, just to be a dripping, needy mess for me as soon as we got home."

You whimper, your pussy tightening around his thick cock, making him groan.

"Oh, you love that, don't you?"

His hand cracks against your ass. You jerk, moaning so prettily, your walls fluttering around him. He kneads your flushed, sensitive flesh, soothing it for a moment before—

Crack. Another slap.

And fuck, your cunt clamps down on him.

"Fuck, there you go," he growls, voice dark, thick with filthy approval. "Squeezing my dick so fucking tight—shit—you love this, huh? Being fucked nice and rough, just how you fucking need it."

You sob, overwhelmed, the pleasure so much, so good, stealing the air from your lungs.

"God," he groans, fucking into you even deeper, your slick, tight heat making his head spin, his control crumbling with every thrust. "This pussy's fucking perfect. Taking me so fucking well, baby."

And you? You're losing your mind. You barely know your own name right now. Because what the fuck? He's never fucked you like this before. Sure, Dick always fucks you good, always knows exactly how to work your body, but this? The filthy words, the rough grip on your hips, the way he spanks you without a second thought—

This is something new.

And through the fog of pleasure, through the way he's slamming into your pussy, his thick cock stretching you wide, fucking you so deep you swear he's in your fucking throat, you love it. You love every second of it.

The sting of his palm against your ass. The sting of his cock stuffing you so full, pushing against that perfect, sweet spot inside you over and over. The sting of being used, of being fucked just how you need it.

And him? Dick is barely holding on. Your pussy is squeezing him so fucking tight, like you're trying to pull his soul straight out of his fucking cock.

"Oh, fuck—" he grits his teeth, his hips slamming against your ass, the impact making you jerk against the wall, making you fucking whimper. "This tight little pussy is fucking unreal—"

And then he does it again. Another hard slap to your already tender ass. And you gasp, your walls clenching down so hard around him he nearly fucking chokes.

"Fucking shit," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips, leaving bruises on your soft skin as he pounds into you, lost in the wet, filthy sounds of his dick driving in and out of your dripping cunt. "So fucking tight... gripping me like crazy."

Your pussy's so soaked, so slippery, your wetness leaking all over his cock, down his balls, your thighs, making an absolute mess of both of you.

"Shit—" His head tips back, sweat dripping down his temple as he wrecks you. "Gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Hmm? Gonna make a fucking mess on my dick?"

And fuck, you are. "God, baby, I—"

Your voice shatters, your whole body shuddering as the orgasm slams into you.

Hard. Fast. All at once. It steals the air from your lungs, makes your vision go white, your toes curling, your nails digging into the wall as you sob.

Your pussy pulses around him, clenching and fluttering, so tight he can barely fucking move, his dick struggling against the suffocating squeeze of your convulsing walls.

Your slick gushes out in hot, messy waves, coating his cock, his balls, dripping down your thighs in sticky, glistening streams. Every aftershock makes you jerk, makes your body spasm, your walls gripping him in tight, desperate pulses, milking him for all he's worth. And he feels it—every ripple, every shudder, every desperate, squeezing tremor that makes his cock throb inside your spasming cunt.

But he doesn't stop. He won't stop.

"Fuck, baby—"

He groans, his voice so thick, so fucked out as he keeps going, fucking you right through your orgasm, his thick cock dragging against your spasming walls, his hands everywhere, grabbing, kneading, spanking.

And your slick? It's fucking everywhere. Dripping out of your swollen cunt, coating his cock, his balls, your trembling thighs, making a sloppy, wet mess between your legs. You barely have time to breathe before you feel it—

The slow, teasing glide of his fingers down your belly, slipping lower, brushing over your sweat-damp skin before reaching your swollen, aching clit.

"Baby, n-no—"

You whimper, your body shuddering as his fingertips press against the throbbing bud, rubbing tight, slow circles. The touch is too much—you can barely fucking breathe from the overstimulation, from how hard he's fucking you, how deep, every thrust knocking the air out of your lungs.

And he laughs. A deep, dark chuckle, rumbling straight from his chest, so fucking smug as he rubs your clit harder.

"No?" he taunts, his voice thick with mockery—with lust—as he watches your legs tremble, watches your body jerk with every flick of his fingers, watches the way your swollen pussy clamps down around his cock, desperate for relief, even as you try to deny it.

"But you've been such a brat, pretty girl," he hums, his thrusts slowing—deep, shallow strokes that have you seeing fucking stars, the tip of his cock dragging against the soft, hot walls of your pussy, hitting your womb with every heavy grind of his hips. "You were so desperate, weren't you?"

He tuts, rubbing faster, making your whole body jolt, your knees buckling as your arms nearly give out, leaving you gasping, moaning, tears of pleasure blurring your vision.

"Now you're gonna take everything I give you."

