#they just gave off those ‘I know I hate you but damn you’re a really good kisser’ vibes

[winnie-the-monster]

[jupiterpilgrim]

Adding up

Nakamura Kazuha x Huh Yunjin x Male Reader

word count: 20K

commissioned fic

You push the door open, the weight of the day still clinging to your shoulders. The apartment smells faintly of jasmine—Kazuha’s favorite candle—and something savory, like she tried to cook but gave up halfway. You kick off your shoes, the floor cool under your socks, and glance over at her. She’s perched on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand tugging at the hem of her oversized hoodie. Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. No makeup, just her. Beautiful, even when she’s stressed.

You catch bits of the conversation as you head to the bathroom. “No, you can’t just—no, listen to me—” Kazuha’s voice is low, tense, the kind of tone she uses when she’s trying to be calm but is clearly pissed. You close the bathroom door behind you, the shower drowning out the rest. The hot water helps, washing away the sweat and the stale beer smell from the bar. You change into sweats and a t-shirt, your stomach growling as you head to the kitchen.

Kazuha’s off the phone by now, sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen like it owes her money. You grab a bag of chips from the cupboard, ripping it open with your teeth. “Who was that?” you ask, even though you already know.

“Yunjin,” she says, her voice flat. She picks at a loose thread on the couch cushion, not looking at you. “Her and that idiot got into it again. Big surprise.”

You lean against the counter, crunching on a chip. “They’ve been fighting a lot lately, huh?”

Kazuha nods, her brows furrowed. “It’s bad this time. Like, bad bad. She's talking about taking a break,” She trails off, shaking her head. “But you know how she is. She’ll say she’s done, then go right back to him like nothing happened.”

You do know. Yunjin’s always been like that—fiery, impulsive, but with a soft spot for people who don’t deserve her. Kazuha’s the opposite. Steady, grounded, the kind of person who’d give you the shirt off her back but wouldn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit. It’s why they work as friends, even though Kazuha’s technically the younger one. She’s always been the one to pick up the pieces when Yunjin’s world falls apart.

You walk over to the couch, sitting down beside her. She leans into you automatically, her head resting on your shoulder. You wrap an arm around her, your fingers tracing idle patterns on her arm. “She’ll figure it out,” you say, even though you’re not sure if you believe it. “She’s tough. She just needs time.”

Kazuha sighs, her breath warm against your neck. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this. She deserves better, you know?”

You nod, kissing the top of her head. “She does. But hey, don’t let it ruin tomorrow, okay? We’ve got plans. Two years, babe. That’s a big deal.”

That gets a small smile out of her. She tilts her head up to look at you, her dark eyes softening. “Two years,” she repeats, like she’s testing the words. “You’re right. I’m not letting anything mess that up.”

You grin, brushing a stray hair out of her face. “Damn right you’re not. I’ve got reservations at that place you’ve been obsessing over. The one with the fancy sushi.”

Her smile widens, and for a moment, the worry in her eyes fades. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do,” you say, laughing when she swats at your arm. You pull her closer, the two of you sitting there in comfortable silence.

For now, at least, everything feels okay.

—

The restaurant is one of those places that feels like it’s straight out of a magazine—dim lighting, sleek wooden tables, and a vibe that screams expensive. Kazuha’s eyes light up as soon as you walk in, her hand squeezing yours like she’s trying to contain her excitement. She’s been talking about this place for weeks, sending you Instagram posts of their sushi platters and rambling about how they source their fish directly from some market in Tokyo. You don’t really get it, but you love how passionate she gets about stuff like this. It’s one of the million things that make her, well, her.

The hostess leads you to your table, and Kazuha practically bounces into her seat. She’s wearing this dress you’ve never seen before—black, fitted, with these tiny silver details that catch the light every time she moves. Her hair’s down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she’s got just enough makeup to make her look like she’s glowing. You can’t help but stare a little. Two years in, and she still takes your breath away.

“You’re staring,” she says, smirking as she picks up the menu.

“Can’t help it,” you shoot back, grinning. “You look incredible.”

She rolls her eyes, but you can tell she’s pleased. The waiter comes by, and Kazuha orders for both of you, her voice confident as she rattles off dish names you can’t even pronounce. You don’t mind. You trust her taste.

The food comes out in waves—sushi, sashimi, some kind of soup that smells like heaven. Kazuha’s in her element, explaining each dish to you like she’s a tour guide. You nod along, half-listening, more focused on the way her face lights up when she talks. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.

But then her phone buzzes. Again. And again. Each time, she glances at it, her smile faltering for a second before she forces it back. You know it’s Yunjin. It’s always Yunjin. Part of you wants to say something, to tell her to put the damn phone away and just be here with you, but you bite your tongue. You know how much she worries about her. How much she cares. Deep down you feel the same way too. So you let it slide, even though it bugs you.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, reaching across the table to take your hand. “Thank you for bringing me here. Seriously. I’m so happy right now.”

Her words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you forget about the phone. “Of course,” you say, squeezing her hand. “You deserve it.”

She smiles, but there’s something off about it. Something tired.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice soft.

“Yeah,” she says quickly, too quickly. “Just… a lot going on, you know? But I’m fine. Really.” She forces a laugh, changing the subject to some story about her college days. You let her, even though you know she’s deflecting. You’ve learned when to push and when to let her be.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, the two of you falling into easy conversation. By the time you leave, you’re both stuffed and satisfied, the kind of full that makes you want to curl up on the couch and do nothing for the rest of the night. The walk home is quiet, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement. Kazuha links her arm with yours, leaning into you as you walk. It’s moments like these that remind you why you fell for her in the first place. She’s your person. And no matter what’s going on with Yunjin, or work, or anything else, you know you’ll always have this.

—

The apartment feels different when you step inside, maybe it’s the wine buzzing in your veins, or the way Kazuha’s laughter spills out a little louder, a little freer, as you kick the door shut behind you. She toes off her heels by the entryway, wobbling slightly, and you catch her elbow. “Careful,” you say, grinning.

“Shut up,” she fires back, but there’s no heat in it. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is loose, unguarded. You follow her into the kitchen, where she hops up onto the counter, legs swinging. The bottle of red you’d been saving sits on the shelf, and you grab it, along with two mismatched glasses. “Classy,” she snorts, watching you pour.

“We’re cultured,” you deadpan, handing her a glass. She takes a sip, her lips staining darker, and you can’t look away.

The wine does its job fast. Kazuha gets chatty, her words slipping into each other as she talks about the restaurant, the way the chef plated the sashimi like it was art. You’re only half-listening, too busy noticing how her dress rides up her thighs, how the strap of her bra peeks out from under the fabric. She catches you staring and kicks your shin lightly. “Eyes up here, loser.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Can’t help it. You’re… distracting.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile curls at the edges. “Yeah? Distracting how?”

You step between her knees, hands settling on her hips. “Like this,” you say, leaning in to kiss her. She tastes like wine and soy sauce and something sweet, and her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you groan.

When you break apart, she’s breathless, her pupils blown. “Bedroom,” she says, not asking.

You follow her down the hall, watching the way her dress clings to her as she walks. The bedroom is dim, the streetlights outside cutting slants of gold through the blinds. She stops in front of the mirror, her back to you, and reaches for the zipper at her side. It slides down slowly, the fabric pooling at her feet.

The lingerie is black, lace, the kind that’s all straps and secrets. She turns to face you, one eyebrow arched. “You just gonna stand there?”

You swallow. “Maybe. It’s a good view.”

She laughs, low and throaty, and crosses the room. Her hands find the waistband of your jeans, popping the button with practiced ease. “Your turn,” she says, her breath hot against your ear.

You’re down to your boxers in seconds, but she’s still in that fucking lingerie, smirking like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And she does. Always does. You reach for her, but she steps back, clicking her tongue. “Uh-uh. Let me look at you.”

The command hits you square in the chest. You stay still, letting her eyes rake over you, her gaze heavy. When she finally closes the distance, her nails dig into your shoulders as she kisses you—hard, hungry. You walk her backward until her knees hit the bed, and she falls onto the mattress, pulling you down with her.

“I love you,” you mutter against her neck.

“I love you too,” she gasps as your teeth graze her collarbone.

The rest is a blur—hands, mouths, the slide of skin on skin. She’s relentless, all sharp edges and whispered demands, and you let her take what she wants. Let her take you. When it’s over, she collapses beside you, her hair a wild halo on the pillow. You’re both sweating, breathless, the room smelling like sex and her perfume.

She turns her head to look at you, her smile lazy, satisfied. “Happy anniversary,” she says.

"Happy birthday, baby," you say before kissing her.

—

The morning light filters through the blinds, painting the bedroom in soft gold. Your body is heavy with satisfaction, limbs tangled with hers, warmth pressed into warmth. You don’t want to move. Not yet. Not when she’s here, her bare skin against yours, her slow, even breaths fanning against your collarbone.

You run your fingers lazily down her back, tracing the bumps of her spine. Kazuha sighs, nestling closer. “Mmm,” she hums, lips grazing your skin. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep okay?”

“Like a baby.” She shifts, stretching her long limbs like a cat, the sheets slipping just enough to reveal more of her bare shoulder, her collarbone, the marks you left along her skin. “Last night was… perfect.”

You smirk, tightening your grip around her waist. “Yeah?”

She giggles, soft and lazy. “Yeah.”

You feel like you could stay like this forever—just you and her, wrapped up in the sheets, nowhere to be, no one to interrupt—

Then Kazuha’s phone vibrates against the mattress.

She groans. “Ugh. No.”

You blindly reach for it, dragging it out from under the pillow and holding it up without looking. “Ignore it.”

She does, for all of five seconds. Then it buzzes again. And again.

She sighs, rolling over just enough to peek at the screen. You catch a glimpse of the name—Yunjin.

That hesitation. The way her lips press together. You already know she’s gonna answer.

“Zuha,” you groan, burying your face in the pillow.

“I have to,” she says, sounding apologetic as she swipes to pick up. “Hey, Yunjin. What’s up?”

You sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that your lazy morning is officially ruined. You drag yourself out of bed, stretching before heading to the bathroom. As you brush your teeth, you catch pieces of Kazuha’s voice through the door. Her tone is careful, considerate. That soft, soothing voice she only uses when someone needs comfort.

You spit into the sink, rinsing your mouth. Something’s up.

When you step back into the room, Kazuha is sitting up now, the sheets pooled around her waist, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the hem. Her brows are slightly furrowed, her lips pressed into a thoughtful line.

She looks up at you, meeting your eyes with that gentle, searching gaze. “So…” she starts, drawing out the word.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, waiting. “What’s up?”

Kazuha hesitates for a second, then sighs. “Yunjin’s moving out of the apartment she shared with her boyfriend. I think this time it's for real.”

Your brows lift. “Wait, really?”

She nods. “It’s… complicated, but yeah. She needs a place to stay while she figures things out. She asked if she could stay here for a little while.”

You blink. “Like… here?”

“Yeah.” Kazuha studies your face, watching for your reaction. “Only for a bit. Just until she finds a new place. I told her I’d ask you first.”

You exhale, rubbing the back of your neck. “Of course, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, eyes searching yours.

“Yeah,” you nod, offering a small smile. “I mean, it’s Yunjin. I don’t mind.”

Kazuha visibly relaxes. “Thank you.” She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder. “I really appreciate it. And so does she.”

You pause. “She okay?”

Kazuha’s face softens. “She says she is.” A beat. “But I don’t think she is. Not really.”

That makes sense. Moving out of a shared apartment? Whatever happened, it probably wasn’t pretty.

“She’ll be here later,” Kazuha continues. “She didn’t want to impose, but I told her it’s fine.”

“Of course,” you say again. Then, after a moment, “Do you know what happened?”

Kazuha shakes her head. “Not really. She didn’t say much. Just that things weren’t working anymore. She sounded… tired.”

You nod slowly.

A comfortable silence settles between you for a moment. Then Kazuha tugs on your arm, pulling you back down onto the bed. “We have a few more hours before she gets here,” she murmurs, resting her head against your chest. “Can we just… stay like this for a bit?”

You wrap an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Yeah,” you murmur. “We can.”

And for a while, you do.

—

The hum of the vacuum fills the apartment, drowning out everything else. You push it back and forth across the living room rug, glancing around to make sure everything is in place. The couch cushions are fluffed, the coffee table wiped down, the candles on the shelf arranged just right. You and Kazuha have spent the last couple of hours making sure the place is as welcoming as possible.

Kazuha moves around the kitchen, setting out coffee mugs and snacks, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Think she’ll like it?” she asks, turning to you.

“She’s not a hotel guest, Zuha,” you say with a smirk, shutting off the vacuum. “She’s crashing with friends. Pretty sure she’ll be happy just to have somewhere to land.”

Kazuha sighs, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I just want her to feel at home.”

“She will,” you reassure her.

Right on cue, the doorbell rings.

Kazuha immediately perks up. “She’s here.”

She rushes to the door while you move the vacuum out of the way. When she opens it, Yunjin steps inside, dragging a suitcase in one hand, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She’s dressed comfortably—sweats, an oversized hoodie, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. No makeup, dark circles under her eyes. She looks… exhausted. Not just physically, but emotionally drained.

Kazuha pulls her into a tight hug. “Hey,” she murmurs. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Yunjin replies, but there’s something about the way she says it—too automatic, too practiced.

You step forward, giving her a quick but firm hug. “Good to see you.”

She exhales, her shoulders sinking a little. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” you say, waving it off.

“Yeah,” Kazuha agrees. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Yunjin nods, offering a tired smile. “Still, I appreciate it.”

Kazuha grabs one of her bags. “Come on, we set up a room for you.”

Yunjin’s lips twitch at that. “A whole room, huh? Fancy.”

Kazuha grins. “Only the best.”

They disappear down the hallway while you start cleaning up the last bits of clutter. A few minutes later, they return, Yunjin looking marginally more relaxed.

“Coffee?” you ask, holding up a steaming mug.

Yunjin takes it with both hands, like it’s the first bit of comfort she’s had all day. “God, yes.”

You sit across from her as she takes a sip, sighing into the warmth. “It’s not a huge place,” you say, gesturing around, “but it’s cozy.”

She glances around, taking in the soft lighting, the neatly arranged furniture, the framed pictures on the wall. “I've always loved your apartment. It’s perfect,” she says sincerely.

Kazuha settles next to her, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “So…” she starts, hesitant but gentle. “What happened?”

Yunjin exhales, staring into her coffee. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, quietly, “It just got unbearable.”

You and Kazuha exchange a look.

Yunjin swirls the coffee in her mug, eyes distant. “I don’t even know when it started getting bad. It was like… little things at first. The way he talked to me, the way he never really listened.” She shakes her head, a bitter laugh slipping out. “I thought it was normal. Just rough patches, you know? But then rough patches turned into constant tension. Every conversation felt like walking on eggshells.”

Kazuha frowns. “Did he—”

“He wasn’t violent,” Yunjin cuts in quickly, sensing the question. “Nothing like that. But he was just… mean. Dismissive. Controlling, in subtle ways. Always making me feel like I was the problem, like I was lucky to have him, even when he barely put in any effort.” She sighs, rubbing her temple. “I don’t know why I stayed as long as I did.”

Kazuha places a hand on Yunjin’s knee. “Because you cared,” she says softly. “Because you wanted to believe it could get better.”

You lean back, scoffing. “Well, he was an asshole.”

Yunjin snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah. He was.”

There’s a beat of silence, then she looks up at both of you, something vulnerable in her eyes. “Thanks for this,” she says. “For letting me crash here. For not making me feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Kazuha says immediately. “You did what you had to do. And I’m so glad you got out.”

You nod. “Seriously. You deserve better than that shit.”

Yunjin exhales again, but this time it feels lighter. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think so too.”

Kazuha squeezes her knee before standing. “Okay. Enough heavy shit. You need food, a movie, and a night of doing absolutely nothing.”

Yunjin smiles, small but real. “That actually sounds perfect.”

“Good,” you say, standing up too. “Then let’s get started.”

And just like that, the weight in the room shifts. The exhaustion in Yunjin’s face softens, the warmth of the apartment settling around her like a blanket. She’s not okay yet—not completely—but she’s here. She’s safe. And for now, that’s enough.

—

The first week with Yunjin in the apartment feels heavy. Not in an inconvenientway—more like the weight of someone carrying something too big, too raw, and not knowing how to set it down.

She moves through the apartment in an almost dreamlike state, always in pajamas—sweatpants, a hoodie, hair messy from sleep no matter what time of day it is. She doesn’t really do anything. She just exists. Sometimes she’ll scroll on her phone for hours, other times she’ll stare at the TV without really watching it.

You and Kazuha keep moving as usual. Work, errands, life. Kazuha teaches ballet—she's certainly the best you've encountered (not that you've met many). She's still hoping to open her own studio one day. You’ve got your own work inside an office, something stable, structured—enough to keep your mind occupied, but even still, you find yourself wondering about Yunjin throughout the day.

You don’t push her. Neither does Kazuha. You both just make sure she has space, warmth, and the quiet reassurance that she’s not alone.

Then, a week later, everything shifts.

