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usedpidemo · 13 days

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Codependency (Ive Yujin)

On one side, there’s a mansion worthy portrait of you on the wall. On the other, wards and recognitions from numerous governing bodies with your name plastered in remembrance. The public knows more about the brand than the people behind it; that’s how business works. Unless your name happens to be Musk, Bezos, or Zuckerberg.

You’re nowhere near their level of wealth and influence—far from it—yet this entire building’s future rests on your shoulders. It’s not as easy as it looks.

You’ve always credited your guardian angel for keeping you from harm your entire life. It sounds religious, but from personal experience, it’s real.

She’s guiding you from the secluded corner of your office.

—————

“And that’s how we’ll proceed with operations moving forward,” you say to the executives in the room—except they're not physically there. Their faces are projected on screen, joining from different countries, with some even joining from home. To be quite frank, you understand very little about your own presentation, and had your acting not been Oscar-worthy, there’s more that would appear absurd than believable. “Do we have any questions?”

For the most part, the top brass appear to be in unanimous agreement with everything that has been laid out. Not a single question, complaint, or rebuttal from anyone.

“Well done, officer. You seem to have a complete grasp and understanding of the situation,” says one of the chiefs, his ripe old age showing through his slow, strained tone.

Another suit, much closer to your age—albeit barely (he’s in his mid-forties)—adds, “We expect an immediate turnaround, otherwise we may have to cut even more of our divisions off. Should this plan fail, we anticipate closure of even more of our departments, including yours.”

It’s not the most concerning thing you’ve heard this week, but it’s definitely up there–at least top three.

Nevertheless, you remain firm and bow to your superiors as you end the meeting. “Thank you sirs. We will do our best.”

As soon as the video call ends, you let out this deep sigh of relief that’s been repressed the entire time. Thank goodness you have an entire building floor and private office to yourself.

“Well fuck me,” you mutter, seemingly speaking to the void, taking all the deep breaths you need, wiping the sweat across your head with some tissue. “Tell me I followed through on everything, right?”

“Yeah. Apart from mixing a few things, you mostly got it.” Yujin’s voice emerges from the far end of the room, covered in darkness, away from anyone’s view. The papers on your desk aren’t actually documents or paperwork. In reality, they’re pages of a manuscript with a few instructional, handwritten notes attached. It’s not even your own writing; they’re curated by none other than Yujin herself. “I’d say I wouldn’t have noticed, even if they were a little too obvious at times.”

“These conferences are fucking tiresome. Nauseating even,” you reply. Yujin opens up the blinds, and you stagger away from the immediate sunlight piercing through the room. Simply put, you just want to throw up after yapping all that incomprehensible jargon. “You know what—why don’t we switch places next time? I think you’d be better at this than me, like you already are with everything.”

An unusual comment for the director to make to his assistant, but it’s true. Yujin is so good in every department that it’s borderline farcical. She’s incredibly reliable to the point where you’ve basically deferred nearly every task to her, leaving you with the most boring parts of your job, which mostly comprises of company meetings and private calls. She’s a relatively new hire, having worked in your department for a little over a year, yet her rise up the ranks has been nothing short of absurd.

“Please, let’s not get carried away,” she softly laughs, flashing a lovely smile you never grow tired of seeing—and you see her as soon as you walk into the building till you clock out. “I’m fine with the research and paperwork. Regardless of what you want to believe, I think you sold it well.”

You slump back in your chair, somewhat bothered at just how unbothered Yujin is. How she’s able to take all your responsibilities that you should be doing, and without protest. One look at her features tells you all you need to know: that she’s happy to work for you. She could easily be in your position right now, putting you through this exact hell. She could be on that screen making those very threats on your job, in fact. Instead, she prefers to be your subordinate.

If that wasn’t enough of an example, she’s gathering the papers on your desk, putting them back together, good as new. Then she brings you a cup of water from the dispenser. She’s enumerating a list of other, just as unintelligible things that may or may not be important to your discussion earlier. Meanwhile, you’ve been sitting in that chair, your thoughts wandering aimlessly, thinking about anything that isn’t work. It’s almost noon, yet your mind just wants to check out for the rest of the day.

“Um—sir? You okay?” Yujin waves a hand right in your face, snapping you from your tired daze.

You tilt up to her gaze, eyes weary. “Yeah. I’m just—tired.”

“Do you want me to leave? I’ll go and sort out the upper management on your behalf if you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t.” You rise from your seat, telling her, “I’ll take care of it. Go and have lunch,” as you point at your wristwatch, both hands closely pointed at the top.

“You sure? You should go have lunch too,” she replies, showing an alarming amount of concern that it’s almost comical. “Don’t worry about me.”

Shaking your head, you respond, flashing a light grin to reassure her, “I can talk to them at any time. T your break. I’ll call you when I need anything.”

—————

Truth be told, you didn’t want to see her for the rest of the day, let alone seek her help.

Yujin is only one call away. After all, she’s your assistant, down to working right outside your office. She’s working on whatever nonsense you’ve assigned her, showing no signs of slowing down. Meanwhile, you can barely call today productive; you’ve only completed two pages of a draft for next week’s presentation. In the time spent between slowly chopping away and stalking her from behind the door, her pretty profile a sight for sore eyes, she’s probably completed this week’s assignments and halfway through the next. She’s that efficient.

Hours pass, until the day finally ends at five. At exactly the top of the hour, she lets herself into your office, her pleasant attitude still in full bloom. “Already completed all the tasks for today. How about you?”

Yujin is not even trying to gloat—not in the slightest—yet it sounds like a punch to the gut. You can only slam your chin flat on the desk in despair, shooting a tired glare at her. She tries to muffle her chuckle, trying to keep herself professional, not realizing you’ve already seen through her facade.

“You want me to help you out? I don’t mind working an hour longer if you need it.” She’s peeking her head over the laptop display, examining for the proof of concept—or lack thereof. “Didn’t I tell you to leave this five plan strategy to me?”

This amount of confidence should leave you battered and deflated. And yet, there’s a sense of relief knowing Yujin will get the job done no matter what you ask of her. It’s enough to turn that frown into a faint, encouraging grin.

“I guess so,” you tell her, putting down the screen. Getting up from your chair, you close the window blinds and block out the setting sun. “Maybe I’m just tired of deferring all my responsibilities to you, that’s all.”

Her smile looks innocent, demure even, it doesn’t make sense as to how irrevocably kind she is to you. As far as you know, your employees consider you as shrewd and as scummy as your superiors. Forget that you’ve been working here longer; they consider everyone that isn’t their fellow rank a corporate dirtbag who’d step over others the first opportunity they can. It’s a vicious cycle. To have someone like Yujin feels like an anomaly.

“Don’t worry about it, that’s why I’m getting paid right?” she answers back, pressing her palms on your desk. “Just do what you can and I’ll handle the rest.”

You’re pouring an espresso into a cup, before offering the drink to her. “We should talk, Yujin,” you say, filling up a separate glass with your own. Your fourth shot. “You got a minute or two?”

“Sure. I always have time for you.” Yujin sits up, taking the drink into her hand, crossing her leg. It’s nearly impossible to look anywhere else but on them. As if she couldn’t be any more perfect, in mind, character, and body. “Is there anything bothering you lately?”

Sitting across her with only a desk separating you, the words never come out. You’ve got plenty on your mind: the messy state of your department, the unreasonable expectations and demands of your superiors, the possibility of losing your job—and Yujin. She’s sitting right there, ready to hear you out, but you never find the conviction to confess your worries. The next few minutes are awkward silence, only broken by the occasional stir of teaspoon and the sip of coffee. It isn’t that she renders you speechless, though one would fairly assume as to why: she’s pleasant to look at, among other things. It also helps that her outfits have been getting skimpier over the past few weeks. Unsurprisingly, you let the flagrant violation of the dress code go unpunished.

“Sir? Is everything okay?” Yujin leans her head forward, noticing that you’re lost in thought. She places her cup on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyebrows instinctively rise. That glimmer of hope you showed moments ago disappears. What’s left is despair. “I think we might be fucked, Yujin.”

“Fucked? What do you mean by that?”

“We’re fucked. Like, we could be out of a job fucked.”

“Explain?” Yujin cannot comprehend it—then again, anyone else would react the same way. “Didn’t we give the board a five step plan earlier today?”

“We did,” you reply, finally mustering the strength to meet her eyes. “But here’s the thing: we don’t have the financial or human capacity to execute the plan. At least, in the time they demanded.”

“And? We did the research and even the hypotheticals!” You’ve never heard Yujin raise her voice even once—until now. “What could go wrong exactly?”

“They think we can course correct years worth of bad financial decisions in just a few months. That’s the problem. Either way, we’re fucked.”

“I don’t believe you.” Yujin forcefully rises from her seat, threatening to flip the desk. If she only had the strength. “After all the time I spent working on it, you want to wave the white flag and give up?”

You don’t really know how to answer her. At least, in a way that’s remotely graceful and easy to understand.

“I’m sorry, Yuj, but no matter what—”

“I’m trying—so fucking hard—” she huffs, her fist clenching, trembling violently— “to carry your fucking ass so that we could keep our livelihoods. And not just me or you, but also the hundreds working for us! I know you fucking hate their guts because they’ve said nothing but terrible things about you, and even if none of that is true because I know you better than anyone else in this fucking building, at least have the decency to salvage whatever’s left instead of being a fucking coward for once!”

Yujin doesn’t notice that she’s been outright screaming into your face. You’re taken aback, utterly in disbelief at what she just aired out. If she wasn’t kindness incarnate, she likely would have pulled you by the shirt and choked you till you passed out. She blinks. The realization hits, and she begins to crumble.

“Sorry” is the only thing she can say, in quiet mumbles, slowly falling back onto her chair. Her hands cover the lower half of her face, completely mortified. Her eyes are on the verge of tears before giving out and crying waterfalls. Eventually, she lowers her head out of shame.

Even before entrusting her with such a demanding assignment, you knew there was nothing other than divine intervention that could save your job. This wasn’t what you signed up for, and neither did Yujin. For the most part, this was only to save face. Your face. The board of directors didn’t have any objections after all, and were mostly agreeable with every step of the plan. Either that or their old age is catching up and they hardly understood a thing at all. Like you.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t excuse you from criticism. This is on you, and you should be held accountable. Instead of rightfully performing your part, you weighed down someone else with your burden. It’s the wake-up call you need.

Yujin shouldn’t feel guilty saying all of this and having to apologize. She’s crying on your desk, still softly apologizing between tears, “Sorry—I’m really sorry—” and your heart fucking drops.

It’s a terrible feeling.

“Yuj, please stop crying,” you mutter, caressing her shoulder. Seeing her look so defeated brings you more distress than anything, including the thought of losing your job. “I should be the one apologizing for putting you through all this. You’re right—”

“I’m so sorry.” She’s still asking for forgiveness, your words mostly going unnoticed. “I just wanted to—”

“You’re right, Yuj. I’m a coward. I’ll admit, I honestly wanted to resign the moment they brought this up. If they couldn’t do a damn thing about it, how else would I know? Seeing you figure out a way made me realize just how much I depend on you to save my ass. I should be the one saying sorry, not you Goddammit, Yuj. What would I do without you, honestly—”

She tilts her head up, her sniffling and sobbing unceasing, resting her head on your chest. “I’m sorry. What I said is still out of pocket and I wasn’t in the position to say—”

“Shush, Yuj. Stop apologizing for being right,” you reply, brushing her hair. “Look. We’ll go forward with your plan. You can write up the whole thing and I’ll present it your way. I won’t muck up in front of the directors, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna quit.”

“Really?” She lifts up her eyes, doe-looking and glimmering.

“Yeah. Might as well go down with a sinking ship, so please stop crying,” you say, smiling. “You made me feel like shit and I don’t like it.”

Yujin laughs. Heartily.

—————

Even though that should havd been enough to appease Yujin, in your eyes, it wasn’t. You had to make it up to her in other ways.

“This place serves really good food,” you tell Yujin, digesting the sights and scents of the relatively small eatery. Meanwhile, Yujin sits beside you, eating to heart’s content without a care. “I can see why you love it.”

“How’d you know this was my favorite place to drop by after work?” she asks, chomping down on the last stick of her barbecue.

“I have my sources,” you tell her, playfully grinning, unwilling to admit that you’ve been watching from behind your car’s windows for some time now.

“Don’t tell me it’s Wonyoung, boss.” Yujin pouts, flustered and embarrassed. “I swear to God, I can’t trust anything with—”

“It isn’t her, don’t worry,” you chuckle, amused at her red-faced look.

“I really appreciate the offer,” she remarks, finishing the remaining half of her drink. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do for my hardworking assistant,” you reply, gesturing to the lone cook for the bill. The charges go up to the hundreds, with most orders belonging to her. While she’s chomping away at the end of a large meal, you secretly foot it on her behalf. How she maintains her figure while consuming this much food, you’ll never know. And when she calls for the tab, she’s told that it has already been paid in full.

“Now you’re just being extra,” she says, facing you, looking insulted by the kind gesture, but in a playful way. Appreciative regardless. “I already told you we’ll pay for what we each ordered.”

Looking at the stack of empty plates on her side—when compared to yours—some part of you believes that to be false. You don’t even have to say anything for her to realize she’s not one to fulfill her own word either.

“Okay—I would have paid 25 percent.”

You can’t place any blame on her. She laughs—at herself. She’s so charming, a pleasure to watch, that you would let her slide, had this not been your intention right from the start.

“Stop.”

You end up laughing with her too.

—————

“Seriously. Don’t lie, you promise you won’t just suddenly quit on us?” Yujin asks, staring at you as you walk toward your parked vehicles outside the eatery. “This feels like a way to soften the blow.”

Both of you stop right in front of your cars. “Not at all,” you tell her, staring directly into her eyes. “What else do I have to do to prove that I’m not quitting?”

“I don’t know, sir. I mean—you, suddenly asking me to eat out—” she rolls her eyes away, skeptical— “You’ve never done that.”

The cold nighttime air sweeps all over you. Chilly, you rub your arms together, partially regretting the decision to cover Yujin with your coat. She’s relatively unfazed, warm in your garment; even more surprisingly, it fits her perfectly like a glove.

“I wouldn’t leave if it means I lose you, Yujin.”

It’s not the words you wanted to say. Every part of that sentence leaves your lips effortlessly. A little too effortless.It’s an unconfessed confession, waiting for the right moment to be spoken. Sure, she may interpret it as merely you being codependent on her when it comes to work, but there’s no way there isn’t some kind of other, deeper meaning behind them.

“Lose me? What does that mean?” She asks, even more curious. Of course, Yujin isn’t the brain of your operations for nothing. It isn’t surprising when she figures you out. “You like me, don’t you?”

Just like that, the tables have turned. You can’t deny your feelings any longer.

You gently nod. Perhaps the killing blow could be softer if you find closure, right here, right now.

She leans forward, both of you unable to do anything other than to stare into each other’s deep, longing eyes. The tension between you is the only source of heat in the midst of a cold, lonely night.

By all accounts, the relationship between you and Yujin is strictly professional. Apart from a few trips abroad, you keep all conversations business related. Mind-numbing, confusing agency jargon. It’s a helpful practice in keeping your space; no matter how attractive she may look and saccharine she may sound, no amount of pleasantry can make company discussion remotely close to entertaining. You’d rather play with the blinds in your office. She’s doing her part too: clock in at nine, clock out at five on the dot. It’s a healthy routine. After hour talks between you are rare. It’s common practice to maintain a firm working relationship. It’s also just common sense. Good organization begins at the top.

Moments like these are strong reminders on why you avoid crossing that line. Yet you don’t stop—not when she’s the one making the first move.

You kiss. Your lips stay a little longer than they should. The taste lingers.

You find solace in each other's warmth, in a comforting embrace. She rests her head on your chest, her hands gripping into your shirt tightly. Deep down, you both recognize you’re on borrowed time. Whether through your promotion or your release, you won’t be together for much long. Countless hours spent together, so many occasions—the opportunities are being handed to you on a silver platter, only for you not to take the chance.

Not anymore. You won’t make the same mistake again.

—————

Driving her home was easy; finding your way into your room was half the battle.

“It took us this long to share a room, huh?” Yujin huffs against your face, finding and capturing your lips even in an erratic, volatile environment. She’s pushing you against the wall, her palms having an iron grip on your cheeks, pulling you close and wildly kissing you. The entire trip up to your apartment floor has been nothing but shaky kisses and clothes slowly scattering from the elevator to your front door.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” you manage to mutter, holding her face away for a brief respite to answer, only to be forced back in once again. Any semblance of professionalism between you is abandoned for fiery, passionate lovemaking, future relationships be damned.

The most surprising thing is how it isn’t as messy as it may look. See, despite the bite marks on your skin, the wrinkles in your clothes, and the rather loud, unceremonious manner you enter your apartment, you’re still in the process slowly unraveling. There’s a conscious effort to make sure neither side comes out completely in ruins. A silent agreement between you.

Her hands lay claim to your shirt, threatening to tear you apart if you don’t do the same to her. She lifts her head when you quickly peel through her long skirt; you dive in and make it yours. The crack in her voice as she mewls tickles your ears just right. Slowly spreading her legs wide, pulling the panties down her well defined thighs. In response, she tugs at your shirt, popping a few buttons loose. It isn’t as easy as it looks to have Yujin pinned against the wall; she’s actively fighting, trying to seize back control. If she can’t have her way with you, at the very least she can rein you in. Only now do you realize the danger your little escapede.

With her slender legs wrapped around your waist, you can only do so much. Yujin can’t stop kissing you, leading your gaze to anywhere but her pretty, lust-ridden expressions. She wants this more than you do. Against your desires, you end up in the kitchen, propping her on the bar counter as lipstick covers your entire face. The brief respite when she catches her breath gives you ample time to unbutton the rest of your shirt before tossing it aside—something you don’t give her the decency to finish.

While she’s still staggering, lost in her own thoughts, you take her by the shoulder and leave a fresh mark on her neck. A distraction. More importantly, your fingers feel their way around the back of her dress, find the touch of metal—and yank. The zipper follows, the lengthy garment gradually coming undone, until Yujin pushes the rest of it off her shoulders and to the floor. Your eyes gleam like starlight as her bra reveals itself, taking countless mental snapshots at that moment.

Not even her attempts to redirect your attention can pull you away.

You push her down on the marble surface. The bar is big enough to fit you both. Joining her atop the counter, your gaze wanders down her divine figure—and you don’t know where to start. Everything about Yujin is designed to be as perfect as humanly possible. No one should be flawless.

“How can you be any more perfect, Yuj,” you mutter, eyes roaming everywhere, soaking in the immaculate sight before you. “How did I not want you any sooner?”

Yujin’s hand traces down your arm. “You could have just asked. My previous employers did. It was a regular part of the job for me.”

You’re shaking your head. Imagine that—an employer taking advantage of their employee offering themselves without any restraint. You would never—except you already did. Your previous assistant can vouch.

“Don’t feel sorry. I want this just as much as you do,” she adds, pulling you towards her face for a soft kiss, clearing all doubt. “Besides, you’re not that much different from any of them. Why stop now?”

“Not that different? Were they just as codependent on you as I am?”

Nodding in agreement, she laughs.

“God fucking dammit.”

You sigh. Yujin continues laughing. What a momentum killer. And the worst part is, it’s self-inflicted and completely avoidable. You should have just kept going, kept her speechless.

Still, it’s not the end of the world. You’re on top of Yujin; she has no intention of leaving you anytime soon. Most importantly, she’s unhooking her bra while you’re caught up in your feelings. “But—there’s one difference: I actually love working for you. I wouldn’t mind letting you use me.”

“You love working for me? Why?”

She’s biting her lip, grabbing you by the back of your head. “You’ll find out yourself. You know what to do.”

“What? How?” The word comes out panicked, desperate.

Yujin shakes her head, the smirk on her lips twisting, wicked. “You know how.”

At first, finding what she means proves to be a struggle. After all, Yujin’s not the mysterious type. She always tells you everything straight, condenses complex conversations into digestible servings for easy consumption. It’s not in her character. Yet, one look at what’s in front of you—her naked frame casually lying beneath yours, her hands running all over your bare self—the realization hits you like lightning, and you’re mentally punching yourself for being so dangerously oblivious.

You kiss her on the lips again. You can’t get enough. You’d happily stay in this position all night long. Except that isn’t what she wants. She wants you to go further.

So you sink further and further down. The closer you get, the more she opens up. A sloppy trail follows your lips, from her chin, to her collarbones, to her chest and navel, and everything else in between. She’s soft to the touch, so flexible and malleable—every part of her, you make yours. Then you get to her core, her inner thighs spreading, and watch as it unravels before you, quivering, soaked, needy. You look into each other’s eyes, hers anticipating. There’s a craze behind your irises, as if some repressed need is crawling back to the surface. It’s slowly driving you wild.

Your name drips on the edge of Yujin’s mouth—a sign of impatience—before suddenly cracking at the point of impact. She rolls her head back, her voice reduced to an airy sigh as your tongue licks up her slit, her entrance, in a slow upward motion. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to devolve into a hungry, primal mess. Her thighs close in and clamp you down, suffocating you while you become more familiar with the sensation and taste of her dripping cunt.

If only you could hear the full extent of her moans, turning a pitch higher with each passing swipe and slurp. You’re humming into her core, satiated and fulfilled with the taste of her slick in your mouth. Yujin’s hands stretch out for help, for stability as pleasure gradually overwhelms her. Propped underneath her thighs, your hands dig under to reach places that your tongue can’t. She grows erratics, restless, moved by your presence inside her.

“Fuck!” The profanity escapes her lips instinctually, like it’s always been a part of her. She’s writhing, jaw slack, her back arched over the bar, her hands now grasping on your hair, then on the edges again. On your side, the pressure her thighs bring leave you suffocating. It’s too much. You should be begging for your life; instead, you’re enjoying every minute, slowing your pace every now and then to savor the feeling.

Despite her state, she’s caught you by the wrists. They do little in stopping your tongue from consuming every inch of her, and you end up pushing her forward. You grip her by her thighs and spread her wide. She can’t resist. Fresh air has never felt more soothing to the lungs. By the way you have her legs dangled up in the air, you’re threatening to pull a nerve. She’s screaming, crying out in desperation,

Still, it doesn’t change the outcome. Yujin finally loses herself completely and comes undone. She cums—blasts jets of slick all over your face and mouth. The counter pools with the aftermath of her orgasm, and you lick it all up, sanitation be damned.

When you finally emerge from the depths of her tight, drenched cunt, she remains a mess, stamina completely drained, body still trembling from her massive climax. You’d think after that, she would be incapacitated for the night, until—

“Wait.” Yujin deeply exhales, pulls you by the wrist. You aren’t exactly going anywhere. As if struck by lightning, she suddenly rises up. A shit-eating grin forms on her lips, as if the damage wasn’t enough to take her down. There’s a familiar look in her eyes—the gaze of a woman who needs more.

She flicks a sample of her slick from the spot on the counter and laps it up, still eying you with unceasing lust. You remember her words, the question to ponder: “You’re gonna tell me now?”

Yujin blankly stares. The question lingers for a little while. “Tell you what?” she replies, the tone convincing enough to feign innocence.

��Why you love working for me.”

She smiles again, a teasing look. “You’re halfway there.”

“What does that mean?” As you try not to overreact, your assistant turned one night stand tries to stifle her laughter. It almost goes unnoticed, until— “Yuj, you’re really getting on my nerves with all this vaguery bullshit going on.”

“It’s part of the fun, is it not? Do you want me to give it straight?”

“Yes! Like always!”

Yujin leans close. One hand reaches for your pants, the other still attached to your wrist. She appears like she’s going for yet another kiss, when she stops right next to your ear and whispers, “I want you to fuck me. Use me,” before drawing herself away.

On the surface, the stare you give her looks cold. Deep in your mind, the words resonate and ring louder and louder. Four words. “Fuck me—” “Use me—” The arousal bubbles up, manifests on your cheeks. The next few minutes can go so many ways, more than you can imagine. In your eyes, she’s still your assistant, a friendly, dependable worker whom you consider a close acquaintance more than anything.

The thing is: you’ve already gone far past the point of no return. Her gaze is enticing—demanding—you to keep going.

There’s no stopping now.

Yujin casually follows you to your bedroom, hand in tow. The rest of your clothes lie discarded in the kitchen—boxers, pants, and all. Gone are the nerves and hesitations; the attitude you have towards her is different. “Lay down,” you command her, voice steely, and she obliges, the bed flopping with the slight crash of her lithe figure. You won’t ever grow tired of staring at her naked body, regardless of it’s position.

She lays flat on her tummy, observing you rummage through your large closet of suits, pulling a red tie from one of the drawers. “Not the first time I’ve had something wrapped around my neck,” she remarks, raising a curious eyebrow, crooked smile unyielding. “Stylish, just like you.”

“I wasn’t asking for your input.” You’re never this stern towards Yujin. You toss the necktie on the mattress before joining her atop the bed. “Turn around.”

Like the good girl she is, she obliges. That’s Yujin for you; she’ll always follow everything you tell her, no questions asked. On her fours, her plump ass glides face up, in complete view. Another temptation, another part of her to claim as yours. Regardless, you’re in no hurry; you’ve got the rest of the night.

With your erect cock in hand, you line the tip against her sopping cunt. She winces, moans at the contact. “Oh, fuck—” she whines, lifting her head up, her nails pressed into the sheets. As inviting as the call of her tight, wet pussy is to you, you make an organized effort to resist the immediate lull to fuck her hard.

Even holding her figure with your other hand proves to be a nightmare. Her body enraptures you in hypnotic ways. The arch of her back, the curve of her ass, the hourglass frame—it’s a feast for the eyes. You could take your sweet time and worship every little part of Yujin and she wouldn’t mind, but in the midst of your blinding daze, she’s calling to you. Again.

“Are you just gonna admire me or are you gonna shove that big cock in me?” She faces you with a mischievous grin. “I don’t mind both.”

Suddenly, you remember your position in this relationship. You grab her by the throat, face her away again. “Quiet. I don’t want to hear any more from you unless you’re taking this fucking cock.”

Showing a little resistance, she tries daring you, “Then f—fuck!”

Her jaw goes wide, frozen in place, her voice abruptly cutting as you undercut her with your cock. You’re no better; pleasure sets your muscles ablaze as you thrust into her inviting cunt. It shows in the deep groan spilling from your mouth. Little by little, you plunge ever so deep until you feel yourself buried to the hilt. That’s when you finally let out this breath of relief—but not for long.

Her pussy clenches hard. Her heat proves to be suffocating beyond measure. If you don’t act quickly, she could end you in seconds.

“O-oh God—”

You slowly, painstakingly pull back before throttling your hips into her. Taking these short breaths, every little move you make is precarious. It’s not that she’s resisting you—far from it—but it’s you resisting the urge to cum so soon. Your mind tries to think of anything other than what’s right in front, but even that proves to be nearly impossible. The ripple of her ass, the slight wobble of her breasts, the twisting grip of your hand on her otherwise soft skin—

“So fucking tight. Holy fuck, Yuj—” You manage to mutter before you’re reduced to groans again.

All you can focus on is keeping yourself together while you’re slowly crumbing away. You find a rhythm in the midst of the madness, pounding away at your assistant’s cunt, your senses overrun by pleasure and the satisfying sound of your skin slapping skin. Elsewhere, your hands can’t seem to find solace in just one area. They’re everywhere; from her hair, to her throat, to the arch of her ass, to her hips, the imprints stay new, eventually creating a patterned sequence that immediately breaks.

You’re fucking these strained cries and prasies out of Yujin’s sweet lips, and it’s quite the mouthful. ’More,’ ‘harder,’ ‘so good—’ until it reaches the point where her voice is so worn from your chokehold that she can only speak in high pitched mewls. Another cycle you wish would never end.