His free hand slides up your body, rough and greedy, grabbing at your hips, your waist, your ribs—before reaching your tits.

And then he pulls your dress down. The fabric pools around your waist, leaving your soft, aching breasts bare, and they bounce with every sharp, hungry thrust of his hips.

"Fuck—"

His voice wavers, his movements stuttering for a fraction of a second as he watches, completely fucking mesmerized.

Your tits are perfect. Soft and sensitive, your nipples tight and pebbled, practically begging for his touch.

And he gives it to you. He palms one of them roughly, squeezing, kneading, his thumb teasing over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers, tugging just right, making your back arch, making your cunt pulse around him.

"Dick," you sob, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as your orgasm builds again, sharp and intense, growing so fucking fast you can barely think.

He can feel it. The way your pussy flutters around him, the way your thighs shake, the way your moans turn into desperate, high-pitched whimpers. And he doesn't slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder.

"That's it, baby," His voice is thick, dripping with lust, with filth, his fingers still working your swollen clit, his hips snapping forward in that relentless, brutal pace. "Cum for me. Fuck, I need to feel you cum again—"

And then you break. You moan, your body convulsing, your back arching as pleasure rips through you. Your pussy clamps down hard, squeezing his cock so tight, so wet and hot, milking him in the most obscene way. And he groans, long and deep, his fingers digging into your skin as he keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out, making your body tremble with overstimulation.

"God, fuck," he grits, feeling your slick gush out, making a mess, dripping all over his cock, his balls, his thighs. "So fucking tight—"

And he doesn't stop. Not until you shudder under him, not until your body collapses, boneless and spent. He's so fucking close.

He can feel it. That sharp, unbearable heat coiling at the base of his spine, the tight pull in his gut, his whole body tense as he pounds into you, hard and deep, his dick soaked in your wetness. Every thrust pushes his cock against that perfect, spongy spot inside you that has you gasping, whimpering, legs shaking beneath him.

And you—God, you're so fucking tight, so wet, so warm, sucking him in so deep, so desperate.

"F-Fuck," he chokes out, voice ragged, his hand gripping your hip so fucking tight, like he's holding on for dear life.

And you clench around him. Tight, wet, perfect, and he breaks. His whole body jerks as he thrusts deep, hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself to the fucking hilt as his cock pulses inside you.

Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your cunt, filling you up until you feel it, sticky and wet, deep in your belly, so much it seeps out around his cock, leaking down your thighs, mixing with the mess of slick already dripping from your swollen, used pussy.

And it undoes you. The second you feel it—his hot cum spilling inside you, claiming you—you shatter. You sob, your whole body tensing, back arching as pleasure rips through you, as your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock for everything, sucking every last drop from his pulsing length.

Your walls squeeze him, gripping him, and he groans, long and low, his hips jerking, his cock throbbing, spitting more cum inside you, stuffing you so full it drips from your stretched little hole, trailing down in thick, filthy strings.

It's so fucking intense, so overwhelming, your orgasm slamming into you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless, helpless, your pussy spasming around his cock so fucking tight he chokes on a moan. His hands grip your waist so hard it burns as he forces himself deeper, grinding his dick into your wrecked, soaked cunt, pushing his cum deeper, making a fucking mess of you.

And you cream around him, your slick gushing, your cunt squeezing his still-hard length, milking him, coating him in your release, dripping down your inner thighs in slick, milky streaks.

You're so full, so fucking wrecked, your pussy fluttering, overstimulated, still clamping down around his spent cock like you don't want him to leave, like you want to keep every drop of his hot, thick load inside you.

And he fucks it into you. Even as he trembles, even as his body shudders with every aftershock, he keeps moving. Slow, deep, languid strokes, fucking his cum deeper, feeling the way your walls flutter around him, milking every last drop, until it's too much, until you're both shaking, until neither of you can breathe.

And then he stills. His dick still buried inside you, his body pressed against your back, both of you panting, trembling, moaning soft and breathless into the sweat-damp air.

And then he hears it. A sniffle. And just like that, he's back. The haze of lust fades, replaced with something softer, something tender, something so undeniably him.

"My love..."

His voice is soft, low, thick with concern as his arms slip around your waist, pulling you close, his nose nuzzling into your soft hair. "Are you okay?"

And you—God, you can't even speak. Because this was everything. The best fuck of your life. Because it's him. Your boyfriend. The love of your fucking life.

Because he's so perfect, so good to you, even after ruining you like this. And so you just nod, still breathless, your whole body limp against him, sinking into his warmth, his touch, into him.

And he... he can't believe he did that. Because this—this is new. He's always been gentle with you, careful, attentive. Because he adores you, because he wants you to feel safe, to feel cherished, to know that he loves you more than anything. But tonight, fuck, tonight you did something to him. And he liked it. Maybe a little too much.

His lips press against your shoulder—soft, lingering—like an apology, like a silent I've got you.