You wake up to the smell of coffee and Kazuha humming softly in the kitchen. The TV murmurs in the background, some morning talk show playing on low volume. Yunjin is curled up in the corner of the couch, coffee in hand, wearing something other than her pajamas for the first time since she got here. Just leggings and a hoodie, but still—progress.

Kazuha looks up as you walk in, her face lighting up. “Morning, babe.”

You press a kiss to her temple before glancing at Yunjin. “Morning.”

She gives a little nod. “Morning.” There’s something different about her today.

Not fixed, not completely okay, but lighter.

Kazuha slides a plate of toast in front of you before nudging Yunjin with her elbow. “Tell him the news.”

Yunjin rolls her eyes but cracks a tiny smile. “I got a job.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

She nods. “Yeah. Nothing fancy, just a front desk job at a gym. But, you know… something.”

You grin. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, I’ve been out of work since the breakup, so I figured it was time to do something before I started growing into the couch. It's something to keep me busy while I find another job in tourism, eventually I'll need to put my degree to some use again.”

Kazuha nudges her again, softer this time. “I’m really proud of you.”

Yunjin huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Kazuha insists. “You’re moving forward.”

Yunjin shrugs, but the way her lips twitch upward tells you she is a little proud of herself.

You glance at the time and sigh. “Alright, gotta head out.” You squeeze Kazuha’s shoulder and offer Yunjin another grin. “Congrats again.”

“Thanks,” she says, and for the first time in a while, she actually sounds like she means it.

—

Later that day, on your way home, you pass by a flower shop you’ve never seen before. It’s small, tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, with bright sunflowers and roses spilling from baskets out front. Something about it pulls you in.

You step inside, inhaling the fresh floral scent. As you scan the rows of colorful arrangements, you immediately think of Kazuha. You haven’t gotten her flowers in a while. She always lights up when you do.

But then another thought crosses your mind—Yunjin.

You hesitate. Would it be weird? Seeing Kazuha get a bouquet from her boyfriend while she’s still processing everything? Would it make her feel out of place?

You decide on two bouquets. One for Kazuha, filled with soft pinks and whites, delicate and sweet. And one for Yunjin—something simple but vibrant, oranges and yellows, warm like a sunrise. Something that says you’re doing great, keep going.

When you walk through the door, both of them are lounging in the living room, laughing at something on TV. Kazuha looks up first, her eyes widening as she sees the flowers.

“Wait… for me?” she asks, sitting up.

“Of course,” you say, handing her the pink bouquet.

She beams, taking them with both hands. “They’re beautiful, babe. Thank you.”

Then you turn to Yunjin and offer her the second bouquet. “And these… for you.”

Her brows shoot up. “For me?”

You nod. “To congratulate you. And, you know… just because.”

She stares at the bouquet for a moment, then carefully takes it from your hands. “I—wow. I wasn’t expecting…” She trails off, blinking rapidly.

Kazuha grins, nudging her. “Aww, you’re getting emotional.”

“I am not,” Yunjin grumbles, but the way she bites her lip, the way her fingers tighten slightly around the bouquet—it’s clear she’s feeling something.

You chuckle. “Well, glad you like them.”

Yunjin looks down at the flowers again, something unreadable in her expression. Then, in a quiet voice, she says, “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

Kazuha’s expression softens. “Then it’s about time.”

Yunjin exhales, shaking her head with a small, almost disbelieving smile. “You guys are too nice to me.”

“We’re just treating you how you deserve to be treated,” Kazuha says simply.

Yunjin swallows, like she’s pushing back more emotion than she expected. Then, in a voice lighter than before, she says, “Well… now we have to drink, right? To celebrate my new job, my first flowers, and the fact that I finally changed out of my pajamas?”

Kazuha claps her hands together. “Yes! I love this plan.”

You smirk. “Drinks it is.”

Yunjin shakes her head, still smiling as she looks between you and Kazuha. “You guys are gonna make me soft,” she mutters.

Kazuha grins. “Too late.”

—

The night stretches on, the three of you sprawled across the living room, surrounded by half-empty glasses, snack wrappers, and the warmth of alcohol buzzing under your skin. The apartment feels alive in a way it hasn’t since Yunjin moved in—like laughter is stitched into the air, like something weightless has settled over all of you.

Yunjin, who’s been quiet all week, is glowing now—cheeks flushed from the drinks, eyes bright as she throws her head back in laughter. Kazuha’s beside her, giggling as she recounts the time she almost got kicked out of ballet class for smuggling snacks into rehearsal.

“You snuck in an entire bag of chips,” Yunjin wheezes, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I was hungry!” Kazuha defends, throwing her hands up. “And I was smooth about it too, until somebody—” she shoots Yunjin a pointed look “—busted me out in front of the instructor.”

“I panicked!” Yunjin cackles. “She was looking right at you and you were just sitting there, mid-pirouette, crunching.”

You shake your head, grinning. “I can’t picture Zuha getting in trouble.”

“Oh, she was a menace,” Yunjin says, nodding sagely. “A cute menace, but still.”

Kazuha beams, nudging Yunjin’s leg with her foot. “A menace you love.”

Yunjin sighs dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

Kazuha gasps, placing a hand over her chest like she’s been blessed. “You love me?”

“You know I do,” Yunjin groans, rolling her eyes but smiling.

“That’s so cute,” Kazuha giggles, turning toward her. “You should give me a peck.”

Yunjin squints. “What?”

“A peck,” Kazuha repeats, leaning in and tapping her cheek. “Right here. Come on, best friends do it all the time.”

Yunjin huffs, but you can tell she’s too buzzed to actually refuse. With an exaggerated sigh, she leans in and presses a quick, light kiss to Kazuha’s cheek.

“There. Happy?”

Kazuha grins, but then tilts her head, eyes mischievous. “That was weak. Give me a real one.”

Yunjin blinks. “A real one?”

“Like, on the lips,” Kazuha says casually, like she’s asking for another drink. “Just a peck.”

Yunjin hesitates, suddenly looking a little too aware of your presence. Her gaze flickers to you. “Uh…”

Kazuha, already tipsy enough to not overthink, waves a dismissive hand. “Oh my god, he doesn’t care. Right, babe?”

You blink, then shrug. “She’s right. I don’t care.”

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

You nod, sipping your drink. “It’s just a peck.”

She studies you for a second, then exhales. “Alright, fine. But you better not make it weird.”

Kazuha giggles, eyes sparkling. “I promise.”

Yunjin rolls her eyes, then leans in quickly, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to Kazuha’s lips before pulling back just as fast.

“There. Satisfied?” she mutters.

Kazuha smirks. “You’re so nervous,” she teases. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Yunjin groans, reaching for her drink. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me, remember?” Kazuha says smugly.

You shake your head, amused at the whole thing, until Kazuha suddenly turns to you.

“You should get one too,” she announces.

You blink. “Wait—what?”

“You’ve been so nice to Yunjin,” Kazuha says, grinning. “You totally deserve a peck.”

Yunjin nearly chokes on her drink. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Kazuha says, shrugging. “I’m not jealous. Are you?” She raises an eyebrow at you.

You pause. You hadn’t really thought about it, but no—there’s no weird jealousy here. Kazuha’s the one suggesting it, and Yunjin is looking at you like she’s not sure whether to laugh or run.

You smirk. “I mean, if she’s offering.”

Yunjin groans, rubbing her temples. “I hate you both.”

Kazuha just winks. “Go on.”

Yunjin sighs, then, before she can overthink it, leans in and presses a soft peck to your lips.

It’s brief. Nothing more than a moment of warm, plush softness against your mouth. But you still faintly taste the gloss she’s been wearing all night—something sweet, a little fruity. Then she’s gone, pulling back and clearing her throat like it was nothing.

Kazuha claps her hands together, absolutely delighted. “You two were so nervous,” she cackles.

You chuckle. “Zuha, you’re so drunk.”

She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “I am not drunk.”

“You definitely are,” Yunjin mutters, still slightly flustered.

Kazuha sticks her tongue out. “I am not drunk, I am happy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Kazuha says dramatically, stretching out on the couch. “I’m living with my boyfriend and my best friend. How could life possibly be better?”

Yunjin groans, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a lightweight.”

Kazuha only grins wider, eyes sleepy but shining. “And I love you both.”

And for the first time, Yunjin doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Yeah. I love you guys too.”

—

Life shifts. Not suddenly, not in a way that feels jarring or unnatural, but in that slow, creeping way that things do when they settle into something new.

The three of you find a rhythm.

Yunjin starts working more hours at the gym, coming home with tired but satisfied smiles. Her energy is different now—lighter, more stable. The search for a new apartment is still ongoing, but it’s not urgent, not desperate. Every time she brings it up, Kazuha waves her off, tells her to take her time. You don’t mind either. It’s been almost two months, and you don’t even think twice about coming home to find her there.

Sometimes she’s laughing with Kazuha, the two of them curled up on the couch in one of their endless deep talks that range from absolute nonsense to surprisingly philosophical. Other times, you walk in to find them in the kitchen, Yunjin at the stove, Kazuha watching (because her own cooking skills are questionable at best).

Dinner used to be whatever takeout was easiest. Now, Yunjin experiments, tests out new recipes, sometimes dragging you or Kazuha into the process. The food is good, better than good, and even when it’s not, there’s something nice about the act of making it together.

And the nights—weekend drinking nights have become a ritual. The first one was a success, and now it’s a thing, something you all look forward to.

At first, the drinking was just drinking. Hanging out, getting tipsy, laughing over old stories. But little things have started shifting.

One time, Yunjin’s hand on your arm lingered just a second longer than necessary. Just a casual touch, fingers trailing absently as she laughed at something Kazuha said. But you noticed.

Then there was the night Kazuha ended up on Yunjin’s lap, her arms slung around her neck, laughing as she pressed a lazy kiss to her cheek. Yunjin had just rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move her.

It’s always just a little more, inching past whatever invisible line existed before. But the funny thing is, no one ever seems to regret it. The next morning, there’s never an awkward conversation. Maybe a little shyness, maybe a few too-long glances across the kitchen while making coffee. But no regrets.

And that’s the thing that surprises you most. How natural it all feels.

—

The apartment feels the same as always when you step in—warm, familiar, lived-in. The faint scent of something floral lingers in the air, mixing with whatever candle Kazuha lit earlier. But the second you set your bag down, you notice something different.

Kazuha is sprawled out on the couch, looking absolutely wrecked. Not in a drunk way, not yet, but in that long-ass-day-at-work kind of way. Her legs are stretched out, one arm draped dramatically over her eyes, her loose ballet tee hanging off one shoulder.

Yunjin is in the kitchen making a sandwich. She glances up when you walk in, smirking. "She’s been like this for an hour."

Kazuha groans. "Ballet kids are exhausting. And half of them have no rhythm." She lifts her head to look at you, eyes half-lidded. "All I wanna do is drink with my two favorite people and forget I spent eight hours trying to make a seven-year-old point her damn toes."

You chuckle, walking over and dropping onto the couch next to her. "Rough day, huh?"

She rolls onto her side, resting her head against your shoulder. "The roughest. Please tell me we have alcohol."

Yunjin holds up a bottle of soju on the counter, "We're covered."

And just like that, the night begins.

—

A few drinks in, Kazuha perks up. She’s got that buzzed but still functioning glow about her now, her limbs loose, her smile lazier. She sits up straight, looking between you and Yunjin with an expression that instantly makes you suspicious.

"What?" you ask.

She grins. "Let’s play a game."

You groan. "Zuha��"

"Truth or dare!" she announces, cutting you off.

Yunjin laughs. "Oh my God, are we fifteen?"

Kazuha pouts, nudging your leg. "Come on. It’ll be fun."

You sigh. "That’s what people always say before terrible ideas."

"But it’s me," she says, batting her lashes. "I only have good ideas."

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. "Lies."

Kazuha flicks her with a coaster. "Shut up. We’re playing. You first."

Yunjin smirks, setting her drink down. "Fine. Truth."

Kazuha’s eyes gleam. "Okay. Have you ever had a crush on a girl while you were dating a guy?"

Yunjin snorts. "Obviously. Next."

You chuckle. "That was weak."

Kazuha glares. "Warming up, okay? Your turn."

"Truth," you say, leaning back.

Yunjin rests her chin on her hand, thinking for a second. Then she grins. "How many times a week do you and Kazuha have sex?"

Kazuha cackles, her cheeks already flushing pink.

You blink. "Jesus, straight to it, huh?"

Yunjin shrugs. "I’m curious."

Kazuha looks at you expectantly, biting back a giggle.

You take a slow sip of your drink, pretending to consider. "On a slow week? Three. If we’re not busy? Five, six, maybe."

Kazuha gasps dramatically, swatting your arm. "Why would you say that?"

"You wanted to play this game," you remind her.

Yunjin whistles, impressed. "Damn. No wonder she’s so happy all the time."

Kazuha groans, covering her face. "I hate you both."

You smirk, turning to Yunjin. "Okay, your turn. Have you ever seen Kazuha naked?"

Kazuha gasps again, this time more amused than scandalized.

Yunjin doesn’t even flinch. "Yep. Twice."

Your brows raise. "Really?"

Kazuha squints. "Wait—when?"

"The first time was that time we went to the beach house, and you forgot to lock the bathroom," Yunjin says, smirking. "And the second time, when you passed out drunk at my place, and I had to change you into pajamas."

Kazuha groans. "Oh my God."

You lean in slightly, curious. "So… what’d you think?"

Yunjin shrugs, sipping her drink. "Nice body. Very nice ass."

Kazuha buries her face in a pillow, but she’s laughing. "I regret this game."

You smirk, watching the way Kazuha’s ears turn pink. Then, before she can protest again, you say, "Alright, Zuha. Truth or dare?"

She peeks up from behind the pillow. "Truth."

You tilt your head, watching her carefully. "Do you like when I watch you kiss Yunjin?"

A slow, mischievous smile spreads across her face. "Yeah," she admits. "It’s pretty hot."

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. "Wow. Just admitting that, huh?"

Kazuha shrugs. "Why not? We’re all friends here."

The air shifts. Not uncomfortably. But there’s something there now, humming under the surface.

The next few rounds feel different. The questions get bolder. Kazuha dares Yunjin to sit in your lap for a whole round. Yunjin dares Kazuha to take a shot off her collarbone. You find yourself watching closely as Kazuha presses her lips to Yunjin’s skin, her tongue flicking out briefly as she chases a stray drop of soju.

No one says it, but it’s there.

The tension. The curiosity.

The way Kazuha lingers when she leans into Yunjin’s space. The way Yunjin’s fingers sometimes brush yours when she’s gesturing mid-story.

By the time the bottle is nearly empty, you’re all stretched out lazily on the couch, warm from the alcohol, comfortable in the lingering haze.

Kazuha exhales, tilting her head back against the cushions. "Best game ever," she declares.

Yunjin snorts. "You just liked the part where you got to make out with me."

Kazuha hums, smirking. "Maybe."

You shake your head, grinning. "You’re both ridiculous."

Kazuha turns her head, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. "But you love it."

You hold her gaze for a second, then glance at Yunjin. She meets your eyes, her expression unreadable for a moment before she looks away, smirking slightly.

Kazuha stretches, cat-like, arms above her head as she sighs. “I’m so tired,” she mumbles, her voice loose with the lazy weight of alcohol.

Yunjin groans in agreement, slumping deeper into the couch. “Yeah. Bedtime.”

She starts to push herself up, but Kazuha reaches out, fingers curling around her wrist. “Come with us.”

Yunjin pauses, blinking down at her. “Huh?”

“Come lie down with us,” Kazuha repeats, tugging lightly. “You’re always sleeping alone. It’s nothing serious. We’ve done worse things tonight than just… sleep together.”

Yunjin hesitates, glancing between the two of you, but there’s no real protest in her body language. She exhales, shaking her head with a small, amused smile. “You guys are weird,” she mutters, but there’s no resistance as Kazuha pulls her up.

The bedroom is dim, only the soft glow of the city filtering through the blinds. Kazuha flops onto the bed first, stretching out, and Yunjin hesitates only for a second before climbing in too, settling between the two of you.

For a long moment, there’s only silence. The three of you lying there, staring at each other, giggling at nothing like teenagers at a sleepover.

Kazuha hums, shifting closer, her fingers grazing Yunjin’s wrist. “Why does this feel so nice?” she murmurs.

Yunjin tilts her head. “What?”

“This,” Kazuha says, gesturing vaguely. “The three of us. Why does it feel so good?”

Yunjin’s lips part slightly, and for a moment, she looks like she might deflect. But then she exhales, her expression softening. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time.”

Kazuha watches her for a second, then leans in and presses her lips to Yunjin’s. Not a teasing peck, not a playful dare—something deeper. Slow, warm, tongues sliding together in a way that makes Yunjin’s breath hitch.

When Kazuha pulls back, she shifts slightly, looking past Yunjin to you. “You kiss her too,” she murmurs.

Yunjin barely has time to register the words before you lean in, catching her lips in another kiss, just as deep, just as slow. She melts into it, her body pliant between the two of you.

Kazuha’s hand drifts down, fingers ghosting over Yunjin’s stomach before lightly tracing up, barely skimming over her small, sensitive breasts. Yunjin shivers, her breath stuttering, and Kazuha grins, eyes flicking between the two of you as you keep kissing her.