Slowing your pace, you reach for the necktie, gently tying it around her neck while preventing your rhythm from disrupting. “You’re such a fucking perfect woman, you know that?” you mutter in her ear, kissing the helix and indulging in the scent of her perfume mixed with sex and sweat. “Perfect listener, perfect assistant, perfect body—”

Pulling yourself away from her, you yank the tie along—your makeshift leash. Her body tilts all the way up, a sharp screech suddenly filling the bedroom. You’re not sure if its from the pull or just her moan. Either way, you have her in your grasp. Brushing her hair aside, you mumble, “Actually, I don’t know how to use a tie like that. I just wanted to remember what it’s like to be the boss. Your boss.”

It should have sounded flat, like all your other attempts at being convincing. And yet, she leans her ear backward, trying to recapture your lips. Teasing a little, your lips make what’s considered the most minimal of contacts, before you push her to her fours. You don’t intend to pull on the tie again, but you’re still holding on to it like your most prized possession—and it may as well be Yujin.

“Of course,” are her first words uttered in a while that aren’t some combination of profanity and praise.

Grabbing her by the midsection, the rhythm of your thrusts quickens. You feel it. The imminent collapse. And it’s not just the bed quaking and creaking from your sex. She’s pleading now; ’So close,’ she tells you, begs you to let her cum all over your cock. In any other scenario, you’d acquiesce. Here, with all the authority, you’re going to assert your power a little.

“Say it. Say it and I’ll let you cum all over me,” you demand, your hand climbing up to her chest, grabbing at her breast, folding her up slightly that her grip on the sheets transfers to the headboard. “I wanted you so fucking bad for so long.”

“Anything for you. Just let me cum!” she cries out, on the verge of falling apart. Dangerously close.

“Tell me I’m yours.”

“I’m yours!”

“You know what I meant. Say it again.”

“I’m yours! I’m yours!”

Hearing her declare that she belongs to you with such conviction almost upends you too. You almost give in, but narrowaly escape thanks to your utter resolve. The smirk on your face is priceless.

“Perfect. Now cum.”

Just like that, her body reacts at the drop of your command, as if it was hardwired into her. Yujin goes numb—fidgeting, cumming all over your cock—as you continue to pound into her cunt. A single word echoes, going quieter with every incantation: ‘Fuck,’ she whines, caught reeling in her orgasm and catching every breath possible.

Eventually, it comes to a standstill, the only thing left is for you to crash. Lucky for her, you’re not that far off. You’ve let go of the tie, holding onto her shoulders instead. So now it’s her opportunity to turn the tables on you again.

“Fucking give it to me—oh I need it now, oh God—” Yujin begs, barely keeping herself upright in the aftermath of her climax.

And you just crash down on her, slamming her deep into the sheets, turning her around as you fuck callously, clamping her neck, her moans ringing into your ear. She has a leg wrapped arond yours—as if you had any intention of pulling out. You’ve spent enough time away from her pretty face; now you want to watch her take all your load deep in her pussy.

Yujin’s mouth melds in the shape of a moan as the pressure finally overwhelms you. Burying yourself deep in her, you’re still pumping, fucking your cock as you blast thick load after thick load in her warm, creamy cunt. The sensation leaves you breathless, hanging onto her for dear life as you wait for the moment to pass. Though it may seem like a couple of minutes, the feeling lingers far longer than you can imagine. She milks you of all your worth, drawing every last drop from your throbbing cock until your body can’t move any longer.

Eventually, your bodies wind up together, limbs tangled, wrapped around each other in a warm embrace. The comfort you both needed after a long day.

—————

You gaze down at a tired Yujin. Hours ago, you were the one holding onto her; now she’s the clingy one, wrapping an arm over you. “I really need to know, Yuj.”

She mumbles into your chest. “What is it?” You feel her soft lips leave lipstick marks on your skin.

You’re brushing away loose, dark strands of her hair to get a better look of her pristine, shiny face. “Why do you love working for me?”

After the passionate night you just had, you still have the gall to ask such a frivolous question. The answer should be obvious by now.

She looks up, smiling—a pleasant, friendly gleam, one you immediately recognize as soon as you walk through those office doors. “Because you’re the first boss I’ve ever worked for that isn’t a total asshole. Also, you’re good at everything.”

You raise an eyebrow and frown. “That’s not—”

“You know what I meant, boss.” The smiling turns into teasing. You realize, then you laugh.

You should be basking in the afterglow of sex, but daylight peeking through your curtain says otherwise. You’re so tired, you can’t move a muscle, let alone grab the phone from the living room to tell the time. All you know is that you should be at work by now, and so should Yujin.

The ring from your phone can be heard loud and clear, even a room and clothing pocket away. As you try to lift your head, Yujin meets you halfway, kissing you before laying you back down.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll write up your leave of absence. Besides, I could use some time off too,” she says, inching her face close to yours.

The notion frightens you. Yujin, your most reliable assistant, never missing a day that isn’t considered a holiday, not by your side when you need her.

And you need her now more than ever.

“Time off? When?”

“From now. Until you say we’re done.”

—————

(A/N: :bsadcorner:)

(Missing IVE's first proper world tour will always be one of my K-pop low points, even if I already watched and even shared an interaction with them. Goddammit, I can already expect the prices and perks for their next tour will be even more expensive than it already is. Sigh. Anyway, I hope they get their well deserved time off. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #ive #yujin #an yujin

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griffonsgrove · 8 months

Note

Hiiii!!! See your doing writing requests for Hazbin, Its my hyperfixation so I am in need of more content 👀 so I'd like to request maybe Vox general or NSFW headcanon ( either one is good lol-) with a afab reader maybe? This is my first time requesting something like this so sorry if I'm a little nervous or bad at requesting. I think this is how people are supposed to request? XD

General Dating Headcanons | Vox

a/n: You're totally alright dear! You said everything just fine! As I've stated before, I got early access to the first two episodes, and it's been so interesting to analyze vox's character! I hope I can do him justice!! He's starting to grow on me now. I'm gonna stick with a gn!reader just because these are general headcanons and I want them to be suited for anyone!

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

wordcount: 1299

cw: SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL, swearing, vulgar content, stalking, death and mentions of death/murder., toxic/absuive relationships.

(PLATONIC):

Vox’s got eyes EVERYWHERE in hell. There is no escaping his line of sight unless you go completely off the grid. Which is pretty difficult to do when the entirety of pentagram city is covered head to toe in VoxTech.

However, if you don't pose a threat to him, he really doesn't give a shit about you otherwise, and won’t pay that much attention to your life.

When you first fell into hell, you were mostly confused as to how you wound up here in the first place. That quickly subsided into fear as you noticed the large variety of demons and sinners casually walking down the sidewalk like it was an average tuesday.

You’ll never forget the sight of seeing a demon gnaw off the arm of another and swallow it whole, like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

You wander aimlessly down the streets, keeping to yourself and being very cautious of those around you. Your clothes were in tatters, and you didn't have any form of money whatsoever, what were you to do??

You had two options: Somehow find a job in this new horrific realm, or, die.

You didn't care too much for the latter.

This is how you stumble across one of the largest studios/clubs in hell, owned by probably the most feared overlords in pentagram city. The V’s.

You get hired to be nothing more than a waiter/waitress, to serve the patrons of the club, mostly serving them their drinks.

You weren't too fond of the work uniform either. It left nothing to the imagination, and exposed alot of skin, far too much to your liking. The job actually paid somewhat decently though and it was enough to be able to sustain a living. You were quick to rent out the nearest apartment.

One day, while you’re out on the main floor, making your rounds, your eyes briefly lock with the TV demon across a sea of sinners. Call it cheesy, but it was almost like a spark went off the moment he laid eyes on you. Which is something that doesn't happen often with the tech-savvy overlord. Who were you??

He lazily beckons you over with a claw, to which you obediently follow, although it doesn't hide the sheer nervousness written all over your face, He gives you his drink order in that sultry, velvet voice of his, eyeing you up. You gulp slightly and are quick to bring him his order. He thought you were so cute trembling for him.

He begins to stalk observe you closer after that. If you have any electronic devices he’ll watch you through your screens, trying to get a glimpse into what your life was like outside of work. The things you enjoyed doing in your free time, favorite shows, foods etc.

He def goes through your search history.

He would start showing up more in the sections you worked at, oftentimes minding his business, but occasionally striking up a conversation with you.

You did have to admit he was quite the charmer, his smooth voice was hypnotic to you.

OBSESSIVE TENDENCIES. If he notices some creep won't leave you alone while you're working, he’ll take care of them personally, it’s never a pretty sight afterwards. He cant have anyone taking what's his.

You're oblivious to his stalking and possessiveness, you don't think much of it, maybe that's because he puts on a friendly face when you’re around him.

But after some time of getting to know you, He’s the one that eventually asks you out on a “date”. You’re skeptical at first, but decide to accept his offer. And also partially because you were afraid of what would happen if you said no.

(ROMANTIC):

Ngl it’s kind of a situationship in the beginning.

Vox is a busy man, it’s constant work maintaining the studios (especially valentinos temper) and managing the entirety of hell's technology. So, he may ghost you at first.

That being said, He will still keep an eye on you. He often watches through your phone while you sleep, just to make sure you’re safe. Hell is a dangerous place after all.

Speaking of, you’re now under the protection of the V’s, so that’s a plus! You never have to worry about another demon laying a finger on you. They usually never get close enough to anyways.

He very easily gets jealous. He won't show it on the outside because he has an image to uphold, but you can tell every time from that crazed look in his eyes.

Vox is a possessive lover; he wants to keep you all to himself. If he could, he’d keep you locked up by his side all day.

CONTROLLING. He HAS to know where you’re at, at all times, and who you’re going to be with (lest you face one of his tantrums). Also dictates what you wear, He likes to dress you up to his liking, like you’re his own personal doll.

Insecure much?

Say goodbye to privacy btw. He constantly has you in the back of his mind and a watchful eye on you. It can be kind of suffocating at times. The two of you have gotten into a few arguments because of this.

Valentino gets jealous of you too. How dare you take his boy-toy away from him? He’s often giving you the stink eye and will threaten you behind vox’s back. You’re too scared to tell Vox, because you don't want to face Val’s wrath.

You know briefly of his and Val’s “relationship” it all had seemed very one-sided and completely unhealthy.

You're often having to calm Vox down. The man has a very short temper and is easily provoked.

Imagine you pressing little kisses to his screen after he found out about Alastor’s return. He remains stoic, but secretly enjoys your affection.

Some of the pet names he loves to call you include; Doll, Dear, Darling, Sweetheart, Babe.

Pretty old-fashioned ik, but he's a classy man alright?

He tends to be pretty touchy, always having a clawed hand on the small of your back, or an arm wrapped around your waist. It’s more of a possessive trait of his, to keep what's his close.

He loves having you sprawled on his lap while he’s in his screen room, you stay nuzzled into his side, often taking naps while he does broadcasts.

He TOTALLY spoils you btw. He’s one of the most powerful overlords in hell, ofc he has the money to show it. Whatever dingy apartment you had before, forget about it bc this man has you living in a penthouse suite in one of the most expensive apartment buildings. He sees you looking at something in a store or online?? Boom, it’s yours now.

He loves buying you clothes, as I’ve said before, you're his “doll” and he loves playing dress up with you.

And if you buy him something?? He’s taken by surprise at first, he’s never really been on the receiving end of that affection, so whatever it is you give him he’ll cherish it.

If you ever have someone bothering you, or want to get rid of, you just say the word babe. He’ll be feeding them to his sharks >:)

The man is emotionally constipated, ok?? All he’s ever known from relationships is what he shared with Val (and trust me that was a train wreck). He’s rough around the edges, short-tempered and isn't always easy to get along with, and he’s incredibly possessive which can be suffocating to deal with at times. This probably stems from him not wanting to actually be alone, He doesn't want you to slip out of his grasp, so he keeps a tight leash on you. But underneath all these flaws, he really does love you and care about you. At the end of the day, He just wants someone that will stay.

#hazbinhotel #hazbinhotelxreader #xreader #gender neutral reader #vox x reader #vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin x reader #headcanons #dating headcanons #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin

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loveandpeaceanddoughnuts · 1 month

Text

Nanami x Reader ~ Kento's Stress Toy

feat: fluff and smut, established relationship, body writing, rough sex, loving sex, praise, overstimulation, light bondage // wc: 4170 // [ao3]

Nanami was working overtime again. You both hated when it had to happen, and on a Friday after a particularly long week? Your poor husband would be coming home exhausted and cranky.

Not that he was ever mean to you, of course. In fact, sometimes you wished he would be just a little bit meaner. You fantasized about him taking out his frustration on you, using his chiseled body to fuck you like a pretty little toy.

It wasn’t your fault that he looked so goddamn sexy when he was mad. His brows would furrow, sharp cheekbones somehow even more prominent as he clenched his jaw. His broad hands, always so gentle with you, would curl into fists, and you couldn’t help imagining what it would feel like to have that fist in your hair, yanking your head back as he railed you…

Heat pooled in your belly as you indulged in the fantasy for the hundredth time. You wanted to see that side of Nanami, wanted to feel it. After all, he kept things so bottled up. It would do your husband good to work out some tension, right?

—

Nanami was exhausted and beyond tense when he finally came home. He couldn’t shed his work stress at the door as he usually did, his broad shoulders still hunched around his ears as he slowly loosened his tie and toed off his dress shoes.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called as he made his way through the kitchen, smiling tiredly as he saw that you’d put the kettle on for the two of you.

“I’m in here, Ken!” You called from the bathroom, frantically scribbling the last letters of your surprise in eyeliner. You eyed yourself approvingly in the mirror before slipping your clothes back on and heading out to meet him with a kiss.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. He relaxed just a fraction as he inhaled your scent, tucking his face into your neck. “I’ve had the longest day.”

You hummed. “I’m listening, baby. Tell me all about it.” He followed you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he watched you make tea. You pushed a mug into his hands before hopping onto the counter opposite him.

Nanami closed his eyes appreciatively as he sipped his tea. “Perfect as always, my dear.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know what they want from me at that damn office. Actually, I do know, and it’s ridiculous. The sales goals are impossible to meet for anyone with a conscience.”

“Oh?” You had heard this before, but sometimes marriage meant letting your husband repeat himself. And if he worked himself up, so much the better for your little plan.

“Yes. They are. And my boss berated me in front of the whole team for trying to be honest with a new hire about the way things work.” He shook his head, gaining steam. “It’s completely unfair. The whole goddamn system.” Nanami scowled into his mug.

“I’m so sorry, my love. That sounds awful.”

Nanami moved closer to you, nestling himself between your legs and leaning against your chest. Atop the kitchen counter was one of the few places you could be taller than your mountain of a husband, and you never wasted the opportunity. You ran your hand through his hair, scratching gently at his undercut.

“It’s the weekend, my love,” you murmured. “You don’t have to think about those bastards again for a few days. It’s just you and me.”

He softened a bit. “Just you and me, hm? Forgive me, dear. You know I hate bringing work home.”

“Nothing to forgive.” You bit your lip. This is where you’d make your move. “I just wish there was something I could do to help relax you.”

He had been with you long enough to recognize the suggestive lilt in your voice. “Oh, do you? You’re sweet, love. But there’s nothing to be done.”

“Nothing at all?” You ask, tugging at the buttons on his collar.

He tilted his head, wordlessly allowing you access to begin undoing them. You smooth your fingertips over the freckles at his neck, the collarbone constellations you love so much.

You’re halfway down his chest when he catches your wrists in one hand, an apologetic smile on his lips. “I adore you, but I don’t think I’m exactly in the mood to make love. I don’t want any thoughts of work to distract me from you.”

“Who said we had to make love?” You lean back to look him in the eyes as you offer the challenge, relishing the flush that crawls up his cheeks.

“Angel…”

“I mean it, Kento. I want you to use me.” Heat pools in your stomach at the vulnerable words. “Use me to fuck out all your tension, all the work bullshit. I’m all yours.”

Nanami’s wide eyes drink you in, his heart pounding. He couldn’t hide how much your words affected him, least of all how painfully hard he suddenly was, cock jumping against his slacks.

You pressed your hand against his growing bulge with a soft smile. You knew all his weaknesses. “Please, baby. I wanna make you feel good.”

He pressed his forehead against yours with a ragged sigh. “You undo me, you know that?”

You guided his hands to your waist, lifting your hips so he could pull off your shorts. He huffed a laugh against your neck. “Eager, are we?”

You bit your lip, hardly able to contain your excitement as he grew closer to unveiling your surprise. “Yes, take them off already…”

You felt him smile against your skin as he finally stripped them off, rubbing teasing circles against your cunt through your damp panties.

“Those too,” you whined, bucking your hips against his hand.

“Such a needy little thing,” he murmured, gently teasing as he slid them off. You watched his face, rewarded with the sight of your stoic husband’s mouth falling open. His fingers dug into your hips unconsciously, hard enough to bruise, and you loved it.

“M-my love,” he breathed, eyes locked on what you’d written in black eyeliner just above your cunt.

Kento’s Stress Toy.

He released one of your hips to trace the words with shaky fingers, his touch almost reverent. “What is this?”

You smiled up at him, cheeks burning with exhilaration. “It’s the truth. I’m your stress toy tonight, Ken.”

He closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “I…I don’t want to disrespect you, angel.”

“But I want you to,” you whispered. You pulled him closer by the speckled tie that still hung loose around his neck. “I know you love me. And I love you…all of you.” You let your hungry gaze fall on his tense muscles, the way his shirt strained at his shoulders. “I want to feel all of you. If you’ll give it to me.”

He watched as you slowly lifted your shirt, letting your breasts fall out. One was adorned with the word “fuck”, and the other with “doll”, your handwriting curling along the top of each tit.

Nanami groaned , the sound going straight to your aching cunt. He roughly palmed your breasts, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Oh, my dear …”

“Your doll ,” you correct, gently tugging his lip free with a smirk. “Will you play with me?”

“God yes.” Nanami scooped you off the counter and into his arms, heading straight for the bedroom as you clung to him and giggled.

You hadn’t even made it through the doorway when he crashed his lips into yours, rough and needy. His tongue swiped against your bottom lip impatiently, pushing into your mouth. “You taste perfect, my love,” he breathed, “but I need more…”

He crossed the room and dropped you onto the bed, shoving a pillow underneath your hips as he rolled you onto your stomach. He settled himself behind you, his weight sagging the mattress so you were pulled even closer to him. He surveyed you with a low groan, drinking in the lewd sight of your ass up and your dripping, exposed cunt.

“May I?” He always asked before he tasted you, but his voice was strained tonight, eyes locked on your glistening pussy.

“ Please, ” you sighed, hardly able to draw a breath before Nanami was devouring you. He was messy , dragging his nose against your slit as he lapped up the slick that was already spiderwebbing between your thighs. When you tensed your legs reflexively he pulled away with a pout.

“Said you were gonna be my toy , hm love?” He held your thighs in a bruising grip and pried your legs apart. “Need to relieve my stress, right?” Your face was pressed against the bed but you could still feel the weight of his stare. He was practically panting for you, and you suddenly wondered if you’d be able to handle what you’d be wanting so badly.

With your legs held out of the way he dove back in, flattening his tongue against your lips in long, languid strokes before licking into your sopping cunt. “Be a good girl and keep these open,” he murmured as he gave your thigh a light smack, grinning as you trembled from the impact.

He brushed the back of his hand against your lips, spreading them open and dipping his knuckles into you as he kept his tongue working.

“Oh please, baby, fill me,” you babbled, but he was already there, sliding two thick fingers into your cunt effortlessly. He pulled his face away to look up at you adoringly.

“Look how good you are for me. Needed me that bad?” His lips were glossed in your essence, a string of slick still connecting them to you as he pumped his fingers with a wet smacking sound.

“Yes, hah-fuck- needed you…wan’ you to use me, angel…”

“I know love, I know.” He added a third finger, grinning at the gasp it tore from you as he sucked your clit into his mouth. “And I will, soon as you come on my face, okay?”

“This is…s’posed to be about you ,” you protested weakly, finding it hard to argue when he had you melting underneath him.

“I know, my darling. So sweet of you to offer yourself as a pretty little present for me. My naughty little wife, knowing I had such a long, hard day…” his eyes darkened, wanting to rail into you right then and there, but he caught himself with the superhuman restraint you so hated and admired. “But first I have to get you ready to take me, don’t I? Want you all warmed up so I can fuck you exactly how I want.”

He pressed sloppy kisses to your cunt, sucking at your clit as he stretched your needy hole around his fingers. Scissoring them in and out of you, heavy-lidded eyes on the way you coated him with your arousal. He reached up to press his dripping fingers to your lips, shoving them against your tongue. “Clean your mess.”

You sucked at him eagerly, ignoring the strain in your neck as you twisted back to face him. He dragged his sharp jaw between your thighs, suckling and nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Come for me, beautiful. Come so I can fuck my toy,” he purred, flicking his tongue against your clit faster and faster in the rhythm he knew you loved.

“Ken, don’t stop, please, I’m…!!” You saw stars as you crumpled into the bed, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. Your legs shook at the force of it, but Nanami didn’t slow his assault, still rolling his tongue over you as you bucked into his mouth.

“ Ugh it’s too much, I can’t,” you protested weakly, struggling to your knees as you tried to crawl away from his greedy tongue.

“Ah ah, beautiful. You’re all mine, remember?” He locked his strong forearms around your thighs, holding you down. “You’re not going anywhere.” He buried his face between your legs again, licking up higher and higher, lapping up every drop of your release.

He pulled you tighter against him, your ass practically smothering him as you were forced to arch your back harder, grateful for the pillow he’d balanced you on. “Mmmm that’s it baby, grind on my tongue.”

Your face burned at the words, but he was already lifting you effortlessly, rocking you back against his face in a steady rhythm that had his tongue slipping deep into your cunt.

You hardly had a chance to breathe before your second orgasm was creeping up on you, an overwhelming intensity that you were helpless to escape from as Nanami held you to himself. He kept going even as you shuddered into another peak, his hands kneading into the fat of your hips and ass.

Your vision went fuzzy as you scrabbled at the bedsheets, desperately trying to cling to something, anything to ground you. Overstimulated tears pooled in your eyes, every nerve ending on fire with the intensity of your pleasure.

Hoarse, fucked-out moans were all you could manage in response to Nanami’s stream of praises, telling you how good you were, how pretty you looked gushing for him. He finally pulled away with one last soft kiss to your hole, making it clench around nothing.

“You’re so perfect, love,” he sighed, smoothing his hands over your hair, your back, brushing his lips over your neck. “You’re not done yet, are you?” He pulled off his tie in one smooth motion, trailing the fabric down your spine to watch you squirm. “I’ve had such a very long day. I’ve been so tense , my dear.”

“Not done,” you panted, turning onto your back and reaching up to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. You pulled his hand down to trace the words you had written on your skin again, reminding him of what you were. All his.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. He slipped his tie around your wrists, pulling them together in a loose hold. He slowly stretched your arms above your head, pinning your wrists easily with one hand. He trailed his mouth back down your arms, gentle kisses and nips at the soft skin until his face hovered over yours.

“Are you ready, darling? I’m going to take you up on your very generous offer.” Your husband’s soft eyes glinted with something sharp as he freed himself from his slacks.

You nodded, feeling your wrecked cunt start to throb again at the sight of his cock, achingly hard and drooling pre already. As much as he’d already done to you, though, you still had a few cards to play.

You wriggled your wrists out of his grip, still bound by his tie, and reached down to stroke his cock. Lightly at first, watching through your eyelashes as he threw his head back, throat bared and jaw clenched. You gently pulled him closer, slotting his swollen head between your folds, just barely letting him press into you.

Nanami hissed through his teeth, dark eyes desperate as you teased him. “My love, don’t, hah - don’t be mean , I need you too badly…”

Electricity surged up your spine at his neediness. This was exactly where you’d wanted him. “I won’t be mean, baby, that’s your job tonight. Why don’t you tell me about your day?”

“My day,” he huffed an impatient laugh. “You know how it was. It was shit.” He bucked his hips against you, trying to get deeper, but you held him back, still stroking his tip and nothing more. You were lying in a pool of your own slick now, torturing yourself as much as him.

“Oh?” You rocked your hips forward suddenly, forcing his whole head into you, then went still again.

Nanami whimpered . “What do you want me to say? Work is shit .” His hands were trembling, clenching and unclenching at his sides as he watched where you dragged him against yourself.

“That’s it, baby. Aren’t you frustrated? Don’t you want to let your fuck doll make it all better?” Your words were calculated, flung at him with the most seductive look you had in your arsenal, lips pursed in an empty-headed little pout that you knew he had a guilty weakness for. If you knew your Kento, he wouldn’t be able to resist… there.

Nanami surged forward, pushing your hands out of the way and back above your head, your back arching obscenely as he slammed himself to the hilt in your cunt. “This is what you wanted my dear, isn’t it? This is what you’ve been waiting for,” he growled, not needing an answer. He kneaded your tits, the fuck doll label smearing under his touch.

He shoved your knees up to your ears, nearly folding you in half as he rutted into you with a force you’d never felt, hips smacking against yours with bruising strength.

“Work.” “Was.” “Shit.”

He punctuated each word with a sharp spank to your ass. He roughly palmed the reddening skin, swallowing your cries with a messy, open-mouthed kiss. He buried his face in your neck as he kept up a punishing rhythm, heavy balls slapping against you with each mean thrust.

“All fucking day I have to listen to idiots tell me what to do. All fucking day I have to sit in a cubicle, ripping people off…” he pulled out slowly, dragging his cock against your walls so you could feel every throbbing vein.

“And you know what I think about all fucking day, my love?” He whispered the pet name into your ear, making you shiver. “What keeps me going?”

“This.”

He slammed into you without warning, every inch bullying into you, the breath ripped from your lungs. When he bottomed out he held you there, grinding against you, making you clench and twitch against the sheer depth of him, filling you impossibly deep.

“I think about this . About coming home to my pretty wife and fucking her senseless .” His whispers were harsh against your neck, his voice ragged. Your mouth was stretched in a scream, sure you’d wake the neighbors if not for your husband’s heavy hand coming down on your mouth.

“You’re always so good for me, always so happy to see me…sometimes I wish I could show those fucks at the office exactly what I come home to, just to watch them burn with jealousy.” His kisses grew rougher, sucking and biting at your neck, laying claim to your skin.

“Wish I could mark you up like this and have you come visit me the next day, wearing some tight, low-cut dress that shows them all exactly how you’re mine. How little anything else could possibly matter to me…” he shudders against you, his fantasy overwhelming. “Maybe have you crawl under my desk and take care of me right there, since you wanna be my little stress toy, hm?”

Your mind is scattered, trying desperately to focus on his words and the increasingly difficult act of staying sane as he fucks you into oblivion. Your eyes roll back as another orgasm builds, his cock reaching a secret spot deep inside of you, sending you over the edge again.

The new height of pleasure makes you stupid, babbling into his chest as he fucks you through it, gasping for air from the press of him folding you in half. “Yes, please Ken, I’d do it, wanna be your fuck doll, need this, need you, need… nnghhh! ”

“That’s it gorgeous, my beautiful toy, my perfect love, come on my cock, come from me using you like this…” Nanami’s brows are knit together, his face twisted with concentration as he pumps into you again and again and again, his rhythm never faltering, he’s nothing if not consistent, ramming into your sweet spot over and over until you’re not sure where you start and he ends.

The base of his cock is decorated with a soft white ring of the cream that’s still leaking out of you, and he moans at the sight. “God you’re such a mess for me, I don’t think I’ve ever felt you this wet, darling…” He smiles down at you, looking angelic even as he tries to break the bed in half. “And from writing such filthy things on your perfect body…you were soaked just waiting for me to come home and see this, weren’t you? Naughty little thing.”

You moan helplessly in answer, unable to deny it. This was everything you’d wanted and more. Your eyes slide shut of their own volition, and he gently taps your cheek. “Oh no, my dear, not yet. Don’t worry, I won't break my toy.” He slows, just barely, letting you breathe.

He traces his fingertips over the words between your hips again, reverent. “What does this say again, angel? What are you?”

“Kento’s stress toy…” you murmur.