And he does.

Even as you tremble in his arms, even as you gasp, still shuddering, still fucked-out and overwhelmed, he holds you—one arm wrapped tight around you, his other hand slipping down, splaying wide over your soft, aching belly, grounding you in the aftermath of everything.

His touch is everything—soft, gentle, his.

Your breathing is still shaky, uneven, little exhales of pleasure spilling from your lips as you slowly come down—drunk, euphoric, and so fucking warm, floating somewhere between exhaustion and pure, blissful satisfaction.

And then—

"Baby..." Your voice is so soft, so breathless, and then you gasp out, "That was... God, I can't even explain it."

And his breath hitches. Because fuck—

He suddenly feels bad. Like maybe he pushed you too far, like maybe he should've held back, like maybe he should've stopped, should've made sure you were okay before ruining you like that.

Because you've never told him you like stuff like this. And truth be told, he didn't think he had it in him, either.

But God.

The way you melt into his touch, the way you sigh, blissed-out and so fucking content, the way you're smiling, lips parted, breath shallow and slow. Maybe he didn't push you too far. Maybe he gave you exactly what you wanted.

So he swallows, presses his lips to the top of your head, and then he pulls out—slow. Careful.

But still, you whimper, and he winces. "I'm sorry, baby, I—"

But before he can finish, you're turning in his arms, slow and lazy, and fuck—

Your face is flushed, your makeup smudged, lips swollen from how many times you bit them trying to hold back your moans. And still, you are the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

And then... you giggle. And it wrecks him.

Because you're fucking glowing, drunk and giddy, your arms looping around his neck, your body pressing flush against his, and he can feel it. Your warmth. Your breath. Your happiness. Your love.

And he's looking at you like you just rewrote the stars, like you just changed something in him, like he doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself anymore.

And then you murmur, "I mean it. That was... so fucking good, baby."

And he just laughs, pressing his lips to your forehead, wrapping his arms tight around you, pulling you in, holding you close like he'll never let you go.

"You're impossible, pretty girl."

And you pout, all soft and tired and adorable, and fuck—he needs to kiss you, but before he can, you whisper, "Maybe... but you still love me, don't you?"

And he doesn't even hesitate.

"More than anything."

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 2 — POWER IMBALANCE

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — blade, jing yuan, aventurine

— warnings. — fem! reader, power imbalance, oral (fem! receiving), toxic & manipulation, hard syx, dom/sub

⚝ — BLADE

blade feels to you like a storm, his grip on you endlessly overwhelming yet not because he's forcing it on you, no, but because his dependence on you was suffocating.

the stellaron hunter was dangerous, you were very much aware of it, although never pondering on the fact that you were playing with fire here.

his cock slides in between your folds before slipping to your hole, right then, you can feel the hot push of his tip, slow at first, but persistent, burning and stretching you. blade opens you up as you clutch at his shoulders each time, you're certain you can take him, you can't— it won't fit—such always crosses your mind but, you see, your skin was burning and hungry, submitting to him, to his cock sliding in fully— so smooth on your walls, thick inside, searing.

blade clings to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to sanity, and well— maybe you were, he certainly looks at you with an intensity that borders on desperation, a string he needed to hold on to if he wanted to keep at least a little bit of humanity inside himself or else, he’d fall apart.

"you ground me," he murmurs, voice low, his hand searching for your own as he grips it a little too tightly— his neediness haunting as he slumps forward, still thrusting hungry shoves of his cock into you as the rhythm changes just a little, but the pressure was increasing, becoming more meaningful.

in this rare moments, the way his hands tremble slightly when he brushes your hair behind your ear, there’s a tenderness, yes, but you cannot shake off the feeling of being scared of him— were his words the truth? did he mean what he said? would he hurt you in the end or are you really the one to put a light in his dark, twisted world?

⚝ — JING YUAN

jing yuan was always in control, his charm making each and every friend or foe bend to his will effortlessly— and well, you’re no exception. 

frankly, he's used to people following his lead without question, without turning on their own brains, his words were so fittingly persuasive that you barely even notice when you started agreeing with everything he said.

you whine out a breathy, "fuck, more—" as he laps at your clit, the vibrations of his hums and groans making you arch your back into him— you're so sensitive, jing yuan makes you feel all of it with his tongue, all the nerves down there and how muscle slurped and licked a stripe along your slit to tease you, shamelessly moaning against your pussy right after.

"i’m only looking out for you," he lazily mumbles into your cunt, "I know what's ugh—, what's best for you," his fucked out grin disarms you completely as you look down, admiring the view of his hands, big hands, clutching at your trembling thighs before he gives your stomach an anticipatory twist.

he's not forceful though, don't misunderstand, yeah? because simply, jing yuan doesn’t need to be, his self assured confidence made it feel like any resistance would be literally ridiculous. 

after all, his charisma pulls you in, his beauty and face being chocolate box pretty, ethereal and powerful, leaving you wanting to please him too, so badly yeah, to stay on his good side.