“Do you like this?” Kazuha whispers against her ear. “Having both of us like this with you?”

Yunjin barely manages a breathless “yes.”

She smirks. “Good.”

Kazuha’s lips press deeper into Yunjin’s, slow and teasing, a mix of playful and possessive, like she’s savoring every second. Yunjin’s hands find her waist, gripping tight, but you can tell she’s already getting lost in it—the way her body shifts, the way her breath stutters when Kazuha deepens the kiss.

You move in behind her, close enough that she can feel your breath ghosting against her neck before your lips even touch. You start slow, kissing just under her ear, letting the heat of your mouth spread down, tracing the delicate curve of her throat. Yunjin shudders instantly, leaning back against you with a soft gasp, her body melting between you both.

“God, you two are driving me crazy,” she breathes, her voice already unsteady, like she’s barely keeping it together.

Kazuha pulls back just enough to smirk. “Yeah?” Her eyes flick to you, dark and knowing. “And I bet this is making you hard, huh?”

You don’t even have to answer—she already knows. But still, you let your hand slide down, pressing against the bulge in your pants, the proof of exactly how much this is getting to you. “Fuck yes,” you murmur.

That’s all Kazuha needs to hear. She tugs you forward, switching positions, putting you between them now. Yunjin’s still catching her breath, lips swollen from Kazuha’s kiss, cheeks flushed with heat. But then both of them are on you, Kazuha kissing you deep, slow, her tongue teasing against yours while Yunjin’s lips find the edge of your jaw, then lower, her mouth warm and tentative against your skin.

Kazuha’s hand moves, sliding down your torso, fingers dipping under the waistband of your pants. She doesn’t tease, doesn’t hesitate—just hooks her fingers into both your pants and underwear and pulls them down in one smooth motion.

Yunjin makes a sound, not quite a gasp, but her eyes go wide, lips parting slightly.

Kazuha grins, nudging Yunjin’s chin with her fingers. “Go ahead,” she murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “Touch him.”

Yunjin hesitates for a second, like she’s still processing, but then—carefully, curiously—her fingers wrap around you. Her touch is light at first, testing, her thumb ghosting over the tip, feeling the heat, the weight of your cock in her hand.

Kazuha watches, her smirk turning into something hungrier. “Good girl,” she murmurs, tucking Yunjin’s hair behind her ear. “Now, give him a little kiss.”

Yunjin glances at you, searching your face for any hesitation. But you just nod, exhaling a shaky breath as her lips brush against you—just a soft press at first, almost too gentle. Then another. And another. Testing. Experimenting.

Kazuha leans in close, her lips at your ear this time. “Fuck, doesn’t she look pretty like this?”

Your breath stutters, a groan slipping out before you can stop it. “Yeah,” you manage, voice rough.

Yunjin’s eyes flick up, something almost smug in her expression before she licks her lips and keeps going, her kisses getting a little bolder, her fingers moving just a little more confidently as she explores you.

Kazuha watches, her hand sliding down your stomach, nails dragging lightly over your skin, her breath hot against your jaw. “Mmm. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Your hand tightens in Yunjin’s hair as you moan, hips twitching forward involuntarily. “Fuck. Yes.”

Yunjin hums against you, her lips dragging down lower, her grip getting firmer, her hesitations melting away.

Then Yunjin’s tongue flicks over the head of your cock, slow, hesitant, but there’s something hungry in the way she does it—like she’s testing the waters, trying to figure out just how far she wants to take this. Her fingers tighten around the base, and when she finally wraps her lips around you, sliding down just a little further, the heat of her mouth makes you groan, low and guttural.

Kazuha watches with a lazy smirk, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s it,” she murmurs, reaching over to brush Yunjin’s hair out of her face. “You’re doing so good.”

Yunjin hums, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your spine. Whatever nervousness she had before is slipping away, replaced by something else—curiosity, need. She bobs her head a little deeper, her lips slick and warm, getting used to the feeling, testing how much she can take.

Kazuha looks up at you, and the smirk on her lips makes your stomach clench. “This is so fucking dirty,” she giggles, shaking her head. “But it’s so hot.”

You exhale sharply, gripping the edge of the couch, trying to ground yourself. “I can’t fucking believe this is happening.”

Yunjin pulls off just enough to glance up at you, her lips wet, cheeks flushed. “We’re all drunk as fuck,” she mutters, laughing breathlessly.

Kazuha leans in, fingers trailing down Yunjin’s arm. “Need some help?”

Yunjin nods immediately, licking her lips before looking down at your cock, still glistening from her mouth. “Yeah,” she says, voice husky.

Kazuha moves in without hesitation, her hand wrapping around the base, her tongue flicking out to meet where Yunjin’s lips just were. She gives one slow, teasing lick along the underside, her eyes flicking up to yours to see your reaction. Then, she glances at Yunjin. “Come on. Let’s do this together.”

And just like that, they’re both on you.

Yunjin’s lips find the tip again, but this time, there’s no hesitation—she takes you deeper, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue pressing against the underside. Kazuha works alongside her, her mouth trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your shaft, her tongue darting out to taste you, teasing wherever Yunjin isn’t.

“Fuck,” you groan, tilting your head back, the sensation overwhelming—two tongues, two mouths, the heat of them surrounding you, taking turns, working in tandem.

Kazuha pulls back slightly, her hand gripping you firmly as she turns to Yunjin. “Look at him,” she murmurs. “He likes eye contact.”

Yunjin hesitates for half a second before obeying, tilting her head up, her lips still wrapped around you. Her eyes meet yours, dark and half-lidded, and fuck, that sight alone nearly does you in.

You groan, your hips twitching forward slightly, and Yunjin smirks around your cock, her tongue swirling over the tip before she takes you even deeper.

Kazuha giggles, pressing a kiss to Yunjin’s shoulder. “God, that’s so hot.”

You can barely think, can barely breathe. All you know is that you never want this to end.

Yunjin’s lips are slick now, her strokes confident, her tongue working every inch of you while her hand pumps whatever she can’t take. The nervousness is gone—replaced by something hungry, something insatiable. Kazuha, meanwhile, slides lower, her breath hot against your skin as she takes one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently, rolling it over her tongue before moving to the other.

“Fuck—” Your voice is strained, a raw groan slipping out as your hand flies to Yunjin’s hair, gripping, not to force, just to hold on. “You two look so fucking beautiful like this.”

Yunjin moans around your cock at the praise, her grip tightening just slightly, her head bobbing a little faster. Kazuha hums, her tongue flicking over the sensitive skin before she pulls back, looking up at Yunjin with a wicked grin.

“He’s enjoying this way too much,” Kazuha teases, her fingers stroking the base of your cock, brushing against Yunjin’s as she does.

Yunjin pulls off for a second, her lips swollen, a thin string of saliva connecting her mouth to your tip. She smirks, eyes flicking up to yours. “Yeah? You like seeing us like this?”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Fucking love it.”

Kazuha giggles, pressing a wet kiss against your thigh. “God, I can feel how hard you are.” Her fingers wrap around the base, tilting your cock towards Yunjin. “Come on, baby. Make him lose his mind.”

Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. She leans in again, taking you deep, her throat tightening just enough to make you curse under your breath. Her free hand strokes what her mouth can’t take, her rhythm perfectly in sync with Kazuha’s teasing kisses along your skin.

Kazuha watches for a moment, then leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Yunjin’s mouth before her tongue flicks out, licking at the side of your cock where Yunjin’s lips are already working.

They look at each other again, a silent understanding passing between them, and the way they smile makes your stomach clench with pleasure.

“Holy shit,” you groan, your hips twitching forward. “You’re both so fucking perfect.”

Kazuha smirks, dragging her tongue along your balls before sucking one back into her mouth. “Mmm. I think we should make him beg, don’t you?”

Yunjin pulls off, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. She tilts her head, eyes full of mischief. “I think you’re right.”

Yunjin’s mouth moves faster now, each stroke more confident, more determined, her tongue pressing against the vein running along your cock, dragging up and down with a rhythm that’s got you gripping the couch for dear life. Kazuha’s hands aren’t idle either—her soft, warm palms caressing your thighs, her nails scratching lightly, just enough to send tiny shocks through your system. And then she moves back down, taking your balls into her mouth again, rolling them gently, her tongue swirling around, making your hips jerk involuntarily.

You’re on the edge already, the pleasure building, coiling tight in your gut, every nerve alight with sensation. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you gasp, barely able to get the words out between heavy breaths. “Please, keep going. I’m almost there.”

Yunjin lets out a hum around you, the vibrations making you shudder, and then she speeds up, her head bobbing faster, taking you deeper. Her hand twists and strokes in time with her mouth, her grip just firm enough to make you see stars. Kazuha lifts her head, smirking as she watches Yunjin’s determination, then she moves back up, pressing her lips to the tip of your cock right alongside Yunjin’s, their mouths sandwiching the head, tongues flicking over the sensitive spot just under the tip.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hips bucking up into the warmth of their mouths, completely overwhelmed. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Kazuha’s hand slides down, cupping your balls again, giving them a gentle squeeze, her thumb rubbing circles that have you clenching your fists, struggling to hold back.

The sensation is too much—two pairs of soft lips, warm tongues, the heat and wetness enveloping you. It’s like you’re being devoured, consumed, and you’re losing control fast.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you warn, your voice breaking, a desperate edge to it.

They both pull back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and gleaming. “Do it,” Kazuha purrs, her breath hot against your skin. “Cum for us.”

Yunjin nods, her lips brushing against the tip, eyes locked on yours. “Yeah. We want it. Give it to us.”

That’s all it takes. You can’t hold back anymore—the tension snaps, and you’re coming hard, your entire body tensing as thick, hot ropes spill out, splashing across Yunjin’s lips and cheeks. She gasps, eyes widening slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she keeps stroking you, milking every last drop as you ride out the intense waves crashing through you.

Kazuha leans in, licking a stray bead off Yunjin’s chin, her tongue slow and deliberate. “Mmm,” she hums, then tilts Yunjin’s face toward hers, their lips meeting in a wet, messy kiss. You watch, breathless, as they share your cum between them, tongues sliding against each other, mixing the taste as they moan softly into each other’s mouths.

Your cock twitches, still overly sensitive, but Yunjin’s hand keeps working you, slow and gentle now, her thumb circling the head, spreading the remaining slickness around. You let your head fall back, eyes rolling, lost in the pleasure that’s still rippling through you, too spent to do anything but surrender to the sensations.

They finally pull apart, both of them grinning, faces flushed, lips glistening. Kazuha wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb, sucking it clean with a smirk. “God, that was hot,” she murmurs, looking at you with a gleam in her eyes.

Yunjin chuckles, leaning back on her heels, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. “I didn’t think… I mean, fuck, I didn’t know it could be like that.”

You manage a shaky laugh, still trying to regain control of your breathing. “You… both of you… that was unreal.”

Kazuha scoots closer, pressing a kiss to your jaw, her hand resting on your thigh. “We’re just getting started,” she whispers, her voice dripping with promise.

Yunjin bites her lip, watching you carefully, a playful glint in her eyes. “You think you can handle more?”

You chuckle. “With you two? I’ll try.”

You’re still catching your breath, body warm and thrumming with satisfaction, when Yunjin and Kazuha lean in at the same time, pressing soft, lingering kisses to either side of your face. It’s almost sweet—almost—except for the way Kazuha’s fingers are still lazily tracing patterns over your thigh, and the way Yunjin’s lips linger just a second too long before she pulls away, her breath still a little uneven.

You exhale deeply, wrapping an arm around both of them, pulling them in closer until they’re nestled against you. The warmth of their skin, the lingering scent of perfume and sweat and sex—it’s enough to make your head spin in the best way.

Yunjin sighs, her cheek resting against your shoulder, and then, out of nowhere, she starts giggling.

You tilt your head, amused. “What?”

She shakes her head, still giggling, her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. “I just… I did not expect this from Kazuha. I mean, you’re always so put together, so proper.” She pauses, then grins. “Little Miss Ballerina over here, full of surprises.”

Kazuha smirks, propping herself up on one elbow. “You think I’m proper?”

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah? You literally scold me when I leave dishes in the sink for too long.”

Kazuha shrugs, unbothered. “Being responsible and being proper aren’t the same thing. Besides…” She trails a finger down Yunjin’s arm, teasing, before grinning. “I told you I’m full of surprises.”

Yunjin hums, tilting her head slightly, then narrows her eyes playfully. “So… you really weren’t jealous? At all?”

Kazuha scoffs, leaning in closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Why would I be jealous when I loved watching you?”

Yunjin bites her lip, clearly caught off guard for a second, then laughs, shaking her head. “Shit, now I really don’t wanna leave.”

Kazuha reaches for her hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “Then don’t.” Her voice is softer now, less teasing, more honest. “We like having you here.”

Yunjin looks at you, as if waiting to see if you’ll echo that sentiment.

You squeeze her waist lightly, nodding. “She’s right. We want you here.”

Something shifts in Yunjin’s face—something almost vulnerable. She clears her throat, squeezing Kazuha’s hand back before offering a small smile. “Thanks.”

A comfortable silence lingers, the three of you just… existing in this newfound warmth. But then Yunjin shifts slightly, biting her lip, and smirks. “Okay but… This whole thing has me sweating. It's fucking hot in here.”

Kazuha chuckles, shaking her head before she reaches for the hem of her top. “Then take off your clothes.”

Without hesitation, she tugs her shirt over her head, tossing it aside before standing to shimmy out of her pants, leaving her in nothing but a lacy bra and matching underwear. She stretches her arms above her head, smirking as she catches both you and Yunjin staring. “What?”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and stand up as well. “Nothing.” You match her, stripping down to just your boxers, sighing slightly at the relief of shedding your clothes.

Yunjin watches you both, eyes dark and curious, then rolls her eyes and mutters, “God, you two are bad influences.” But she still lifts her shirt off, then slides her jeans down her legs, standing in nothing but a thin, barely-there bralette and panties that cling to her hips.

The air is thick again, that lingering tension still simmering just below the surface. You could push things further right now, easily. But then Kazuha exhales, stretching lazily before collapsing back into bed, pulling Yunjin down with her. “Okay, okay,” she murmurs, yawning slightly. “We’ll stay like this, snuggled up, just for a little while. Then we’ll continue the fun.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay. Just a little while.”

Yunjin smirks, draping an arm over Kazuha’s waist. “Sure. Just a little.”

But within minutes, the alcohol, the warmth, the exhaustion—it all takes over. One by one, you all drift off, tangled together, the heat of bare skin against bare skin, breathing steady, slow.

And the fun? That can wait. For now.

—

Yunjin wakes up to a headache that feels like a freight train crashed into her skull. Her eyes are heavy, slow to adjust to the dim morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. Her body is warm under the sheets, the weight of sleep still clinging to her limbs, making it hard to move. She shifts slightly, stretching out—and then it hits her.

This… isn’t her room.

Her eyes snap open fully, her heart skipping a beat. The bed is too big, too comfortable. The sheets smell like something familiar—like you, like Kazuha. And then she notices—this isn’t just any room.

It’s your room.

Panic creeps up her spine.

The bed is empty. You and Kazuha are already up. The sheets are rumpled, the space beside her still faintly warm. But that’s not what makes her stomach twist. As her mind slowly unspools the events of last night, piece by piece, a million things start crashing into her all at once.

The drinking. The truth or dare game.

The teasing. The peeks, the touches, the way her body had moved on its own, drunk on more than just alcohol.

The way you had moaned when she took you into her mouth.

Fuck.

She groans softly, covering her face with her hands.

"I actually did that. I actually fucking did that."

Yunjin sits up too fast, the headache pulsing behind her eyes, making her regret it instantly. She blinks hard, rubbing her temples, and that’s when she notices—she’s only in her bra and panties.

Panic level: maximum.

Her clothes are scattered across the floor. Jeans crumpled, shirt halfway under the bed, socks in two completely different spots. Shit. She scrambles, grabbing them as fast as she can, shoving one leg into her jeans before realizing they’re inside out.

Then she freezes.

The apartment is quiet—except for the sound of voices.

From the kitchen.

She can’t make out the words, but she doesn’t need to. It’s obvious. You and Kazuha are talking about last night.

Talking about how this was a mistake.

About how to let her down easy.

About how to get her out of here without being assholes about it.

A cold wave of embarrassment crashes over her. She knew, deep down, that this was going to happen. The drunken jokes, the stolen glances, the playful teasing that had gone just a little too far—everyone was playing with fire. And now, she was the one left standing in the ashes, half-dressed and wishing she could rewind time.

She exhales sharply, pressing her lips together. "Okay. Don’t make this worse."

She needs to go. Now.

Yunjin sneaks down the hallway towards her room. She moves quickly, grabbing her backpack, throwing in the few things she has left in her room. The suitcase is heavier than she remembers, her hands fumbling with the zipper, her chest tight. She doesn’t even take a second to glance at the bed again—she just needs to get out before they say it first.

Yunjin sneaks into the hallway, dragging the suitcase behind her as quietly as she can. Almost there. Just a few more steps and she’ll be out the door—

“Wait—where are you going?”