“Mmm, that’s right. And you’re being such a good one,” he praised. “My brilliant wife, with such wonderful ideas.” He kisses you softly on the lips, the tenderness almost shocking. “Can you be a good toy for a little bit longer?”

You nod your head eagerly, though you don’t think you can move much else. Your arms and legs feel like (well-fucked) jello, the tie around your wrists almost forgotten in the sea of other, stronger sensations.

Nanami seems to remember it at the same moment, tsking apologetically as he slips it off of you and rubs your arms. “Are your wrists okay, my love?”

You almost laugh at the sudden return of soft, protective Kento. “Yes, they’re fine. It’s all fine. I feel amazing.”

“You are amazing,” he soothes. “In that case, can you hold on to me?” He drapes your arms over his neck, holding himself steady against your hips.

“Just like that.” And he’s fucking you again, in the way only he can, fast and hard and precise. You’re grateful for the grip around his neck as he pulls you up and over his lap, lifting and dropping you onto his cock like you’re weightless.

“Kento ohhhh!!” You dig your nails into his back instinctively, biting back a scream as you feel his cock jump inside of you in response. You don’t need to be told twice, raking your nails over his back as he uses you mercilessly.

He’s back to muttered praises, his honey-silk voice adoring as his cock splits you in half. You’re drunk on the dichotomy, dizzy with lust and love for the man beneath you.

He leans forward and tips you back onto the bed, his muscled arms caging you in as he continues pistoning into you. Sweat drips from his face to yours, and you dart your tongue out to lick the droplets away. Somehow, that of all things makes him blush, dark red dusting his cheeks as he watches the act.

You reach a shaky hand up to brush back the strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes, and he catches your arm to press greedy kisses to the inside of your wrist.

“Ken- Kento, I love you,” you moan, every stroke of his cock sending electricity down your limbs, your whole body tuned to him, undone and rewired in ecstasy.

“I love you,” he groans, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his powerful thrusts finally, finally stuttering as he nears his peak. “I love you, I love you, I love you, fuck I love you…”

Nanami came with a broken cry, his cock pumping what seemed like an endless stream of hot, thick seed into the deepest part of you, his arms shaking from the effort of keeping himself up. You pulled him down onto you, stroking at his hair as he shuddered in the aftermath of his orgasm.

You lay there in blissful quiet, sweat and slick sticking your skin together, feeling each other’s wild heartbeats begin to slow. Nanami reluctantly pulled out of you with an over-sensitive groan and curled into your side, his head on your chest. You ran your hands over his hair, his neck, his back, proud to feel the tension slowly leave his tired body.

“Do you feel better, Kento?” You asked, happily exhausted.

He laughed out loud, wrapping his arms around you and shifting to curl you into his side. “I’ve never been more relaxed in my life, my love. I can’t even remember what I do for work.” He kissed the top of your head and sighed contentedly. “You were incredible. Thank you, darling.” He pulled you closer. “I think I might be out sick on Monday, for that matter…”

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll always be your stress relief, my love.”

“And I’ll be yours,” he smiled. “What did you use to write this, anyway?”

“Oh it’s an old eyeliner!” Your laugh turned into a yawn.

“Mm, good to know. For when I return the favor,” Nanami said, but you were already fast asleep in his arms.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you #husband!nanami #jjk smut #jjk x reader #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #jjk nanami #jjk #fluff and smut

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luveline · 4 months

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Craving a postprison!Spencer x stripper!reader fic, please ma’am.

Maybe she gets a daytime job at a coffee shop or a bookstore - to “supplement her income”/ not have to dance as often (not that she’s ashamed!!) and Spencer is just so proud of her for trying and can’t quit kissing her and praising her because I know in other fics you’ve mentioned she didn’t think anyone would hire her because of her profession/self esteem, plus after prison she didn’t want to dance because she wanted to be with Spencer. 🥺

Or really just anything with a proud Spencer x stripper!reader doing anything.

Your work is fantastic and I’m in love with everything you do!! 💕 thank you and it’s totally okay if you think this request is lame or don’t wanna write it!

thank you angel! —you find a new job while making decisions about your old one after Spencer returns from prison, and Spencer would praise you for breathing, so he’s extremely proud. fem, 1.8k

Statistics differ, but estimates suggest that there are around twenty thousand strippers in Las Vegas. With a population of seven hundred thousand people (estimated up), that means that one in thirty five people living in Las Vegas dances for a living.

It’s more than you’d think. Spencer knew of plenty of women who worked as strippers, exotic dancers, or private entertainers when he was still living at home. And while the numbers are much smaller in Washington DC where he lives now, it’s far from zero. More surprising for the average person to be one, perhaps, but not for Spencer.

It used to make him blush like a steam train, sure, but it never did any of the things you were scared of. He’s never looked down on you for it, never been jealous (well, never acted like a jerk because of it), never positioned it as anything other than work. His only complaints are in your concern. You don’t like the club, most of the time. You feel unsafe often. The risk of femicide is yards higher for you as a sex worker than it would be otherwise, but who is Spencer to talk about danger? He still has stitches in his leg.

Your job used to feel more urgent, a red flashing light above your head, because you’d come around with bruises or cut knees, tear stained cheeks, and you couldn’t make ends meet for all your efforts, but things have changed. You’re reluctant to depend on him, but you’ll accept the help when you need it. Nothing keeps you there if you don’t want to be there, and when you do you’re a marvel. You are beautiful, in Spencer’s eyes. Your dancing when you’re having a good night is one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen —more than pretty, sometimes. A hot coal in his stomach.

But the fact of the matter is that Spencer’s home, and you don’t want to dance. You haven’t been to the club for weeks as far as he’s aware, and he’d consider himself well informed. You spent all your savings and started spending his instead and he couldn’t care less, what’s his is yours, whatever keeps you aloft while you make whatever decision it is you’re working toward. Not that it presented itself that way.

I’ll have to go back.

Spencer on his back, you sitting with your head turned from the TV and toward him, your hand on his hip, just resting. Where?

To work. I have enough money for the next two weeks, and then I’m all out.

Spencer wouldn’t do something as unkind as rolling his eyes, but the point of you moving in was to cement that he’d look after you no matter what. He’d turned his head to you on his pillow and reached for your elbow. You’re still resting.

You’ve been home for two months, Spencer. I’ve rested enough. I… I only managed this long because you haven’t asked me for anything and that’s not fair, we both live here.

I earn more than you, so I pay more, he’d said, confused. It’s not as though it hurt him to continue paying for an apartment he’s been living in for years.

I won’t be your leech.

You’re not my leech, don’t say that.

I can’t just not have money.

Well… he’d said. He’d never discussed it with you so openly before, always stopped at the first suggestion, but there’s a first time for everything. You know you can have whatever you want from me. Anything you want, you don’t have to ask.

Spencer… you’re my boyfriend.

Exactly.

No, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to keep me. I don’t want that.

He understood the ‘want’ most heavily. What do you want, angel? he’d asked, dragging your hand up his naked chest to rest over his diaphragm, your arm moving up and down in time with his breathing.

You’d seemed stricken, but not upset. Like the question surprised you in having no answer. Not sure… you’d said eventually. Mostly you.

A week passed, two. A third and you’d asked him to borrow money, just for a little while, and with the vehement promise you’d pay him back.

He’s not expecting it. So soon, either. But here you are standing in front of him with a beaming smile and little book in your hands, unzipping one of the book's inner pockets to count out the money you’d ’borrowed’. “Here you go, my angel, there’s everything.”

Spencer just looks at it. “What is it?”

“The money I owe you.”

He presses his hands to his stomach to stop you from forcing the notes into them. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“No, seriously, please take it.”

He shakes his head. “Seriously. I don’t want anything from you, I love you. That money was for you to do what you wanted, or needed. It was yours as soon as I gave it to you.”

You try regardless to put it in his hands. Your hair was done freshly a week ago, your nails manicured but unpainted, your face adorned with some new makeup he’d seen on his (your) vanity a few days ago. It honestly hadn’t crossed his mind why you’d suddenly given yourself a refresh, and he had no suspicions. You would’ve told him if you went to the club, even just via text, because it’s important he knows you’ve had access to your phone or that you’re coming home. (Plus, he’d notice you leaving at night. You’ve spent the last few evenings laying across his lap.)

“Where did you get this?” he asks, smiling softly, wondering if he’s come to the right conclusion.

You drop the money on his thigh and take a couple of steps back.

“I,” you say, holding your little book to your stomach, “got a job as a barista. They gave me my first paycheck today, a direct deposit. So I took out what I owe you and the rest of it is in here.”

“You what?” he asks.

“I’m working at the coffeehouse by the library,” you say, nodding, parts proud of yourself and parts shy.

“For how long? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You bite your lip. “Just this week. And honestly, I didn’t want you to know if I couldn’t do it.”

Spencer stands up but doesn’t cross the room to you. He could reach out and catch your hand. “How could you work somewhere new all week without me noticing?”

“You weren’t here on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday morning, and they gave me Thursday off, so I just told you a very small lie this morning about going to the store. I knew you’d get distracted by your Persian poetry again.”

He did get distracted, very much so. You’ve been and worked a whole shift without his worrying, which is a bit awful in itself (he really does love you, and he’d like to know where you are), but is also, frankly, a great thing. You should be able to work without worry. You should do anything you want to do.

Still, a whole week at a brand new job without any support, and to stand there with your paycheck as unmistakable waves of satisfaction melt off of you unkissed is insanity. Spencer’s laughing as he ushers you into his arms, as he hugs your shoulders tightly, “Oh my god!” he says, “Wow, congratulations!” He pulls back just a touch to see your face. “Please don’t lie to me about where you’re going, that’s so dangerous. I love you!”

He takes your face into both hands with your arms hanging loosely behind his back and begins a reckoning of kisses. The slope of your cheek, the skin between your nose and lips, Spencer couldn’t care less where the kisses land, he just wants them all over you. You laugh softly as he goes, almost stickily, a sound that comes deep from your chest. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, pressing a quick, mildly rougher kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I might still strip,” you say.

“Whatever you want,” he says, squeezing your face between his palms. “What’s it like? Do you like it? Is it hard?” He kisses you again. “I wish you’d told me,” he says against your lips.

You’re quieter than he expected, and warm. He pulls away more sternly to see what’s gone wrong. He could’ve asked the wrong questions. Maybe he’s embarrassed you.

“I just wanted to make sure I could do it. I didn’t want to fail and… and have you know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I get it.” God knows he’s failed a hundred times for you to see it. He wishes he would have hidden a lot of that from you, spared you some heartache, but he also knows how lucky he is to have you near. “That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? We should be together when stuff goes wrong.” He beams. “But it didn’t go wrong.”

“I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Yeah?”

You hold his wrist. “And I get tips, did you know that? Not as many as before,” —you laugh to yourself loudly— “but still. It’s really cool. They pay me even if nobody wants coffee, and when people want coffee I get extra.”

Spencer kisses the corner of your eye. He kisses up to your eyebrow and down again, all over your cheek before turning your face to the other side to kiss circles into the other. “I,” —kiss— “can’t,” —kiss— “believe it.” Kiss. “Actually, I can, but I still can’t.”

“It’s just a part time job.”

“That you didn’t think you could do,” he says. “But you can do anything, I knew you could. I’m amazed by you.”

He grins and throws his arms over your shoulders.

You squeeze him right back, the two of you swaying, almost falling over. He can feel how proud you are of yourself. You deserve to feel this way no matter what.

“I like dancing,” you say, “I do, I just wish I could do it in a different… world? Is that stupid?”

“No. You’re never stupid.” He smiles as your hand weaves into his hair, fingertips scratching along his scalp, his curls caught between your fingers.

“Do you think you could come on Monday? I can make you a cup of coffee. It’s not as hard as it looks.”

“Please, I’d love for you to make me a cup of coffee.” His smile presses to your shoulder, where he breathes you in briefly, before remembering something very important. “Hey, do you wear an apron?”

“Of course I do.”

Oh my god, he thinks. There are more than half a million baristas in the United States, and Spencer will bet his monthly paycheck that you’re the cutest one to ever exist. You look cute right now in your jeans and your button up shirt, but put an apron on top of that? To see you standing behind a bar mixing drinks and pouring latte art? Monday can’t come quick enough.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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nanivinsmoke · 3 months

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✩ The Assistant.

✩ endeavor x assistant!f!reader

we all want to have him as our boss and fuck him, right?

✩ warnings & tags: it’s endeavor and im writing it, so you know there’s a bunch of hot sex involved. size difference, small age gap, creampie, pussy smacks, oral, semi-public sex, domination, established affair (enji’s seperated, but not divorced), implied sadism, breeding (possibility of a child).

there you were, underneath your boss’s mahogany colored desk; shoving his fat, can shaped cock further down your throat. eyes watering as he fills your mouth to the brim.

the number one hero tried his hardest to not throw his head back and let out a groan, while you devoured his cock. but, the way you handled his balls and sucked him like he was a cherry tootsie pop; made it harder for him and he quickly let out a thick load deep into your mouth.

a loud groan left his throat and his thighs quickly clench around your head; almost suffocating you while he cums. your eyes roll back into that pretty little head of yours, while a small yet powerful orgasm runs through you and he finally lets his thighs relax; making you release his cock from your pretty stretched out mouth.

a string of his cum mixed with your spit dribbled out of your mouth as you looked up into his icey blue eyes, smiling with satisfaction since you took his cock and fallen babies so well. he grabbed your arm and pulled you close to his torso, leaning down to kiss you; his leftovers mixing into his mouth.

“such a good girl for me.” he praised, biting your bottom lip before he pulled away; eliciting a whine from you. he zipped his softening cock back into his pants and helped you get up from under his desk, handing you a kleenex so you could clean your fucked face; before returning to your desk outside of his very spacious office.

you had been working with the number one hero for quite some months now. he had needed an assistant with this big promotion and from hundreds of recommendations, he hired you. and from that day on, something in him lit up and he decided to make you his dirty little mistress.

you knew Enji was married, since he still wore his wedding ring on his finger, but you didn’t care. his martial status meant nothing to you as long as he continued to pump you full of his cock on a daily basis. call it wrong, but that’s just how you felt.

waving at burnin as she passed by your desk and entered your office, you signed into your laptop and started going through your emails and looking over your boss’s calendar book. until, your phone chimed with a text from endeavor’s personal number.

it was a photo of his clothed bulge with a message underneath it.

- still hard. come let daddy drill this cock in you.

his dirty message made you clinch your thighs together and you quickly replied.

- i would if i could, got to reply to these emails and you’re still talking to burnin. how about i send you a video of me playing with myself, instead?

he quickly liked the message and you giggled. you quickly looked around to check if anyone was coming, before you held your phone up and spread your soiled panties to the side, dipping your fingers in between your drenched lips.

your stifled a moan by biting yours lips, thinking about what happened prior to this, making you cum within seconds. you rode out your orgasm and ended the video, hitting send; before you started typing on your computer again. you knew he would watch the video with his sidekick in his office, volume low along with the brightness. and a few seconds later, the blazin haired hero walked out & relayed that endeavor wanted to see you.

on cue, you walked right back into his office; notebook in hand and quickly closed the dark oak door behind you; before walking up to his desk. you watched as his muscles flexed and protruded through his black velvet sweater, while he pressed play to watch your sexy video once more.

“so pretty and wet for me…look at her clinch around nothing…so sexy~” he turns the phone so you could see, making your face hot and your thighs press together.

“you’ve got a meeting in a few mins,” you reminded, just in case he got a bright idea. and just like you thought, he did.

“get back under this desk and take daddy’s dick while they all pile in here. and if you make a peep, there’s going to be hell for you~” you knew he was serious from the way that he spoke, with your body acting on its own; you found yourself following his orders and dipping underneath his desk again.

you turned your clothed ass towards him, arching your back so he could plunge himself into you with ease. he unzipped himself from his corduroy confinements, freeing his throbbing fatness. he pushed up your skirt and ripped your panties off of your body, before pushing his swollen tip towards your tight entrance.

and as you backed yourself up onto his cock, his employees apart of the meeting came piling into his office, sitting on the black loveseats he had inside. you covered your mouth with your hands, smothering the moans that left your lips as his cock stretched your gummy walls to fit around him.

you would never get used to his sized, you felt like he would get bigger each time he fucked you, pushing your walls past its normal limits.

he did his best to control his facial expressions as he began talking about how they’ve been monitoring and controlling the nomu outbreak, while you fucked him.

your were now passing the pain threshold that came with fucking the number one hero and was now welcoming pleasure. you were more aroused than usual, thanks to the state that you were in. fucking your boss in a room with other’s, unbeknownst to them. pussy becoming wet with each glide around his cock, betraying you by making a squelching noise that could be heard by them.

but, endeavor was quick with putting on a video for them to watch; deafening the noise your pretty girl decided to make for him. you turned your head slightly, catching his gaze while you pushed your self deeper onto his shaft; mouth opening like a bitch in heat.

as you bounced your ass against him, your slick coated pussy became too slippery for his dick and he slipped out of you; causing a gush of air to flow out. an employee turned to see what that noise was, but when he saw endeavor’s stoic face, he quickly turned back around and continued to look at the video in front of him.

endeavor turned his attention back to you and gave you a look; pushing his cock back into you along with his thumb pushing into your other hole as punishment for making too much noise. you bit your finger tips so no one would hear you squeal, the next erotic sensation forced your mind to go dumb.

the way he fucked your cunt to his liking, pushing himself deep inside you where his tip kissed your cervix and rubbed your gspot with ease, made you unfold. eyes rolling back to the whites, cunt queefing with each movement; before he pulled himself out of you—replacing his finger in your ass with his cock; resting above your tighter hole. his own orgasm splayed out on your ass, jerking slightly as it pooled out from his tip.

you caught his eye once more, you could read the look on his face; he was far from done.

“meeting’s over,” he clicked off the flat screen tv, making all his employees look at him.

“but sir, we haven’t discussed—“

“get the fuck out, now” they weren’t trying to argue with him, quickly grabbing their things and leaving his office. it was without a doubt that they were afraid of him and no wasn’t the time to prove that. as the door closed behind the last person, he reached down and grabbed your hips, his cum dripping down between your cheeks as a result.

you sat on his lap, cock ghosting your entrance while he held you there, “didn’t i say you were going to get punished for making a peep?” his voice deep and serious, making you swallow the slight fear he gave you.

“im sorry—” you felt like your body was melting once he pushed himself back inside your cunt. how was he still hard? his libido always superseded yours. he didn’t let you adjust, his stiff dick bullying your hole with each pound, fucking you dumb once again.

“all ways so tight for me. god, i can’t stop fuckin this cunt” he sent a smack to your clit, causing you to jolt and clench down harder around him. he groaned at the sensation, sending another one to your sensitive bud. your soft mewls were like music to his ears, his dick throbbing repeatedly inside of you; he couldn’t wait to cum inside.

enji’s big hands reached around your chest and ripped your button up to shreds, buttons popping off and flying onto his big desk.

“enji!” you whined and he sent another smack to your clit, correcting you.

“daddy! I don’t have anything else to wear” you moaned when he pushed his cock further into you, cream slowly coated his base. he slowed his stroke down, making you whine once more. he loved hearing you call him daddy, it drove him insane.

“ill have someone bring you another one from the company’s closet. now be a good girl, while l finish fucking this pretty pussy of yours.” his speed picked up once more and he was drilling himself inside of you. he let out some groans, one more primal than the others as he creamed your pussy full of his babies.

he didn’t stop his movements after cumming either, pistoning his cock deeper inside of you; making your orgasm come down harder than the last. he made you squirt, hard, pushing his cock right out of your pussy—splashing his leaking head and his dark desk.

picking you up with his big hands, he stood you on your feet; legs wobbling from the amount of stress that was put on it seconds ago, before he bent you over his desk. his huge frame towered over your smaller one as he pinned your arms behind your back, pulling your skirt all the way down to your ankles and deepening your arch; just so he could re-enter you once again.

your ass rippled against his clothed pelvis, cream and slick sticking to the soft fabric, as he fucked you. you turned your head and was met with a picture of his estranged family and you couldn’t help but moan. taking someone’s husband’s cock in his office every day, knowing someone could walk in excited you. you were made to be his cock whore.

he gripped your wrists, arms bruising slightly from his grip while he pounded you relentlessly. you were cumming and so was he, the way his balls twitched and his stroke became rougher—you were going to be a good slut and take his last load.

“let me stuff you full of my babies again. want you pregnant with my seed~” you were so dizzy with cock, agreeing to his wish, drooling against his desk; while ropes of his cum flowed into you and your own orgasm erupting inside of you. you could see stars like one of those cartoon characters as you came, his dick slowing down inside of you; before he pulled out of you for the last time.

with a smack to your ass, he zipped up him pants and pulled you back into his chest; pressing his lips to yours; another way he dominated you.

“ill go get those clothes from the closet. put this on and stay here. also, when i get back clear my schedule; taking you back to my place so i can hear that pretty girl speak to me again~”

#my hero smut #endeavor #enji todoroki #todoroki enji #number one hero #endeavor mha #mha endeavor #endeavor smut #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki smut #enji mha #endeavor x yn #assistant mha #endeavors assistant #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha number one hero #nanivinsmoke #my hero academia

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maxlarens · 2 months

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OP: i can’t complain but i will

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader; oscar piastri & driver!reader & lando norris; lando norris x oscar piastri

word count: 2.4k+

an: here’s a little bit of angst a little bit of fluff and me holding myself back from making osc x reader x lan a poly ship😭 disclaimer: this isn’t an accurate reflection of the events of the Hungary GP. i take creative liberties as usual! and sorry to lewis. it’s still a mercedes P3 i guess😭 also here are my thoughts on the race so nothing is misconstrued here. AND gif credit because it keeps disappearing!

I. I choked on such longing I couldn’t spit out

Oscar crosses the finish line in Hungary and it’s fine.

It’s fine.

Y’know, fine in the way where there’s this feeling in his chest. This thing gnawing at his insides. At his gut. And maybe it’s his helmet, maybe it’s the temperature, but there’s something on his cheeks. Heat. Something burning. Maybe.

His mind goes immediately to those clips he’d seen of Lando’s onboard in Miami. The shrill little giggles, the high-pitch of his teammates voice, the cheer of the crowd faintly in the background. Crackle hiss—

No one’s cheering for Oscar—

Tom is on the radio.

Oscar’s not stupid, not by a long shot. He can hear the strained quality of it, the forced cheerfulness.

Yeah. Oscar apologises before he can think twice about it. It just slips out of him. He thinks of you telling him— on a Tuesday night two weeks ago— that he needed to “stop saying sorry so fucking much, Oscar”. The way he’d been distracted by his name in your mouth. Oscar. Not Osc like he’s used to, or the occasional Oscie you’re prone to throw out. Oscar. Like you were serious.

Whatever. He says something to Tom that his publicist would be proud of. Waves at the grandstands. Tries not to think, not like this. I didn’t want it like this.

A sigh leeches out of him. Lando’s car is in his periphery and you’re trailing behind him as the three of you turn. The three of you on a podium… it’s a dream come true for him. But— yeah— not like this.

He’s in the car for too long. Helmet on his head, where no one can see his face. He’s okay, he thinks. He’s fine.

He thinks of being a little kid at Albert Park. Watching F1 in the living room late at night. Getting in a kart for the first time and feeling alive. And okay—

Yes, there’s a sour taste in his mouth. Words unsaid sitting on his tongue. But he’s starting to feel the smile tugging at his lips. The feeling is his chest starts to ease, just a little. Just a bit.

He’s looking up and there’s you and there’s Lando. You’re on opposite sides of the car, Lando’s reaching for him, for his hand. Clutching it tightly. Lando squeezes once, his helmet covered face bobs in a nod that says something… part of Oscar hopes it’s I’m sorry. Another part of him is mad that it may not be.

And you, well you have no idea the half hour he’s just had. But your hand is on his shoulder and then on the top of his helmet and you’re whacking it with a gusto he hadn’t expected. He thinks you might be crying. You keep reaching in through your visor to wipe at your eyes and it’s making Oscar feel sick. You’re crying and he’s sitting here feeling sorry for himself because the win wasn’t perfect.

Fuck.

So Oscar grins and he bears it.

He gets out of the car and he smooths it over until everything is okay again. Because that’s what he’s good at. Because that’s how he’s made it here. Oscar Piastri is a team player, sometimes more than he is anything else. And that’s okay, that’s fine for now, because one day, eventually, Oscar is going to be the reason they need to hire a team player. One day he’ll be the beating heart of some Formula One team and he won’t have to win a race because his teammate had to let him by—

That’s not Lando’s fault either. Lando is…

He’s Lando. Oscar gets it.

Oscar gets it more than anyone.

II. I am obsessive. I contain nothing but the replay

Lando is trying so fucking hard not to have a tantrum.

It’s this infuriating feedback loop where he thinks I had it and then something cuts in to say but Oscar deserved it and then it starts over again. It’s making Lando feel like shit, for losing, for being a bad friend, for jeopardising the relative peace of the team. He’s trying to temper the angry, selfish little spoiled brat voice in his head but it’s so fucking hard to keep that dog on a leash.

He’s trying to be okay.

He’s in the post-race room with you and he’s trying to be fine.

And okay, so he knocks the stupid second place cap to the ground in front of the camera that’s broadcasting you guys to the world. Always second. God. He’d tasted a win in Miami and it’s almost like he’s worse off for it. It’s a win or it’s nothing and it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. There’s a voice in his head that’s saying, you’re just a one trick pony, Lando. Do it again and you might be worth something.

It’s making him crazy.

He bites his tongue. Turns to look at you, lounging in the third place chair like it doesn’t matter, like you’re happy to just be on the podium.

You raise an eyebrow at him, face blank but he knows what it says anyway. Be happy for him. He would be happy for you.

Fuck, and he would—

He would. Selfless and kind above all, Oscar.

Lando frowns, his back to the lens.

Your gaze flicks from him, to the hat on the floor. Pick it up, it says. Pick it up and pretend.

Lando picks it up. He’s the one who gave Oscar the position back after all. He’s his own worst enemy right now. Not you, certainly not Oscar—

Speaking of Oscar.

He’s here. He’s holding the first place cap that Lando wants to be his, he’s putting it on his head and Lando’s okay. Lando’s fine. He’s watching the race replay and seeing Max turn into your car and he’s trying desperately to look at that, pay attention to that, and not Oscar.

Because it hurts.

Not in a good way, not the way Lando looks at him sometimes and feels some yawning sun in his chest.

Instead there’s something bitter and snarling.

Some chained, angry dog on a leash.

Lando turns, goes to sit in the chair he doesn’t want to sit in, and catches Oscar’s eye. He feels the snarling thing strain, it goes to bark, to bite. Then Oscar smiles. It’s not much— it doesn’t reach his eyes exactly. But it’s effort. It’s thank you. It’s I know what that meant.

It’s enough.

III. He forgives you, dogs are like that, so loyal

You know something is off the second that you get out of the car. This isn’t what Oscar’s maiden win is supposed to look like— or it almost is, but the picture is wrong.

It’s not ecstatic, it’s not crowds chanting his name, it’s not Oscar getting out of the car like a shot and jumping into the arms of his team.

Instead, you see grim faces plastered over with smiles, McLaren engineers huddled into groups and talking in hushed tones. Lando’s sulking, you can tell by the set of his shoulders, the way people hover around him, keeping their distance a bit. You blink— there’s something in your eyes, your nose tingling with some emotion—

Whatever. You push it aside, go to Oscar’s car before anything else, before even taking your helmet off. It's you and Lando on opposite sides and whatever the case, whatever happened out there that you're not aware of, Lando's here. Lando's sucking it up.

You find out bits and pieces over the next hour, from your race engineer, from the post-race interviews, from Lando's attitude in the cool down room. The tension between them is bleeding into everything and they orbit around each other all afternoon. They can't quite look at each other, they keep making eye contact for a split second and then letting it slide away. They keep smiling these strained things at each other. Lando keeps reaching out to touch Oscar, but always at arms length. Like an apology neither of them can quite commit to.