⚝ — AVENTURINE

from the outside, aventurine was unable to be read— and even once you got close to him, you found yourself having more difficulties reading him.

his standards were impossibly high, that's for sure, and he never hesitates to point out when you fall short. for some reason he critiques everything you do, from the way you handle the tasks he's given you to your smallest habits, never failing in exhaustedly rolling his eyes with an edge of frustration.

however, wasn't it just amazing how he was always there to clean up the "mess" you made in getting all the tasks wrong, or anything really.

something unmistakable random could happen in your life, even just a favorite item you suddenly lost and aventurine would always be there to help you— like a white knight.

of course, you cannot question him on anything, he was your superior and losing your job would be the last thing you wanted, next to losing the little relationship you've built over the last couple of months with him.

you feels it in your legs, your stomach, your hands, your soul when he touches you— pleasures you.

it's the desire overtaking you first, making you give yourself up entirely to the harsh rhythm of his hips displaying no mercy. aventurine hisses as you squeeze him, the faintness in his head almost making him swoon as your leg tremble and his cock throbs hard in you, the tremulous thrill inside your belly building to a merciless dance.

"i’ll be here, buried right here—" he hums and grinds his hips, his fingers drawing a line on your stomach, up and down, "feel that? you feel me there?"

"not that you, fuck— deserve it," he grunts, cupping your cheeks and brushing a thumb over your lips, "you made so many mistakes today," he breathes while staring down at his cock splitting your puffy cunt.

he adds, "you should be thankful i was there,"

an embarrassed, little sorry was all you managed to get out in return and ugh— the friction of him rubbing against your walls felt absolutely sickening, like you're about to cum and scream any second now.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[deathbxnny]

hey I need you SO BAD to do like an arcane reaction where they’re drunk and what they do/say while it and btw I love your writing

What Arcane characters are like when drunk. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

So this may have become a little too angsty for some of them, so uh... don't mind me-

Also, thank you so much! I'm glad you love my writing. It means a lot to me!<33

Content: Alcohol obviously, some potential heavy angst, Pit fighter Vi, established romantic relationships, some toxic behavior, this has been written by someone who has never drank a sip of alcohol in their life so I'm sorry if this is unrealistic, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not fully proofread))

》VI

Her being drunk wasn't unusual, and in fact, it has become the norm for her at this point. It was the only way for her to numb the agony she was going through every day, and there was no stopping the cycle she was in. If she wasn't drunk, then she was fighting. But even the line that was drawn between those two states she was constantly in was becoming blurry and unintelligible. Things were getting out of hand, and so was her aggression towards everything that moved, anything that cared for her.

But at least you were still here with her, trying your best to keep her together and intact when she refused to be.

She can be cruel and unfocused whilst drunk, often either yelling or punching things to express her frustrations, and yet she never dared hurt you. You were the only light she had left, and she'd be damned if she snuffed you out, too. But this doesn't mean that she can control her words at times. She says things she regrets all the time, insults that cut deep or accusations that made no sense were common. Yet you stayed, you always stayed.

A part of her knows you deserve better, but until Jinx showed up, she refused to wane off the bottle that kept her even partially functioning daily. In a different life, she'd put the bottle down, however, and just finally hug you instead.

》CAITLYN

She doesn't drink much, and when she does, it's in strict moderation. She has a reputation to keep up and can't let her sharp senses falter at any time, especially once she becomes the commander of Piltover. But when it's just the two of you attempting to relax after an impossibly stressful day, the alcohol helps her relax and become more open with her troubles. Her grief had manifested into an uncontrollable force she shyed away from every speaking on, but in drunken moments like these, she'll allow herself to find melancholy in your arms, her flushed face pressed into your shoulder as she did so.

She may cry or laugh of the worries of the day, maybe break down from the guilt and frustrations, let the anger quell over but only still hesitantly even with her judgment clouded. This is a very rare state to see her in after the loss of her mother, and she trusts you to keep this vulnerable part of her safe and sound in your heart behind locked lips.

With that said, knowing how emotional she can get whilst drunk, she tries avoiding drinking too much during functions in case things get too much out of hand. She'd rather not make a fool of herself infront of everyone after all.

》JINX

She doesn't typically drink. But the few times she does with you at her side, she somehow becomes extremely calm and lazy. She'll practically lay in the chair she was sitting in, eyes squinting at a far away point on the wall, whilst she seemingly contemplates life. Most would think that the alcohol would enable her crazy tendencies even more, but alas, it simply turns her mostly docile.

I say mostly, as she usually mentally comes up with the craziest plans instead, all of which are questionably more unethical than the last. She'll eventually lose herself in those thoughts and become either unresponsive or mutter the silliest, incomprehensible things known to man. And there is certainly no in-between.