She jumps.

Kazuha’s voice comes from the kitchen, sharp with surprise.

Yunjin turns, caught like a kid sneaking out after curfew. Kazuha’s standing there, spatula in one hand, brow furrowed, and you’re behind her, coffee mug halfway to your lips. Both of you are looking at her like she just announced she’s moving to Mars.

Yunjin forces out the biggest lie she can think of. “I, uh—I found another apartment.”

Silence.

Kazuha stares at her, expression unreadable. “…What?”

Yunjin clears her throat, gripping the suitcase handle tighter. “Yeah. I, uh, got a place. Last-minute thing. So, you know, I should probably just—” She gestures toward the door, already feeling her face heat up under Kazuha’s intense gaze.

You lower your mug, frowning slightly. “You never mentioned that.”

Kazuha tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “That’s funny. Because last night, you were saying you didn’t even start looking for apartments yet.”

Yunjin swallows. Shit. Think faster. “Yeah, well. Things change.”

Kazuha takes a step closer, arms crossing over her chest. “Are you lying to me?”

Yunjin opens her mouth—then closes it. She’s a terrible liar.

Kazuha sighs, and before Yunjin can react, she reaches forward and grabs the backpack off her shoulder.

“What—? Kazuha—”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The authority in her voice makes Yunjin freeze. It’s not harsh, not angry—just firm. Like she’s laying down the law. Like she knows what’s going on in Yunjin’s head and she’s not letting it happen.

Kazuha gives her a look, one that makes it very clear this is not up for debate. Then she nods toward the kitchen. “Sit. We need to talk.”

Yunjin clenches her jaw, but something about Kazuha’s tone makes her comply. She exhales through her nose, dragging her feet as she follows her into the kitchen, suitcase still trailing behind.

You’re already sitting at the table, watching all of this unfold, the confusion on your face slowly shifting into understanding.

Kazuha gestures to the chair. “Sit.”

Yunjin slumps into it, crossing her arms. “I already know what you’re gonna say,” she mutters, staring at the table. “We don’t need to waste time.”

Kazuha raises an eyebrow as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates. “Oh, really? And what exactly am I going to say?”

Yunjin shrugs stiffly. “That last night was a mistake. That it shouldn’t have happened. That you and him feel weird about it now, and you don’t want things to be awkward, so it’s probably better if I just… leave before it gets worse.”

A beat of silence.

Then Kazuha bursts out laughing.

Yunjin’s head snaps up. “The fuck is so funny?”

Kazuha shakes her head, still chuckling as she sets a plate in front of Yunjin. “You’re so dramatic.”

Yunjin blinks. “Excuse me?”

You set your coffee down, finally speaking. “We weren’t talking about how to kick you out, Yunjin. We were making breakfast.”

She stares. “But—I heard you—”

“You heard us talking,” Kazuha corrects. “And then you assumed the worst and spiraled.”

Yunjin opens her mouth to argue, but… yeah, okay, maybe that’s exactly what happened.

Kazuha slides into the seat next to her, nudging the plate closer. Eggs, toast, fresh fruit. “Eat.”

Yunjin stares at it. “Are you seriously feeding me right now?”

Kazuha rolls her eyes. “You’re hungover. And you need to stop overthinking shit. So, yeah. I’m feeding you.”

Yunjin huffs, but her stomach betrays her by growling loud as fuck.

Kazuha smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Yunjin glares at her, but still picks up the fork.

You lean back in your chair, watching them with an amused glint in your eye. “So, you’re really not gonna leave now, right?”

Yunjin pauses mid-bite, then sighs dramatically. “I guess not.”

Kazuha grins, reaching out to steal a piece of Yunjin’s toast. “Good.”

Yunjin eats in silence, her fork scraping lightly against the plate. The food helps—the headache is still there, but the nausea is fading, replaced by something steadier. But the weight of the conversation that’s obviously coming? Yeah, that’s still pressing down on her chest.

But she doesn’t have to wait long.

Kazuha shifts in her chair, glancing at you first, then at Yunjin. She presses her lips together for a second, then exhales, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, so…” she starts, her fingers tapping idly against the table. “I know what happened yesterday is… hard to explain.”

Yunjin tenses, her grip tightening on her fork. “Look, I—” she swallows, staring at her plate. “I didn’t mean to mess things up between you two.”

Kazuha blinks, then immediately shakes her head. “You didn’t mess anything up.” Her voice is firm, certain. “If anything, I’m the one who started pushing boundaries. So if anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.”

Yunjin looks up at her, skeptical. “You?”

Kazuha gives a small shrug. “Yeah. I was the one who kept teasing, kept pushing things further. And I know it got intense, and maybe we—” she glances at you briefly before looking back at Yunjin, “—went too far. We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Especially not after everything you’ve been through. We want you to feel safe here.”

Yunjin exhales through her nose, setting her fork down. “It’s okay,” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.

You lean in slightly, watching her carefully. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

You glance at Kazuha, then back at Yunjin. “We just… we liked what happened.”

Yunjin hesitates. “Wait—you liked it?”

Kazuha chuckles. “Well, yeah.”

You shrug, smirking slightly. “A lot.”

Yunjin clears her throat, her cheeks tinging pink. “Oh.”

Kazuha folds her arms on the table, tilting her head slightly. “We actually talked about an open relationship a few years ago,” she admits. “We never went any further with it. Mainly because we hadn’t found the right person.”

Yunjin’s eyes widen slightly. “Wait—so you guys were already thinking about this before last night?”

You nod. “Yeah. But this is different. We weren’t just thinking about hooking up with someone. We were wondering if…” You trail off for a second, exchanging another glance with Kazuha before turning back to Yunjin. “If you’d want to actually be in this with us. A threesome. Like, an actual relationship.”

Yunjin stares at you like you just told her the sky is green. Then she coughs, nearly choking on air. “A what?”

Kazuha bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I know, I know. It’s a lot. And you don’t have to say yes. I mean, you just got out of a relationship, and I don’t want to ruin our friendship, so if this is weird or uncomfortable, I completely understand.”

Yunjin presses her fingers to her temples, exhaling slowly. “So let me get this straight,” she says. “You two—the couple I’ve been third-wheeling for years—actually want to be in a relationship with me?”

Kazuha shrugs, grinning. “Basically.”

Yunjin shakes her head, letting out a soft laugh, more disbelieving than anything. But then she goes quiet for a moment, staring down at her plate.

“…This might actually work,” she murmurs after a moment.

You blink. “Wait. You’d want to try it?”

She hesitates, but then nods. “Yeah. I mean… I like you both. You’re amazing. And honestly, the only problem with last night was that I… liked it. A lot.”

Kazuha’s grin widens. “That’s kind of the opposite of a problem, Yunjin.”

Yunjin groans, covering her face with one hand. “Oh God. I can’t believe I’m getting into a relationship with my best friend and her boyfriend.”

You smirk, leaning back in your chair. “It’s 2025. Welcome to the future.”

Kazuha laughs, nudging Yunjin’s foot under the table. “This is actually so exciting.”

Yunjin peeks at her through her fingers, sighing. “Yeah. Yeah, it kinda is.”

And just like that, something new begins.

—

It’s strange, and at the same time, it’s not.

The routine doesn’t change much—Yunjin still wakes up late whenever she doesn’t have an early shift, Kazuha still scolds her for leaving dishes in the sink, and you still find yourself in the middle of their playful arguments over what to watch on TV. But there’s a shift, something subtle but undeniable. Yunjin’s presence in the apartment feels different now. She’s not just a guest, not just someone crashing here until she figures things out.

She’s part of it.

And the two of you—you and Kazuha—are working on making that real.

It’s new for both of you, uncharted territory. You’ve talked about it before, but actually living it, actually figuring it out in real time? It’s an entirely different thing. There’s no roadmap, no set rules. You’re just… trying things out. Seeing what works. Adapting.

Yunjin, though, she never takes the initiative. She never kisses you first. Never pulls Kazuha into her lap. It’s always you or Kazuha who leans in first, closing the space, pressing lips against hers until she melts into it. But the affection is still there, just in different ways.

When you’re all watching a movie, she always ends up curled up against one of you. Sometimes it’s Kazuha, her head on her lap while Kazuha absently plays with her hair. Other times, she burrows against your side, your arm naturally wrapping around her waist like it’s second nature.

And then there are the little things. The quiet, domestic moments that don’t scream romance but feel just as intimate.

Like how, after Kazuha spends hours teaching ballet, her feet sore and swollen, Yunjin is the one who pulls out the ice packs and gently rubs her arches, grumbling about how she should be taking better care of herself.

"You're not a machine, Zuha," Yunjin mutters, pressing her thumbs into the delicate curve of her foot, making her sigh in relief. "You gotta stop pushing yourself like this."

Kazuha grins, eyes closed, completely unbothered. "I like pushing myself."

"You like being a stubborn idiot," Yunjin counters, shaking her head, but she still massages carefully, knowing exactly where Kazuha's muscles are tight, where she needs the most pressure. She's been doing this since they were just friends.

And then, of course, there’s the other part.

Sex has somehow become the part of the day. Not just because it’s good—though, fuck, it is—but because it’s new and thrilling in a way none of you expected.

It started out slow, experimental, all of you feeling out the boundaries of what worked, what didn’t, what made Yunjin gasp and what made Kazuha moan. But it didn’t take long before you all started really learning each other. Before hands got bolder, before kisses turned filthier, before whispered fuck, I want you turned into breathless, desperate moans in the dark.

Kazuha, always the playful one, took to it like it was a game—learning what made Yunjin squirm, teasing you until you lost your composure completely. Yunjin, on the other hand, was different. She wasn’t used to being wanted like this. Wasn’t used to having hands on her, lips on her, people taking their time with her. But the way she responded, the way she learned? It drove you crazy.

And then there was the way Kazuha looked at you when Yunjin fell apart beneath your touch. That look of pure, raw enjoyment, of satisfaction that you were both making her feel this good.

You learned quickly—everything about them, the way their bodies moved, the things they liked, the things that made them gasp, moan, beg. Every night was a new lesson, a new way to push each other, to test limits, to find out just how far this could go.

It didn’t take long to notice the differences.

Kazuha loved control. She liked being on top, loved riding, loved having the power to set the pace, to tease and push and deny just to make you or Yunjin whine. She was playful about it, too, never taking things too seriously—grinning through every little challenge, pushing you until you lost your patience and took what you wanted from her.

Yunjin, though—she was different. She didn’t want control. She wanted to give in, to be told what to do, to be made to feel good. She melted under hands guiding her, shivered at being pinned down, craved the feeling of being wanted so badly it made her dizzy. And when you figured that out? When Kazuha figured that out?

It changed everything.

You learned that Yunjin liked getting her ass slapped. That the first time Kazuha did it, fingers digging into her skin afterward, whispering, you like that, don’t you?—she let out the most desperate, filthy moan you’d ever heard. That after that night, Kazuha started doing it all the time, every time Yunjin got too cocky, too bratty, just to hear that little gasp when her palm connected with skin.

And then there was Yunjin with Kazuha.

Yunjin had never gone down on a girl before. She’d never even thought about it, never felt the urge. But that first time—when Kazuha straddled her face, thighs strong and glistening, lowering herself slowly onto Yunjin’s eager, nervous mouth?

She was hooked.

She couldn’t get enough of it, the way Kazuha gasped, the way she rode Yunjin’s tongue, hips rolling, fingers tugging at her hair, her body demanding more, more, more.

It became a thing. Kazuha loved using Yunjin like that, making her earn her pleasure, grinding down on her face, moaning about how good she was getting at it. And Yunjin? She got fucking addicted to it.

One night, you’d been behind Yunjin, stretching her open, thrusting deep and slow, watching the way her body arched, the way her breath hitched every time you bottomed out. And in front of her, Kazuha was straddling her face again, rocking against her mouth, gasping every time Yunjin’s tongue flicked against her clit.

And fuck, the sounds. The wet, messy slurps of Yunjin eating Kazuha out like she needed it, the little moans Kazuha let out, hands tangled in Yunjin’s hair, guiding her, riding her face like she was made for it.

You leaned over, gripping Yunjin’s hips tight, thrusting into her just a little harder, a little rougher, groaning, you love this, don’t you? And she moaned against Kazuha’s cunt, her body trembling, her nails digging into Kazuha’s thighs, completely wrecked between the two of you.

And after? The after was always soft.

Bodies tangled together, warm and slick with sweat, lips pressing against bare skin, murmured words of fuck, that was so good and I love you and holy shit, we really did that.

Yunjin always ended up curled between you two, half-asleep but smiling, completely relaxed in a way she never used to be.

Kazuha would press a kiss to her temple, to your jaw, whispering, "best decision ever."

And yeah. It really, really was.

—

Yunjin’s birthday.

She’d told you both not to do anything. That she didn’t want a big deal made, that it was just another day, that birthdays were overrated. But neither you nor Kazuha were the type to let something like that slide.

So when she got scheduled for a late shift at the gym, it was perfect. It gave you and Kazuha the whole day to set things up, to buy a cake, to pick out gifts, to make sure the apartment felt warm when she walked in.

By the time night rolls around, everything’s in place. The lights are off, the apartment quiet, the cake in Kazuha’s hands, waiting.

Then the front door unlocks.

Yunjin steps inside, sighing as she drops her bag by the door, kicking off her shoes. She mutters something about how she swears people get needier when they know she’s about to clock out.

And then she flicks on the light.

“SURPRISE!”

Her whole body jumps, eyes going wide as she stares at you both. Kazuha is holding the cake, a mischievous grin on her face, while you stand beside her, watching Yunjin’s reaction with a growing smirk.

Yunjin presses a hand to her chest, catching her breath. “Jesus fuck, you guys scared the shit out of me.”

You chuckle, stepping forward as you flick a lighter, igniting the candles on the cake. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Kazuha beams, holding the cake out slightly. “Make a wish.”

Yunjin stares at the both of you, her expression softening, something warm flickering in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, like she’s trying not to get emotional, then shakes her head, laughing softly.

“You guys are so stupid,” she mutters, but she’s already setting her hands on Kazuha’s shoulders, pulling her forward into a tight hug. She buries her face in the crook of Kazuha’s neck for a second, inhaling deeply before pulling you in too, wrapping her arms around both of you.

She presses a kiss to Kazuha’s lips, slow and grateful, then turns to you, doing the same. When she pulls back, her nose scrunches slightly. “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

Kazuha rolls her eyes. “Of course we did.”

You smirk. “Besides, what kind of boyfriend and girlfriend would we be if we didn’t celebrate?”

Yunjin exhales through her nose, smiling as she glances at the flickering candles. “Fine, fine.” She closes her eyes for a second, murmuring something under her breath before blowing them out.

Kazuha cheers softly, clapping her hands. “Yay! Now, cake.”

You chuckle, grabbing some plates. “And presents.”

Yunjin groans. “Oh my God, you guys actually got me presents?”

“Duh.” Kazuha grins, already slicing the cake.

Yunjin shakes her head, laughing as she plops down at the table. “You two are unbelievable.”

But she’s happy. You can see it in the way she’s trying not to let the smile take over her whole face.

You all sit together, eating cake, talking, laughing—just being.

And then, when the plates are empty, you pull out the gifts.

The first one is a hoodie she’d been eyeing online but never actually bought for herself. The second is a small but meaningful charm for the bracelet she always wears, something that ties her to the both of you, something to say you belong here.

The second gift? A leather-bound journal. Deep burgundy, soft to the touch, the kind of book that begs to be filled. Inside, the first few pages are already written in—notes from both of you. Messages, little doodles, inside jokes. Words of encouragement, pages left blank for her to spill whatever she needs to, whenever she’s ready.

Yunjin flips through it slowly, her fingers ghosting over the ink, her lips parting like she’s trying to find something to say but can’t. Then she exhales, blinking fast. “You guys are so fucking unfair,” she mutters, but her voice is wobbly, her hands tightening around the journal like it means everything.

Kazuha grins, nudging her. “You love it.”

Yunjin swallows, looking between the both of you. Then she nods, voice thick. “Yeah. I do.”

You and Kazuha exchange a look before turning back to her. You reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “We love having you here, Yunjin.”

Kazuha hums in agreement, resting her head against Yunjin’s shoulder. “We really do.”

Yunjin blinks again, then lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “I swear, you two are gonna make me cry.”

Kazuha leans in, kissing her cheek softly. “That’s okay.”

You follow, pressing a kiss to her jaw, letting your fingers graze the inside of her wrist. Yunjin shudders slightly, exhaling against your skin.

She pulls back, her gaze darting between you both. “Promise me something.”

Kazuha tilts her head. “What?”

Yunjin’s voice drops, quieter now, more raw. “Promise me we never let this fall apart.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Never.”

Kazuha nods, tucking a strand of Yunjin’s hair behind her ear. “You’re stuck with us now.”

Yunjin laughs softly, her fingers tracing over yours. “Good.”

Then Kazuha smirks, nudging Yunjin’s knee under the table. “You do know the night isn’t over yet, right?”

Yunjin’s eyes flick to her, slightly dazed from the weight of the conversation. “Huh?”

Kazuha leans in, lips brushing against her ear. “Come to bed.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across Yunjin’s lips. She glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “You in?”