You know it's the team that are the issue and it's also this hurt that Lando can't quite get over, and an Oscar who is trying to just be happy but needs more time to get there.

It's making your heart ache.

You've dreamt of this, stupidly enough. Oscar on the top step of the podium, that bunny-tooth grin of his spreading and spreading. Champagne and confetti. You're there, of course you're there. Lando is too. So it's painful to have that dream actualised and to realise it's not perfect— because, well, nothing ever is.

And it's fucking unfortunate.

But it's them. So it's fine.

You're baffled by that sometimes. You still hold grudges against old teammates. There are things you'll never forgive them for, wounds that will never heal. But you come back from your frustratingly long debrief and find them doubled over outside their driver's room, giggling their heads off at something. It's not perfect, there's still something between them, something in the air.

But they're trying.

And Oscar is smiling wider than you've seen in a long while.

So for Oscar's sake you push it aside—

It's always a little different away from prying eyes, away from rolling cameras, in front of which you feel pressure to act like Oscar and Lando are first and foremost your rivals. When they're gone they can just be your friends. Your boys.

Naturally, you're thudding into Oscar before he really notices you're there. Too busy throwing his head back at something Lando had said. He's still in champagne wet fireproofs as you reach your arms around his shoulders, but so are you. He smells vaguely like a wet dog and lets out a soft oft noise as you charge into him.

"Hey, race winner," you say as he threads his arms around your waist.

You put your forehead on his collarbone, close your eyes as a laugh flutters out of him. You hear it rumble in his chest as he rocks the two of you gently from side to side. It's giggly, light and joyful like the one he does when he's tipsy. But he's not tipsy, just happy you think.

"Race winner," he mumbles, low, quiet, to himself more than anything, "Yeah."

"Yeah," you whisper back.

You're like that maybe for too long. Longer than people who are just friends should be. You can hear Lando moving around behind you, asphalt grinding under his feet. His gaze prickling the back of your neck. Eventually, you pull away. You slide your hands to grip Oscar's shoulders, fingertips pressing into warm skin, lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. Accidentally, your lips land too close to the corner of his mouth, brushing against stubble and sweat. You hear something soft escape his lips, barely audible as his brown eyes bore into yours. Pupils blown large, gaze drifting momentarily down to your lips.

"Good job today, Osc," you say, trying not to let your breath hitch.

You pull away a little before he does something in the heat of the moment— and right in front of Lando, of all people. He's high on adrenaline, that's all. That's all.

"Thank you," he smiles, all teeth.

You feel hot all the way down your neck, into your chest. Hm, premature menopause, you think, rather than the obvious— which is that it makes you mega nervous to be that close to Oscar Piastri.

Lando clears his throat.

In a jerky, surprised movement you step away from Oscar, while Oscar fumbles awkwardly for his phone in his pocket. He holds it up, says something stumbling about calling his family and then takes only maybe five steps away before you or Lando can say a thing.

You laugh, just a little.

Then do a pleased little spin to face Lando.

Who seems better, lighter. At least in comparison to how he was immediately post-race. Which you’re glad to see. Especially after catching bits of his team radio from a brief conversation with George. You’re not particularly happy about it, but it’s not really your place to be upset.

“Hey,” you smile warmly.

He smiles back, tighter than you’d hoped.

You move a bit closer into his personal space, watching him carefully. It’s okay you think. He’s more subdued than usual, but you can’t see the seething thing that was under his skin earlier. That would be fine of course, he’s entitled to that, but his sake you’re glad it’s gone.

“You okay?”, you ask.

Lando nods, eyes falling closed momentarily as he hums contemplatively, “‘M okay. Happy for him.”

You nod, stepping closer to pull him into a one armed hug that’s not quite as energetic as the one you’d given Oscar before.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, pressing the side of your face into his cheek, “Upset too?”

He hums again, sighs, “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Yeah,” because you get it,

Maybe not in these exact circumstances. But you know what it’s like. To chase a win with everything you have, to fall short after it’s been in your grasp. You understand that. So does Oscar—

Speaking of.

Oscar’s back, footsteps crunching asphalt behind you.

“They’re asleep,” he explains, “I’ll talk to them later.”

You half let Lando go, moving to accommodate the race winner into your little circle. They’re a bit weird about it, shuffling into place awkwardly, you’re not surprised after a day like today, but you persevere— wrapping arms around both of them and pulling them simultaneously down into a haphazard hug that you’re in the middle of.

Lando’s face is in your neck somehow, mumbling something about you being overbearing while his hand clutches at your waist to keep himself upright. Oscar’s arm is tight around your shoulders and your face is squished up against his chest. You squeeze tightly— let them go when it’s been a minute too long—

You can feel yourself almost getting caught up in the tangle of limbs. The warmth of your friends. The emotion of it. You think there’s something stuck in your eye again, something wet in your tear ducts.

You sniff, try to ignore it, hope they don’t see.

Then, stupid observant Oscar, “Are you crying?”

You let out an offended noise and shake your head to deny it, but instead something that’s almost a sob, but not quite, slips out—

“No,” you declare, but it’s unconvincing—

and then you’re back in the hug. All sweat and sticky champagne residue, Lando’s too-strong cologne and Oscar who smells like burnt rubber. And it’s not perfect, because nothing ever is, but it’s enough for you.

this was really cathartic for me to be honest. just needed my little driver!reader to hug landoscar after that race. needed to get some big feelings out and then needed a sweet little fluff section to make me feel better.

ALSO DISCLAIMER: this was a work of FICTION it does not reflect the entirety of what i feel about the events of the hungary gp. i am simply playing with dolls! thank you and goodbye!

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x driver!reader #lando norris & oscar piastri #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #oneshots:op81 #oneshots:481 #driver!reader

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gremlingottoosilly · 9 months

Note

Mafia konig and his sweet innocent assistant

OMG!! MAFIA KONIG!! My mom was obsessed with TV show about ex-spec ops soldiers starting a criminal ring as a friend group because they didn't have any opportunities after being discharged from the military and...well, let me introduce you to this: Mafia!Konig as a discharged colonel Konig, was let go from the military with(thankfully) enough connections and retirement funds that his little hobby of smuggling guns from poorer Eastern European countries into Austria and Germany(both having horribly strict gun laws) for the less fortunate criminal rings. He gets them guns and drugs -- much lower prices too, thank god for his Prague connections and cheap labor -- and they get him money and power. Mafia!Konig who isn't your typical suit-wearing nice and clean-cut mob boss. He still wears his uniform - not because he wants to taint the suit, but because of his connections as the guy on the inside in the special forces - he was booted out of the army because of his age and traumas, even though he refused until his last day at the forces. He won't ever let anyone tear that form away from him - you just know he fucks you in his office in full gear, bouncing you on his cock as you're forced to beg your colonel to let you cum. Wearing his dog tags as the sign of ownership - as you're nothing but his obedient pet. Mafia!Konig has a solid reputation. A center that helps veterans overcome their traumas and find new purpose in life after exiting special forces - and you're his pretty assistant, just an innocent thing that runs around and does all of his paperwork because Colonel hates doing it! And you want to keep your job, you want to be useful, you're a good girl that doesn't question the suspicious numbers and shady people that attend some of his other totally legal businesses. You know better than to accuse people who served your country of being a dishonest bunch of thugs. Mafia!Konig who knows this is bad for you - innocent thing, you shouldn't ever be wrapped in his schemes, he only hired you because he wanted someone nice, someone kind to hang on to. He is doing terrible things every day, not shading from murders, assassinations and contraband smuggling - but he can come to you and place his head on your chest, just laying here for a few minutes as you stroke his head and relieve all of his anxieties.

Mafia!Konig who eventually convinces you to be his girlfriend. His trophy wife even, eventually - he wants to take care of you, to free you from having a job and worry about money...he has all means to make your life in Vienna as sweet as possible, cute thing, and he even hired move assistants for his more illegal doings just so your only job would be bringing him coffee and sucking him off under a table after the closes a very important weapons deal, forcing his thick cock in your willing throat as he promises to take you to the mountains on Christmas.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #mafia!konig #yandere konig

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darkbluekies · 10 months

Text

Like a fly in a trap

Rich!female!yandere x reader

Summary: you escape Hedwig, only to be brought back and learn a secret about her family that puts everything into perspective.

Warnings: alcoholic? Yandere, Stockholm syndrome, abuse(?), isolation etc

Word count: 3.5k

A cold breeze finds its way into your bones. You pull the hood closer over your head, heart hammering in your chest. The sun is barely up. You have to catch the bus before her alarm clock rings. When she notices that you’re gone, all hell will break lose.

You can’t pinpoint the moment things changed, you just know that at some point, Hedwig wasn’t the loving, caring girlfriend you got together with, but a clingy, possessive psychopath. Of course, she never shows that side to anyone … not even you. But you’ve been listening in on the calls she makes when she thinks you’re not listening. Wanting to hire hitmen and demanding for people to get hurt, even if they’ve only done as little as speak to you. You can’t say when she became like that … scared that she’s been that through your entire relationship … only that you’ve just started to notice.

You’re not even sure where you’re going. You can’t go home. That’s the first place Hedwig would look. You don’t have anything on you that could be traced. There’s no plan, you just have to get away from Hedwig.

The bus stops in front of you and you get on. You walk through the empty bus, sitting down in the very back and pull the hood of your hoodie closer to you.

Hedwig opens her eyes when the alarm sounds. She can tell right away that something is wrong. The bed is empty … and cold. Quickly, she sits up and looks around, heart stopping. Where are you? She rips the covers off of her body and runs over to the bathroom. Empty. Her pulse is hammering in her head. She can’t hear anything. Hedwig sinks down in the corridor to avoid fainting or throwing up. At this point, she’s unsure what she’s going to do. Her entire body is shutting down. It’s feels like she’s dying.

With shaking hands she picks up her phone and call you. A signal rings through the room and she grows even colder. Your phone is on the bedside table.

“Y/N, no … what”, she gasps in pure horror. “Y/N, don’t do this to me. Oh, God. Oh, my God.”

She presses her hands over her heart.

“Hedwig, dearest, what is wrong?” she hears her father ask.

She looks up and watches her father through her blurry vision. He’s standing in his pajamas, worried eyes looking down at her.

“My dear, what happened?” her father asks again.

“Y/N … Y/N …”, she hyperventilates.

“Has something happened to them?”

“They’re gone! I want them back! I want them back now!” She screams through her sobs. “I want them back this instant!”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart, don’t cry. Daddy will get them back to you.” He hugs her. “Daddy hates seeing his princess so upset. They will be back, I promise you, my little girl.”’

Hedwig wipes her tears and sobs.

They go down to the kitchen where her mother has woken up, already with a glass of wine in her hand.

“My little princess, can you please give your mother and me a smile?” her father begs her. “It will be okay, we will find Y/N again. I have called every person I know who works for the police, private detectives … everyone. I have millions of eyes open.”

Hedwig refuses. She holds her arms over her chest while sitting on a chair. Her mother is sitting beside her, sipping on her red wine while her father is walking back and forth in front of her, stressed out of his mind. When he can’t get Hedwig what she wants, he feels absolutely terrible.

“We will find them, don’t worry”, her father says. “Daddy will do everything to make you happy.”

Hedwig avoids eye contact. If her fathers contacts can’t find you, then she’ll have to contact hers. None in the family knows about the hitmen she knows — and hires often — and neither does she want them to. Worry is eating her up from the inside. She wants nothing more than to hold you in her arms and kiss every part of your soft, wonderful skin. She wants to run her fingers through your hair and make sure that you know that you’re safe with her. She has never been this worried before.

“This is the last stop.”

You nod and rise from your seat. Your legs have fallen asleep since long ago and you have no idea where you are. By now, you’re hungry and tired, wishing nothing more than to sleep. Carefully, you look around. Where are you? You’re surrounded by fields, forests and small, small cabins. With a sigh, you sit down by the side of the road, to think before you start going somewhere. You should try to find a payphone, perhaps, to call your family. No, they wouldn’t be able to help you. If Hedwig wouldn’t hire someone to kill them, she would either pay them or manipulate her way to get what she wants. After all, you fell for her little girl act for so long. If only you had seen how unstable and obsessive she really was before you had tangled yourself this far deep into the relationship. By now, it is too late to cut things off. She has nestled her way into your every day life. Wherever you look, Hedwig’s there in some way, shape of form. She has infiltrated your life like a virus.

You hide your face in your hands. Hedwig’s a fucking spider who has intangled you in her web, slowly draining you of life until she can eat you. What should you do? You can’t go home, can’t talk to anyone you know. If you call the police, she will get away with it. Her family is in the elite class, they always get away with things.

“Hedwig …”, you whisper frustratedly into your hands. “Why have you done this? Why have you given me this much problem? Why me?”

Your stomach growls and you wrap your arms around your body tightly. You have to find food soon. And after that … shelter.

Hours go by. You’ve curled up by a tree to get some kind of warmth, but there’s none to be found. Your body temperature is dropping every minute go by. You have nothing to keep you company, apart from the moon. And weirdly enough, it feels like it is pitying you.

You wake up the following morning by someone trying to catch your attention. An old woman. Your vision is blurry, but you can tell that you’ve never seen her before.

“Hello, are you okay?” she asks worriedly. “What are you doing out here? You’re freezing!”

You can barely hear what you’re saying, you can’t feel your body.

“Do you know who you are?” the woman asks.

You can’t move your body, can’t answer. You’re so cold.

“Do I need to call someone?” she asks.

No answer. She picks up her phone and calls the police, telling them that she’s found a person who’s been sleeping outside the entire night, that they’re unresponsive and ice cold. She tells the cops a description of your characteristics. You feel like shutting your eyes again, so tired.

“No, don’t close your eyes!” she says quickly. “You can die!”

You try to force your eyes to stay open.

The old woman can’t carry you, so she goes to get you blankets and hot tea. While she forces a warm cup in your hands, you can tell that a white car pulls up on the road in the distance.

That’s not a cop car.

“Y/N!”

The familiar, female voice causes you to drop the mug. Hedwig runs all the way over to you and throws herself at your stone cold body. Her warm face hides into your neck.

“My God, darling, you’re freezing!” she gasps and cups your icy cheeks with her hands. “My sweetheart, I’ve been so worried!”

The men behind her thank the old lady for calling the cops and you suddenly understand what’s going on. Once again, the elite has taken over the cops. One of the men are Hedwig’s father. You gulp. This is bad.

The old woman leaves. You want to shout out that they’re not going to help you, that it was this girl’s fault that you endured a night out in the snow for, but you can’t bring yourself to do it, not in in front of Hedwig’s father.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’m here now”, she says and tries to warm you up with her hands. “You could have died! I’ll never let this happen again, I promise. I’ll never let you out of my sight again!”

She removes her expensive coat and scarf and hangs them over your shoulders, wires the scarf around your neck and blows hot air on your hands. She kisses your forehead. Two of the men, you haven’t seen them before, carry your body to the car and place you in the backseat, right next to Hedwig. She tells the chauffeur to bring up the heat to max.

“I’ve been so worried for you, sweetheart”, she says and holds your icy hands between hers while continuing to blow hot air. “Why did you do that? You scared me to death, Y/N!”

“You have given us some problems, young lady/man”, her father says from the front seat. “You’ve made my daughter very upset.”

You can’t respond. There’s something about her father that terrifies you.

“I don’t ever want to see my little princess upset”, he continues. “I will do everything to make her happy, which means that you need to stay. Do I have to take measures to make sure that you stay with my daughter?”

You gulp and shake your head. Something’s definitely wrong about him.

“I will never let you leave me again”, Hedwig whispers in your ear. “I need you. If i don’t have you … I don’t want to live. Don’t ever try this again. Please.” She seems to realize how she sounds and shakes her head. “Please don't think I want to scare you, I just … I can’t imagine my life without you. I have to keep you with me like this. I know you understand, you’re just cold and tired.”

“You don’t have to drag in your father in your dirty business, Hedwig”, you whisper. “That’s low.”

She brings your cold hands under her shirt, shivering. While you do enjoy the heat, you keep your hands in fists.

“You’re my everything, I had to do what was necessary, I’m sorry”, Hedwig whispers and sniffles. “No one likes me the way you do. You’re the only real person in this world. Everyone else … they’re fake. You’re so special to me.”

You don’t say anything more to her during the entire car ride. When you come back to her mansion, you’re immediately tucked into bed. Hedwig closes the door to her bedroom after her, locking it.

“Here”, she says and placed a silver tray on the bed. “Soup. The chef made it for you.” She sits down and sighs sadly. “Why did you leave me, sweetheart? What have I done? PLease tell me so I’ll make sure to never do it again. I don’t want to be without you.”

“Stop pretending”, you hiss. “You know very well. Talk to me instead of acting like a defenseless school girl.”

“What?”

“I know what you’ve done. I’ve heard your phone calls at night.”

Hedwig’s face drops and grows multiple shades lighter. At first, she doesn’t say anything. Her hands tremble as she panickedly thinks.

“O-Oh, Y/N …”, she starts with an unsteady voice. “I never- … I never-”

“Why me, Hedwig?” you ask, not being able to bring your voice above a terrified whisper.

“Because- … because I love you.”

“You can have anyone you want, you really can … so why me?”

It is unbelievable. You can’t understand why you are worth killing for. What does she see in you that is that special? You could never have anticipated that someone would end human lives … for you. But then again, is anyone worth killing for?

As the realization of reality sets in, along with your exhausted form, you grow tired.

“I’ll have to take precautions from now on”, Hedwig says. “I love you so much, I can never let this happen again.”

“What are you going to do?” you ask coldly. “Send hitmen on me? On my family?”

“No, not you — never you. But …”

“My family, right?”

Hedwig bites her lip before groaning. “I just- … I wish that you never had tried to leave! I don’t want to do these kinds of things! They make me feel so dirty! Fuck, Y/N, why can’t you just … love me again?”

You don't answer. A single tear runs down your cheek. You can't even look at her, which drives her insane.

“Y/N, please!” she begs and reaches for your hand, but you quickly pull away. “Don't do this to me. I love you. I really, really do!”

She starts to sniffle, then sob. You're amazed that just a little touch deprivation causes her to break down completely, but she expects you to be completely normal when people are getting murdered behind your back — on your behalf?

“I want to go home.”

“I can’t let you go, Y/N. I need you here. I can’t live without you.”

“Let me go home. Now.”

“No, Y/N. You need to stay here. I will make you stay here. If you think that I'm going to let the only one that loves me leave, you're wrong.”

“I don't … love you anymore.”

It looks like someone has punched Hedwig right in her ribs.

“Yes you do”, she says quietly, wishing.

You turn your head away.

“I'll let you be”, she says and slowly stands up. “I love you, Y/N. Please don't think I don't.”

You're forced to sleep beside her all night. You've curled up into a ball and she doesn't try to reach for you, like you had expected … but you can hear her cry.

She leaves for school, leaving you all alone, but not before reminding you that she has people in the house that won't let you leave the premises. She tells you that you can go down to the kitchen to get yourself something to eat, but you wait in her room, as a silent protest, for as long as you can manage. When your stomach physically hurts, you sigh in defeat and walk downstairs.

Someone's sitting by the kitchen aisle. A blonde woman who twirls a wine glass slowly. Her eyes are empty, but her appearance is that of a goddess. You recognize her, first as the popular actress you used to watch, and as Hedwig's mother second. You're about to turn around and walk out when her voice stops you.

“Stay.” Her voice is low, almost strained.

You turn back and take a few, slow steps into the marble kitchen. The woman doesn't look up from her twirling, red wine.

“I heard that she found you”, she says and sighs.

You nod carefully.

“They're very alike, you know”, she says, glancing at you, “her and her father.”

“They are?” you ask.

“Yes. Unfortunately.” She nods at the chair in front of her. “Sit down.”

Just like Hedwig’s father, her mother had something in her voice that you don't dare disobey. You sit down, still not being able to look at her.

“Do you know who I am, Y/N?” she asks, sounding like she doesn't expect much.

“I do, ma'am”, you answer. “I used to watch your movies a lot when I was younger. You were awesome.”

Hedwig’s mother smiles slightly, a genuine, warm smile.

“That makes me happy”, she says softly. “Thank you, Y/N. I was scared to have been forgotten.”

“What? No, never. You're an icon. I wish you still did movies.”

“Me too.”

“Why don't you?”

Her smile thins out. “Hedwig’s father … he's … well, let's just say he rather wants me here.” And she adds on, sour grimace on her face: “Where it is safe.”

“That sounds like what-”

“-Hedwig would say, yes. I told you … they're very alike.”

A light turns on in your head.

“Did he … did he take you, too?” you ask, carefully.

“Take and take, not exactly.” Her mother seems to think and the dull look in her eyes returns. “If only it was that quick and direct. He nestled his way into my life, infiltrating every part. First, he wanted to invite me on a date, then help with auditions, then he wanted to be my manager, then director, then boyfriend. He had control of every work related issue … always making sure I never worked intimate with any men, turning down things I really wanted to do … isolating me from my costars. When we married, he wanted me to quit all together, and wanted me to stay home with the child I was pregnant with.”

“Hedwig?”

“Yes.”

“When I was pregnant, I was wishing that she wouldn't inherit that side of her father. I hoped and prayed. But she did. I'm sorry, Y/N.”

“I'm sorry that happened to you.”

The woman gives a weak smile. “Don't be. It's happening to you now, be sorry for yourself. I'm hoping in telling you this, that you somehow can get away before it's too late.”

“Can't you … leave?”

She shakes her head. “It's too late for me.”

“No, it's not. You're still beautiful, Hollywood would love to have you back.”

“Thank you, you're very kind, Y/N. But it's not that easy. He controls more than you can ever imagine. He has made sure to be part of the industry so that I can never return.”

You gesticulate with you hands. “Then … do something else! Prove to him that he can't own you.”

“I envy your enthusiasm. But it wouldn't work, he would get into that too and sabotage for me again.”

“Why does he ruin for you? Doesn't he love you?”

“He does. He just wants me for himself.” She sighs. “I don't know how Hedwig would behave with you, if she would let you work-”

“I don't think so. She has talked about letting me stay home with her so that I could spend time on my hobbies and her taking care of our children.”

“I was afraid of that.” She stands up and downs the last of her red wine. “One thing I'm happy about, is that Hedwig has inherited her father's ability to love. They love too much, I think. And that affects the people around them. If you can't leave, Y/N, I'd advise you to play along. Life is not bad here … as long as you don't try to leave. I promise you that.”

Before she can leave the kitchen, you have to ask her one final question.

“Excuse me, ma'am”, you say and watch how she gives you a look. “Did … did he ever kill for you?”

She doesn't answer.

When Hedwig returns that afternoon, she has a big basket in her hands, and a bouquet of roses.

“Please forgive me for everything I've done”, she whispers and places them both in front of you before sinking down on her knees. “I'm so sorry.”

The basket is filled with your favorite snacks, a few boxes of jewelry and a designer scarf.

“I did what I thought would solve the problem”, she whispers, shaking her head regretfully. “I wanted the people that hurt you yo get what they deserved. I don't have a good explanation for the people that … didn't do anything. I just couldn't bare to see you interact with someone that wasn't me.”

“You're a stupid girl, Hedwig”, you say coldly.

“Yes, yes I am”, she sniffles. “I'm an idiot. Please forgive me.”

You thought back on what her mother had said about how life wasn't bad if you actually did what Hedwig wanted. You looked at her. She really did look like an innocent school girl, sitting on her knees in her school uniform with her hands clasped together, begging for forgiveness with tears streaming down her face. You start to feel bad for her. She is an only child to a pair of parents who went through a weird, macabre relationship. Of course she would want someone to love her and stay with her forever. You have feelings for her, you can't kill them, even if you really want to. Maybe this was what her mother felt, that she really loved Hedwig’s father that much, that she couldn't leave him … and because she knew that he would never let her leave.

If you stay, people won't get hurt. And maybe, just maybe, you can change her.

“I … I forgive you …”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere fics #yandere oc x reader #yandere stories #female yandere #yandere rich girl #rich yandere #yandere oc

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jazzyoranges · 10 months

Text

Princess Treatment

Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Request: can u write about tara being clingy to the reader. it's like tara wont let go of reader, she follows wherever the reader goes

Words: 1k

Warnings(?): some talks of Tara’s past trauma, honestly it’s just fluff idk what to tell you

“Tara, the love of my life, you can’t come with me to work”

“Why not?” Tara groans, wrapping her arms around your waist in a grip that rivaled a gorilla

“Baby, they hired me. Not me and my girlfriend”

“Being a barista surely can’t be that difficult!“ The younger Carpenter only holds onto you even tighter

“How about this. You can sit in the cafe and watch me work while you finish your studying” You offer, pressing a kiss to her forehead while holding her face in your hands

“Well I can’t study while I’m busy staring at you, babe”

“Would you rather me leave you here?”

“Studying at a coffee shop it is” Tara beams, and you can’t help but roll your eyes with a smile on your face

Work was normal. Nothing out of the ordinary other than Tara not being able to keep her eyes off you, which, you send her multiple glares to do her homework. Honestly, you didn’t really mind how clingy Tara was. You knew what the smaller Carpenter has been through

Coming to the conclusion your girlfriend refused to ever leave your side was due to past trauma, you quickly decided there was no harm in making Tara feel better. “Happy wife, happy life” as they say

So Tara stayed. She stayed until her eyes were heavy. Tara stayed with you until the shop was about to close, and your boss gave you a questioning look and a raised eyebrow. You shrug in response, moving to wake up your sleepy girlfriend

Tara’s eyes flutter open, and you can feel your heart melt at how fucking adorable she is. You could never be able to understand how anyone would willingly try to put her in harms way. A single look from her sent your heart spiraling

A small yawn comes from the brunette’s mouth, making her eyes crinkle just the way you liked

“C’mon, Tar, it’s time to go home” You whisper, trying your best to not wake her too much. You’ve already packed Tara’s school things in her bag by the time she’s awake

Tara does her little grabby hands towards you, and you can hear your coworkers snort at your little interaction. You give them the finger before putting on Tara’s backpack, and also somehow putting on Tara. Her legs wrap around your waist while her arms around your neck. Being close to you was one of Tara’s favorite things

Even in her sleepy and blissed out state the younger Carpenter smiles into your shoulder, inhaling your scent. Tara always associated you with safety. You were there when she cried, smiled, cried some more, and now you were here carrying her to your car like the angel she was. Princess treatment, if you will

But you were okay with being Tara’s knight in shining armor, princess charming, or whatever the hell she wanted. But right now Tara wanted to sleep in your arms. Her brain threatened sleep, but she didn’t want you to be carrying her around like a rag doll. Like she wasn’t already one to begin with

Tara couldn’t recall the night if she tried to. First she was studying with half-lidded eyes, the next she was being carried to your car, and now here she was tucked under your blanket with one of your clean shirts on her body and nothing else but underwear

The bathroom light was turned on in the hallway, and Tara wanted nothing more than to be in your arms again. She missed you quite a lot in her sleep

Against her body’s will, Tara trudged to the bathroom. The wooden floors were cold under her feet, but they were a small price to pay to see you. She could hear your electric toothbrush spin as she neared

Some of the wooden planks squeaked as Tara walked, so you weren’t surprised when she opened up the rest of the door and wrapped her arms around your torso. You spit out your toothpaste, and quickly rinsed out your mouth to start your skincare

“You weren’t in bed, (Y/n/n)…” The younger Carpenter mumbles sleepily

“I’m sorry, Tar. I had to finish up cleaning around the house and my schoolwork”

“It s’okay, I just missed you” Tara yawns

“How about you go back to bed? I’ll be done in a few minutes”

“Mmm… I wanna stay here with you.”