With that said, she will probably eventually snap out of it and begin rapidly speaking about all these thoughts to you without a single care in the world. Drunk Jinx is somehow less miserable and yet absolutely doesn't like the feeling of it afterward. Sure, it makes her mind stop thinking about her issues and past, but it still feels wrong, hence why it's rare to see her drunk.

Her terrible hangovers alone also cause her to stay away from alcohol in general. It's definitely not worth that pain to her.

》EKKO

Another person who doesn't drink often at all, albeit out of his responsibility as a leader. He has to be a good role model for everyone and only drinks when the occasion calls for it, like a festival or get together with friends and you. That's when he lets loose a little and allows himself to drink more than he probably should, resulting in a very clingy and loving Ekko.

His alcohol tolerance is embarrassingly low, and he always tells himself that he should know better than to down so many glasses at once... yet it's hard to keep count after about 2 and a half of them. Or so he'd say after he sobers up in the morning, much to your amusement. During the time he's fully hammered, though, he'll always have a hand in you and slur his words rather heavily, whilst he practically near proclaims his love for you for everyone to hear. This often results in you having to slap a hand over his mouth before he embarrasses himself further... which is somehow he hates.

He gets teased by the others all the time for it and glares when they mock his loving tone of voice that he only uses when he's in that impaired state with you. This alone makes him abstain from even a singular drop of alcohol... until the next festival roles around and he forgets to keep count again.

But hey, maybe he'll remember next time because you sure as hell won't remind him.

》SEVIKA

She drinks at bars all the time with you, although it's rare to see her ever get completely drunk. She has an extremely high tolerance to alcohol and it shows when there is barely a difference in her behavior. The only thing that may indicate something influencing her would be a slight slur in her voice and her being unwilling to get up or move around much at all. She'll just want to relax and play poker in peace, even if it starts getting hard to see the cards after a while.

Another way to tell that she may be getting drunk is by her sudden overprotectiveness. Sure, it was always there and never left, despite you being able to handle yourself alone. But when she's drunk, anyone that looks at you for too long in a way she doesn't like will either be punched in the face or yelled at to keep it moving.

She also definitely always denys being drunk or even tipsy when you ask her. Whether out of pride or stubbornness, you'll never know, but she will never admit to it. It doesn't matter if she denies it whilst being unable to walk straight either.

[cloudzoro]

Too Much | One Piece ♡

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big men with big cocks. size kink go brrrrr

masterlist

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genre: smut (minors dni)

characters: crocodile, kaidou, zoro

cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, size kink, pussy slapping, toys/size training, a lot of cum

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Crocodile

Crocodile has a smug grin plastered on his face as he watches your pussy struggle to take him. He takes it slow with you, deep voice soothing you and distracting you from the stretch.

“I'm almost in, My Love. You're taking me so well” His hand has an almost bruising grip on your hips as he holds you still for him.

His size had always been something you were both wary of when it came to sex. He was going to deny you at first, not wanting to hurt you, but then you walked in begging for it and he couldn't say no to your pretty face. He has you writhing and crying on his cock, and it's taking everything in him not to snap and fuck you like crazy. Your nails scratch at his huge arms as he finally pushes himself inside you to the base.

He's surprisingly patient with you, letting you adjust to his size. He braces his elbow on the mattress and leans down to kiss you. When you start whining for more, he starts to move his hips, groaning at the way your walls grip his cock. Every heavy thrust of his hips drives toward an orgasm, and you cum faster than any partner has ever made you cum before. Crocodile buried his head in the crook of your neck as your orgasm triggers his own. He fills you up as he growls in your ear about how good you feel.

“See? this pussy was made for me.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Kaido

Kaido laughs as tears start to pool in your eyes. You're on his lap, legs spread, and he's been fingering you to stretch you out. He's taking his time to play with your soaked cunt. His fingers are so big you can barely take two of them, and he's enamoured by the way you're still begging for his cock.

“Silly girl. You can barely take my fingers. How are you going to handle my cock?” he asks, curling his fingers inside you. You're approaching your orgasm quickly, almost tipped over the edge when Kaido feels your pussy clench around his fingers and pulls them out. You whine at the loss. Kaido slaps your swollen clit, making your body jolt and arch away from him.

He turns you around so you're straddling him. He tilts your head up to look him in the eyes.

“If you want my cock, you gotta do it yourself,” He says, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. You line up his cock with your hole and slowly start to sink down on it. Kaido gets impatient pretty quickly; He grips your hips and holds you in place as he slams his hips up into you. “I fucking told you,” he growls.

His words are aggressive, but the grip he has on you is protective. You feel so unbelievably full. You cum embarrassingly quick, and Kaido fucks you through it chasing his own orgasm. You can't focus on anything except the way his huge cock stretches you out, clawing at his arms as the sensation overwhelms you. When he finally cums, he does it with a growl that would terrify anyone else.