You grin, standing up, already reaching for her hand. “Always.”

Kazuha giggles, grabbing Yunjin’s other hand, tugging her toward the bedroom. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Her grin turns wicked as she drags you both into the bedroom, kicking the door shut with her heel. “One more gift,” she sing-songs, pulling a small black box from the dresser. Yunjin’s eyes light up, bouncing on her toes like a kid hyped on sugar. “What is it? What is it?”

“Patience, princess,” Kazuha teases, popping the lid open. Inside: satin blindfold, sleek silver handcuffs. Yunjin’s breath hitches. “Oh. Shit.”

Kazuha steps closer, trailing a finger down Yunjin’s arm. “You’re gonna let us ruin you today, yeah?” Her voice is syrup-sweet, dangerous. Before Yunjin can fire back, Kazuha kisses her—deep, hungry—and slides the blindfold over her eyes. Yunjin’s lips part in a gasp, her hands instinctively reaching out, but Kazuha catches her wrists. “Uh-uh. No peeking.”

You move in, fingers hooking under the hem of Yunjin’s shirt. She shivers as you peel it off, goosebumps rising where your knuckles graze her ribs. “Cold?” you murmur, lips brushing her ear. She shakes her head, biting her lip. “Just… fucking nervous.”

Kazuha laughs softly, unclasping Yunjin’s bra. “Don’t be. We got you.” The fabric falls, and Yunjin’s breath stutters as cool air hits her skin. You unbutton her jeans and slowly slide them down until they're off. You give her a kiss on the hip before taking off her panties. Now naked, you guide her toward the bed, her steps hesitant but trusting, until her knees hit the mattress. Kazuha pushes her down gently, straddling her hips while you strip off your own clothes.

Yunjin’s hands roam blindly, fingertips skating over your chest, down your stomach—then lower. She groans when her palm finds your cock, already hard. “Jesus,” she mutters, squeezing lightly. “Show-off.”

You chuckle, crawling over her. “I'm just excited.” Her retort dies as you kiss her, slow and filthy, her back arching off the bed. Then you take her wrists and put them together, handcuffing her. Kazuha watches, biting her lip, her oversized shirt comes off in one fluid motion over her head. Underneath, she's bare. She leans in, nipping at Yunjin’s collarbone. “Feel good, Jen?”

“Too good,” Yunjin breathes, hips lifting as your tongue drags over her nipple. Kazuha hums, pinching the other one just to hear her whine.

“That’s the point.”

You settle between Yunjin’s thighs, spreading her knees wider. “Relax,” Kazuha whispers, kissing the corner of her mouth. “We’re just getting started.”

Yunjin’s chest heaves, blindfold damp with sweat. “You two are evil.”

“Your evil,” you correct, dragging your tongue up her inner thigh.

She laughs, shaky and breathless. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.”

Above her, Kazuha smirks. “This will be your best birthday.”

You drag the head of your cock through her pussy, circling her clit just to hear her whine. “C’mon,” Yunjin grits out, hips jerking up, but you pull back, grinning.

“Nah. Not yet.”

Kazuha snorts, thumbs rolling Yunjin's nipples hard. “Look at her,” she purrs, leaning down to lick a stripe up Yunjin’s throat. “So fucking desperate.” Yunjin’s breath hitches as Kazuha pinches both peaks, twisting just shy of cruel. “Zuha—”

“You wanna beg?” you taunt, pressing the tip against her entrance again, not pushing in. Just there, teasing. “Say it.”

Yunjin’s teeth dig into her bottom lip, stubborn, but her hips rock helplessly, chasing friction. Kazuha slaps her tits lightly, the sound sharp. “Jen. Use your words.”

“Fuck—fine,” Yunjin snaps, blindfold slipping askew as she thrashes. “Put it in, you asshole—please.”

You click your tongue. “Tch. Rude.” But you give her an inch, just enough to make her gasp, her walls fluttering around the tip. Kazuha’s fingers slide into Yunjin’s hair, yanking her head back. “Again. Nicer.”

Yunjin whimpers, back arching. “Please—I need it. C’mon, please fuck me—”

You sink in slow, stretching her, relishing the way her mouth falls open. “There you go,” you murmur, grinding deep but not moving. Kazuha’s already kissing her, swallowing her moans, hands roaming her ribs. “Feel good, baby?” Kazuha breathes against her lips. “Look at you—taking him so good.”

Yunjin nods frantically. “More—”

You pull out almost all the way, dragging a broken noise from her throat. “Nuh-uh. Slow.” You thrust shallow, lazy, keeping her on the edge. Kazuha’s fingers tweak her nipples again, and Yunjin sobs, her legs shaking. “You’re evil,” she chokes out, but her hips roll, greedy.

Kazuha laughs, low and warm. “And you’re obsessed.” She licks into Yunjin’s mouth, messy and wet. “Bet you’d let us do this all night, huh? Just… take it. Be our good girl.”

Yunjin’s reply is a shattered moan as you finally give her a full stroke, deep and slow. “There,” Kazuha coos, palming her tits. “See? We’ll take care of you.”

Your hips snap forward, pace shifting from lazy rolls to something hungrier, deeper. Yunjin’s nails claw at the sheets, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “Fuck—fuck—”

Kazuha leans over her, nipping at her earlobe. “That’s it, baby. Take it,” she murmurs, thumbs circling Yunjin’s nipples, red and swollen from attention. “Look at you—so fucking pretty when you’re wrecked.”

Yunjin’s head thrashes side to side, blindfold damp and crooked. “Shut up—”

“Nah,” you grunt, slamming into her harder, the bedframe creaking. “We’re gonna talk about how good you feel all damn night.” Your hand grips her hip, fingers bruising, as you drive into her. “Love how you squeeze me—Christ—like you’re scared I’ll leave.”

Kazuha laughs, low and warm, her lips trailing down Yunjin’s jaw. “She’s greedy,” she teases, pinching a nipple just to watch Yunjin jolt. “Wants us both to ruin her.”

Yunjin’s moan cracks into a whine, her legs hooking around your waist, pulling you deeper. “Yes—yes, keep—ah—”

“Keep what, princess?” Kazuha purrs, her palm sliding down Yunjin’s stomach, fingertips grazing her clit. “Use your words.”

“Keep—fucking me,” Yunjin gasps, back arching off the mattress. “Harder—please—”

You oblige, slamming into her with a force that knocks the breath out of her. Kazuha’s fingers circle her clit, relentless, as she whispers filth into Yunjin’s ear. “Bet you’d let him break you if I asked, huh? My good girl.”

Yunjin’s reply is a shattered cry, her hips bucking wildly, torn between your thrusts and Kazuha’s touch. “Zuha—fuck—”

“We got you,” you growl. “Not gonna stop ’til you’re screaming.”

Kazuha’s grin is all teeth as she watches Yunjin unravel. “Best birthday present ever,” she hums, licking the shell of Yunjin’s ear. “And we’re just starting.”

Yunjin’s voice cracks, raw and desperate, as you pound into her, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. “Zuha—please—” she gasps, her head thrashing against the pillow. “I wanna—fuck—I wanna taste you.”

Kazuha freezes, her fingers stilling on Yunjin’s clit. “What?” she breathes, her eyes wide, lips curling into a wicked grin. “You’re begging for it now?”

“Yes,” Yunjin whines, her hips jerking up to meet your thrusts. “I’m—fuck—I’m addicted, okay? I need it—please—”

Kazuha’s laugh is low, throaty, as she leans down, her lips brushing Yunjin’s ear. “God, you’re insatiable,” she murmurs, her breath hot. “But who am I to say no?”

She kisses her way down Yunjin’s body—her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts—nipping and sucking until Yunjin’s trembling beneath her. “You’re so fucking needy,” Kazuha teases, her tongue flicking over a nipple. “But I love it.”

Yunjin’s hips buck wildly, her moans turning into desperate pleas. “Zuha—please—I can’t—fuck—I can’t wait—”

Kazuha smirks, crawling up Yunjin’s body until she’s straddling her chest. “You sure you can handle me?” she purrs, her fingers tangling in Yunjin’s hair. “You’re already so wrecked.”

“Yes,” Yunjin gasps, her lips parting, tongue darting out like she can already taste her. “I need it—please—”

Kazuha’s grin widens as she shifts forward, her thighs framing Yunjin’s face. She's facing you, and her eyes meet yours before she finally says: “Then earn it,” lowering herself slowly, her wetness brushing Yunjin’s lips.

Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. Her tongue flicks out, lapping at Kazuha’s pussy, hungry and eager. Kazuha’s breath hitches, her hips rolling instinctively, grinding against Yunjin’s mouth. “Fuck,” she moans, her head falling back. “You’re so good at this.”

You don’t let up, your thrusts relentless, driving Yunjin deeper into the mattress. Her moans are muffled against Kazuha, her tongue working in frantic, messy strokes. Kazuha’s hands grip the headboard, her thighs trembling as she rides Yunjin’s face. “God—you’re obsessed with me,” she gasps, her voice shaking. “Aren’t you?”

Yunjin’s response is a muffled whimper, her tongue plunging deeper, her lips sucking hungrily. Kazuha’s nails dig into the headboard, her back arching. “Fuck—yes—just like that—”

The room is a symphony of moans, the wet sounds of Yunjin’s mouth on Kazuha, the slap of your balls against Yunjin’s ass. Kazuha’s thighs tighten around Yunjin’s head, her movements growing more erratic. “You’re ruining me,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “Fuck—I can’t—”

Yunjin’s hands, still cuffed, twitch like she wants to grab Kazuha’s hips, but she can’t. All she can do is take it, her tongue working in desperate, hungry strokes. Kazuha’s moans grow louder, her hips grinding harder, her thighs squeezing Yunjin’s head like a vice.

“Fuck—fuck—” Kazuha chants, her voice high and desperate. “You’re so—God—you’re so good—”

You lean over Yunjin, your thrusts never slowing, your lips brushing Kazuha’s ear. “Look at her,” you growl, your voice rough. “She’s yours.”

Kazuha’s eyes meet yours, dark and wild, as she grinds down on Yunjin’s mouth. “Mine,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “Fuck—she’s mine—”

Yunjin’s moans are muffled, her body writhing beneath you both, completely at your mercy. And fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Your hips slam into Yunjin, relentless, the slap of skin echoing as she arches off the bed, muffled moans vibrating against Kazuha’s pussy. Kazuha’s thighs quiver where she’s perched on Yunjin’s face, her fingers clawing at the headboard. “Fuck—you like fucking her like this, don’t you?” she pants, her voice shaky but smug. “Tell me—tell me how good she feels—”

“God—yes,” you grit out, your hands digging into Yunjin’s hips, holding her still as you drive deeper. “So fucking tight—squeezin’ me like she’s scared I’ll leave—”

Kazuha moans, grinding down harder on Yunjin’s mouth. “Mmm—knew you’d love it,” she purrs, her nails scraping Yunjin’s scalp. “Our greedy little princess—right, baby? You wanna be his favorite?”

Yunjin whimpers, her tongue lashing faster against Kazuha’s clit like a plea. Kazuha throws her head back, gasping. “Shit—she’s begging for it—fuck—tell her,” she demands, her eyes locking with yours. “Tell her she’s yours.”

You lean down as you fuck into her, slow and deep. “You’re mine,” you growl, voice rough. “Every fucking inch—Christ—you take me so good.”

Yunjin’s moan is desperate, broken, her hips jerking up to meet your thrusts. Kazuha watches, biting her lip, her hips rolling in filthy circles. “Bet you wanna keep her like this forever, huh?” she taunts, her breath hitching as Yunjin’s tongue flicks faster. “handcuffed—blindfolded—just your pretty little fucktoy—”

“Zuha—” Yunjin chokes out, her voice muffled, strained.

Kazuha grins, dragging her fingers through Yunjin’s sweat-damp hair. “Aw, baby—you love it,” she coos, her tone saccharine. “You live for this—being used by us.” She glances at you, her smirk turning wicked. “Harder. She can take it.”

You obey, slamming into Yunjin with a force that makes the bedframe screech. Yunjin’s cry is swallowed by Kazuha’s pussy, her thighs trembling as she struggles to keep up, licking and sucking like her life depends on it. Kazuha’s moans pitch higher, her back arching. “Fuck—yes—just like that—ruin her—”

Yunjin’s cuffed hands twist, her knuckles white, her body strung taut between your thrusts and Kazuha’s weight. “Good girl,” you snarl, your hand sliding up to squeeze her throat gently. “Take it—all of it—”

Kazuha’s laughter is breathless, uneven. “Look at her,” she gasps, her hips stuttering. “Blindfold’s soaked—God—she’s drowning in us—”

You don’t let up, your pace brutal, your thumb brushing Yunjin’s clit in rough circles. She screams around Kazuha, her body bowing off the bed, but you pin her down, relentless. “That’s it,” Kazuha moans, her thighs clamping around Yunjin’s head. “Break her—fuck—I wanna watch her shatter—”

Yunjin’s sobs are muffled, messy, her hips pistoning wildly as she chases her peak—but you don’t let her. Not yet.

Kazuha’s thighs lock like a vice around Yunjin’s head, her back arching as her hips stutter. “Fuck—Jen—don’t stop—” she gasps, her hands clawing at her own tits, nails digging into pale skin. Her abs flex, taut and trembling, as she grinds down harder, riding Yunjin’s tongue like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “Yes—right there—fuck!”

Yunjin moans, the sound muffled and wet, her nose buried in Kazuha’s pussy as she sucks and licks like she’s starving. You lean over her, your thrusts never slowing, sweat dripping onto her heaving chest. “Make her cum,” you growl, your voice ragged. “Choke on it.”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, her thighs shaking violently. “Close—so close—” Her head snaps back, a broken scream tearing from her throat as she cums, her hips jerking wildly, soaking Yunjin’s mouth, chin, the blindfold. “Fuck—fuck—Jen!”

Yunjin keeps licking, greedy, even as Kazuha collapses, her hands braced on the headboard, gasping. “Shit,” Kazuha pants, her voice wrecked, staring down at Yunjin’s glistening face. “Look at you—covered in me.” She swipes a thumb through the mess on Yunjin’s lips, then sucks it clean, moaning. “God, you’re good at that.”

Yunjin’s chest heaves, her lips swollen, chin slick. “Zuha—” she whimpers, hips rolling desperately against your cock. “Please—I need—”

Kazuha crawls off her, knees wobbly, and crashes her mouth onto Yunjin’s, licking her own taste off her lips. “Patience, princess,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing down Yunjin’s stomach. “Your turn.” She glances at you, her eyes dark, hungry. “Wanna watch her break?”

You grip Yunjin’s hips, slamming into her once, hard, just to hear her scream. “Fuck yes.”

Kazuha grins, her hand sliding between Yunjin’s legs, thumb circling her clit. “You hear that, baby?” she purrs, her lips brushing Yunjin’s ear. “He’s gonna fuck you stupid while I play with this pretty little pussy.” Her fingers dip lower, teasing her entrance, already stretched around your cock. “Gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name.”

Yunjin sobs. “Please—please—”

“Begging already?” Kazuha taunts, her thumb pressing harder. “You’re pathetic.” She nips Yunjin’s earlobe. “Love it.”

You lean down, your breath hot against Yunjin’s throat. “Gonna ruin you,” you growl, your pace turning brutal, erratic. “Our good girl.”

Kazuha’s fingers fly over Yunjin’s clit, relentless, her other hand pinning Yunjin’s hips down as you fuck into her, hard and fast. “There—right there—” Yunjin gasps, her voice cracking, thighs shaking like she’s about to snap. “Fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—oh God—”

Kazuha leans in, her lips brushing yours mid-thrust, her tongue sliding against your mouth, hungry. “Make her scream,” she murmurs against your lips, her breath hot. You groan, slamming into Yunjin harder, the bed creaking like it’s about to split.

“Cum,” Kazuha demands, her thumb jamming relentless, sloppy circles over Yunjin’s clit so fast it’s like she’s trying to start a damn fire. Yunjin’s whole body convulses—legs kicking out, stomach clenching, her ass lifting clean off the bed like she’s possessed. “Do it, baby—let it rip, come on—”

Yunjin’s head thrashes against the pillow, her blindfold already slipping damp with sweat. “Wait—wait—fuck—I—I think I’m gonna—oh God, I’m gonna pee—” Her voice cracks, high and frantic, her cuffed hands yanking uselessly against the headboard as her hips squirm to escape. But Kazuha’s got her pinned, one hand digging into her thigh, laughing like a maniac, all breathless and unhinged.

“No you’re not, dumbass,” Kazuha purrs, her eyes darting to yours—dark, wild, practically glowing with how fucking turned on she is. “Trust us, princess. You’re about to lose your mind.”

You don’t let up either, your grip on her hips bruising as you slam into her, relentless, the wet smack of skin on skin filling the room. “Cum,” you growl, voice scraped raw from how hard you’re holding back. “Right fucking now.”