“You’re tired, love. Go to sleep for me?” You try to convince her with a kiss, but it only seems to drive her closer into your back. You sigh in defeat, and Tara knows she’s won when you focus on your skincare again

Tara sways behind you a little, holding onto your stomach like you’ll fly away if she doesn’t. Tara wants to keep you all to herself. She was greedy like that

Tara thinks a few minutes pass? She’s too tired to keep track. Your girlfriend may as well be asleep when you’re finished in the bathroom. You turn off the light, still in Tara’s embrace, and turn around so she’s no longer facing your back

“Wish you were in bed, yet?” You whisper

“No, cause you’re here…” Your girlfriend mumbles again. You’d probably never be able to get over how cute she could be without knowing it. Unfortunately, Tara doesn’t show any signs of moving and you know exactly what she wants

Hooking your arms under her knees, you easily hoist you girlfriend up and onto the bathroom counter. Tara gives you a quick kiss before she nuzzles into the crook of your neck as you carry her for the second time tonight

If Tara made you carry her until the ends of the earth, then so be it. Sore arms were worth it if you got to see your girlfriend smile. You gently place Tara on the bed, yet her arms still wrap around your neck like a tiny koala. A very tiny koala

You have to manually remove her hands from your neck, and you can hear her huff in frustration. You’re quick to make it better by cuddling her, your front to her back. Tara falls asleep again with you on her mind

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x reader #scream #tara carpenter #tara carpenter scream #tara carpenter fluff #tara x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n

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mrslankyman · 8 months

Text

Let me lick on your tattoos

Midas (fortnite) x (fem) reader

->SMUT

-> reader works for Ghost agency

-> 3k words

-> not proof read yet

You walked around the Agency. One of the many agents working under Midas and the Ghost organization. Your white suit hugged you beautifully. The accents of gold matched the Agencies aesthetic.

Midas seemed to just love gold. As it was apparent by his hands and touch. You smirk as you remember the last incident with him. He had come back to his office after a long day. He always seemed so gruff and angry.

The second you entered his office he sat up. He never wanted to be seen slouching. He didn’t want anyone seeing him in any way except vigilant. He needed to be known as a stone cold leader.

The curse he was given now seemed to aid him in his missions. Easily just turning enemies to gold. Though he could somewhat control his power he longed to just be able to touch someone.

It seemed while his agents trusted him he noticed none would ever touch him. Not even a brush on the shoulder.

Except you.

You’d come in and grab the papers he handed you without hesitation. Hands brushing on his cold golden ones.

He would hide his blush by turning away in his chair and dismissing you.

He hadn’t had someone touch him since his late wife. That was long ago.

Jules was off somewhere else. He wished her well.

She would not like the idea of her father with some random agent he hired.

Or would she?

He always found himself wanting to make her happy. She was the last thing he had to be happy over.

Till you.

Now every mission seemed like a death sentence. He would send you out and desperately wait for your radio back to make sure you were okay.

He would never show that side. He came off as cold and aggravated half the time.

A hot kind of anger.

You’d annoy him on purpose. Giving him attitude or telling him off when you knew you were right in an argument.

You headed down past his office. Assuming he was leaning over his desk with his brows furrowed, hands clasped together deep in thought. That’s how he was always there.

Sometimes you wondered what it would be like to just be in there with him.

Not getting in trouble for some mishap on a mission.

Just in there with him.

Maybe you had to admit you had a slight attraction to your boss.

He was quite handsome.

His tie, slender build, cold demeanor and that scowl he wore on his face.

Oh and those tattoos.

How you ached to see the ones under his uniform.

Good thing the second you walked past he radioed you to come into his office.

You obliged and turned back around.

Heading back to his office and opening the door without knocking.

How he got so annoyed at that.

“Forgot to knock.” His deep voice hit your ears.

“Oops habit.” A smirk tugged at your lips as you sat in the chair in front of his desk. Legs crossing slowly. He watched you cross your legs, his one good eye taking you all in. Oh how he wanted to just shove you against the wall and fuck the attitude out of you. He fought back those thoughts and rolled his eyes at your response. God how he just wanted to press his lips to your moody ones.

“You gonna stare at me or tell me why you need me in here?” Such a sassy response. He bit his lip slightly and held his hands together. He leaned over the desk a little, his eye cold. “I called you in here so I can ask you about the most recent mission. You thought it was a good idea to seduce the Shadow guard?” His voice seethed of anger and what else was that? Jealousy?

“Hmm it was a good idea, he fell for that sweet talk and I just flashed him. Nothing bad.” You shrugged and leaned back in your chair. He scowled at the idea of you doing that.

“That is outrageous for you to be doing out on missions! You are a sophisticated agent, you should not be going around flashing your breast to random enemy agents!” He slammed his fist against the desk. The part where his hand met the wood turning to gold. His anger was really showing.

You simply smiled at him. Not affected by his anger. It turned you on more than it put you off. You saw how his nose and eyes scrunched in anger, his jaw clenched and his face turned slightly red.

“Seems someones a little jealous that they weren’t the ones getting flashed.” You bit your lip and slowly slid your leg that was crossed over down. Spreading your legs open a little. His eye instantly traveled down and then back up.

“Why would I be jealous of that.” He eyed you suspiciously. You sat up a little bit and leaned over.

“You just give me a lot of reasons to think that.” You statted matter of factly as you unbuttoned your blazers single button. Popping it off and sliding it behind you on the chair. Your hands traveled up to your white dress shirt collar. Undoing its button and then traveling down, just enough to expose your bra.

His gaze traveled down to your chest. He bit his lip ever so slightly. He had a good way of showing he didn’t care on the outside but on the inside.. God his body was churning. He could feel himself hardening in his jeans. He looked you in the eyes. “I’m not jealous of that Shadow agent.” He stood up from his chair. His imprint in his jeans is noticeable. He didn’t care right now. He wanted to show you that he in fact did not give two shits about someone else seeing you in ways he longed for.

His body loomed over you. His head titled just enough to show off some of his tattoos better. You bit your lip and pulled your bottom lip down with your pointer finger. “Is that your gun or are you just happy to see me?” A teasing remark slipped through your lips. Soon enough you found his hand gripping your chin. He leaned down to your level slightly.

“I’m not happy to see you, I'm irritated by you.” He warned in a low whisper. His lips were close to your ear and it was honestly so hot. To hear his voice even lower, your eyes flicked down to his crotch. Seemed like he was enjoying being this close to you. No matter what he says.

“Oh I'm so sorry that I irritated you.” Your hot breath hit his neck. He instinctively leaned closer. Wanting no longing for you to take this further. Despite what he says. He would deny deny deny but he truly wanted you.

“Perhaps I could.. Irritate you more.” You kissed his jawline and slid off your dress shirt. “Unclasp my bra, I know you want to.” He groaned, the small kiss on his jawline had made him increasingly hard on worse. He gave in and unclasped your bra. “I’m doing it so you’ll leave me alone.” He lied, he wanted to see you. He wanted you. Simple as that.

If exploring your body was a mission he would be the first one to jump on board.

“Okay yeah, sure boss.” You hummed in fake agreement as he let himself take in your naked top half.

God he just wanted to get these tight ass jeans off and feel any part of you around his dick. He didn’t care if it was your mouth, hands, or pussy. He just wanted you. In any way you’d let him have you.

“Fuck you.” He groaned out as he watched you jiggle your breast.

“Oh you wanna fuck me? You really know how to get to the point huh?” You bite your lip, tugging him closer by grabbing his tie. “Admit it Midas.. You want me. Don’t lie. It’s just me and you. No one is going to judge you for giving in. Showing a little.. Affection.” Your eyes flicked down to your lips; voice laced with lust.

“You really are the observant agent huh?” He gave in slightly running his cold golden hands across your exposed breast. You moaned slightly as the coldness of his hand touched your nipples. He felt his body react to your noises. He himself let out a low grunt.

“You better pray that no one walks in, or your ass is in trouble.” He sneered in your ear as he picked you up. The quick sweep off your feet made you giggle slightly.

“Oh ya? My ass is in trouble? You're gonna spank it or something.” You quipped back running a hand through his hair as he shoved things off his desk to set you down.

“Something like that.” He nodded and grabbed your knees. Spreading your legs apart and pulling you to the edge of the table.

He put himself between your legs and pressed his hard on up to your core.

“Oh ya, you seem very irritated by me.” You teased and he groaned in annoyance as well as pleasure.

“Shut up or I’ll make you shut up.” He growled in your ear.

“How are you gonna make me?” You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes fluttering as you asked.

“Either I'm gonna shove my dick in your mouth or I'll kiss you so hard it bruises your lips.” He breathed on your neck, teasing you with his hot and drawn out breaths.

“I think I like both options..” You snickered and ran your left hand up the back of his neck into his hair. He shook slightly as you ran your hand through his hair.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long..” You leaned in closer. Kissing his neck and licking over the lines of his tattoos. Following the designs with your tongue. You had never heard a man moan so slowly as him.

“Fuck.. you’re such a damn tease.” He breathed out as his body shook from your licks and kisses on his neck. “I love your tattoos.” You said between kisses on his neck. Leaving a few hickeys. “Oops..maybe we should take off your vest and shirt.. I’d love to see all your tattoos.” You leaned back from kissing his neck. You wanted to know what the tattoos looked like fully on him.

His response was a low moan, his head rolling back. Your hands ran down his vest and unbuttoned it. Sliding it off him in one quick motion. He was like a rag doll.

Moving with your motions; not protesting at all.

Then his tie was off.

You took your time unbuttoning his shirt. Tattoo after tattoo coming into view. You took in every one mentally drawing out routes for your tongue to take over the patterns. You didn’t even notice how he watched you gaze at his body. Once his shirt was finally off he stood only in his dress pants. A sight to see. The outline of his dick was almost screaming to be released from its prison.

“Fuck.. “ He whimpered.

You bit your lip gripping his chin. He looked down at you, from the angle his head was at his eyes had that pissed off look. The one that screamed: you better watch what you do.

“Don’t give me that look, you can say you like this. You’ve made enough noises for me to know.” You teased in such a seductive tone he almost just gave in. Dropped the demeanor of trying to keep his dignity.

Your hands traced over his shirtless body now. Fingers tracing over every line and loop of the ink that painted his body. You wondered how much pain tolerance he had. Must not be much if he can’t stand the boner in his pants for longer than 5 minutes.

You pushed him back gently, hopping off the desk. His eyes watched as your breast jiggled from the slight jump.

You smiled up at him and looked at his chest. You kissed his shoulder. He closed his eyes as your lips traced down to his chest. You licked over his inked skin. Following the lines of the tattooed wings. Gliding your tongue over his nipples a few times to tease him. Moans escaped his lips a few times. The way you glided your tongue over him and bent down slowly. Getting lower and lower.. Fuck you were good.

The lines of his tattoos stopped right at the him of his dress pants. You looked up at him with a teasing smile. His response was an eye roll and a lip bite. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me too.” You said it so sweetly, going to get up from the ground.

“Fuck, just suck it.” He demanded unbuckling his belt in annoyance. Not at you but himself. He sighed a little as his belt released some of the pressure on his dick. You shook your head with a smirk. Going back down and sliding his pants to his dress shoes.

“Oh I think I'll have fun sucking it.” Your tone was soiled with lust. You could feel yourself growing even wetter.

You palmed him through his boxers, those beautiful moans of his escaping his lips without hesitation this time. “Don’t fucking tease or I’m just gonna fucking shove it in your mouth.” He warned, his voice sounded almost deadly.

“Yes sir.” Your said submissively sliding off his boxers quickly. Watching as his dick sprung up. You got to work. Taking him in your mouth. Going slow to antagonize him at first. His response? Gripping your hair and shoving himself fully in your mouth. You gagged slightly but took it. After he let go you continued at a faster pace. Taking whatever you couldn’t reach with your mouth with your hand. His moans filled the office so loud it wouldn’t surprise you if the whole agency heard.

Before you could feel the warmth of his cum in your mouth he pulled you off. “Get on the desk. Now.” He growled in such a low demanding voice you could feel yourself getting wetter every second. You sat back up on the desk. Legs spread slightly. He kicked off his shoes then his pants. Walking up to you. Sliding off your pants so fast you almost forgot you had them off. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to go on any missions for a week.” He whispered in your ear as he got closer to you. Lining himself up with your entrance before sliding in. Despite his current threat of fucking you so hard, he slid in slowly. Letting you get used to the feeling of his dick in you.

“You gonna fuck me hard or fuck me like i’m your new virgin girl friend?” You teased grabbing his hair and pulling his head back. He grunted and slammed his hips into you. You moaned, leaning your head back before getting used to the slams. He kept up the fast pace letting out his own moans and groans. Your tongue found his neck tattoos all too quickly. Tracing over the designs. Your teeth leaving sweet love bites all over.

“You’re so fucking.. Fuck.. I’d turn anyone into gold for you.” His voice shook in your ear. He was sweating and grabbing you so hard. “Oh yeah? Would you do anything for me baby?” You asked as you leaned closer to his face. He opened his eyes and looked at you.

“I’d do anything for you, baby.” He offered the pet name back. You laughed quietly and kissed him softly. Countering the rough pace he was going.

You two shared a sweet and soft kiss, as the feeling of his dick ramming into you was also present. He loved how soft your lips were. How you let a few moans slip out allowing his tongue to slide into your mouth.

Your tongues danced around each other before he pulled away. Letting out a low moan: a warning of the orgasm he was about to hit. You too let out a soft moan. He slid his cold golden hand down. Circling your clit with his pointer finger, urging you to cum. With each circle you felt yourself getting closer and closer.

“Cum with me baby, just let it out.” He groaned his request into your ear, with that you felt your self com undone. As you hit your climax a second later he hit his. The warm cum filled you to the brim, he didn’t pull out right away. He sat for a second catching his breath. He looked even hotter here. Your arms had wrapped around his shoulders, his hair sweaty and messed up, eyes droopy from finally hitting his biggest high.

“You were so good..Maybe i’ll put down a special mission for you to just come in here and-”

“I’d like that.” you cut him off giving him a kiss. He closed his eyes and kissed back pulling out of you after it ended.

He walked off to get some tissues to clean you and himself up. Afterwards you stumbled to the door. He rushed over. His tie was crooked and your suit was all wrinkled. Neither of you cared. He helped you down to your room in the upper end of the agency.

“I’ll see you later, baby.” He flashed a genuine smile before walking out. Your heart skipped a beat. He never smiled.

#forntie #fortnite fanfic #midas fornite #fortnite midas #midas x reader #midas fornite x reader #smut #midas smut #midas fortnite x reader smut

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collapsedglasshouses · 4 months

Text

HOTEL NEIGHBORS || Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader

PHOTO CREDIT: Bryan Kirks

SUMMARY: After you hear Noah talk about liking experienced women, you can't help but feel insecure about yourself. Noah wants nothing but to lift your spirits.

WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, friends to lovers, inexperienced reader, slight ? dom!noah i guess, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected p in v (dont do that), slight mutual pining?, not edited oopsie, ...

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6

A/N: This idea planted itself in my head last night and I don't even know what to say anymore. I’m more than stressed because of university, but I hope my creative spark is coming back rather sooner than later. Is anyone actually reading what I say here. If you're reading this say hi in the comments, ily. Please, enjoy and consider reblogging if you liked it.

You didn’t exactly know you had gotten into this situation but at this exact moment you were shifting in your place and wanted nothing more but to vanish into thin air.

You were currently sitting in a hotel lobby, exhausted and tired from the show the boys had played, and waited for Matt to hand you the keys to your hotel rooms. Somehow in the course of the last ten minutes, the conversation between the guys had turned. They were talking about previous relationships and the experience it came with since Folio had been freshly separated from his ex-girlfriend.

“I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I just want someone with more experience, you know? I’m not saying I wouldn’t date anyone who doesn’t have much experience but I just-… I don’t know. You know what I mean, Noah?” Folio rambled and looked at the man next to you in hopes to find confirmation.

“Yeah, I know. I prefer women with experience, too. I guess.” Noah just mindlessly mumbled while looking at his phone.

You knew for sure the boys didn’t say this in an ill intend but somehow this exchange began to bother you more than you wanted it to. In all honesty, it felt like a punch straight to your face. You felt stupid that this simple exclaim from Noah got to you, but you couldn’t really help it. It wasn’t like you never had sex. You had a boyfriend that you dated from high school to about two years ago, but when it came to your sex life it felt like you never really experienced anything. You knew almost everything that only concerned you, but when it came to another person being involved, your knowledge stopped. You knew what you liked and what you disliked. But that didn’t make the conversation you just witnessed any less hurtful.

You swallowed hard before standing up from your waiting seat in a rather fast manner.

“Imma head to the bathroom.” You mumbled so quietly you feared nobody would have heard you, before walking away. You didn’t see how Noah looked after you with a confused facial expression.

You slammed the door shut behind you and stared at your reflection in the fancy bathroom mirror. Your eyes were watery and you hated yourself for that. Especially Noah’s sentence echoed in your head and you hated that you had a weak spot for him. You hated that you got along with him too well for your liking. When the band hired you as an assistant for Matt about a year ago, you hadn’t planned that all of this would happen. You thought you were there for only one tour and now you were already on your third with the band. To your astonishment, you got along wonderfully with everyone, but you and Noah had a special bond. You didn’t know what it was exactly but somehow you repeatedly found yourself in deep conversations about literally everything with him. It took you well over six months to realize that you didn’t just simply like him as a friend, but you were starting to fall for him.

Right now, you hated yourself that you never got brave enough to admit it to him. You always acted like nothing had changed and you felt embarrassed about the fact that a small sentence like that could throw you off so bad when you didn’t have the right to act like that about it.

A couple of minutes passed before you had enough courage to head back to the boys. So, you took a deep breath and wiped away the single tear that had managed to escape, before stepping out of the bathroom again. Gladly, you didn’t have to justify your sudden move as Matt approached the group at the same time as you to hand you the keys.

“Finally, I thought we needed to sleep in the lobby.” You managed to say with a lopsided smile while Matt handed you your key.

While your group headed in the elevator, you took up a small conversation with Matt about things that had happened at tonight’s show, before he headed out together with the others. The only two left in the elevator being, of course, you and Noah.

“Looks like we’re neighbors tonight.” He answered you with a sweet smile after looking at your key for a second.

“Cool.” You tried to exclaim as friendly as possible and cringed for your second. Even the most unempathetic person on this planet would have realized that something was going on with you, but you were glad Noah decided to not talk about it as you walked to your rooms.

A couple of hours later, you were finished with your evening and ready to go to sleep but before you could slip under the blankets, you heard a slight knock on your door. For a second, you considered to just ignore it but when it knocked again, you sighed and opened the door just enough to look who was disturbing your peace at these ungodly times.

You were greeted by Noah with a worried expression on his face. For a second, you just looked at him confused, but he was fast to explain, while you opened the door a little more.

“Tell me what I did. You’ve been ignoring literally all my texts for more than three hours at this point.” He exclaimed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Of course, he was right about his statement. You had seen his texts. Normally, you’d test about the concert or some random stuff until you were both to sleepy to respond, but you had decided you couldn’t deal with him this evening. Not after you got so emotional because of a stupid sentence.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” You lied and mirrored his gesture.

He lifted his eyebrow, and you already know he wouldn’t let you out of that conversation until you gave him the answers he wanted. “Gaslight someone else, sweetheart.” He grumbled.

You sighed and looked at your hands. “It’s nothing, Noah.”

“Oh, come on. You know nothing you is unimportant.” He encouraged you.

It felt stupid. Stupid how easy it was to open up to him, but you knew you couldn’t just tell him what’s been on your mind, so you simply shook your head. You were about to close the door, when he reached into the doorframe and pressed himself in your room while you protested.

“Y/n. Seriously, what’s going on?” He muttered in a soft tone while sitting down on your bed. He patted the place next to him. When you sat down, he turned to fully face you and touched your shoulder. “Please talk to me.”

“I really can’t, Noah.” You whispered. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

You felt so dumb, you wanted to slap yourself. You didn’t want this to go bad. You hated your feelings for choosing him. For opening up to him. For becoming so close with him. You remembered how you had joked with Matt about how everyone would eventually fall for THE lead singer and how you said Noah is just a really good friend and now look at you. Unable to even look him straight in the face.

“Did I say something?” Noah wanted to know, and you briefly looked at him. You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer in fear you would crack. You looked at his shirt to calm your thoughts but that was when you noticed his neckline and your thoughts instantly began to wander.

“You never not tell me anything.” Noah urged.

“Why are you so desperate?” You asked him in slight annoyance and swept his hand of your shoulder.

He blinked surprised for a couple of seconds before answering you. “Because you can’t even look at me and I don’t like that.”

Your heart jumped with happiness when you heard that confession, even if it was innocent.

“That’s not true.” – “Then look at me.”

You sighed before forcing your eyes onto his for a second just to look away again.

“See?” He mumbled, defeated. “I’m sorry if I said something that upset you. I didn’t mean it.”

“So, you didn’t mean you liked girls with experience better than others?” You spat out before you could even think about it more and instantly regretted it.

Noah opened and closed his mouth in confusion. He knew about your previous experiences or lack of experience.

“See that’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. It is dumb.” You tried to brush off what had just happened, but Noah shook his head.

“No, no, no. It’s not dumb. I didn’t mean it like that, I-…” He began to explain but you just sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Just stop, Noah.” You mumbled and laid down on your bed. “We should get some sleep. Tomorrow is another stressful day.”

“N-no… I really didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t even paying attention to Folio. I-… I don’t care about experience, Y/N. I consider myself lucky if anyone gets close to me at the moment. I’m a stressed mess, you know.” Noah rambled out and you noticed that he was nervous. You couldn’t really think about why.

“Oh c’mon. Everyone would consider themselves lucky to sleep with you, Noah. And you fucking know that.” You joked halfheartedly, but then a smile crept onto his face.

“You too?” He asked with a broad smirk on his face.

“Huh?” You huffed as your eyes grew wide.

“I mean… I know you are worried about not having too much experience… I just-…” He swallowed hard. “I could… help with that.”

“You wanna have sex with me?” You bluntly asked your friend and felt your heart almost exploding in your chest.

“I-… You know, we-… I-…” He began to stutter for a second but then he saw how nervous you looked and stopped in his tracks. “So, you wanna have sex with me.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and you swallowed hard. “Uh… I…”

“Forget it, you don’t have to answer th-…” – “Actually, I do.”

Your voice was not more than a whisper while your thoughts were racing. You just blankly confessed that to him, because you were tired. Tired of holding back.

“You are joking, right?” Noah mumbled; his mouth slightly open.

“Oh, come on. As if this comes as a surprise. There are literally people writing fanfiction about you.” You said and ran a hand through your hair in frustration.

“And you know that why?” He exclaimed and smiled lopsidedly.

Your eyebrows rose for a second when you realized what you had said.

When you didn’t answer, he spoke again. “So, you wanna have sex with me?”

“Trust me, with each word coming out of your mouth, the urge is getting less and less.” You answered him and rolled your eyes. His smile faded slightly, and he looked you deep in the eyes.

“Would you feel better if I told you I’ve thought about it, too?” He exclaimed and the tone of his voice shot straight to your core. This didn’t feel real.

“Yeah… Yeah that would help.” You mumbled and swallowed hard, not knowing how to proceed.

A second later, Noah was hovering over your, his face only a couple of inches away from you and you felt how the atmosphere in the room changed.

“You really wanna do this?” He asked you as your hands travelled to the hem of your shirt. You nodded.

“Tell me, you want this.” He almost pleaded with you.

“I want you to fuck me, Noah. For god sake, should I write it down for you?” You whisper-shouted against his lips and with that he giggled quietly before kissing your lips with such force that you realized he wasn’t joking. You grabbed his face and pulled him even closer to you. It felt like you two grasped onto everything. It felt like you were each other’s last meal. Like you were starved for so long, you couldn’t control it anymore.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him down towards your core that was only clothed in your underwear, and you could feel how hard he was. You couldn’t help but grind against him. He slightly moaned into your mouth as your tongues danced with each other and you moved your hips again.

“Stop that.” He suddenly groaned against your mouth, and you began to grin. “What if I don’t?”

“Then I’m not going to go easy on you, sweetheart.” He warned you. It didn’t take a second for you to grind against him one more time, while smiling proudly about what a hard time he had with you.

“You’re going to regret that.” He mumbled and grabbed your hips with his hand firmly. This alone almost made you cum. It felt like something in him snapped. His pupils were blown wide with lust and then he was underdressing you. It was like he was ripping you out of your clothes.

When he reached your underwear, he stopped for a second and looked at you for reassurance. It was the last chance for you to tell him, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want him to stop.

“I trust you.” You breathed out and bucked your hips for a second.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for his, Y/n.” He answered you as he slowly slipped down your underwear. He didn’t waste any time after that and only a few kisses later to your stomach, you felt how his tongue moved through your folds. A soft moan escaped your mouth and you arched your hips to possibly get any closer to him.

Your hands found their way in your hair. It wasn’t the first time someone went down on you, but never before had it felt so intense to you.

He pinned your hips down to the bed with one arm and his tongue was devouring you like it was the last thing he would do. The sounds you were making only made him go harder. Then you felt how he added a finger inside of you, quickly followed by another.

“Oh my-… Fuck, Noah.” You gasped and you felt the vibrations of his laugh against your core. You felt a knot building inside of you and you tried to concentrate on anything that would help you not to come instantly.

“I can feel that you’re close.” He mumbled against you and flicked his tongue over your clit while his fingers pumped in and out of you.

You nodded, unable to form clear words without moaning them.

“I know, you can go longer than that, Y/n.” He hummed against you, and you felt like you were going insane.

“God, please.” You cried out, fearing you couldn’t hold it any longer.

His mouth and fingers felt so good, you were sure you couldn’t help yourself much longer. You felt your orgasm built up and then-… He stopped. He pulled away from you, his fingers out of your pussy and you whined at the loss of contact.

He grabbed your face with the hand that had been inside of you just seconds before and looked you in the eyes. “When you come tonight, it’s gonna be on my cock.”

“You know, it’s kind of unfair that I’m laying here completely naked while you’re fully clothed.” You breathed out with a small smile on your face.

“Oh, yeah?” He laughed against your lips before climbing of the bed to get out of his clothes. His eyes never left yours and yours never left his.

He was in nothing but his underwear, his cock hard underneath them and you bit your lip as his hands hooked under the waistband and he slowly slit them off. Your eyes slowly widened at the sight of his member, and you suddenly realized that all of this was real. He looked so perfect. All of him.

“You still okay?” He asked as he crawled back to you.

“Yes.” You breathed out when he was on top of you again. He leaned down to kiss you. You could feel him against your core, his cock moving between your folds as if he belonged there.

“Noah, please.” You moaned out and let your hands roam over his back.

“Yes?” He teased you and rocked his hips once more.

“Don’t be such a tease.” You whined and dragged your fingernails over his back. He let out a soft moan.

“Tell me what you want, Y/n.” Noah exclaimed, and you whined, before rolling your eyes.

“Do that again and I’ll make you regret it.” He breathed out.

“Oh, I’m so scared.” You answered him in a mocking tone and he instantly gave his words truth.

For the second time something snapped inside of him. You let out a small yelp as he flipped you over in a swift motion, your chest hitting the mattress. He grabbed your hips with such force, you were sure he would leave bruises.

“You still wanna continue to be a brat?” He asked you in an almost dangerous tone and you shook your head.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He almost moaned and you felt this cock against your ass. He positioned himself behind you, his tip teasing your entrance. His hands wandered over your hips softly and you felt a kiss against your neck. “We can stop anytime.”

“Please, don’t stop.” You breathed out. After that he slowly slid into you, your mouth open in a silent moan as he bottomed out.

“Is that alright?” He asked with a soft tone as you tried to get used to the feeling of him inside of you.

“Yes, everything is perfect.” You moaned out.

When he started to move, you thought you were going to die. In a good way. In a way that made you decide right there and then that when your time has come, this was how you wanted it to end.

“Oh, my f-… Noah.” You whispered out and gripped the sheets beneath you.

His right hand slowly reached to the front of your body and found your clit. He swiftly circled it while rocking into you.

His head was buried in your neck and the room was filled with moans and pants and curse words that were almost illegal to speak out.

“Shit, Y/N.” He whined into your neck. “You feel so good.” His thrust became faster and you were almost certain the bed was going to break if he kept that pace. But you were too far gone to care. You felt that knot in your stomach again and you knew this time you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Come on. Come for me, sweetheart.” He whispered against the back of your head, and you screamed. You screamed load enough that you were sure Jolly in the room underneath to you would hear.