“Thank you”, he growls, giving you a moment of vulnerability before watching you redress and sending you off to bed.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Zoro

“I've cum twice, Zoro. I'm already wet enough,” you insist as Zoro holds a sizable toy pressed inside of you to the hilt. You had tried to take his cock, but he's simply too big, so he's resorted to size training with toys. He's equally frustrated, but he doesn't want to hurt you. You're begging him for his cock, and his patience is running thin.

“You sure you're ready for me?” he asked. He scoffed at your frantic nod. He pulls the slick toy out of your cunt and places it on your body, showing you how deep the toy has just been. He lines up his own, much larger, cock next to it. “this how much bigger I am than this stupid toy,” he says, challenging you.

“I can take it”, you insist, pulling him down for a kiss. He pulls away, grabbing the lube sitting on the bed sheets and coating his cock on it. He's calm on the outside, but inside, he's ecstatic to have your consent.

He pushes the head of his cock inside of you, pressing kisses to your face. The stretch stings at first, but then the feeling dissipates into pleasure. You dig your nails into his back as his huge dick carves its path inside of you. Zoro chuckles loudly, stilling inside of you.

“I'll make it fit, baby. I promise.”

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tag list: @bloodfixnd

taglist is open!

I'm so glad you enjoyed! reblogs and comments are well appreciated.

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[sednas]

─ BIRTHDAY GIRL

gojo, geto, nanami, toji x fem!reader (separately)

trigger warning: overstimulation, dirty talk (geto), use of handcuffs (nanami), public s!x, degradation (toji)

༘♡ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

you wake up by the feeling of a soft tongue running against the skin of your inner thigh. opening your eyes slowly, the first thing you see is gojo's face, squishing his cheek against your thigh, lazy blue eyes watching you with a glint of adoration.

"morning beautiful." he whispers just before placing a kiss over your clothed pussy.

"w-what time is it?" you ask weakly, your legs already slightly trembling.

"who cares? today's your birthday, we can do whatever you want, we got all day..."

you watch him slowly raise his eyes at you again, smirking mischievously and you can feel his hot breath against you.

"so..." he begins to talk while running his fingertips along the curve of your hips. "what do you want, mmh?"

he's really asking that when his lips are a few centimeters away from your pussy.

"your mouth, I want your mouth..." you whisper to him and he smirks again.

"where? here?" he teases, taking your hand to kiss the back of it. "be more specific baby or else I can't give it to you..." he laughs at your disappointed face and whines a little as you gently tug at his white hair to bring him closer to where you need him most.

"hereeee satoru, need you here." you almost groan in frustration, lifting your hips in the air in a needy way.

"oh here?~" he murmurs just before kissing your hidden pussy, this time using his tongue to wet the soft fabric of your panties.

you feel the tip of his tongue circles around your clit and it makes you shiver, your eyes are already rolling back even though he barely touched you.

gojo loves to tease you, sometimes he makes you beg just for a kiss, but today's your birthday, so he will be nice, at least at first.

bonus:

he brings you gifts in the morning. a lot of gifts. even more than usual. clothes, jewelry, perfumes, flowers, books, nintendo switch, pokemon cards, anything you want, he got it.

༘♡ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

you know your boyfriend has a thing for edging you. he likes to deny you for hours and hours, makes you cry and beg in frustration until you sound like a broken record, saying "please" over and over again... he just loves it when you're so horny and sensitive that he could make you cum just by blowing air on your pussy. but on special occasions, he likes to do the opposite, it's his way of spoiling you on your special day. he's so nice isn't he?

"su-suguru wait! you're... you're being mean!" you cry out, your trembling body trapped against his chest.

"I don't think your pussy agrees with you sweetheart, look how she's spasming when I remove my hand, she wants more..." he mocks with a wicked grin.

your skin burns with embarrassment at his words, talking about your genitals as if they were a real person. you'd be jealous if you weren't so overstimulated right now.

slowly, he puts two of his fingers inside you again and you moan at how full you feel just with his fingers alone.

he brings his mouth closer to your ear and you get goosebumps through your whole body, his lips almost touching your skin.

"come on lovely, give me one more I know you can." he whispers as he licks your earlobe.

"too much... can't..."

you squirm between his arms, your left hand desperately holding onto his forearm as his muscles flex while he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy, his thumb toying with your clit. he clicks his tongue in disapproval and lifts your chin up so he can look at your face.

"you can still talk now can't you? mmh... looks like you're still using that brain of yours, let's fix that sweetheart."

while fingering you, he slides the thumb of his other hand in your mouth and you start sucking on it without even thinking, half lidded eyes trying to focus, your vision blurry as you can feel your sixth orgasm of the night coming. he smiles, flicking your clit a bit more harshly.