Yunjin’s scream rips out—half terror, half pure, unfiltered ecstasy—as her body locks up tight. Her back bows so hard you think she might snap, and then—fuck—it happens. A hot, explosive gush blasts out of her, soaking your thighs, splashing up your stomach, drenching the sheets in a messy, glorious flood. She’s squirting like a busted faucet, pulsing waves of it, each one harder than the last, and it’s loud—obscenely wet, splattering against your skin, dripping off Kazuha’s wrist as she keeps rubbing Yunjin’s clit.

“Holy shit—yes—look at you!” Kazuha howls, cackling through it, her fingers a blur as she milks Yunjin for more. The gushes keep coming—another sharp spurt hits your chest, warm and slick, then another soaks Kazuha’s arm up to her elbow. Yunjin’s thrashing now, her thighs trembling uncontrollably, the cuffs jingling against each other. “What—what’s happening—I can’t—I can’t stop—”

You’re soaked, cock still buried deep in her, and her pussy’s clenching around you like a vice, fluttering wild as she keeps cumming, keeps squirting, the mess spreading wider. The sheets are a goddamn swamp, dark patches blooming under her ass, and still, she’s not done—another desperate, shuddering wave shoots out, hitting your hips again, trickling down to pool under you. “Fuck,” you grunt, hips stuttering as you try to keep up, sliding in her slick heat. “Never seen anything this hot—shit, Yunjin—”

Kazuha flops forward, her chest heaving as she licks a slow, filthy stripe up Yunjin’s throat, tasting the sweat there. “You’re squirting, baby,” she murmurs, voice thick with smug pride, like she’s just won the lottery. “Ruining everything—our sheets, us, the whole damn bed. Look at this fucking mess—God, it’s perfect.” She’s grinning, feral, her soaked hand still moving, coaxing out more—a smaller spurt this time, but it still splashes against her palm, dripping between her fingers.

Yunjin’s a wreck—gasping, whimpering, her blindfold completely drenched now, sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her chest heaves like she’s run a marathon, her voice breaking as she stammers, “I—I can’t—it’s too much—fuck—” Another weak gush leaks out, slower now but still enough to make her twitch, her oversensitive body jerking under Kazuha’s touch like she’s been electrocuted.

You keep fucking her through it, slower now but deep, feeling her walls pulse and flutter around you, her slick mixing with the absolute lake she’s turned the bed into. “So fucking gorgeous,” you mutter, voice rough, losing your rhythm as your own edge creeps closer. “You’re a goddamn waterfall, Yunjin—holy shit.”

Kazuha’s fingers finally ease up, turning soft and careful as she rubs gentle circles over Yunjin’s clit, drawing out the last little trickles. Yunjin whimpers, her hips jolting with every touch, her body strung out and twitching. “Shh—there you go, good girl,” Kazuha coos, leaning down to kiss her jaw, her lips brushing soft against the trembling skin. “You did so fucking good, baby. Drenched us—look at this disaster.”

Yunjin’s head lolls to the side, her breaths ragged, voice a wrecked whisper. “Did I—did I really just—?”

“Hell yeah, you did,” Kazuha cuts in, smirking wide as she lifts her dripping hand to her mouth, licking her fingers clean with a low, dramatic moan. “Goddamn, you taste so good—like victory or some shit.” She savors it, sucking her knuckles, eyes half-lidded as she watches Yunjin squirm. “Welcome to the club, princess. You’re a fucking legend now.”

You finally pull out, cock throbbing and slick, collapsing onto the soaked sheets next to them with a groan. The bed’s a warzone—puddles of Yunjin’s mess everywhere, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat. Kazuha swings a leg over Yunjin’s hips, straddling her, her fingers trailing through the sticky chaos between Yunjin’s thighs. “Look at you,” she teases, pressing two fingers back into Yunjin’s swollen, oversensitive pussy just to hear her gasp and jolt again. “Our little fountain—still leaking, huh?”

Another tiny spurt escapes Yunjin at the intrusion, feeble but enough to make Kazuha giggle darkly. Yunjin groans, her face burning red under the blindfold, her voice hoarse. “Shut up—fuck, stop it—”

Kazuha just laughs, pulling her fingers out and smearing the wetness across Yunjin’s stomach, leaving a glistening trail. “Nah, you love it. Look at you, still shaking. You’re gonna remember this one forever, princess.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, grinning at the sight—both of them wrecked, the bed ruined, Yunjin’s thighs still trembling from the aftershocks. “She’s right,” you say, voice low and rough. “You’re a fucking mess, Yunjin. Hottest mess I’ve ever seen.”

Yunjin just groans again, turning her face into the pillow like she can hide from the embarrassment, but Kazuha’s already leaning down, kissing her neck, whispering something filthy that makes Yunjin shiver all over again.

“On your knees,” you say, your voice low, rough, and Kazuha’s eyes light up like she just won the damn lottery. She’s already moving, her hands sliding under Yunjin’s arms, helping her sit up even though Yunjin’s still a little shaky.

“C’mon, princess,” Kazuha murmurs, her voice all sugar and sin as she undoes the handcuffs, letting them clatter to the floor. Yunjin’s wrists are red, marked, and Kazuha kisses one of them softly, like she’s apologizing but also not really sorry at all. “You’re doing so good for us, baby. Just a little more, okay?”

Yunjin nods, her lips parted, her breath still coming in short, uneven gasps. She’s blindfolded, completely at your mercy, and fuck if that doesn’t make your cock twitch. Kazuha guides her off the bed, her hands gentle but firm, and Yunjin stumbles a little, her legs still weak from cumming so hard.

“Easy, Jen,” Kazuha says, her voice soft but teasing. “Don’t wanna fall before you get to taste him, right?”

Yunjin’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t argue. She lets Kazuha guide her to her knees on the floor, the cool wood against her skin making her shiver. Kazuha kneels beside her, her hand brushing Yunjin’s hair back, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

“You ready, baby?” Kazuha asks, her voice dripping with mischief.

Yunjin nods again, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and fuck, the sight of her like this—blindfolded, on her knees, still trembling from her orgasm—has you so hard it’s almost painful.

You step closer, your cock brushing against Yunjin’s lips, and she opens her mouth instinctively, her tongue flicking out to taste you. Kazuha’s right there, her hand on Yunjin’s shoulder, her other hand reaching up to wrap around the base of your cock, guiding it into Yunjin’s mouth.

“That’s it,” Kazuha purrs, her eyes locked on yours as Yunjin takes you deeper, her lips wrapping around you, her tongue swirling against the underside. “Look at her, babe. She’s so fucking good at this.”

Yunjin moans around you, the vibration making you groan, and Kazuha smirks, leaning in to kiss Yunjin’s cheek. “You hear that, Jen? He loves it when you suck him like this.”

Yunjin’s hands find your thighs, her fingers digging in as she takes you deeper, her throat working around you. Kazuha’s not content to just watch, though. She leans in, her lips brushing against the tip of your cock, her tongue flicking out to taste you right alongside Yunjin.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your hand tangling in Kazuha’s hair as she takes over, her mouth sliding down your cock, her tongue teasing the sensitive spot just under the head. Yunjin’s still there, her lips pressed against the base, her tongue licking and sucking like she’s trying to prove something.

“You two—” you start, but your voice cracks, your hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard.”

Kazuha pulls off just enough to smirk up at you, her lips glistening. “Yeah? You gonna paint our faces, baby? Make us your pretty little canvas?”

Yunjin moans again, her tongue swirling around you, and Kazuha laughs, low and throaty. “Look at her,” she says, her fingers brushing Yunjin’s cheek. “She’s already begging for it.”

“Keep going,” you growl, your hand tightening in Kazuha’s hair as she takes you deep again, her tongue working in tandem with Yunjin’s. “Fuck, just like that.”

Kazuha hums around you, the sound vibrating through your cock, and Yunjin’s fingers dig into your thighs harder, like she’s trying to hold on. They’re both so fucking good at this, so eager, so desperate to please you, and it’s taking everything in you not to lose it right then and there.

Kazuha passes the turn to Yunjin and, fuck, her mouth is so warm, wet, and so fucking tight around you, her throat working as she takes you deeper, her lips stretched around your cock. You can’t help it—your hips start moving, fucking her throat like it’s her pussy, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she moans, the sound vibrating through you, her hands gripping your thighs like she’s holding on for dear life.

“That’s it,” Kazuha murmurs, her voice low and husky as she kneels beside Yunjin, her lips brushing against your thigh. Her hand slides up, cupping your balls, squeezing gently, and you groan, your hips jerking forward again. “Fuck her throat, baby. She can take it.”

Yunjin’s blindfold is soaked, her makeup smudged, drool running down her chin, but, fuck, she looks beautiful like this—wrecked, messy, and completely yours. Her throat tightens around you, and you can feel her gag reflex kicking in, but she doesn’t stop. She just takes it, her nails digging into your skin as you fuck her face.

“God, I love you both so much,” you mutter, your voice rough, your hand tangling in Yunjin’s hair as you thrust deeper. Kazuha’s lips trail up your abdomen, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and her free hand slides up to squeeze your ass, urging you on.

“We love you too,” Kazuha purrs, her breath hot against your stomach. “Now cum for us, baby. Paint our faces. Make us yours.”

You’re so close—your balls tightening, your cock throbbing—and you can’t hold back anymore. You pull out of Yunjin’s throat with a wet pop, her lips swollen, her chin glistening with spit. She gasps for air, her chest heaving, but she doesn’t move. She stays on her knees, waiting, her blindfold still in place.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you growl, your hand stroking your cock as Kazuha leans in, her tongue flicking out to tease the tip.

“Do it,” Kazuha whispers, her eyes locked on yours, dark and hungry. “Cum for us.”

The first shot hits Kazuha’s cheek, thick and hot, and she moans, her tongue darting out to catch the next one as it lands on her lips. Yunjin’s head tilts up, her mouth open, and you aim for her next, painting her face with your cum. She gasps, the sensation of it hitting her skin making her moan, her lips parting as another streak lands on her tongue.

“Fuck, yes,” Kazuha breathes, her fingers brushing through the mess on Yunjin’s face, smearing it across her cheeks. “Look at her, baby. She’s so fucking pretty like this.”

You’re still cumming, your cock twitching in your hand as you shoot the last few ropes across Kazuha’s forehead, her eyelashes fluttering as it drips down her face. She laughs, low and throaty, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop.

“God, you two,” you mutter, your chest heaving as you finally finish, your cock still throbbing. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Kazuha grins, her face glistening, and she leans in, her tongue dragging across Yunjin’s cheek, cleaning the cum off her skin. Yunjin shivers, her lips parting as Kazuha licks her way up to her forehead, her movements slow and deliberate.

“You taste so good, Jen,” Kazuha murmurs, her lips brushing against Yunjin’s as she kisses her, deep and filthy. Yunjin moans into the kiss, her hands reaching up to tangle in Kazuha’s hair, pulling her closer.

You watch them, your cock still hard, your breath still uneven, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Kazuha pulls back, her fingers brushing against Yunjin’s blindfold, and she tugs it off gently, revealing Yunjin’s dark, glazed eyes.

“Your turn,” Kazuha says, her voice soft but teasing, and Yunjin doesn’t hesitate. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against Kazuha’s face, and she leans in, her tongue flicking out to clean the cum off Kazuha’s skin.

Kazuha moans, her head tilting back as Yunjin licks her way across her cheek, her tongue slow and deliberate. “Fuck, Jen,” Kazuha breathes, her fingers tangling in Yunjin’s hair. “You’re so good at this.”

Yunjin smirks, her lips brushing against Kazuha’s as she pulls back. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she mutters, her voice hoarse but playful.

You laugh, your hand brushing through Yunjin’s hair as she leans against your leg, her face still a mess but her eyes bright, her smile soft. Kazuha’s grinning too, her fingers tracing patterns on Yunjin’s shoulder, and for a moment, it’s just the three of you—wrecked, messy, and completely, utterly in love.

“Best fucking birthday ever,” Yunjin mutters, her head resting against your thigh, and you can’t help but agree.

—

The ocean breathes against the shore, rhythmic and steady, a pulse beneath your feet. Warm sand shifts between your toes as the salty breeze kisses your skin, carrying the laughter of the few close friends who’ve gathered. The sun, melting low on the horizon, paints everything in gold—your skin, the waves, the three of you standing at the edge of something new, something bigger than words or law could define.

You glance at Kazuha and Yunjin, your soon-to-be wives in every way that matters. The sight of them knocks the breath from your lungs.

Kazuha, always the picture of effortless grace, is wrapped in something soft and flowing—silk, maybe, or something close to it. A pale shade of champagne that clings just right, the fabric rippling with every step she takes, like liquid light moving over her body. The neckline dips just enough to be elegant, teasing the sharp angles of her collarbones. Her long, dark hair is twisted up into an intricate braid, woven with tiny pearls that catch the sunlight. Barefoot, she looks like she belongs here, like she’s always been part of the ocean and the wind.

Yunjin, standing beside her, is in contrast—bold, striking, alive. Her dress is deep, rich red, the kind that demands attention without ever needing to try. It’s fitted at the top, cinched at her waist, then spills out just a little, giving her enough room to move, to dance, to throw her arms around you both without restriction. There’s a slit high on her thigh, because of course there is, and her hair is loose, wild, catching in the wind. A thin gold chain drapes across her bare back, subtle but decadent. She’s glowing.

And then there’s you. Keeping it simple, because it’s not about the clothes for you—it’s about them. A crisp white linen shirt, unbuttoned just enough to be casual, sleeves rolled up to your elbows. Black slacks, fitted but easy. A leather band around your wrist that Kazuha tied there earlier, murmuring something about how it made you look even better. Barefoot, just like them. Standing here, in the middle of everything you’ve ever wanted, with salt on your lips and warmth in your chest.

The ceremony isn’t formal. It’s barely structured at all—because what is there to structure? There’s no officiant, no legalities, no paperwork to sign. Just a promise, spoken into the open air, carried by the wind and sealed in the laughter shared between the three of you.

A friend reads something—something sentimental, maybe a poem, maybe just words strung together in a way that makes your throat tighten. You don’t remember half of it, too caught up in the way Kazuha keeps glancing at you with that soft, knowing smile, or the way Yunjin keeps shifting like she might just grab you both and run straight into the ocean.

And then it’s time for the vows.

Kazuha goes first, her voice light, almost teasing, but steady.

"I don’t know if I believe in fate," she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But I do believe in you. Both of you. And I know that wherever we go, whatever happens next, as long as I have you, I have everything."

Yunjin snorts. "That’s so unfair. You’re making me look bad."

Kazuha grins, tilting her head. "Not my fault you didn’t prepare."

Yunjin groans, dragging a hand down her face. "Okay, fine, fine. Here’s my vow: I promise to always be a pain in your ass. And I promise to love you while I’m doing it. I promise to keep things interesting, to make you laugh when you don’t want to, and to be there, no matter what. Always."

And then it’s your turn. You exhale, looking between them, feeling the weight of everything pressing against your ribs.

"You already know," you say, voice quieter than you expected. "I’d follow you anywhere. Because home isn’t a place, it’s this. Us. Wherever we go, whatever comes next—I’m in."

Yunjin makes a noise, something choked and half-laughing, before grabbing both of you and pulling you into a crushing hug. Kazuha follows, arms looping around you both, and suddenly there’s no space left between you, just tangled limbs and racing heartbeats and something bigger than words pressing against your chest.

There’s no ‘you may now kiss’ moment. No need for permission. You just do. Kazuha’s lips are the first you find, soft and slow, tasting like the faintest hint of the champagne you all shared earlier. Then Yunjin’s, warm and insistent, her fingers threading into your hair as she pulls you closer. The cheers from your friends in the background barely register.

And then comes the final rite of the ceremony.

The three of you walk down to the water’s edge, where the waves stretch out, endless and waiting. The sand is cool beneath your feet as you each kneel, tracing words into the damp shore. Wishes. Promises. Sent off to the sea, to be carried into the unknown.

Kazuha writes hers in delicate, looping script: "That we never stop dancing, together."

Yunjin, ever the contrast, scrawls hers in bold, uneven letters: "That we never get fucking boring."

And you? Yours is simple. Yours is true. "That we always have each other."

You sit back, watching as the waves creep forward, swallowing the words, carrying them out into the tide.

Kazuha slips her hand into yours. Yunjin rests her head on your shoulder.

The sun dips lower, the sky turning violet, the wind brushing against your skin like a whispered promise.

And just like that, you’re married.

—

The sun’s already high when you wake up, slanting golden through the sheer white curtains, throwing shifting patterns across the tangled mess of limbs and sheets on the bed. The air is thick—salt, sweat, the faintest lingering scent of sex. Your body feels wrecked, but in the best possible way, that slow, heavy ache of complete satisfaction.

Kazuha is sprawled half on top of you, one leg draped lazily over your waist, her bare skin impossibly warm against yours. Her hair is a wild mess, dark strands sticking to her forehead, her lips still slightly swollen from all the kissing, all the biting. She’s out cold, her breathing slow and steady, the kind of sleep that only comes after getting thoroughly ruined.

Yunjin is curled up on your other side, face buried in the pillow, her back rising and falling in soft, even breaths. Her arm is still hooked over your stomach, fingers curled slightly, like even in sleep she doesn’t want to let go. There’s a faint red mark trailing down her shoulder—your teeth, probably.