He fucked you through it, his pace only slowing down moments later, right before he pulled out and you felt hot liquid painting your back.

You let yourself fall onto the pillow and he soon collapsed next to you. You turned to face him and could help but smile at him. He reached out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m in desperate need of a shower and I don’t even wanna talk about the lack of sleep we’ll have tomorrow.” You answered him and giggle for a second that caused him to smile.

“It was worth it.” He mumbled before leaning in again.

“Yes… yes it was.” Your lips met in a soft kiss and for a second everything inside of you began to tingle. You knew this was a new chapter for the both of you and that this was only the beginning.

“Let’s shower.” He mumbled before getting up and reaching out to help you up. He slung his arms around you for a second. “Maybe you can tell me about those fanfictions while showering.”

Your eyes widened for a second, before you made your way to the bathroom, followed by a laughing Noah.

“I’ll keep that to myself.” You answered him, before closing the bathroom door behind the two of you.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens rpf #collapsedglasshouseswrites

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viixenvi · 4 months

Text

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 | 18+

Summary: You have been planning to steal some information from the Avengers compound. You successfully break in but what happens when the one person you never wanted to see again ends up catching you?

Characters: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark

Warnings: Torture, fighting, reader gets caught and tied up, heavy make-outs, slight flirting, some oral (Nat receiving), reader leaves Nat high and dry, villain fem!reader (Reader and Nat hate fuck whenever they catch each other guys)

This was not my best work, actually kinda bad and not proofread so forgive mistakes and like forgive me if it's bad I just had this idea weeks ago and decided to actually write it at 3 AM

Minors DNI

It was only a matter of time before you could escape. Sneaking into the Avengers compound was hard, it took weeks of planning and landing a job as a maid.

Stark was always hiring and it was just perfect when you got a call back that you had been selected for the job. Of course, this job came with risks to your plan. If you were suspected at all by any of the avengers you'd be finished. Which is exactly why you had a disguise.

Shape shifting was your specialty. It had just happened oneday, you woke up with powers of some sorts. You had no idea how to control them or how you even got them.

You were hoping this hard drive you were planning to take had the answers to some of your problems. You could only change your appearance, make others see you differently.

The only person you had to avoid at all costs was Natasha. She knew things about you that you hadn't told anyone else. You and her had a long history, one that you prefer not to think about. You had fought her previously, working with Loki. That went down hill fast and you managed to stay low since then.

Now you were definitely going to set off their radars. You have a plan though, you always have a plan.

"Can you get the lab too while you are at it?" Tony asks me as I mop the floor. I look up and nod, giving him a shy smile. He walks away, his phone in his hand.

Perfect excuse to be in his lab. You walk towards the lab, your heart racing. It was time, finally. You felt relieved, it was finally going to be over and you'd never have to see the avengers ever again.

"You are not authorized to enter this area." The voice startles you slightly. J.A.R.V.I.S was a pain to deal with.

"Mr. Stark asked me to mop the lab," You tell him. You hear nothing or a minute before the card scanner beeps with a green light and the doors click. That was surprisingly..easy?

This was too easy, you hesitate for a moment. You glance around the lab before your eyes land on a hard drive. It's the hard drive. No way Tony would just leave this out conveniently, not when he knew there was a chance it would be stolen by anyone.

But it's right there, and you don't think you have another chance. So you slowly walk up to the table, pretending to mop and swiping the drive off the table.

It swiftly makes the journey to your pocket and you walk out of the lab, leaving the mop on the floor. You have no idea how you can get out without at least being detected.

Stark was far from stupid, but your powers deceived him enough. Now all you had to do was fake an emergency and leave. You pick up the phone, pretending to get a call and panicking.

You find Steve in the living room, cleaning his shield off. "Can you please tell Mr. Stark I have to leave? There's a family emergency!" You spit out before he can really react. You are in the elevator as he says he will.

Something about the way he looked at you was confusing. He didn't even ask if everything was alright like you thought he would. If Steve was one thing, he was compassionate.

You knew they knew about your plans, or at least that you were there to steal the drive. As if on cue, the elevator doors open and Natasha is staring right at your face.

"Hello милый," her voice is sweet, just like how it used to be. You stand there for a moment, drinking in her features. You had spent the past weeks avoiding her and you never got the chance to really see her.

"Natasha, any chance you can let me go?" You say, one hand on the back of your neck as you laugh awkwardly. She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. So it's a no.

Her fist raises to your face and you block it, swiping your leg under hers. She falls back and manages to flip onto her feet. You land a punch to her face, which angers her.

She kicks your stomach, causing you to stumble back. Before you can even think, she punches your face. You can feel the blood gushing out of your nose. You wipe it away with your hand while Natasha stands in front of you. She's focused on your face and movements.

You could tell she was analyzing you. You both hadn't fought each other in a while and it was obvious you were holding back. You couldn't get yourself to hurt her.

Natasha runs past you, jumping up off the wall and wrapping her legs around your neck. You pin her arms back and lean down, flipping her over in front of you. She breaks free from your grasp and jumps, spinning and kicking you directly in the face.

You fall over and close your eyes, consciousness barely hanging on. Natasha is a damn good fighter and you could admit it. Natasha hovers over you, pulling the drive out of your pocket.

"Some things don't change," She says just before you black out.

When you finally wake up, pain surges through your body. The familiar metallic taste of blood in your mouth reminds you of what happened.

You move to pull your hands free but it seems they cuffed you with some heavy metal cuffs. They definitely seem to be stopping your powers from being used. You are in a bedroom, which seems to be weird for the team as they have their own interrogation room and cells.

A figure comes into view and you know it's Natasha. "It's funny, you always end up in front of me bound by something," She chuckles. I sigh and close my eyes, the headache pounding in my head is not helping the pain.

"If you are going to kill me, just do it."

Natasha pulls her knife out, pushing the tip under my chin and lifting my head. "Aw, you wound me, baby."

"Don't call me that," You spit, clenching your jaw. You and Natasha always had a love-hate relationship. You were a villain and her job was to kill them.

"Tell me why you need the drive and maybe we can have a little fun," She whispers in your ear. You decide to play along, long enough for her to get you out of these cuffs.

"If I tell you, will you take these cuffs off?" You ask, giving her a defeated look.

"Yes."

"They paid me to take it, said there are plans on it they need. I didn't get any other information. I just know that they can kill me easily." Natasha sits on the chair across from you, spinning her knife in her hand.

"Who?"

"I have no idea. Some alien guy, he's weird looking," You tell her. You try to steady your heartbeat and avoid actions that will tell her you are lying.

Natasha seems to like this answer because she gets up and walks behind you. A moment later, the cuffs are no longer clasped on your hands.

You feel Natasha's hands on your shoulders, gliding down your arms. You almost shiver at her touch. You don't want to play into this, but she has given you no choice.

There's a smile on her face when you spin around, your hands on her waist. Your lips meet hers and the kiss is almost electric. Her lips are soft and you taste the cherry lipgloss.

She pushes you onto the bed but you flip over and get on top of her, unzipping her suit. Her belt is thrown onto the floor, not before you take something out of it.

"Fuck, I need you so bad," You whisper against the skin of her neck. You kiss down it, your warm lips sending shivers down her spine.

Her hands roam your body, pulling up your shirt. You stop her before she can fully take it off. "No, let me take care of your first, baby."

She pulls you into a kiss before you descend down her body, leaving trails of kisses. You pull the rest of the suit down to her ankles, kissing up her thigh.

You reach her lips, kissing them before spreading her legs and pushing your face close. Your tongue glides over her clit, circling it. Natasha moans, lifting her hips up and throwing her head back.

You wanted so badly to finish what you started, but you needed the drive and Natasha wasn't going to distract you again.

So you pull away, crawling on top of her and grabbing her face to kiss her. You carefully place a tazer disk on her neck and get off her before activating it.

Natasha gasps and falls unconscious from the tazer and you cover her up with a blanket. This was payback for the last time she caught you. This was your thing, always leaving the other wanting more. It kept up the attraction.

This time you may have gone too far, but your life depended on getting this drive and you didn't care what you did to get it.

You won this time.

#natasha romanoff #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha x reader #angst #x reader #viixenvi #natasha romanoff smut #natasha x you #black widow x reader #smut #kinda angsty #nat and reader have a complicated past #some smut

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stevebabey · 2 years

Text

nine facts, one lie

summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.

Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]

[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny

Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington.

It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington.

From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.

Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.

Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained.

Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity.

Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask.

You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.

It was impossible to pinpoint what about him grated you so much; maybe, it was how he seemed to have girls in and out of his bed like he was playing a game, trying to rack up as many points as possible. Or maybe, it was that even you, invisible and not even on his radar let alone on his list, could see the appeal.

Even better than easy on the eyes, Steve Harrington is one of those guys that makes you understand the word gorgeous.

It doesn’t help that he’s rich as well, with a huge house with a pool and even a swanky car to pick you up in. A complete daydream. Swept away into sheets softer than yours at home, you’d get to spend a night in the arms of the most popular guy in school and if you’re really lucky, he’ll still pretend to know your name the next day.

What had really stuck with you was gossip you’d happened to overhear, head stuck in your locker as you fished around for your books and papers. Tommy H and Steve were 3 lockers over, at Tommy’s locker, and sharing the details of Steve’s latest conquest.

So was she any good? Tommy had been asking. I always assumed nerdy chicks weren’t as good- they practically cream their pants considering no one’s ever kissed em’ before.

Steve had laughed along too. Yeah, man. She was all over me. Had to keep picturing someone hotter though, you know those geeks aren’t the prettie— Your stomach had curdled and you had slammed your locker door louder than needed, just to shut him up. You were sure they both saw you leave.

It drove you insane. And even though Steve likely knew nothing of your existence — didn’t matter you had once been chem partners, nor the fact you shared English class— he was probably as close to an evil nemesis you’d ever get.

Hence the utter betrayal of Robin’s friendship with him.

Originally, when she’d told you over the phone, gleeful and gossipy, that King Steve had just been hired at Scoops Ahoy, the two of you had snickered. It hadn’t been enough to watch him drift from his other asshole friends, something in you burned deliciously hearing he’d fallen from yet another pillar.

It had only gotten better. Robin recounted countless stories where he had flunked out with girls — you’d nearly lost it hearing about her whiteboard, tallying up his ‘hits & misses’ when trying to score a date. It finally seemed Steve Harrington was somehow more of a loser than you.

On the 4th of July, 1985, Starcourt Mall burnt down — and the strangest thing about it all was that Robin suddenly didn’t seem to mind Steve so much.

They were friends. You’d been a little miffed at her quick change of heart as she doused your gossipy mood in an instant, insisting that Steve wasn’t so bad once you got to know him.

Rather reluctantly, your teasing remarks about Steve were brought to a halt as Robin retaliated each time, urging you to give him another chance. And while you agreed to be civil, especially considering you had to see him every time you visited Robin at work. But what could you do? Old habits die hard.

Fact #2: Steve Harrington is trying to be a better person.

Okay, you didn’t know that one, but Steve certainly did.

It means even though Robin had dropped several warnings and a few premature apologies, Steve was prepared to be absolutely lovely when meeting her other best friend (the other being himself, of course). Robin still seemed tense about the two of your meeting — so far you’d specifically come to visit her at Family Video when you knew Steve wasn’t there.

But a few shifts had been swapped around and on her late night Thursday shift where you always came by to keep her company, Robin was readying herself for the collision of her two friends.

Despite all her convincing, she could tell you weren’t sold on the new Steve she claimed to love and you hadn’t come by when he was there, meaning all your experiences to do with Steve were rooted back in his days of assholery.

It didn’t matter to Steve; he loved Robin and he had lots of practice trying to gain the ‘wow, you’re not a douchebag anymore’ gold star. He had this in the bag.

The janky chime of the door buzzer announces the arrival of someone in the store and being the one at the counter while Robin tends to the shelves, Steve’s head pops up, ready to greet.

“Hello! Welcome to Family Video!”

It sounds far too rehearsed, recognizing the customer service voice you put on at your own job. You nearly smile at the cheery greeting, taken aback by Steve’s handsome grin and his floppy hair, messed from the force of his movement. Then you clock yourself and have to fight off an urge to scowl.

Eyes already searching over the aisles for Robin, you’re just wondering if she’ll come save you from this conversation when Steve seems to realise who you must be.

“Oh, you must be y/n.” His easy smile, hands leaning forward onto the counter that separates you, takes you aback.

In your peripheral, you can see Robin spot you and head in the direction — but she doesn’t come quick enough to stop Steve from bungling the whole conversation with his next sentence.

“Robin’s told me a lot about you. I’m Steve,” His tone is friendly and at your silence, he continues. “Steve Harrington.”

Oh my God. He doesn’t even remember you.

Over Steve’s shoulder, you can spy Robin burying her head in her hands and muttering something to herself. Any annoyance you had pushed down springs to the surface. You school your expression as neutral as possible, though you’re sure your brow crinkles in irritation.

“I know.”

Okay, that was meaner than you intended, especially as you recall Robin’s plea to be civil at the very least. You clear your throat, unsure if you can completely hide your distaste for him.

“We were chem partners, freshmen year.” You remind him, attempting a smile. It might be a grimace. “And I was in your English class your senior year.”

Steve seems to realise his mistake, his cheeks turning rosy and his eyes widening almost comically — fuck, way to go, Harrington. All of his pep talks, amping himself up to be so friendly to you and then he goes and ruins it by not remembering you.

It’s embarrassing. Hawkins is a small town and practically everyone knows everyone, with the exception of popular kids who didn’t think they needed to. He winces, frustrated that his past has come back to haunt him yet again.

“I’m sorry.” He says, more sincere than you’re expecting. Well, you’re not expecting an apology at all — the Steve you remembered would’ve laughed it off, claiming that he couldn’t forget a pretty face and trying to brush over the fact he forgot you at all.

“Seriously,” he reaffirms at the hint of surprise on your features. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to forget your face. I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason I passed that chem class.”

Robin seems to sense your internal battle, baffled by his apology but still irritated by the fact his memory didn’t deem you memorable enough. She also wants to jump on the spot and say ‘told you!’ because the surprise you’d shown means you hadn’t believed her.

A part of her feels bad, knowing the battering Steve’s taken to his head too many times has undoubtedly knocked a few memories loose; but it’s not that they could explain that to you.

“I’m just shelving — want to come sit?” She offers, taking the conversation away from you and Steve. “We watched Highlander today and I could sit and explain the whole plot to you?”

It’s the usual activities you and Robin did when you came to bug her on her shift. You loved listening to Robin talk as she possessed a unique ability to turn a 10-minute retelling into an hour-long debate. Each subplot in the film needed to be discussed, with bad analogies that came out of left field and made you laugh til your sides hurt. It wasn’t a bad Thursday night all around.

Just as you’re about to respond, Steve cuts in and speaks instead.

“Robs, you’ve only got two hours left. It’s a Thursday, you could take off if you wanted? I don’t mind.”

Robs. Somehow the nickname for your best friend coming from Steve is more jarring than the polite offer he’s extended. Steve’s eyes shift back over to you, offering another weak smile and you wonder if this is a continuation of his apology.

“Really?” Robin’s excitement is evident. Bunking off early means you two will sneak a movie and have time to grab some greasy food for an actual hangout. “I mean- are you sure?”

Steve nods sincerely then cracks a grin, shooting a sarcastic smile at Robin. “What think I can’t hold down the fort for a couple hours?”

Robin is already peeling off her Family Video vest, digging under the counter to pull out her school bag. “I don’t think it, Steve. I know it.”

He laughs, meandering his way back to where Robin has left the returns cart and, furiously, you have to admit he’s being awfully nice. Robin nearly trips coming around the counter, her hand grasping your arm tightly to keep herself upright and she beams at you.

“C’mon!” She says, pulling you out the door, the buzzer chiming again as you both leave the store. Once outside, she pauses and you can feel her stare burning into your temple. She doesn’t say it but you can feel the beginning of an i told you so building in her throat.

“Don’t say it.”

“Say what?” She plays clueless but her grin gives her away. She links an arm through yours.

“Don’t say anything.” You say with a scowl, the two of you beginning to stroll down the stairs out the front. The crispness of the night makes you tug her a little closer. “I still don’t like him.”

Fact #3: Steve Harrington still likes to flirt.

In the beginning, the compliments are because Steve really wants you to like him.

He sees more of you with the change of shifts and perhaps, he gleefully thinks, you aren’t completely avoiding him anymore. You’ll come to see Robin in store even if he’s working as well and inadvertently, conversations spring up between the two of you.

The first time he tries to slip in a compliment casually, he’s not entirely sure what reaction he gets. On this day you’re waiting for Robin to finish out back, packing up some of the schoolwork she’d done in the backroom, and to Steve’s delight, you’ve opted to wait up by the counter with him.

You’ve already exchanged an awkward couple hello’s and now silence falls between you. Steve clears his throat and tries to earn his not a douchebag star.

“Did you get a haircut?”

You blink. Without thought, you bring up your hand and run it over the silky strands — cut fresh from yesterday. Surprise sprouts in your chest at the fact he noticed.

“Yeah,” you nod, tucking it behind your ears. “I did.”

“It looks good.” He compliments, pairing it with a genuine smile. “It like,” he gestures with a hand, hoping his ears aren’t as red as they feel. “Frames your face better. You look nice.”

For a moment, you forget to mask your emotions and the simple act of a compliment from an attractive guy makes your lips twitch into a smile. Robin bundles out of the back room before you remember to say something snarky, like What and my hair looked bad before?

Instead, it hangs in the air and when you leave behind Robin, you really consider smiling over your shoulder at him.

But it ruminates; the compliment loops in your mind until your insecurity unstitches it and it warps into something else entirely. His motivation is the question on your mind.

In what world does Steve Harrington flirt with you?

It has to be a joke. He must be making fun of you because that’s exactly what Steve used to do and if he’s not, that means he has changed and you’re suddenly worthy of his attention.

You recall the locker-room talk, his jeering tone and everything about his compliment turns sour.

Somehow, Steve’s worried he’s managed to make it worse.

His compliments dropped here and there — commenting on film choice, saying he likes your sweaters, all it seems to earn him is scowls. Your scrunched nose and heated glare from your distaste either means he’s worse at flirting than he remembers or it’s a painful reminder that still you see him as King Steve.

He’s not — he knows he is not. King Steve wouldn’t have bothered looking at the film you’d picked out, his comment would’ve been on your body not on the clothes you choose, and he certainly wouldn’t have noticed something as trivial as a haircut.

And because Steve is nothing if not a whinger, he tells all this to Dustin when the kid comes in to visit.

“I mean, I know I was bad but,” Steve cut himself off with a scoff, following Dustin through the aisles. Dustin didn’t even look as though he was listening, eyes trained on the shelves intently. “I apologised for not remembering her, like, an actual genuine apology— and that was years ago! I don’t get why she doesn’t like me, man.”

Dustin, who had indeed been listening to the rant of his older friend, promptly stopped and plucked a film off the shelf with a quiet aha!

“Are you even listening to me, Henderson?”

“Yes, Steve.” Dustin spun, eyes narrowed as he stared up at Steve intensely enough to unnerve him. “From what I’ve heard, you were pretty damn bad so I’m not surprised some people hold a grudge!”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you didn’t remember her. Maybe you did something rude in high school and completely forgot about it?”

Steve waved his hands dismissively, shaking his head in disagreement. Without noticing, you had slipped in the store up front, usual conversation struck up with Robin. However, you’d been quickly distracted as you searched the store for Robin’s other half and were baffled to find him following around a child.

“Looking for Steve?” Robin jibed when she noticed your gaze wandering across the store, your attention going with it.

You ignored the jab, rolling your eyes with a light laugh. “He wishes. Is he talking to a kid?”

“Who Dustin? Don’t let him hear you call him that.” Robin warned with a roll of her own eyes, shuffling about some stock room records in her hands. “He’s like Steve’s best friend. He was, uh, in the mall fire with us last year.”

The mall fire. Robin doesn’t talk about it at all, a hollow expression taking over her features that freaks you out far too much to push it. Pushing past your surprise, you decide to focus on the other part of her sentence.

“They’re friends?”

As if to prove your point, the two of them head to the front of the store in the middle of a bicker — Steve lags behind a bit, hands waving dramatically as Dustin calls over his shoulder, tone righteous and just a tad smug.

You catch the end of Dustin’s sentence— “Not every girl has to swoon over you, Steve, you know that right? So what if she doesn’t—” cut off when Steve shoves his shoulder, having spotted you.

Dustin looks as though he experiences a ripple of emotions; annoyance, as he whips around, ready to cuss Steve out for the shove, which quickly turns to confusion at the wide-eyed look Steve is staring down at him with. By the time he’s facing you something has clicked as he looks at you with renewed interest.

“Dustin.” He introduces, stepping forward with one hand held out for you to shake. “Dustin Henderson.”

Unwittingly, you peer over his shoulder and connect eyes with Steve — who gives a shrug in response, an awkward smile on his face. Taking Dustin’s smaller hand in your own, you smile and introduce yourself, unable to keep the hint of confusion out of your words.

“I’m Steve’s best friend.” The curly-headed boy explains, gesturing over his shoulder and Steve’s smile gets a little more awkward. He feels a smidge nervous considering there’s no telling what will fall out of Henderson’s mouth next. Steve’s a little relieved when it’s a typical plea for a ride, spinning back round to him.

“Andddd as my best friend, he’ll be totally happy to drive me to the Byers’ right now. Robin can handle the store for 10 minutes without you, can’t ya Robin?”

He slides the tape he’s grabbed onto the counter as he says it, a silent ask to check it out. Likely under Steve’s account which Dustin says it’s for the employee discount — which makes Steve scoff, considering he pays for it anyways.

All eyes move to Robin who freezes at the sudden attention, papers paused mid-shuffle in her twitchy hands. She narrows her eyes at Dustin and you find yourself watching Steve as he has a silent exchange with the girl — another halfhearted shrug that means he’s happy to take him if she doesn’t mind.

Robin swipes the tape and types the details into the computer hastily, waving them both off. “Yeah, yeah. y/n can always get behind the counter, worst-case scenario.”

Dustin fist-pumps, taking the tape back from Robin as she hands it over. He heads to the door and calls out to you as he goes, “And you’d look better than Steve in the vest too!”

It makes you laugh when Steve scowls, sidling up to you to lean over the counter and snatch up his car keys. He pauses, eyes roaming your face and looking as though he wants to say something to you.

“Steve!” Dustin’s voice pierces the glass and you look to see him waiting on the top step, hands raised, expression unimpressed.

Steve sighs, muttering the word dickhead under his breath and then he’s out the door.

Fact #3: You may have misjudged Steve Harrington.

It’s been just over a week since seeing Dustin in the store with Steve and though you’d never admit it aloud, it has shifted the way you see Steve.

A minuscule shift, you huff to yourself, tiny and not enough to completely dissolve your built in dislike for the Harrington boy. But you find the thought worming into your brain frequently, tripping over it in surprise when you realise you’re thinking of him again.

It’s just… it didn’t make sense.

Just like the flirting, it didn’t compute in your brain unless you rationalized it back to some asshole motive.

But Dustin had introduced himself as Steve’s best-friend, which was sort of weird enough on its own but you figured it had to be some insane trauma bonding from the mall fire.

Even if they had been the same age, Dustin didn’t seem like the company you’d expect Steve to keep— but neither was Robin, you thought after a moment of contemplation.

Robin’s knowing grin outside Family Video a couple of weeks ago that screamed i told you so floats up in your memory; you might have to concede she was maybe, potentially, just a little bit right.

The thoughts weigh on your mind as you wait in the kitchen for Steve’s car to pull into your driveway. A couple months ago you would have outright refused to accept a ride from King Steve and you still weren’t sure if you thanked him for his generosity tonight, whether it would come out snarky or genuine.

But he did offer, unasked.

You and Robin wanted to see a rerun screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that was showing a few towns over. Robin couldn’t drive and neither could you, which meant when she’d seen the poster, it had only been a fleeting moment of excitement before you realised you didn’t have any means of travel.

She must have been moping about it at work that day because it was sometime in the evening after she got off work that your phone rang and she nearly shrieked down the line that Steve would take you both.

So, here you were; waiting for Steve to pick you up.

God, even the sentence sounded odd in your head. A flash of amber headlights on the street grabs your attention and before you can delve into the flip of your stomach, you duck out of the house and slip into Steve’s car.

You take the front seat. Mainly because it would be too weird to get in the back, as though he was your chauffeur — though you suppose for tonight, he is. Steve smiles when you get in and you find it easy to mimic it. Gravel crunches as his tires pull away from the curb, gathering speed as he heads for Robin’s house.

Eyes out the window, you don’t see how he steals glances at you every couple of moments. The air feels tinged with awkwardness and Steve swallows, wondering if he’s allowed to break it. You’ve been a little warmer to him — I mean, hell, you just offered him a smile.

As he pulls the car up in front of Robin’s house, engine idling, he pushes out a breath and dredges up his courage.

Yes, in the beginning, the compliments were because he wanted you to not see him and scowl. Tonight, it’s because you look beautiful and he wants you to know it.

“You look—” Oh god, and now you’re looking at him, eyes a little wide before they narrow in suspicion. “—uh, pretty.”

“What?”

“I mean, you always look pretty!” He amends. “But, y’know, you look lovely tonight. Pretty.” Stop talking.

“P-Pretty lovely.” It falls off his tongue in haste, delivered so terribly he’s surprised he doesn’t cringe immediately after. God, it was like whatever flirting skills he had flew out the window with you.

“No, Harrington, I mean— why do you keep saying these things?”

Steve feels utterly lost, shown on his face as he blinks, once, twice, and doesn’t say anything. Your insecurity bubbles up, mixed with anger at the thought he might indeed be messing with you.

“I don’t know if this is funny to you, to- to like, joke that you like my clothes or- or to pretend to think that I’m pretty but it’s not. And I—”

“Woah, wait — who said I was joking?” Incredulity taints each word, his brows pulled high in surprise. Steve’s stomach twists, feeling his heart recoil at the complete seriousness in your words — you think he’s been making fun of you.

“Well, why else would you call me pretty?” You ask pointedly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Because you are?” It’s faint, Steve’s voice suddenly a lot softer.

You’re not sure you can contain the ripple of emotions on your face, his words sticking you in the throat so you have to swallow thickly. It’s like a switch is flipped, each compliment of the last couple of weeks shifting into a new meaning in your mind.

It’s overwhelming and you find yourself searching Steve’s face desperately, drinking in his sincere expression, brows drawn together as he offers a weak smile. Fuck, you think and along with it, dozens of apologies fester and churn — god, you’d been so rude and—

“Um, backseat please!” A sharp knock at your window scares you, nearly jumping out of your skin and breaking your focus on Steve. When you turn, Robin’s standing on the sidewalk, bent at the waist to peer at you through the glass. You stare at her dumbly for a moment til she wiggles her eyebrows with a grin and it makes you crack a smile, finally reeling yourself in enough to move.

Unclipping your belt, you’re rather thankful to be shoved to the back of the car. Hidden in the dark, you shift to take the seat behind Steve. Your eyes spy a sliver of his neck, exposed skin about the collar of his jacket and it fixates you for a moment.

Because you are? Steve’s words follow you, plaguing you in the shadows of the backseat — you purposefully ignore how it makes your heart sing ever-so-slightly.

Fact #4: Bradley O’Connor is not to be trusted.

“Guess who came into my work today?”

It’s said all gleeful, your hands gripping the counter as you nearly launch yourself over it in your excitement. On the other side stands Robin, doodling in her notebook — or she had been, til your arrival had been announced by the door chime, her ‘Welcome to Family Video!’ cut off by your sudden commotion.

“Um,” Robin begins indignantly, brows raised high. “Half of Hawkins? You work at Bradley’s Best Buy y/n, like the whole town shops there.”