"cum sweet girl, you deserve to feel really good on your birthday."

bonus:

he takes you to your favorite restaurant <3 and he's smart enough to fuck you AFTER your date unlike toji 💀

༘♡ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

"what is it? already giving up?" he asks and he smiles when you shake your head. "that's my girl."

nanami knows how to listen, it's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. he listens and remembers everything you tell him. so of course he remembered when you confessed that some day you'd like to be tied up to his bed during sex. and tonight, for your birthday, he has decided to indulge that fantasy of yours. at first he thought it was a bit silly, the smile on your face when he handcuffed you to the headboard of the bed made him laugh a little. it's only when he finds himself kneeling between your legs, facing you, watching your eyes darken with lust and the way you're already tugging at your restraints that he realizes his position. he has you under him, completely helpless, at the mercy of his teasing touch and his insatiable mouth as you impatiently wait for him and he suddenly feels like the luckiest man in the world. he caresses your thighs lovingly and starts to kiss your stomach, making his way up to your chest to bury his face in your sweet tits, licking and giving gentle bites to your soft skin. you whimper and squirm, quickly realizing how frustrating your little fantasy is going to be and he seems to notice.

he keeps kissing your body until his lips meet your own, taking your breath away with a sloppy kiss and you gasp in his mouth when you feel his knee against your pussy.

"work for it baby, show me how much you want me." he orders, his voice soft but firm and you can only obey.

swaying your hips, you start grinding against his knee, softly moaning, looking away with embarrassment when you see him looking down at you, hypnotized by the way you're moving your body.

"you're doing such a good job baby, keep going, wanna know how desperate you can get for me."

bonus:

nanami never takes breaks from work, except for your birthday. he takes you on a weekend where you both can relax and have some sweet sweet sex in a jacuzzi 🤤

༘♡ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

you thought he was being weird as soon as you showed up in the outfit you had carefully chosen for your date at your favorite restaurant. he just looked at you from head to toe and nodded. he didn't even squeeze your ass when you walked past him and you ridiculously felt a bit sad about it. you should have known better, really.

now he's grabbing your hips with his big hands and forcing your body down onto his throbbing cock in the driver's seat, in the middle of the restaurant parking lot.

"m'sorry baby, I just can't resist you, you look so fucking good in that outfit." he moans in your ear and you have to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming.

he lowers one of his hands to grab your ass and he starts thrusting inside you, his cock rubbing all the right spots, making your thighs tremble and your eyes water.

you feel his other hand threading through your hair, forcing you to look down where both of your bodies are connected.

"look at the mess you've made honey, it's all over me. does getting fucked in a car turn you on that much?" he asks and he smiles when he feels you trying to meet the cruel thrusts of his hips while looking away from the view of your pussy soaking his cock.

you whimper when he pulls at your hair, forcing your head down once again.

"answer me. does my little slut like to get off to the thought of getting caught while I'm fucking her pretty pussy?"

and despite shaking your head you can't lie to him, almost salivating at the feeling of your swollen clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants while he keeps slamming his hips against your skin.

"fuck yes! yes I like it! I like it so much!" and he laughs at your dumb voice, seeing you so cock drunk never fails to amuse him, especially when you make such shameless noises with the rear windows half open... he'll tell you later.

bonus:

this car sex session leaves you both panting, sweat sticking on your foreheads, your hair all messy and let's not even talk about the cum dripping out of you right now. so you both decide to go back home and toji orders food from the restaurant you were supposed to go to.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Business Talk || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: You listening to Rafe and Barry talk business on his yacht. (s3 ep6 inspired)

Warnings: swearing, suggestive, idk if theres anything else lmk

Word count: 1,323

A/n: another canon fic because im obsessed with writing these 😖 pls send me canon fic requests 🙏🙏

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

"Oh my God!" Barry yells out as you hastily pull away from Rafe, who groans in frustration, "Fuck, I thought we had more time." His head drops, leaning on your bare stomach, and you can't help but giggle as you reach over for your cover-up. Rafe sighs heavily, adjusting his pants with an annoyed expression.

"Damn, Rafe. Come on, Country Club," Barry calls out, his voice echoing through the boat as he makes his way upstairs to the top deck. "Bro, how are you gonna have this and not even tell me!" When he reaches the final step, he notices you lounging on one of the sofas, looking perfectly composed. You give him a warm smile. "Hey, Barry," you greet him politely.

"Princess," he says with a playful bow, making you giggle at his exaggerated behavior. He then turns back to Rafe, who is still frowning. "You got a whole damn YMCA up on this bitch, dude," Barry exclaims, his eyes darting around the luxurious boat. You sip your drink, watching Barry's antics with amusement.