The night is a blur of heat and tangled sheets, of desperate hands and hungry mouths, of bodies pressed so tight together that it felt impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. You still remember the way Kazuha rode you slow and deep, the way Yunjin had moaned against your neck when you fucked her from behind, the way they had taken turns kissing each other, their bodies moving in sync, breathless and slick with sweat.

Jesus.

You exhale, running a hand over your face, blinking up at the ceiling. Your whole body feels like it’s been through a war, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The sheets rustle as Kazuha stirs, stretching out with a little sigh, her toned arms reaching above her head. Her eyes flutter open, still heavy-lidded with sleep, and when she sees you looking at her, she smiles—slow and lazy, her lips curling like she’s remembering exactly what went down last night.

“Morning, husband,” she murmurs, voice husky.

You snort. “That’s symbolic husband to you.”

Yunjin groans into the pillow, her voice muffled. “Too early for words. Shut up.”

Kazuha grins, shifting so she can press a kiss to your shoulder. “What time is it?”

You glance at the clock on the nightstand. “Almost noon.”

That makes Yunjin lift her head slightly, squinting. Her hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and she’s got the kind of dazed, post-sex look that makes you want to drag her right back under the sheets. “Shit. Did we miss breakfast?”

“I think it goes until one,” you say, running a hand down her back, feeling the way she shivers slightly at the touch.

“Good,” she mutters, letting her head drop again. “Because I need food. I feel like I lost half my body weight last night.”

Kazuha giggles, stretching again before finally rolling off you, sitting up, her back a perfect curve, muscles shifting beneath her bare skin. “Yeah, you were kind of insatiable.”

Yunjin groans. “Don’t start. I’m too hungover for your judgment.”

“Who’s judging?” Kazuha smirks, standing and padding over to grab one of the hotel robes from the chair. She tosses one to Yunjin, then grabs yours, throwing it at your face. “Come on, we should probably eat before we just pass out again.”

You groan, dragging yourself out of bed, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs before throwing the robe on. The three of you are a mess—hair wild, bodies covered in faint marks from the night before, Kazuha sporting a few love bites on her collarbone that she doesn’t even bother to hide. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and shake your head.

The poor hotel staff must have heard everything.

And speaking of the staff—

You remember the look on the receptionist’s face last night when you asked for a room, explaining (for some reason) that you were a married man now. The way she had blinked, clearly trying to figure out which of the two stunning women beside you was your wife. And then the way her confusion had only deepened when you casually mentioned that you had married both of them.

Pure comedy.

By the time you make it downstairs, the little beachside hotel’s dining area is mostly empty, save for a few other guests nursing coffee and looking half-asleep. The three of you slide into a corner booth, ordering a full spread—pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, the works.

Yunjin leans back in her seat, sighing as she stretches her arms above her head. “Man, I don’t wanna leave.”

Kazuha hums in agreement, stirring sugar into her coffee. “We really don’t have to, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I mean… we could stay. Move here. For real.”

You blink. You hadn’t actually thought about it—not seriously, at least. “You wanna live here?”

Yunjin sits up, suddenly interested. “Actually… yeah. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Kazuha glances between the two of you, tilting her head. “Think about it. You know I’ve been wanting to start my own studio. I could do it here. A ballet school by the beach? That’s kind of a dream, isn’t it?”

You consider that. It does sound like something Kazuha would thrive in. A beautiful, sunlit studio, kids in tutus, the sound of waves just beyond the windows.

Yunjin leans forward, resting her chin in her palm. “And I could finally use my damn degree. You know, I actually like tourism. I just never thought I’d get another chance at it after all the shit I went through.”

You frown slightly. “Do you think you're ready to come back?”

She nods, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah. I do. I wanna help people experience places. I wanna be part of that.”

You let that sink in. Kazuha, finally running her own place. Yunjin, doing something she actually loves.

And you?

You don’t care where you live. You’ve always been like that—rootless, adaptable. As long as you have them, you’re good.

You exhale, leaning back. “Alright,” you say slowly. “Let’s do it.”

Kazuha’s eyes light up. “Wait, really?”

Yunjin grins. “You’re just gonna agree, just like that?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Why not? You two are my family now. I’ll go wherever you want.”

They exchange a look—one of those silent, loaded glances that means something big is happening.

Then, before you can react, they’re both launching themselves at you, Yunjin practically climbing into your lap, Kazuha wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

Yunjin laughs against your cheek, breath warm. “God, I love you.”

Kazuha presses a kiss to your jaw. “Me too.”

And yeah. You love them too.

So why not start something new?

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy universe

(Title subject to change)

Sometimes Danny really hated Clockwork. You’ll know him when you see him. “Cryptic and unhelpful as usual”, Danny groused. “You’d think the Master of Time could be a little more descriptive considering it’s his damned errands I’m running here, but noooo! I’m starting to think this whole apprenticeship is just an excuse to foist his busywork off on me.”

Here Danny was, aimlessly flying above the rooftops of Gotham, trying to figure out who he was supposed to be delivering his message to. He had a name, but no description and no location. I’ll know him when I see him my ass. Whoever this Damian Al-Ghul was supposed to be had better stick out like a sore thumb or Danny was never gonna find him. Speaking of…

Danny paused in mid-air. There was someone crouching on a nearby rooftop, peering over the edge. He was young, wearing a red and yellow outfit with a dark hooded cape. He wore a sheathed sword on his back that looked way too real to be part of some casual cosplay. Welp, if this ain’t him then Clockwork picked the wrong errand boy. Now, how best to approach this?

Danny considered his options. The cloak and apprentice staff Clockwork had loaned him gave him a suitably spooky appearance on top of his usual ghostliness but he wasn’t gonna go around scaring kids, armed or not. The friendly approach it is then.

“Hey there!”

Wow, the kid had some good reflexes. At the sound of Danny’s voice he jumped as if electrocuted, spinning around and drawing his sword in one smooth movement. He held the sword in front of himself in a defensive position and his stance showed that he knew how to use it. “Who the hell are you?” he barked.

“Easy there” Danny raised his hands in a placating gesture “I’m just here to deliver a message. I’m looking for someone named Damian Al-Ghul. You wouldn’t happen to be him, right?”

A deepening scowl was his only answer. “I repeat, who the hell are you?”

Danny sighed “Look kid, I’m just trying to do my job here. I have a prophecy to deliver, so if you’re not this Damian fella…” he trailed off invitingly.

“A… prophecy?” the kid hesitated before lowering his sword slightly, scowl still firmly in place.

“Yep” Danny popped the end of the word for emphasis “Phantom, apprentice to the Ghost of Time and part-time delivery spectre, at your service” he threw the kid a mock salute. “My Boss told me to come to Gotham to give a prophecy to you’ll know him when you see him” he dropped his voice to a lower register and made airquotes around the words, “and you’re the only memorable person I’ve seen tonight, so…” Danny spread his arms in exasperation.

The kid hesitated visibly before letting his sword hand drop to his side. “I am the one you’re looking for.”

“Great! Hang on.” Danny pulled a messenger bag out from under his cloak and started rummaging around in it, causing the kid (Damian?) to twitch “Now where did I put..? Aha!” Danny pulled out a faintly glowing envelope in triumph. It had a large purple wax seal on it and Damian Al-Ghul written in elegant cursive across the back. Danny floated closer and held out the envelope to the kid.

“The prophecy… is a letter?” Damian drawled, eyebrows rising in disbelief. Danny shrugged.

“What, did you expect a dancing, singing telegram? I only do those for the really good tippers” he shook the envelope slightly “So, are you gonna take this or what?”

Damian finally reached out and took the letter, turning it over to scrutinise both sides. Danny tucked his bag back under his cloak and rose into the air.

“Right, I’ve got other errands to get done, so… see ya!” he turned to leave.

“Wait”

Danny turned back to face the kid and to his surprise, saw that Damian was holding out some folded bills towards him.

“You know the tipping thing was a joke, right?”

“Tt. I am told it is rude not to tip delivery people” Damian sniffed “I am simply acting within expected social norms”

“Wow, um… okay” Danny took the folded bills from Damian. It looked like it would last him for a couple of good meals and he wasn’t exactly swimming in money, okay? Ghost apprentice wasn’t exactly a paid internship. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome” came the haughty reply.

Danny shrugged and tucked the money into his bag. He rose back into the air with Damian’s eyes tracking his movement. With a wave of his staff, he opened a portal back to Clockwork’s realm and passed through it leaving Gotham behind.

****

Robin’s hand rose to the communicator in his ear.

“Oracle, did you get all that?”

Now has a Part 2!

[k9wa]

⟁ A BULLET A DAY, ft. BOOTHILL.

⠀ — where teasing, annoying, poking and prodding all fall under the same category; flirting.

⚠︎︎ more mechanic! reader, gn, boothill being an idiot, flirting, suggestive, he has fake teeth to me, something about tension + leaving him high and dry is soooo ….

from this request !

it’s a miracle, truly, how boothill manages to be so tempting and endearing yet so utterly irritating and infuriating at the same time. 

and it’s hot, sure, but that just makes it all the more annoying, leaves you frustrated and with an odd pool in your stomach.  

boothill managed his way into your supply of bullets, happily tossing back the brass casings like a simple snack. it was a genius idea at the time, really, giving him a stomach that can store ammunition. though had you expected him to chew on the damn things instead of swallowing them— you know, like he was intended to— you would’ve just given him a little side bag to save yourself the work.

you half hoped the lead stuffing the things would seep into his still intact brain, but chastised yourself for the thought soon after having it. you don’t hate him that much. your brain should check back and try the thought again in twenty minutes. 

“y’know what’d be real neat, buttercup?” boothill’s legs were kicked up lazily on your workbench as he sat next to you, waiting for you to finish a small modification on his revolver. “spikes in my boots.” he lifted a foot up, rolling his ankle a bit. “you know, them retractable ones. be able t’a have some real fun with those things.”

you snorted, his efforts to dodge his synesthesia beacon as entertaining as always.

“since when do i take requests?” you asked, eyes focused down on your work— far too used to his antics to lift your head anymore.

“since when d’you deny gettin’ to tinker with me?”

he brought his feet down to the floor and leaned forward on his thighs, the denim of his pants tightening around them. “what, gonna make me say please and thank ya now?” 

you truly wanted to reply, say it wasn’t a half bad idea and that you’d look into the upgrade. until he started shaking a few bullets around in his palm like they were fucking almonds.

now boothill noticed the clench of your jaw, and oh how he revelled in it. he’s fully aware how the crunching of brass and lead peeves you, ie. you telling him to knock it off an hour ago— (“it ain’t hurtin’ nobody, is it now?”—) but you’re just so darn cute when you’re ticked off. he’s gotta push your buttons just a lil bit. 

“somethin’ the matter?” the way his sharp teeth gleamed through that damn grin weren’t doing anything to help. 

he took a bullet between his thumb and forefinger, the shiny gunmetal digits pinching the ammunition as he held it up next to you. “d’ya care for one, sugar plum?”

fine, you thought. two can play that game.

you tore your attention away from the old steel revolver, finally turning to look at him. boothill prepared for an insult, one he’d tell you was ‘flatterin’ and all,’ but it didn’t come.

you leaned towards his hand, keeping your eyes locked with his that glowed a familiar and faint red. 

then you took the bullet between your tongue and top front teeth, gently pulling it out of his hands with your mouth.

his smirk actually dropped— you’d think someone stuck an infected usb into his ear with all the ideas that flooded the forefront of his brain, making his circuits just tingle with excitement. something about the hot single mechanic in his area.

you turned back to your desk, removing the bullet from your teeth and twirling it between your fingers idly as you gave a once over to his revolver, as if nothing had happened.

boothill blinked, chuckling gruffly with a shake of his head as he slumped back in his chair, flicking another bullet into the air with his thumb and catching it in his palm with a gentle clink! the cyborg gave a low whistle as he kicked his feet back up.

“ain’t you somethin’,” he drawled, earning a chuckle from you. “y’sure know how t’keep a man on his toes, don’t ya buttercup?” 

“i dunno what you mean, boothill.” you only offered a hum, willfully ignorant to boothill’s colourful imagination.

“oh i’m real sure y’don’t.” he shook his head, another chuckle rumbling his chest and sending a shiver down your neck.

“say,” he leaned towards you, his shoulder to yours, feeling a little lucky and dropping his voice to a knee-weakening purr, “if that pretty mouth a’yers likes metal, i’m more’en happy t’a—” 

“all done.”

all bets go down the drain. boothill deadpanned as you clicked the barrel of his gun into place and handed it back to him, standing up to stretch your arms.

“shops closed for today,” you fold them, leaning back against your bench. “you better get a move on before i have to kick you out.”

boothill’s eyes trailed up your figure, taking his sweet time finding your face. the cowboy raised an eyebrow into a cocky arch despite him swearing his body was on the verge of its cooling protocol. 

“you keep woundin’ me, sugar.” 

“i dunno what you mean, boothill.”

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[cherienymphe]

Smells Like Teen Spirit (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON/DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, attempted murder + suicide, mentions of blood, loss of virginity, underage drinking, jealousy, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ cont.

summary: Being one half of the royal couple of Figure 8 isn't what it's cracked up to be.

~

The first time Rafe hit you, it was on your birthday.

Like every year, your parents threw you a big party that hosted no less than a hundred people. A good number of those people were friends from school and familiar faces you’d grown up with. The other bunch were family friends that had more in common with your parents than you. You took their pretty cards filled with money and thanked them with a smile, relieved when they scampered off to congregate with the other forty somethings.

It was the same party every year. Half the people of Figure 8 in attendance, an abundance of gifts you could barely keep up with, and a light scold or two from your mother to smile and greet the next person who came in. Your hair was flawless and your dress was the perfect length.

The only difference this year was the presence of a boyfriend at your side.

“Rafe, if my dad sees us, I will never hear the end of it.”

Your tone was light and teasing, and you said it with a smile, but there was a hint of seriousness there. It really didn’t matter how older you grew to be, you were sure you’d always be your daddy’s little girl. The older man already hadn’t been the most excited when you told him you were dating Rafe Cameron, Ward Cameron’s son, and you were positive that the Cameron family’s reputation was Rafe’s only saving grace.

You’d just turned eighteen then after all and was already flaunting your new adult status.

The blue-eyed boy in front of you merely chuckled, tightening his arms around your waist and leaning in to kiss you again. The house and the yard were filled with almost too many people, so you hadn’t hesitated when Rafe discreetly guided you upstairs.

“He’s too busy talking about his new boat, isn’t he?” he wondered. “He’ll talk all night if they let him.”

You lightly tapped his chest, but you didn’t voice any disagreement.

Your back was leaning against your bedroom door, the muffled sounds of some classical music reaching your ears through the wall. Rafe’s hands were tight on your waist, and you both felt and heard him chuckle again, his lips still pressed against yours. Only this time, he kept laughing—softly and to himself—and you gave him a slight frown when he pulled away.

“I was just thinking…” Rafe pulled you close again. “How hilarious it would be if he was going on and on about that damn boat…none the wiser to his daughter getting fucked on her birthday right upstairs.”

This time you hit him a little harder, and Rafe only laughed again.

“You’re not funny,” you scolded, deflating a little as you pulled away from him. “Way to ruin the mood.”

You said it quietly as you sat down on the edge of your bed, but Rafe heard it clearly, and when you looked up at him, you recognized the look on his face instantly.

“Funny,” he started, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the door. “Mentioning sex usually has the opposite effect on most people.”

You rolled your eyes with a turn of your head, looking towards your window. The atmosphere was different, now, and you didn’t know if it was your fault or Rafe’s. He joked like that sometimes, and you knew it, so you could recognize that maybe you were being too sensitive.

The topic at hand, however, was a sensitive one for you.

“I really don’t want to have this fight, right now,” you mumbled.

You could feel his gaze on you, but you didn’t return it, determined to just stare down at the people in your yard. The air was thick, the tension even thicker, and you reached up to rub your arms, trying to rid them of the goosebumps that had appeared. Rafe hated being ignored, and you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to continue the conversation because you knew what was brewing.

Rafe was the perfect boyfriend. He was pretty—the kind of pretty that even some girls would be jealous of. He came from the kind of family that taught him about manners and respect. He never hesitated to do what he could to make your life easier despite growing up wanting for nothing. You didn’t think it was possible for an already spoiled girl to be spoiled some more until you started dating Rafe and he proved you wrong. He treated you like a princess, so yes. Rafe was the perfect boyfriend.

Mostly.

“I’ve been really understanding, you know…”

Rafe’s voice was low, and your gaze dropped to your lap.

“…but we’ve been dating for what? Eight months?”

You swallowed, eyes burning.

“Do you know how hard Topper and Kelce would laugh at me if they knew my girlfriend of almost a year refuses to have sex with me?”

You scoffed, finally looking at him, brows pulled together.

“You make it sound like I’m punishing you,” you breathed. “Rafe, this has nothing to do with you, I… I’m just not ready.”

“…and still no ETA on when you will be, huh?”

You blinked at him, lips parting at his callous tone and words. You looked away, blinking back tears because you would hate it if you cried on your birthday of all days.

“You’re being an asshole.”

You whispered it, and you heard Rafe huff.