Her sarcasm bounces off you, undeterred in your good mood; it was like the sun was shining just for you today. You didn’t even mind Steve obviously listening in on you two, his hands frozen above the keyboard as he eavesdropped from his seat at the computer.

“Yeah, speaking of Bradley’s...” you grinned at Robin, hoping your hint was enough. It was, her expression shifting into something more enthusiastic.

“Bradley Bradley?”

You nod at her question, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip in an attempt to contain your giddy grin. But it’s hard when your long-term high school crush Bradley O’Connor came through your till, flirted like there was no tomorrow, and insisted you jot your number on his receipt.

He didn’t even seem to care that you worked at a supermarket. You knew well that he and all his friends lived in the cushy tax bracket which meant the first job they ever worked would be after college. Kids like you and Robin, stuck working hours in dead-end jobs to help pay rent, were often easy pickings for teasing.

It just made you lean into your naive feelings more, swooning at the fact he didn’t care. You had been too elated in your feelings to notice the piles of his friends waiting outside the store; if you had, it might’ve made you more cautionary.

“Bradley O’Connor?” Steve butts in, swiveling in his chair to question you. The way Steve says his name, tinged in disbelief, makes you narrow your eyes.

“Is that so hard to believe?” You say defensively and chose to not acknowledge Robin’s deep sigh. Eyes widening, Steve splutters for a moment as he shakes his head.

“What? No, not like that! I just mean—him? Really?”

You can’t quite pick what’s hiding in his voice, eyes instead following Robin as she whirls around and delivers a glower that makes Steve reconsider his tone, swallowing.

“I mean—” He starts again, clearing his throat, cheeks a titch pink now. “I didn’t realise he was... your type.”

You stare at Steve, your expression skeptical as you try to pull apart whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. When you can’t figure it out in a moment, you ignore the comment and turn back to Robin and ignore it.

“Asked for my number.” You lean closer to Robin, wiggling your brows as you lead her along the excitement you’d felt earlier today. “Insisted on it actually.”

Robin’s brows manage to raise even higher, nearly disappearing into her hairline and you’d be a bit offended if her grin didn’t match your own.

“Oh. My. God.” She says, her pen punching down on the pages of her notebook to punctuate each word. “Oh my god.”

You don’t bother trying to hold back your grin, nodding along, some form of a squeal escaping you — it vaguely occurs to you should rein it in with Steve listening in, but you can’t find it in yourself to curb your feelings for his sake.

“Finally!” Robin manages to break her script of oh my god’s. “You’ve only liked him for—what? Two years?”

You flush automatically at the admission, your grin becoming a grimace as you shoot a glare at your best friend. She means well, but you’re not exactly lining up to let Steve Harrington in on all your secrets.

Your eyes flit over to where he sits, still watching the conversation. As if he can read your unease, he mimes turning a lock over his lips and tosses the key behind him blindly in an exaggerated motion. You’re in a good enough mood that it makes you laugh lightly, breaking back into a smile and comforted that at the very least, Steve won’t go ratting out your affections.

“Hey, as happy as I am for you, aren’t you supposed to be helping your Mom today?”

Like a bubble bursting, Robin reminds you that, alas, the world exists outside the perfect moment of exchanging digits over the cash register at work. Your eyes widen, a little horrified as you spin around and squint at the clock on the wall. Shit.

“Shit.” You verbalize the thought and you’re out the door before you remember to call out your goodbyes.

Steve watches you go, your purple wind-breaker flapping behind you wildly as you all but sprint around the corner and out of sight. It’s a bit too comical and he can’t help but chuckle. The sound draws Robin’s attention and all too suddenly, Steve feels as though he’s been caught doing something wrong as she whirls around to face him.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Steve wonders if he’ll have to remind her that despite the jokes they both make, he can’t actually read her mind.

She breaks the silence. “What was that?”

“What was what?” It’s genuine confusion, Steve’s head tilting to the right an inch.

“I didn’t realise he was your type.” Robin mocks, her voice high pitch and hands gesturing somehow sarcastically. “That! What was that?”

Steve frowns, defensiveness creeping up in his tone. “That was nothing!”

Okay, so, that sounded way less casual than he hoped. Steve clears his throat, spinning on his seat to face the computer again. It was nothing. Robin was being a vulture, picking at remains, picking at nothing — absolutely nothing.

“Nothing at all.” He mutters, beginning to type again and Robin snorts behind him, voice still doused in sarcasm.

“Mm, for my own sake, I’m gonna ignore the fact you’re clearly interested in her.”

Steve hits a wrong key in his surprise, an annoyed beep! coming from the computer. It sums up how he’s feeling. He turns his head back to Robin, brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “What? No, no way.”

“Yes, way.”

“Robin, no. Even if I did—not that I do but even if I— look, I’m not stupid enough to get a crush on someone who hates me.”

This puts out the fiery retorts for just a moment, Robin dimming as she recalls the bitterness you harbor for Steve. Well, harbored — she knows you back to front and she’s willing to bet money that if you stopped hating him for just a second, you’d probably like the guy.

“She doesn’t know you.” She lands on eventually, features softening as she recalls the bitterness on Steve’s face whenever some idiot from high school dragged up his past — usually, in an attempt to humiliate him.

“Look, I’m not interested in her.” Steve reiterates, though a little weak, waving his hands wildly as if it will help drive the point home. “Not gonna happen. Never gonna happen. “

The door rattles as it’s opened by a new customer. Robin and Steve both cease their conversation immediately, turning to greet automatically — and who should it be Bradley O’Connor, himself. He doesn’t spare a glance at the front counter, sauntering straight into the action movie aisle.

“In fact,” Steve begins, an idea formulating in his mind. He spins back to Robin with a grin. “I’ll happily help her get her next date.”

“Steve, don’t—“

Steve ignores her protest, sidling out from behind the counter and tracking Bradley down to where the rom-com section starts.

“Welcome to Family Video!” It’s a bit cheery and it makes the boy jump in surprise, surprised by the new voice. Steve continues. “Anything I can help you with today?”

Bradley chuckles stiffly, a little affronted at the enthusiasm Steve’s to help a customer. He clocks the double take he does, the glance down at Steve’s name badge giving away that Bradley’s well aware of who he is. Exhaling, Steve hopes he won’t bring it up.

It looks as though Bradley weighs something up in his head, taking another once over at Steve before he speaks. “Yeah, actually. You know what movies chicks dig?”

Steve can tell in the way Bradley says the word chicks that he’s an asshole. Not thinking of girls as people, more like scores: notches in his belt. It makes him tick, jaw clenching.

But he was like that once. Nancy Wheeler had found a genuine spot in him and coaxed it out. You — you could do the same.

So, Steve says, “Yeah, man. Anyone in particular? Usually depends on the girl, honestly.”

Bradley sniffs, one hand nudging under his nose as he skirts his gaze around the store. He lands on Robin, who thankfully, doesn’t look like she’s trying to eavesdrop at that exact moment.

“Do ya know y/l/n?” He jerks his chin in the direction of Robin. “Buckley’s friend?”

Steve nods, glad at the easy segue; now, all he had to do was talk you up. And Steve Harrington was nothing if not a flatterer. He halts a moment later with a frown, realising what a noncommittal date it was. You deserved better than that, Steve thought.

“y/n? You can’t just rent out a film for a girl like that. She’s a total catch, dude— you gotta do the whole nine yards, yanno? Cinema, popcorn, be a gentleman and all.”

He pairs his suggestion with a usual charming smile, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Bradley seems to pick up on the extra interest and his brows quirk up.

“You got like, a thing for her or something?”

His pink cheeks nearly give him away. Steve, to his credit, manages to not blunder his next response. It’s almost like Robin’s line of fire earlier prepped him for this moment.

“Nah,” he replies, coolly. “She’s just a friend.”

The next words are a little less casual, Steve straightening up as a surprising amount of protectiveness curls in his gut. “And as her friend, I’m just looking out for her.”

Bradley swallows, breaking eye-contact as if Steve could puzzle out his ill intentions if he looked long enough.

“So, be nice and take her out all proper.” Steve lets it sit in the air for a moment, then smiles, a polite way that’s well practiced in his line of work. “Can I get anything else for you?”

It might be the quickest customer Robin’s ever checked out, with Bradley managing to get the film rented and be out the door in under 2 minutes.

Thankfully, Robin is chuckling when he wanders back behind the counter. He had been harboring a thread of anxiety, worried he had really overstepped by thinking he knew best — it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. On top of that, Steve really doesn’t want this to bite him in the ass, especially considering it was to help you.

“Don’t—” Robin starts, a smile curling her lips. “—let this go to your head, but that wasn’t nearly half bad.”

Steve tries not to feel smug, settling instead on pleasantly content. He was in your good books after this, for sure.

When you call the store from home, wire twisted in your fingers and talking loud enough in your excitement that Steve could hear it from beside Robin, she makes sure to mention the good word he put in for you.

Fact #5: If you call Steve Harrington from a pay-phone on a Friday night, he’ll pick up.

The bleak cold of the night air isn’t anything compared to the shame that’s building in your chest. You’re trying your best to ignore it, to not give in to your anxious doubts — what did Bradley say on the phone?

It was supposed to be a movie night at his place — that was what he’d suggested when he toyed with your feelings at work, a handsome smirk on his face. You’d tried not to sound disgruntled at the hurried change in plans, instead trying to lean into your excitement that tonight went from casual to a definite date.

Bradley O’Connor didn’t just invite anyone to the movies with him. And he’d said 7 on the phone, you huffed to yourself.

7 o’clock. The showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off that was playing at Hawk cinema. Though, he did sound a bit distracted on the phone, his voice sounding distant.

You glance at the clock above the ticket booth. 7.13pm.

Heaving a sigh, you tuck your coat closer around yourself and wonder how long you should wait before it goes from sad to truly pathetic.

Five more minutes, you think, Give him five more minutes.

Because you hopelessly want his flirts, his coy smile, and charming winks to be real; you want to be swept up in a teenage daydream and have it all work out for you for once.

You swallow, picking at your fingers as you dredge up your hopes, convincing yourself he’s coming — because if he doesn’t...it means Steve and his confused tone were fucking right. That Bradley wasn’t the type to go for your type.

You shouldn’t have waited the five extra minutes.

Technically, you think bitterly, you were right. Bradley does show up.

You’re stepping out, wondering if you should brave the walk home in the dark — but a familiar group of raucous boys in Letterman jackets heading for the cinema freeze you in your tracks.

“Holy shit, she actually came.”

It’s not said kind, not in awed disbelief as you’d hoped. It’s cruel — jeering explodes in the group of boys, unkind laughs and snickers resounding off the bricks as they smack each other, all in on the joke. The realisation sinks into your stomach, staining it black.

Bradley looks smugly satisfied — a pompous conceited piece of shit that you should’ve known better than to believe.

You don’t even want to look at him, a hot sting of tears burning behind your eyes. You don’t want to give him a chance to taunt you. Your feet take you forward, barging through the group and smacking your shoulder against Bradley’s shoulder, hard. You hope it hurts.

“Tell Harrington thanks for the suggestion to take you to the movies!” He calls after you like he knows how it rubs salt into the wound. It does; it stings maybe more than the initial humiliation. “Guess he’s not an idiot all of the time!”

The boys laugh, a series of oohs that finally break your floodgate. Tears streak, hot and fast, and you brush them off before they reach your chin, sniffling. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

The humiliation is coating you, sticky and clinging like a fog and you squeeze your eyes closed as you inhale quickly. You round the corner fast, feet not stopping til you’re at least four blocks from the cinema, further downtown.

You feel dumb. Scratch that, you feel like a fucking idiot.

A stray tear escapes without permission and the next thought is that you want to go home. Blurry eyes scanning the street, you clock the phone booth and head for it, fueled by the urgency of your thoughts: get home, then fall apart.

The glass is cold as you push the door open, creaking and weathered. You close the door and turn, staring at the phone. Who do you call?

Your mom is the first thought. She’d driven you in — though, you’d told her you’d get a lift home with Bradley since he had a car. You’re not up for the coddling you’ll get when she sees the state of you in the slightest. Besides, she’d mentioned heading to a friends for the evening.

Robin is the next thought. And you would, except she can’t drive so all she’d do is ply you with a combination of questions and furious insults directed at Bradley.

Your next thought...No.

You sigh, leaning your head against the glass, not caring about how grimy it might be, and smack your head against it a couple of times. No, no way were you about to call Steve Harrington for a lift.

Not when he fucking set you up. Not when he’d just taken the shred of trust you’d granted him and torn it up immediately. Especially not after crying because you believed a date like that with a guy like Bradley O’Connor was genuine.

You were not calling Steve.

The Harrington household number is easy to find in the paper phone book.

It’s under Steve’s father’s name, some prick with big money who’d likely report you to the police for harassment if he picked up the phone. You stare at it and then at the phone, a frown set on your brow as you weigh it up.

Steve didn’t work Friday night — you know, because it used to be a night to go visit Robin, back when you avoided Steve.

A stray thought floats up, bringing back the words of Robin on the phone as she had celebrated the news. It’s a bitter memory now, made entirely worse as you recall what she had said. Steve talked you up, her voice crackled down the wire, when O’Connor came in. Put in a good word for you.

A new emotion surges in your chest and you’re relieved to shrug off some humiliation for anger. God, you feel even more stupid for thinking Steve would’ve actually talked you up.

As you punch in the number, the keypad taking a bit of a beating, you huff and think at the very least, he can owe you a ride for ruining your evening.

“Harrington residence, this is Steve.”

“Harrington.” You spit it out with venom. On the other side of the phone, Steve recoils a bit, surprised at the tone.

“y/n? I thought you were—”

“I’m on Cavendish Boulevard, right by Tony’s. Come pick me up.” It’s fierce and clipped. You don’t really want to unleash your anger on the phone, lest he leaves you stranded and you have to ring around your mother’s friends just to find her. You just want to go home.

Steve makes a noise of confusion over the phone, a bit slow on the uptake. “But I thought tonight was—”

“Harrington.” you say again, a little softer, your emotions leaking into your voice involuntarily. Fuck, you sound pathetic but in the moment you can’t bring yourself to care. You plead, “Please.”

“I’m coming,” He says, voice indicating he’s caught on to why you might be calling. “Yeah, I’m coming, just sit tight.”

Fact #6: When Steve Harrington says he ‘knows a spot’, he doesn’t always mean Skull Rock.

You’re angry.

That much Steve can tell. Steve’s reminded too much of the last ride he gave you when you pop the door, sliding almost uncomfortably into the passenger seat and turning your clenched jaw towards the window.

Unrest torments Steve’s head, unsure if he’s gained enough trust to ask what went wrong this evening. On the other hand, you had called him. At the very least, you trusted him to come and get you.

The tires groan as he drives out of Tony’s parking lot, the hood of the car dipping to the gutter and rolling out onto the quiet roads.

“Am I allowed to ask what happened?” Steve drives slow so his eyes can flick over to you, watching the way you smooth your hands down your thighs, a self-soothing motion. It makes his chest twinge, a tad more worry than he’s probably warranted to considering you are barely friends. If that.

“Depends.” you finally turn to face him, a pinch in your eyebrows. “What did you say to Bradley?”

Steve detects the cynicism of your question in a heartbeat. Even though he knows he was all charm, Robin even affirmed it, he still rehashes the conversation, scrutinizing it for what he had said wrong.

You take his silence as admittance. Scoffing lightly, you focus back out the window, eyes boring into the streets. You’re in the middle of a mutter, something like I was so right about you when Steve manages to find his voice.

“I—” Shyness has crept up inside, Steve suddenly worried you’ll find his comments odd and not endearing. Worse, you’ll think he’s being in-genuine again. You’re just quiet, waiting. “I told him that he should take you to the cinema, instead of just renting a film. That you deserved a better— a proper date.”

He shoots a look in your direction, trying to see how you take in the words. Your shoulders have bunched up stiffly, your body turning further away but he can still see the furrow in your brow, angry emotions emitting out in every direction from you — you don’t believe him.

“I swear,” He continues, more desperate to prove himself. “I said something about— that you were a catch and- and you can ask Robin, I swear to—”

“Steve, stop.”

Horror churns through his gut when Steve realises you’re crying, soft tears dripping off your cheeks. As if you can sense he’s about to talk again, ready to rattle off his insistence, you speak before him.

“If I believe you,” you inhale shakily, pushing your palms into your eyes hard. You don’t want to cry in front of Steve. “If you’re telling the truth, then that means...”

Your teeth chew on your lip, hiding its quiver as you relive the humiliation of earlier all over again. “It means, I was actually stupid enough to believe him.”

Painfully, Steve can feel the embarrassment rolling off you in waves as you bury your face away. He swears under his breath. He’d detected asshole from Bradley two words in but this? This was not even in the ballpark of what he’d considered happening tonight. How fucking childish to ask someone out as a joke.

You seem to be slipping into a ramble, uncaring that you’re pouring your feelings out to Steve — Steve who you hate, or at least you did. Steve who you were ready to verbally pummel a minute ago. Steve who is looking at you so gingerly that you might consider he actually cares about you.

“He- all his friends were there.” You admit, words wobbling and tone revealing your utter mortification. “It was just a big fucking joke.”

For a minute, the car is silent; you stare at the road and watch it get swallowed beneath the car.

“I’m— I’m so fucking sorry.” Steve starts again, feeling like he’s managed to take one step forward and fifteen backward with you. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I had no idea he would do that, I swear, I wouldn’t have—“

He cuts himself off, apparently out of words to say, or taking your silence as a cue to shut up. His apology sits in the silence and you know now, he means it. Bradley’s smugness compared to Steve’s sincerity leaves no contest; you’d been too in your own head to realise you’d muddled them up.

You’re faintly aware that Steve has been driving absently, guzzling up gas so you can have a moment suspended away from reality. But he seems to grip the wheel tighter, with more purpose, and instead of looping the block again, Steve picks a route.

You wipe under your eyes again, sniffling through your clogged throat. “Where are we going?”

Steve adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, throwing a glance at you.

“Where I go when I’m upset.”

A snarky retort rises in your mind on instinct, the hurt part that wants to lash out, make someone hurt like you’re hurting. You think about saying something like what does rich, popular Steve Harrington get upset about? when he says, “Helped me a lot after the, uh, the mall fire.”

You swallow the words on your tongue and guilt stains your throat.

It’s a short drive; Steve drives so comfortably that you question how many times he’s traced this route. Too plagued by horrid memories, forced into his car and driving until he’s tired enough to sleep without nightmares.

You can’t say you’re expecting the stretch of road that crawls out to Skull Rock. For a moment you regard him, wondering if he’s daft enough to try to get lucky right now. But the car veers off track, driving down a less traveled path.

He doesn’t stop til you’re surrounded by timber trunks — there’s not much room to open your door when Steve puts the car into park.

Normally, you make a witty comment — “You didn’t bring me out here to kill me, right? I can’t see how that would make me feel any better.” — but you bite your tongue. You feel too downbeat to be witty now.

Steve rounds the car and pops the trunk, leaning over it with one hand still gripping the top. He rummages for a moment, moving junk around til he pulls out a couple of items: a baseball bat, some bag that clinks noisily, and a few other items, stuffed quickly into the bag. He tucks the baseball bat under his arm.

“C’mon,” he murmurs and waves you to follow him, after shutting the trunk and locking the car. Again, you’re eerily aware that this route is well-familiar to Steve. You stumble to keep up, eyes on your feet so you don’t get a face full of dirt.

Eventually, the trees give way to a clearing littered with various junk, glittering broken glass all around making Steve tell you to watch where you step.

He makes his way towards a rotten tree trump in the centre of the clearing, poorly cut and barely a flat surface on it. Still, Steve digs around in the bag and fishes out an empty beer bottle. You think you can guess where he’s going with this.

Carefully, he manages to balance it on a slanted surface and as expected, he draws the bat out from under his arm and offers it to you.

The wood is warm from being pressed against his side and you curl your fingers around it, sapping it into your hands. He digs around in the bag for another moment, revealing a pair of safety glasses — damn, he’s really prepared.

Steve unfolds them and steps closer, offering them out to you — but you don’t remove your hands from the bat, instead jutting out your chin to indicate for him to put them on for you.

It makes him pause. Steve regards you for a moment, eyes unsure before he steps even closer.

It steals your breath, the intensity of his gaze as he pushes the glasses up your nose, his fingers tracing along the rims and down the arms of the glasses, tucking any stray hair behind your ears. It’s oddly intimate, watching him through the plastic, his expression focused, breath fanning over your face. He looks handsome — the shadows cutting his jawline nicely and you can smell his cologne when he’s this close.

When he steps back, you have to remind yourself to breathe — the scent of him still swirls in your chest.

Even though you know what he’s brought you here for — the bottle, the bat, the open junkyard already doused in broken litter — you still don’t make a move.

Steve gestures to the bottle. “Hit it. Hard as you can.”

It’s a soft instruction; you know if you wanted, you could turn around and he’d drive you all the way home, no questions asked. But then you’d spend the rest of your evening drowning your sorrows, wallowing in a pint of ice-cream and sniffling over the phone to Robin.

You turn to face the bottle, lifting the bat, and readying your grip.

Holy shit, she actually came.

The bat connects fast with the bottle, a loud crash pistoling off and filling the clearing — the brown glass dissolves into the night, pieces are thrown in every direction and you’re suddenly very grateful for the safety glasses.

You heave in a breath, surprised by how that felt. It’s thrilling. You whip around to look at Steve and choke on a laugh at what you see — he’s put on a ridiculous pair of sunglasses.

They’re not at all the usual stylish ones he’s worn to parties before. It’s likely didn’t want that pair damaged but still needed to protect his eyes. Instead, these pair look like women’s sunglasses, with big wide round frames. It’s a bizarre sight, Steve Harrington is women’s sunglasses, at night-time no less.

“Nice glasses.” The tease falls off your lips instinctively, a laugh contained in the words.

Back to poking fun at him — a definite sign you’re feeling better. He sighs, playing it up, popping his hip, and planting his hands on his sides.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. “Be thankful I gave you the cool ones. Normally, it’s just me up here anyways.”

It’s somewhat of a lie. He’d bought two pairs of the safety glasses, one for Robin as well, but she hadn’t liked the loud noises of broken glass when he brought her with him.

But Steve thought the stupid oversized glasses his mom had tried to dump — he was going to offer them to Robin but it had slipped his mind — would be a better choice. You wouldn’t be thinking about fucking O’Connor if he’s in women’s sunglasses.

It’s surprisingly effective; a giggle titters out of you again and you cover your mouth as if it’ll help hide the sound. You’re a bit bewildered at how easy it feels to laugh so soon.

Steve pushes the glasses up onto the top of his head, his hair sticking up at odd angles and he narrows his eyes at you. His smile gives him away. He bends and roots through the bag, finding another bottle for you to smash. The sunnies slip back down to cover his eyes as he sets up the next one.

It wobbles precariously on the stump but you don’t wait for it to settle, baseball bat swinging and shattering it in a second.

“Fuck!” You scream and the curse is swallowed up in the splintering sound of glass. Steve whoops, looking almost like a suburban mom, cheering from the sidelines. The scream helped — hell, swinging with all your might and channeling your rage into demolishing a bottle was definitely helping. You don’t feel upset, you feel enraged.

The stump isn’t empty for long, Steve dutifully scoops up another bottle and places it out for you. He pauses, sunglasses back in his hair, and points at the bottle as he fixes you with a determined look.

“This one’s O’Connor.”

You meet his eyes, his brows knitted together and an expression that says he wants you to destroy it because he’s angry with you — angry for you. He steps back.

When you hit it, an earsplitting crack thunders out. The bottle fractures, fragments careening off in every direction. A wild grin sweeps across your face, knowing that whatever comes at school next week— whether Bradley went back to ignoring your existence or used tonight as fuel for taunting — you could just picture how you felt as you shattered that bottle.

“That felt good.” You breathe out, turning back to Steve. Your teeth graze your bottom lip, sinking in to stop from grinning like a lunatic. A delirious laugh wrestles itself out of your chest and you let your head drop back, eyes turning up at the inky sky, laughs petering out.

Steve tries to ignore how the sound lights up his chest like a Christmas tree, some part of him burning with glee with the knowledge you’re feeling better because of something he did.

He watches your gaze rove across the sky, searching for something he doesn’t know. He’s not sure if he should dig out the next bottle or whether this was it — that now, he’d take you home now and he’d be back to just a brief hint of a smile from you if that.

Head dropping forward, you offer back the baseball bat and Steve’s heart sinks.

Reining in his dejection so it doesn’t show, Steve takes it from you and pulls a polite smile; at the very least, he’ll get some credit with Robin for cheering up her best friend.

As he moves to tuck it under his arm, he freezes at your own motions. You’re bending down, rummaging through the bag, and scoring a bottle — this time, a big champagne bottle, left on the bench from the last time his parents had been home. Four? No, five days ago.

You plant it on the stump, hands hovering around it as it quivers for a moment, only dropping them when the bottle finally settles. You step back, look at him and Steve finally understands what you’re doing.

Surprise sprouts in his chest, his lips parting. You’re giving him a turn?

“Well?”

He’s been gawking a bit, he realises and Steve remembers to close his mouth. He shifts the bat out from under his arm and then pulls the sunglasses off his head. He offers them to you, with a nod.

“Swap. I’ll miss the bottle completely with these on.”

“But that’ll make me laugh.” You point out, tone cheeky as you pass them over regardless.

Steve slides them on, a dramatic eye-roll as he steps up to swing. He’s usually only here when his anger is feeling uncontrollable, like hot lava boiling over and burning him from the inside out. He’s calmer tonight, with no emotions running rampant — well, maybe not any bad ones at least.

He scrounges his brain to think of what’s annoyed him this week; Keith, as always. The champagne bottle on the stump, the only bitter evidence his parents had been home in the last week. The agonizing wobble in your voice as you’d cried in the passenger seat of his car.

There’s a familiar burn in his muscles when he swings, another bottle sacrificed to anger and destined to a life scattered in the dirt. You whoop loudly, just as he had, and Steve can understand why you’d laughed at the sight of him in those sunglasses. They’re huge and you look nearly bug-like, shiny round domes of black staring back at him.

“Nice glasses.” He grins cheekily, a copy of your own words. He doesn’t need to see your eyes to know you’re rolling them at him.

The bat and safety glasses get passed between you two, equal turns until the bottles run out. Steve’s only sorry he didn’t bring more, drinking in the giddy and wild grin that overcomes your face when another bottle meets its fate.

When you pack it in and stumble back to his car, Steve revels in the closeness you seemed to have gained. No longer three steps behind, your shoulders brush his on the walk and when you stumble over a root, your hand shoots out and grips his arm, steadying yourself. You hold it for a moment longer than you should.

The skin of your hand still tingles as you slide into the passenger seat. The air of the car is more comfortable now, cozy even, as Steve cranks the heat and the trees pass you in a blur as you drive out. Bruce Springsteen’s Hungry Heart is warbling on the radio, the volume turned low and you can’t help but stare at him.

You were so wrong about him.

You were so astronomically wrong about him; it’s the only thing you can think of as you drive home, amber streetlights illuminating the streets of Hawkins. The clock on the dash reads 9.57pm — meaning you’ve been with Steve for nearly two hours. The fact nearly draws an awed sort of laugh, but you press it down til it’s only a smile, hidden as you turn back to the window.

He drops you off by 10.14pm, insisting on buying you a milkshake to complete the night.

Honest, I get one after every time I smash shit. It’s hard work you just did! He’d said as he ordered. One chocolate shake for you, one vanilla, for him. You gotta, like, replace electrolytes and all. The fact you don’t think he’s said it to make you laugh, makes you laugh even harder.

The milkshakes sustain the silence on the final drive home and you quickly understand immediately the importance of the shake. After all the frustration, the sugar is near soothing as the cold sweet dances on your tongue.

The engine idles as Steve brings the car to a halt by the curb outside your house. You eye it, astonished by your reluctance to end the evening and you wonder if Steve can tell.

You don’t know if you want him to notice it or not; reading into your hesitancy feels like a whole new can of worms. The porch light is on, waiting for you.