"Barry, shut up, yeah?" Rafe shouts at him, clearly fed up with Barry's incessant chatter about the boat. Barry throws up his hands in mock surrender. "All right, we need to make a move," Rafe walks over to his shirt and puts it on. "That's all we do, bro. We been making moves. Haven't we, y/n?" Barry glances at you as you watch the two talk business.

"Yeah, well, we don't have much time," Rafe says, his tone serious as he walks over to you and holds out his hand. You look at his hand for a moment before meeting his intense gaze. "Yo, come down here," Rafe says to Barry, jerking his head toward the stairs.

You take Rafe's hand as he leads you toward the stairs, your fingers still interlocked. Barry follows behind, curiosity piqued. "You're not gonna believe this shit," Rafe mutters, his voice low and intense.

As you descend to the bottom deck, Rafe's focus remains unshaken. "You seen any buyers?" he calls out, his mind clearly on the gold. Barry, now settling down on the couch beside you, responds with a chuckle, "It's always business with you, bro. I mean, I don't always live like this." You kick your feet up on the table, relaxing as Rafe heads to the fridge. He rummages through its contents, finally emerging with a few beers and your favorite drink.

"I'm just saying we need to take this shit seriously," Rafe insists, his tone carrying a sense of urgency. He opens your drink with a swift motion and hands it to you, his eyes meeting yours briefly. "Thanks," you reply softly, appreciating the small gesture. Barry observes the interaction with a raised eyebrow, then looks between you and Rafe with a smirk. "What? No princess treatment for me either?" he teases, pouting playfully at Rafe who rolls his eyes, “Get fucked.”

Barry clinks bottles with you after opening his beer, taking a swig and letting out a satisfied sigh. Moments later, Rafe returns, carrying a sleek black briefcase which he places on the table in front of Barry. You quickly adjust your feet as Barry's eyes widen in awe at the contents revealed inside. Your gaze meets Rafe's briefly before you lean forward, curiosity piqued.

"I should get a tooth made out of this, huh?" Barry quips, holding up a gleaming gold bar, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. You struggle to suppress a smile. "Look, don't be touching the shit. Just put it back," Rafe commands sternly, shooting Barry a look of irritation.

"Man, you're so paranoid. How do you put up with this shit, y/n?" Barry says, turning to you as he carefully replaces the gold bar. Rafe, exuding impatience, retorts, "I don't care about the cross. I'm trying to make money." He sits beside you, gently shifting your legs so they rest comfortably on his lap.

"I told you, my aunt, she got some contacts. She gonna help us move these little bitches," Barry reassures Rafe. Distracted by a sudden splash from the water nearby, you turn your head instinctively. Rafe notices your reaction immediately. "What is it?" he asks, concern threading through his voice. You rise from the couch, taking your sunglasses off as you move towards the edge to peer down at the water.

"Nothin'. Thought I heard something," you shrug, slipping on your sunglasses before returning to the sofa. "The gems, the nuggets, the whole damn melted enchilada!" Barry rambles on, his enthusiasm undeterred. "These gems are mint, man. The gold's bullion. We're selling it in bars, right? I'm not dealing with some half-assed pogue shit with some reject from Zales, bro."

Rafe's voice cuts through Barry's excitement, firm and cold. "Hey, watch how you're speaking about my aunt, dog," Barry retorts, scoffing. Rafe's hands, tense with stress, had already begun their way down your thighs, gripping them unconsciously. It was a telltale sign of his annoyance.

"I'm not talking about your aunt. I'm just saying, I don't fucking trust my shit with pogues," Rafe shrugs dismissively as you absentmindedly play with his rings.

Suddenly, your phone dings with a text message. Rafe leans over, grabbing your phone to hand it to you. Their chatter fades into the background as you focus on the message from your friend.

"Who is it, baby?" Rafe asks, removing his sunglasses as you show him your phone, reading the etext. "Barry, you gotta go, man," he says, watching you rise from the couch and slip off your cover-up.

"What? Why?" Barry protests, glancing between you and Rafe with confusion. Rafe sighs, his patience thinning. "Y/N's having her friends over for a girl’s day on the boat." Barry's eyes dart to you as you smile and nod. "That right? And I wasn't invited?" he says with mock offense, making you laugh.

"Next time, for sure," you assure him, still chuckling. Rafe, eager to get Barry off the boat, pats him on the back. "All right, time for you to go, bro. Good to see ya." "All right, all right, I'm going!" Barry concedes, standing up and making his way to the edge of the boat. "You have fun, Y/N!" he calls out, waving. "Bye, Barry!" you wave back with a smile.

As Barry leaves, Rafe's hands find your hips, fingers playfully tugging at the strings of your bikini bottoms. "Rafe!" you exclaim, swatting his hands away and retying the strings. "They'll be here soon." Rafe groans, "Why am I being cockblocked all day today." You smirk up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him in, "Later, I promise."

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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