Home. What you’ve been yearning for since 7.15pm this evening — finally, the roller-coaster of emotions has wrung you out and tiredness seeps into your bones. But you can’t leave without a goodbye. Not without telling Steve what tonight meant to you.

“Thank you.”

You don’t mean to murmur it, but it’s nearly a whisper as you take your eyes off the house to turn to Steve in the driver’s seat.

Steve somehow manages to soften more at the quiet words, an easy smile pulling on his lips. He nods. It means of course like you don’t even have to thank him for it. The car purrs beneath you, filling the silence with a quiet rumble.

You want to say it again, louder because it’s not just a thank-you — it’s thank you, I’m sorry, I was wrong about you, can we start over? I hated you for the longest time but do you ever think you could like me?

The last thought punches a breath out of you and it sets you in motion. You couldn’t be having those thoughts; not with the tension in the air, his closeness so enticing now you’ve tasted it once. You couldn’t be having those thoughts at all.

You’re on the sidewalk, about to close the door before you remember to squeak out a ‘goodnight!’. The walk to your door is short enough that you shouldn’t feel the cold of the night — besides, you’re too warm inside, emotions churning wildly to notice anyways.

It doesn’t help when you reach the porch and peek over your shoulder, the maroon BMW still waiting by the curb, amber headlights shining, for you to make it inside okay.

Fact #7: You’re way too wasted right now.

You’d started with vodka and that had been, what? An hour ago.

An hour ago when O’Connor had made his entrance with his buddies, stupid cheers erupted from the crowd of high schoolers that were stupid enough to worship the likes of him.

Or maybe, you’re the stupid one for hoping you wouldn’t see him tonight.

But if the open invite to Melody Carter’s house for a late-night Saturday party meant the likes of you and Robin could come, of fucking course O’Connor would be there.

You had been only planning on one more drink, the one you’d been pouring when O’Connor showed face, but his smirk across the room had you finishing it instantly. It burned as you swallowed it down, your hands already moving to pour more liquor into your cup.

Two more shots down of — what was it? The label tells you it’s tequila — and you’re thoroughly drunk. Which, honestly, might not be a great move considering the number of people at this party. There are a lot of people here.

What had started as a party for only the senior year had quickly snowballed, kids older and younger showing up. Hell, you were pretty sure you’d seen Aaron Bright pass through the front door, a boy two years out of high school.

Did that mean Steve was coming?

Oh-kay, that had to be the tequila speaking.

But once the thought is in your head, it spins out, unstoppable, careening and building up your hopes before you remember to crush them. You weren’t hanging out to see Steve; quite the opposite in fact.

The bottle-smashing adventure you’d shared with him had been just over a week ago and maybe your thoughts had strayed to him a couple of times. A couple of times might be putting it lightly.

You just— you didn’t know how to act around him anymore.

Without the shield of ‘Steve Harrington is a douchebag’ to give a reason for your scowls, you had to admit he was utterly charming.

You couldn’t tell if it was the shift in your own perception or if Steve really was this nice, each sentence flirty or teasing — either way, it meant you were as good as reduced to blundering through any interaction with him.

So, naturally, you’d resorted to avoiding Family Video instead, which, hey, might not have been your best idea.

Robin had tracked you down after you didn’t show up to two of her evening shifts to hang. Gossip flowed as you divulged her in your Friday night, the prank O’Connor had pulled, and the subsequent tears that had followed. With a guilty smile, you let Robin get wrapped up in her anger and forgive your absences — too distracted to even ask how you’d gotten home.

Technically, you hadn’t lied. You had just... omitted certain facts.

Besides, you were feeling confused enough about Steve all on your own. You had no doubt that adding Robin, the mutual best friend between you two, and her opinion would make it all the messier.

Or maybe she’ll tell you what you don’t want to hear. Something in your head whispers, the tequila burning a little fouler in your stomach. That you can’t have him. That she knows him and he would never want you.

For good measure, you chase down one more shot.

And that’s how Steve finds you — wasted out in the back garden of a party.

Robin had invited him, halfheartedly during one of their shifts. Honestly, a high school party had very little appeal to him — most parties had no appeal after the events that had transpired in the last couple of years.

But Robin had been a bit adamant as she realised he didn’t have a date lined up like he usually did. He’d winced as she connected the dots, counting on her fingers that it had been nearly two months since he’d used his weekend for social plans. That is, excluding hanging with Robin.

The fact he stopped going on dates round bout the same time you stopped completely ignoring him was completely unrelated. But Steve was glad Robin didn’t notice the coincidence, so she couldn’t grill him about it.

In fact, she was surprisingly mute over his sudden agreement when Robin purposefully mentioned you’d be there. Her twinkling eyes said she knew more than she’d let on.

And at first, it seemed like a colossal mistake to come.

Steve didn’t like alcohol like he used to. The last few years had birthed something in him that hated not being in control of his body, especially when dark corners seem to hold something more sinister, or the lights flickered.

Or maybe it was the fact he hasn’t really been to a party since Halloween ‘84. Steve shoves the memory of that night down, away.

He lasts two minutes in the crowded main room before he’s shouldering out, hoping the garden will provide some relief. It brings lungfuls of fresh air, the natural blanket of the night and you.

You’re fairly certain you came out here to fight the spinning in your head, desperate for fresh air but now, sprawled out on the cool grass, you’re completely distracted by staring up at the sky. You’re not exactly sure what you’re looking for, gazing into the stars.

A head pops into your vision, Steve’s hair flopping over as he peers down at you. “y/n?”

“Steve!”

Whatever he was expecting, it was not the unbridled glee in your voice. You squirm happily, like a slug in the rain, and if your slurring hadn’t given you away, it’s evidence of how drunk you are. It doesn’t matter that something in his head says she’s drunk, he still finds himself smiling.

“That’s me.” He scans the garden for Robin, assuming the two of you would be together. Concern laces his next words. “Why ya out here on the grass, sweetheart?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Steve’s not sure what it is he’s said, but he’s never seen a reaction like this out of you before; your hands cover your face, giggles slipping loosely out as if you’re hiding a secret.

Sweetheart. You hide the flame in your face behind your hands. There’s nothing to be done for your giggles, loud and drunken, not stopping no matter how much you will yourself. The pet-name brands itself onto your heart, the heat of it racing under your skin.

Steve tries again. “Where’s Robin? I thought you two came together.”

“We did.” You remove your hands to reveal your wide-eyed expression as if just remembering the fact yourself. Man, that must have been ages ago. “She was talking to... to...”

“Vickie?” Steve supplies, with an amused smile.

“Yes!” You snap your fingers at him, expression showing a little bit of disbelief mixed with awe. It shows in your words. “How did you know that, Steve?”

Steve. Not Harrington. You’ve called him by his name twice and Steve’s a little embarrassed by how much he likes it. Likes the sound of his name in your mouth, on your lips.

He shakes his head like an etch-a-sketch to get rid of the thought, mind stuck on your lips too long. Stay focused, Steve chides himself. Extending out a hand, he offers it to you with the intent to have both of you track down Robin.

Though, if you’d last seen her with Vickie, there’s a chance Robin would bite his head off for interrupting the two of them. Vickie, apparently, had a hard time believing the fact Steve and Robin’s relationship was entirely platonic in nature. Tracking her down at a party might not help.

He’s pulled out of the tangent of thoughts when you slap your hand into his — and tug.

Steve topples, immediately grateful for his lack of alcohol because, with any less coordination, you’d be squished beneath him. A hand plants on either side of your head, catching himself just above you. You grin, alcohol on your breath and Steve isn’t completely sure whether he’s imagining the pink on your cheeks.

“Uh,” Steve says, before scrambling off you hastily. He wasn’t sure if he could be so close to you without his face growing warm; or worse, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Though spying your amused expression, as if you’d known the closeness would make him blush, maybe Steve didn’t need to be worried.

“S’just,” you say, words a bit mumbled. “s’lay down on the grass. Y’know, look at the stars.”

You point up at the sky in case Steve didn’t understand. The grass is still cool under your back and your head isn’t spinning so much but you don’t really feel like moving. Something in you knows that your limbs will feel like cinder-blocks and movement will send your head back into a tizzy.

Without thinking, your push your lips into a pout and aim it at him. Steve flops down without argument.

“You didn’t tell me why you ended out here,” says Steve, wanting to keep you talking. He’s not entirely confident you won’t just fall asleep if the two of you lapse into silence.

You swing your neck, head lolling to the side to look at Steve. Eyes narrowed, it’s like you’re trying to see if he’s genuinely asking. Whatever you find in your search must satisfy you, because you speak, rolling your head back to peer upwards.

“O’Connor’s here.” You say, bitterness in your tone. “Then my head started spinnin’.”

Steve watches as you tilt your head back towards him, pulling a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “S’now I’m here.”

You’re not sure what convinces you to do what you do next.

Perhaps, it’s because Steve’s expression is tilting too close to pity and you don’t want it; or that you feel lonely enough that you’ll take touch whenever you can, brave enough with the alcohol in your blood to ask.

Or maybe, you just want an excuse to touch him.

“Gimme your hand.” With a gesture of your own, you hold your hand up like you might be asking for a high-five. It wavers, fingers quivering if he looked close enough. After a moment of confusion, Steve humours you.

You feel the callouses first, rough skin scratching against yours as Steve gingerly holds his hand out, letting your press your own against it. It’s warm, warmer than your own and you wish you could twist your fingers until they slotted in with his.

Don’t says a voice in your head, drowned out in the drunkenness. Don’t do this to yourself. Maybe, it’s the voice of reason. It seems you’re very good at building yourself up just to get torn back down.

Hand pressed to hand, you can’t find it in yourself to care about that; you want to touch him, so you ask, and he gives it to you. The alcohol makes it black and white.

You hated him. You did, but now it’s all garbled and wonky and different — and you don’t hate him at all. Not anymore. Every complication you had worked up, all the knots tied in your brain seem to dissolve; hand to hand, it’s easy to admit what you’d been denying to yourself.

“I used to hate you, y’know.”

Steve’s not sure if this will ever get easier to hear. That people he’s grown close to carry reminders, unshakeable memories, of an old ego that still haunts him.

He doesn’t know what to say. He knows you know he’s sorry, that he’s different now. So, he weakly says. “Used to?”

“Yeah.” A smile finds your lips, tugging them up slightly. Steve thinks he could marvel forever at how your lashes kiss in the corner when you smile. It’s aching. “Used to.”

“S’kinda hard to hate you,” you sigh, eyes turning skyward. “I should. You didn’t even remember me a couple months s’ago,”

Steve focuses on your hand against his to deter the twinge in his heart. Your hand is smaller than his and when he curls his fingers, they hug the top of yours. A breath bursts past your lips, loud enough he hears it.

“M’sorry.” he whispers, though he’s said it time and time again.

He doesn’t care; he’ll say it a thousand it times if you’ll keep looking at him like that. Features soft, so different to the glare he’s all but memorised — instead, your eyebrows drawn together like the sight of both your hands, palm to palm, might be the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Steve feels you push back against his fingers, a gentle pressure like you’re trying to hug him back.

“And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Even while drunk, you can’t look at him while you confess. If you look at him, then it’s real and logic will prevail and you’ll rein everything back in.

Looking at both of your hands, feeling the yearning spool in between your ribs — none of it matters. You like him so much that it feels woven into everything else; weaved into the noises of the party, the black of the night, the grass tickling the back of your legs.

You like him so much it makes you sick.

On second thought, that might be the alcohol.

Steve’s response, whatever it might be, vanishes when you rip your hand away and sit up suddenly — emptying to contents of your stomach into a lovely rosebush to your right. Disgusted with the sudden visual aid to what you had for dinner, you groan. The movement has sent your head spinning again, rotating out of the same orbit as Earth.

Steve’s palm soothes down your spine, rubbing warmth as he murmurs comfortingly.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he mutters, more to himself. “You’ll be feeling it in the mornin’.”

You groan again, eyes sliding shut and tumbling you into darkness.

Fact #8: You’re never drinking, ever again.

You’ll be feeling it in the morning. The last memory of last night curls up like smoke in your head and all you can think is Steve was fucking right.

The sheets feel scratchy as you release an agonised noise into your pillow, coiling in tighter. There’s a pounding in your head, bleeding out of your ears and eyes and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so terrible in your life.

Eyes screwed shut tight, you move slowly and draw your head up. Sneaking a look, relief fizzes in your chest as the recognition of your sheets — you made it home, you’re in bed. Never mind that you can’t quite remember how you got here. A shuffle of your legs tells you, uncomfortably, you’re still in last night’s jeans.

What time is it? There’s sun coming through the gap in the curtains. Daytime. Some sleep-covered murmur escapes you, though even you can’t tell what it’s supposed to mean.

Plopping your head back down, you search your memories. It’s an effort to push past your headache to put together the puzzle of last night. Visions of arriving at the party, of drink number one, and dancing with Robin are clear but sometime after O’Connor shows up they begin to get hazy.

You remember the cool grass. The moon. Steve. God, that’s right, he was there — what you might have said to him is anyone’s guess. Another grainy and fogged memory of puking in the bushes. The rest of the night is locked behind a tequila fueled paywall in your brain

Burrowing back into your sheets, the hangover takes priority and you only hope to sleep it off.

—

The next time you wake, the pounding in your head has shifted to the door.

You can’t have been asleep for more than an hour according to your alarm clock, blinking midday numbers back at you as you drag your head up. Thankfully, a large portion of your hangover has been cured with sleep — otherwise, the unending knocks on your door might be the end of you.

You struggle to speak, aware of your sandpaper throat but whatever gurgle you produce is good enough for whoever is on the other side of the door. Robin, judging by the intensity of their knocks.

Lo and behold, Robin bowls into the room once she hears signs of life.

“What did you say to Steve?”

Oh.

That has you sitting up, wincing at the pain it brings and you nurse your head in your hands. “What?” you rasp out. “Nothing!”

That might be a lie. You wince again, searching through you scrambled memories for what she could be referring to and come up short. Robin can read your genuine confusion.

“Why?” The word comes out a bit shot. You clear your throat. “Did he say something to you?”

“Nothing specific,” Robin grimaces a bit. She’s never been the best at hiding her emotions. “He just— he asked if you’d talked to me. Said he was checking if you were still alive. Which, yanno, thank god you are! He said you barfed in Melody’s mom’s rose bush, which quite frankly is hilarious and—“

“Robin.” you moan, trying to cut off her ramble. “Why are you here?”

Robin seems to remember the original reason she was nearly breaking down your door, body jumping like she’s been zapped. “Right!”

She suddenly seems to reconsider herself, ducking her head and beginning a well practiced pace across your carpet. “I know you said you don’t like him, which I get, I know- he was the worst! But I dunno, you seemed to, like, I don’t know? Warm up to him? I guess, he just seemed real bummed on the phone when I said you hadn’t called me.”

A series of emotions jolt through your nerves, none as strong as the elation at hearing Steve had called to ask about you. You push it down with another groan and fling yourself backward, bouncing on the springs of your mattress.

Hands hiding your face, you mumble the next words as if you don’t quite want Robin to hear them.

“I don’t not like him.”

“And I can’t tell what that is supposed mean.” Her pacing hasn’t ceased. Her arms gesticulate wildly as she speaks. “You don’t not like him sorta, to me, just sounds like you like him!”

“Robin,” you whine, well aware of the way she can read you like words on a page. “What do you wanna hear? That you were right?”

Robin halts her pacing, leaning her knees onto the edge of your mattress. You peek at her through your fingers. She’s looking a little more wide-eyed. “Yes. Absolutely. If my two favourite people in the world could suddenly get along, maybe even be friends, I think I’d like to know.”

“We’re not—”

“But that is not why I’m here.” She’s gone serious, brows raised as her voice turns softer. You nearly think she’s taunting you, a hint of a smile hidden in her expression.

“I’m here to discuss the distinct possibility that you have managed to skip the part where we become a cool trio of friends and have traveled into more than friends territory.”

Damn her. She’s too good, unspooling your secret right after you’ve only just managed to admit it aloud (not that you could remember that thought). Dragging your hands down your face, you groan again — there’s no point in hiding it from Robin, especially when she seems to have you all figured out.

“I’m gonna take that as a ‘wow Robin, you’re incredibly smart and totally right’.” She jibes, looking far too smug.

Perplexingly, she doesn’t appear to care that you confirmed Steve had you feeling gooey inside and weak at the knees. You dredge yourself to a sitting position, blankets pooling at your waist, and regard her with as much sarcasm as you can.

“Wow, Robin,” you drawl tiredly, still a bit catty from your lack of sleep. “You’re so totally right.”

“Don’t forget the incredibly smart part.”

You wallop her thigh with your sleeve, halfhearted and not at all mean. She grins. For a moment, you’re monumentally relieved to be sharing this with her — you’re best friends, talking about a boy you like, back to feeling thick as thieves with her.

“You gotta talk to him though, you know that right?”

A sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

—

By the time you’ve rinsed the last of your hangover down the shower drain, washed down with the suds of your strawberry shampoo, the sun is nearing the horizon.

Droplets cling to the ends of your hair, leaving a trail behind you on the carpet as you don fresh clothes. You try your best not to analyse each piece, shoving down any self-doubts and recalling Steve’s generous compliments littered through the past couple of months.

Tonight. It had to be tonight, you decided. Any longer and you’d lose the nerve, crawl back to avoidance because you’re not really sure you want to hear what you said to him in the garden.

You can only imagine it’s some confusing amalgamation of your complicated feelings — mixed with the amount of alcohol you had drunk? It was a stab in the dark trying to guess what you had said.

The plan you have is half-baked at best. The walk to Loch Nora isn’t far — but if your plan goes south, you’ll have plenty of time to wallow and clear your tears on the walk home. Thankfully, It’s still too early for dinner. You can smell the beginnings of it bubbling on the stove as you creep down the stairs.

As soundlessly as you can, you slip out the front door. Warm air greets you. The sunbeams trickle across the sky, dipping lower behind the horizon and painting soft blemishes of pink and orange across the sky.

The other perk of the walk is that you’ll have ample time to decide what you’ll say to Steve; you can deliberate each word, orchestrated so that it can be played down if need be. Minimal cringe and hurt feelings.

You’re running a few options over in your head when the rumble of a car cruising down your road draws your eyes. With a startle, you realise it’s a familiar maroon colour — a car you’d been in just over a week ago.

You watch as Steve parks, evidently so entrapped in his own thoughts to notice you on the doorstep. He’s messing with his hair anxiously, eyes on the ground and when you look closer, his mouth is moving, an indication he’s talking out loud to himself.

He makes it halfway up the driveway before you stumble out to meet him.

“Steve?” You call out and his head shoots up, a little alarmed to see you. His steps falter, the pair of you met in the middle of your drive.

“Y/n. Hi.” For someone who had come to your house, he seems a bit affronted to be seeing you. Acutely, you realise that he’s nervous. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the road. “Were you— is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“No!” You squeak. “No, I was just... coming to see you, actually.”

“Oh.” Steve blinks. He ducks his head for a moment, clearing his throat but you still spot the pink on his cheeks. “How’s your head? You’d had, uh, a lot to drink last night.”

There’s only a mild rush of embarrassment to your system, a sheepish grin playing at your lips. “Right. Last night- I’m sorry you had to, er, see that. Or rather, thank you for taking care of me.”

Steve smiles back. One hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous motion. You don’t mean to zero in on his large bicep, tan skin on display with his short sleeves but it’s impossible not to — Jesus Christ, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose.

You smile timidly, willing your cheeks to cool.

“Yeah, about that.” He starts, eyes shifting about nervously. He can’t pick a spot to focus, too nervous to look you in the eyes.

Steve’s been throwing around your words ever since you uttered them to him in the garden. And now I can’t stop thinking about you. Tone so sweet, so sincere, your brows drawn together like it hurt you to admit how much Steve had been on your mind.

His stomach had nearly turned itself inside out at your reveal, nerves flaming and relief coursing at the realisation that it was mutual. You’d been on Steve’s mind since even before you’d given him your softest smiles after bottle smashing, sugary grins over your milkshake, a genuineness you’d never shared with him before — and after? God, it had driven him mad.

But then you’d scampered out of the car like a spooked animal. Stopped coming by Family Video and cursedly, seemed to slip back into an old pattern of ignoring him.

Then, the garden.

God, if you hadn’t been drunk, and maybe if Steve wasn’t so surprised by the sweetness you showed him, he might’ve kissed you.

Holding your palm against his, you might as well have been grabbing his hopes and hoisting them out of the depths — that perhaps, your avoidance stemmed from something different this time round.

Steve takes in your shy expression, bottom lip trapped in your teeth, and prays it’s all for the same reason he’s nervous and not instead, because you’re trying to awkwardly figure out how to tell him it was all the alcohol talking.

“What you said…” He’s trying to be nice to his feelings, on the defence in case he’s so terribly wrong about this. About you. “Did— did you mean that?”

The face you pull doesn’t instill him with confidence, his stomach plummeting at your hesitance. Fuck. He’d overshot, as usual, clinging too tightly to the threads of affection you’d shown him.

“I…” You’re unsure where to begin. God, what did you say?

Steve thinks he can garner what reaction that is; it’s the exact opposite of what his heart had managed to convince him. You went back to avoiding him on purpose. He cuts you off hoping to save himself some awkward rejection, shaking his head and taking a step back.

“Don’t worry. It was— you were drunk,” Embarrassment starts flooding in, a hot uncomfortable flush up his neck that makes Steve want to sink into the ground. “I shouldn’t have— it was weird of me to ask.”

He’s rambling too fast to get a word in. You take a step forward as he takes another step back, worried that he’ll leave before you can even get a word in. Never mind that all plans for orchestrating the perfect thing to say are out the window — you have to say something.

“I don’t know what I said!” You blurt, desperate to halt his retreat. It works; Steve stops, taken aback by your words. Oh God, what now? You debate where to start.

“Seriously, I— Robin came over and was talking about how you’d called and— I-I remember some of last night but it’s a bit—”

“You don’t...” Steve interrupts, giving a confused shake of his head. The wind ruffles his hair, strands dancing over his forehead. “Remember any of it?”

Why does it feel like you’ve disappointed him? Despite your initial wish to not relive whatever you’d said in the garden, you’re suddenly dying to remember. Even now, you can feel yourself combing the hazy memories, hoping there’s a stone you’ve yet to turn. It’s fruitless.

“I remember embarrassing myself by puking in the bushes.” You grimace as you say it, heat rising in your face. You can feel your nerves fraying, heart pounding but none of it in a good way. “Look, Steve, does it matter what I said? I-“

“It does.” He says, voice suddenly lower. It rasps, more serious than before. “It matters if you meant it. Do you?”

He takes another step forward, close enough that you can smell his cologne again. The same comforting musky scent as when he pushed the safety glasses up your nose and tucked your hair behind your ears in the woods together, touch gentle and eyes kind.

“You said,” He breathes, his honey eyes hopeful. “You couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

Oh.

It seems to be a habit of yours; rewinding through your actions towards Steve in the past, heavy with regret. He’d still been sweet, checking on you out in the garden even though you’d left him in the dark for a week. After managing to make you forget the worst date ever.

Then you’d upchucked your feelings, so drunk you couldn’t remember it, and then your dinner too. You were a mess; Steve Harrington made you a lovely absolute mess. Fuck, you’d likely ruined whatever chance at something with him.

But then again, here he was.

Still showing up, enough hope to dredge together the courage to drive over and ask you what it meant.

“I meant it.” You say, softly. You feel captured in his gaze, pulled into his orbit with no choice about it. He’s like the sun, gravity pulling you closer the longer you stand this close to him. Your heart feels like it’s made of jelly, each thump echoing out into your limbs. “I— fuck, you made it so hard to hate you. I used—”

“—Used to hate me.” Steve recites the words before you can say them, amusement in his voice. Some of his nervousness has leaked out, shoulders less tight. You can nearly see a glint of his Harrington charm in the curl of his lips. “Yeah, you said that last night too.”

It’s said to poke fun, teasing you for last night’s loose tongue. You groan, head tilting back. “God, anything else I said last night that I should know about?”

Steve steps closer. It makes your breath hitch, your head straightening up and bringing your faces closer still. You’re not sure where this is going, not sure what he’s thinking, if he can hear the thunder of your heart — he hasn’t even said anything that implies the feelings are mutual.

You vaguely wonder how he knew that your words held more weight than they appeared. He’d been paying more attention than you’d expected; knowing that I can’t stop thinking about you meant more than what was on the surface.

This time, you know him well enough to know that his teasing is not mocking. That the Steve in front of you is not at all like the one you’d remembered from the school hallways, the one who’d thrown around shitty comments, had notches in his belt, and didn’t care who got hurt as a result.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he says, “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

The world doesn’t stop spinning, but for a moment, it certainly feels that way. Blood rushes in your ears, blooms under your cheeks, and the words sink in. The wind sounds like the sweetest music, the colour spread across the sky is a shade that could only be called love and a boy is telling you he likes you too.

It faintly occurs that the silly teenage daydream you pictured with Bradley — you’re instead getting with a boy you swore you hated not two months ago.

It makes you like him even more.

He’s earned it, your trust, your affection — your kiss.

Wordlessly, you surge forward at the same time Steve does. You clash, gifting each other an awkward headbutt instead of some swooning kiss. Pain splinters momentarily across your forehead, gone after a moment.

You can’t help it, a laugh bursting from your lips. You’re so nervous. It doesn’t deter you, peering up at him with adoring eyes. Somehow, you still manage a tease. “Were you trying to kiss me, Harrington?”

His hands cup your face, fingers tucked under your jaw, and thumbs stroking your cheeks. His own smile barely contained, elation shining in his eyes.

“I will if you stop calling me that.”

He kisses you before you even get a chance to agree.

There’s bliss hidden in his lips, you think happily. Steve kisses soft, plush lips that mold to yours like its second nature, two pieces of the universe aligning.

You can feel the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his thumbs upon your face and you sigh, content, into the kiss because no one has ever kissed you like this.

He kisses you and suddenly, there is no war-torn battle in your mind. Your hands have twisted into the fabric on his shirt, tugging him closer. It’s unbearable. You want him, completely, embarrassingly, and undeniably. You’ll take anything he’ll give you — you want him to give you everything.

When the kiss breaks, it’s only for a moment; Steve presses another, short and gentle, then another, and another, like he can’t handle not stealing another taste of your lips.

“Steve,” you rasp, chuckling a bit. Your eyes are still closed, like you’re worried it’ll all be some dream if you dare to open them. His nose nudges yours, crushing closer to you, unwilling to relent the closeness he’s finally been granted.

“Let me take you out.” He whispers and it’s enough to open your eyes, lashes crinkling as you beam up at him. Steve drops a kiss on your cheek, thumbs stroking with a tender care that makes you shiver. “Please.”

As if you could say no. You give a minuscule nod but your delight is given away in your smile, eyes bright as you admire each detail of his face fondly. “Yeah, alright.”

It makes him laugh, amusement dancing across his features, and God, he looks so handsome you have to kiss him again.

You do, hands escaping the confines of his shirt and twisting around his neck. Steve hums happily, something you’ll come to learn he does whenever you kiss him first. It makes you gleeful, a shot of pure euphoria tipping down your spine. You shiver, wonderfully.

“Just promise me,” you say when you pull back, breathing a titch ragged. You grin. “Not a movie date.”

Steve grins, one hand leaving your face to curl around your waist. It’s warm, heat radiating into your skin.

“Still no faith in me, sweetheart?” He chides, fingers dancing along the skin of your waist, giving away his joy. The pet name makes your knees weak, a flash of a forgotten memory in the garden breaking through.

“Something tells me you’ll convince me.”

Fact #9: The first fact is a lie.

His next kiss feels like a promise; that he’ll do the work to convince you, just like he’d done the last few months. That he’d be more than happy to. You drink in affection from a boy who’s so sweet on you with a happy sigh.

He tastes like sunlight.

Fact #10: You might just be falling in love with Steve Harrington.

taggin sum mutuals below!

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