“I’m not trying to be,” he told you, and you heard him move closer. “…but come on. I get it…”

The bed dipped as he sat down next to you, and you felt his hand on your face, fingers grazing your cheek.

“You’re nervous, and it seems scary, but you’re treating me like I’m some stranger on the street, and not…your boyfriend. You know I’ll take care of you. I always take care of you, and that’s why I don’t understand it,” he bit out. “I treat you like gold, and here I am, eight months in and wondering if you even feel the same way.”

You whipped your head around to stare at him in disbelief, looking between his eyes. You didn’t know how he could be serious, but as you gazed at him, you realized that Rafe was very serious. You took a moment to scoot away from him just a tad.

“I show you everyday how much you mean to me, Rafe…but because I won’t have sex with you that means I don’t love you? So just forget all the other stuff, I guess,” you sneered.

Rafe reached for you when you started to turn away, shaking your head and lightly pushing at his hands. Today was your birthday, and you were fighting with your boyfriend…because sex was something you just weren’t ready for. You snatched your arm out of his hold, standing on unsteady legs.

“When you first brought this up, I told you then that I wasn’t ready, and you made it clear you were okay with waiting. Was that a lie?” you asked him, meeting his gaze.

Rafe ran his hand down his face, huffing to himself.

“No, but I just didn’t think I’d still be waiting almost half a year later.”

He was standing, now too.

“So, why are you? No one’s forcing you to stay here, Rafe,” you sadly told him with a shrug. “You don’t have to be with me if sex is that damn important to you. There are plenty of other girls out there who will happily give you what I don’t want to.”

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“…and I know because I see the looks they give you…and the looks they give me.”

You were used to envy. You’d been on the receiving end of it all your life. Growing up on this side of the island guaranteed that from birth, but you also knew it was because your standing was only rivaled by Sarah Cameron. If Rafe’s sister were anyone else, you might have found yourself involved in some one-sided rivalry, but Sarah was a lot like you.

Just a girl born into fortunate circumstances.

However, what you weren’t used to was envy because of the man you loved. When it came to your house and your lifestyle and everything else, it never bothered you because no one could take those things from you. Rafe, on the other hand… You knew what he was like and what he was used to. It was why you’d been very honest about your sexual history and lack thereof from almost the beginning. If Rafe was going to leave you for someone else all because you wouldn’t have sex with him, you would have rather he do it early.

Not now…not eight months in because now you loved him, and the thought made you want to cry, and it would take just as many months to get over him.

“If I wanted any of those other spoiled bitches then I wouldn’t be here,” Rafe told you. “Besides, you think I’m just going to walk away with nothing after investing so much time and money and energy into you?”

You reared back at that, eyes widening just a tad, and Rafe seemed to realize how that came out. He sighed, reaching for you just as you stepped away from him. You heard him curse when you left the room, ignoring the sound of him calling your name as you hurried to mix yourself in with all of your guests downstairs.

Rafe talked about you like some business investment he was waiting to get a return on. It hurt, a lot, and while you wanted to believe he hadn’t meant it like that in his head, you couldn’t help but to wonder if that was really how he saw you. Your mother smiled at you when she saw your face, none the wiser to your temporary absence. Your own smile was forced as she introduced you to their new golfing buddies.

You didn’t know when Rafe came back downstairs, only quickly glancing away when your eyes connected with his after some time. If your parents noticed your distance from him, they didn’t comment on it, and after a while, you barely noticed it yourself. You immersed yourself in your friends, halfway listening to boyfriend troubles and semester woes.

This was the only thing you and Rafe ever fought about. Plenty of your friends had boyfriends before who tried to pressure them into doing things they didn’t want to do. You were always the friend to tell them to dump them without hesitation, so why hadn’t you done the same? Was it because Rafe was so perfect in all other aspects of your relationship? The back and forth hadn’t ever been so serious before…not until tonight.

As you sipped on the drink you weren’t supposed to be having, you remembered the hurt you felt when Rafe implied you didn’t love him. What a crazy thing to say. You treated him just as well as he treated you, never mind the fact that you told him every day how much you loved him…but because you wouldn’t fuck him that meant otherwise?

It was enough to make you angry.

“Finally stopped hiding from me…?”

You tensed up for half a second, relaxing with a sigh as you heard him come closer. You were out by the water, now, sitting on the boat dock with one leg swinging. It had been nothing but just you and your thoughts for a good thirty minutes, and you guessed it took that amount of time for Rafe to realize you were no longer in the house.

“I don’t know yet,” you honestly told him.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t,” Rafe quietly said, getting straight to the point.

“…but I don’t know. You don’t even think I love you just because I won’t have sex with you. For all I know, that’s exactly how you see me,” you mumbled.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Says the guy ruining my birthday!”

You were looking up at him, now, tearfully, and you shook your head. Saying it aloud made you realize just how shitty it was, and you sniffed, pulling yourself to your feet.

“Just go home, Rafe…”

He stopped you from walking by him, and you ignored anything he was trying to say. The more he leaned in, that was when you smelled it, and your frown deepened at the stench of alcohol on his breath. You didn’t know why the smell made you so angry. It was a party, after all, but maybe it was the fact that if anyone of the two of you deserved to drown their sorrows in booze, it was you. Not Rafe. Pushing at his chest, you scoffed.

“One argument…and you’re already getting drunk?”

You jerked your face away from his hand, glowering at him.

“Don’t you want to at least wait for Ward to give you the daily disappointment speech?”

The slap wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was hard enough to make your face burn.

You were staring at the water from when your head had whipped to the side, and when a nightly breeze blew by, kissing your skin, only then did the dull burning sensation fade away into a painful one. Your lips were parted in shock, and you were slow to reach up and touch your cheek. The silence was loud, and when you finally looked at Rafe, he looked as shocked as you felt.

All of your breath had left you, and your brain was short-circuiting, desperately trying to reconcile your boyfriend with the same guy who’d just slapped you. It didn’t seem real, and yet the dull pain you felt said otherwise. A few tears escaped against your will, and it was only then did Rafe move. His face fell, but you were already backing away.

“Y/N-.”

“Don’t touch me,” you tearfully spat. “What is wrong with you?”

He didn’t listen, grabbing your arms anyway, and you were still in too much shock to really fight back. Rafe cooed at you, trying to take your face into his hands no matter how much you protested. You wanted him far away from you, and your brain was unsure of how to achieve that, still grappling with the memory of his palm connecting with your cheek.

“Hey, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Baby, stop.”

You shoved at his chest, hitting it, but he wasn’t deterred. He only rested his free hand on the back of your head, holding you against him, and the feel had more tears spilling over. You kept trying to get away, but Rafe refused to let you, repeatedly apologizing and shushing you. You could feel the cool metal of his ring against your scalp, his lips there too as he kept telling you he was sorry.

Your chest was so tight, and it ached just as much as your face. Your mind was still fighting to make sense of what had happened tonight, and despite Rafe’s apologies for his entire behavior, you told yourself that this was the last straw. Rafe had ruined your birthday in more ways than one, and you were done. You had to be.

…because you deserved better.

The first time you had sex with Rafe—with anyone ever—you’d been terrified.

…and drunk.

An entire month after your birthday, and you didn’t know if you were more shocked or angry that you stayed with Rafe. You had been so determined to leave him that night. He had ruined your birthday beyond repair, and you knew that anytime you looked back on the night you turned nineteen, you’d only remember Rafe slapping you on the dock.

…but you’d also remember his profuse apologies, and the tears in his eyes as he begged you to forgive him.

He was drunk. That was what he kept saying, that he was drunk and acted before thinking. It was barely a reason and certainly wasn’t an excuse, so why did you stay? It was stupid to stay…and yet you did. You let Rafe kiss your face and lead you back to the party that had long died and smile in the face of the parents whose daughter he’d just hit.

You’d answered the phone as he called you, taking almost half an hour to just tell you again how sorry he was and how he didn’t know what came over him and how it would never happen again. You’d never known Rafe to be so apologetic in all the time you’d been dating him. It would’ve been sweet if it weren’t for the circumstances, and the whole time, you’d only been able to listen in silence with your fingers grazing your face.

You hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for days, going over it in your head again and again. Torn between listening to your gut and telling yourself that it had just been a one-off thing, a bad drunken night. After all, what you’d said to him hadn’t been the nicest, knowing how he felt in regard to Ward and his relationship with him. It didn’t make it right…but you had provoked Rafe. You’d said it to hurt him…to make him angry… Right?

…but that wasn’t the case a month later.

Things between you and Rafe hadn’t been the same since. He still doted on you, and your parents still adored him, and you were reluctant to admit you still loved him, but you could never get that night out of your mind. You could never forget how swift it had been, how no thought to you had been spared. Rafe had only been focused on retaliating, hurting you, and it was something you often struggled with. You believed it wouldn’t happen again…but what if it did?

Without even realizing it, you became less argumentative with the blond. You gave him less pushback, you smiled more and became more agreeable to his suggestions. You spent more time with him, making him happy. You believed him when he said it wouldn’t happen again, but in the back of your mind, something in you was doing everything you could think of to make sure it didn’t.

…and that was why you still didn’t quite understand how the fight had started.

Something about Topper…or Kelce.

You were so drunk, it was hard to remember.

“I saw you!”

You had blinked at Rafe from your place on the couch, staring up at him in wonder and confusion. Another Friday meant another party, and promising your mother you’d be back by a certain time, you’d allowed Rafe to help you into his truck. Nothing about the night had been out of the ordinary, and it was why you found yourself wracking your brain.

“Rafe, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you softly told him, trying to understand why he was so mad.

The only son of Ward Cameron knocked the glass of water right out of your hand, and you flinched at the action, blinking at the sight of shattered glass on the floor. You’d gotten it to try and help you sober up before you went home, and you stared at the spilled water with parted lips. You were too drunk to fully grasp the severity of the situation you were now in.

Suddenly Rafe was there, too close, leaning down over you with his hands resting on the back of the couch. You leaned back and away from him, eyes wide as he looked at you like you were something he’d find on the bottom of his shoe. Like he was so disgusted with the sight of you, and again, you wracked your brain to understand what you’d done. To understand how to fix this.

Rafe’s blue gaze had been cold, icy, and you hadn’t missed the tick of his jaw. The alcohol in your system hindered your thinking, and that had seemed to make Rafe angrier, like he was furious you couldn’t put it together. Read his mind. Overwhelmed, you hadn’t been able to stop a few tears of frustration from escaping, and that just seemed to really send him over the edge.

“You were in his lap,” he had bit out, and only then did you finally understand.

Your odd relationship with your boyfriend these days had driven you to drink more than you ever had. You’d been sloppy…clumsy, and Topper was nice enough to help you back to your feet after you’d quite literally fallen right onto his lap. You wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but one look into Rafe’s eyes had you swallowing it down.

He was very serious…and very angry.

You reached for him, but Rafe only slapped your hands away, straightening and looking down his nose at you. It was a look that made you feel so…cold, and with one blink, you remembered that you were alone. Sarah was God knows where, and the remaining Camerons had gone out to eat. The house was usually empty during this time, but it wasn’t this Friday night.

It consisted of you…and your angry boyfriend.

“I should…I should go. Call my mom,” you mumbled, pushing yourself to your feet.

Your attempts to get by Rafe went unsuccessful, and with each block to your path, something deep within your gut just…dropped. Your gaze met a familiar blue one, and nothing about it was warm, welcoming. Rafe seemed to be so mad at you about something so silly, but instead of just talking about it later when you were both much clearer headed…he didn’t want to let you leave.

“Is that what you’re gonna do?” he’d mocked, a mean look on his face. “Call mommy and daddy to come get you?”

Sarah.

You reminded of him of Sarah.

That was what he’d said, what he’d thrown at you. His tense relationship with the other girl was no secret to anyone, least of all you, and you winced at every insult he threw at you. Spoiled brat. Perfect princess. Uptight prude. It shocked you for a lot of reasons, but mostly because Rafe wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t sober, but you’d hardly seen him drink all night and not nearly as much as you, and he was insulting you with confidence, throwing all of these things at you that you never knew he felt.

“I’m just going to go home, okay? You’re being an asshole, and I don’t know why, so I just…”

At some point, your back was grazing the wall, and Rafe was hovering before you, a look in his eye like leaving was the very last thing he wanted you to do. Every move of yours was mirrored, every turn met with one of his own, and for the first time ever…you were afraid of your boyfriend.

When Rafe hit you that night, you hadn’t been scared. Not really. You’d been angry…shocked…disbelieving. Not scared though. You’d just wanted to be away from him, you had even wanted to hit him back, but not once did you remember feeling scared for your life. Not like this night, and you couldn’t keep it together.

“Rafe, please, I just…I just wanna go home,” you choked out, touching your temple. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

You were so confused as to how you got here. The night had taken such an unexpected turn, and more than anything, you wanted to sleep it off and write the whole thing off as a bad dream. You wanted to get some more water and take a shower and skip to the part where you had a pounding headache in the morning. You didn’t understand how a night of partying had turned into an argument with your boyfriend.

Although, you supposed it wasn’t much of an argument. Mostly Rafe yelling at you and you trying to understand why. Rafe was determined to make this into something it wasn’t, and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to let you leave without dead-ing this whole thing, you frowned at him.

“I fell. You know I fell, you know…”

Your words died in the air as Rafe rolled his eyes, and something in you was telling you that Rafe was going to believe what he wanted to believe. He was determined to make something true, and it startled you to realize that you’d lost this argument before it even began. Slipping from in between Rafe and the wall was a mistake.

A mistake that had consequences.

Your purse was halfway across the room before you could even grab it good, Rafe suddenly in your face again. He was yelling about a whole bunch of nothing, and when you turned from him again, Rafe made sure it was the last time, gripping your upper arm so hard that you actually cried out. His other hand followed suit, and he shook you, hard enough to make your head whip back and forth.

The only time he listened to you was when you asked him to let you go.

…and he did just that…shoving you in the process.

The kitchen counter slowed your fall only a bit, but it added to the pain more than anything else. Trying to get up proved fruitless, because Rafe was there, kneeling before you with one hand on the counter. The other was on your face, forcing you to look at him. You were too drunk to make full sense of everything he was saying, to grasp the danger you were in. When you finally did, it was too late.

…because Rafe was already ripping the dress he bought you a week ago.

You thought it was a joke at first—some awful and insensitive scare tactic—until you were reaching up to pull at the hand around your throat. Your other hand slapped at the cabinets below in panic, and with a knee between your legs, it was impossible to close them. You knew that you were alone, but that fact didn’t stop you from crying out.

“You really expect me to just watch you throw yourself at my friends? Huh?”

The kitchen floor was cool against your back.

“…and laugh about it?”

He was fumbling between you both, and the room was spinning too much for you to understand why. You felt nauseous, and Rafe was hurting you, and you were cold. Not to mention that your head had started to hurt, but you also realized that everything was hurting.

“But you won’t even touch me.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut…only lower.

The pain of Rafe’s intrusion had you wailing, and the difference in your reactions couldn’t have been starker. It was hard to decipher, but you were sure that Rafe had moaned, a low drawn-out sigh as he sheathed himself inside of you. You could feel Rafe’s chest heaving against yours, could feel his heartbeat, could even hear his shaky breath.

You, on the other hand…

You couldn’t move. You felt frozen, restricted by something unseen, and when you tried to fight against it, you gasped. One shift had you wincing, and tears spilled over almost immediately. Your hands were pressing against his chest, now, desperately trying to push Rafe away, pushing off of you… out of you. It was no good, Rafe in a whole other world you weren’t privy too as he pulled back.

The feel had you wincing again, and you thought…

Well, you thought wrong.

Your relief was short-lived, and Rafe ignored everything you said as he started to thrust inside of you. His hips barely left yours, only enough to create friction, and you pushed your forearm against his neck, fighting to get him to stop. The pain wasn’t something you could wrap your head around, and you didn’t know if you were grateful or not that you were so drunk.

Every snap of Rafe’s hips made you cry harder, harsh sobs escaping and echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. The sound of your bawling was only rivaled by the groans that escaped Rafe, your boyfriend pointedly ignoring your plight. One of his hands pushed against your face, forcing your head to the side…as if he didn’t want to see your face.

See the reality of what he was doing to you.

You thought at some point that the pain would go away, subside, but it felt like it only got worse with each thrust of his cock. Rafe was a man on a mission with only one objective in mind, and you were having the hardest time sorting your thoughts, realizing that in this moment you were a means to an end. An objective to be met through the use of your body.

…but you supposed it was more than just that.

Rafe was always entitled, a trait you found somewhat endearing much like towards an entitled child, but it hadn’t occurred to you that he’d feel entitled to you too. Before the night of your birthday, you knew the one thorn in your relationship, the one thing to actually put a crack in your relationship. Deep down somewhere, you expected Rafe to just leave you. After all, why wouldn’t you?

There was no universe in which you’d ever consider the possibility of the alternative.

The possibility that your boyfriend would just take what he wanted.

It didn’t last long—or maybe that was the alcohol in your system sparing you—but you couldn’t even be relieved. Even after Rafe pulled out, spent and satisfied and out of breath, the pain still remained. He was talking, and you didn’t know if he was talking to himself or you, but you paid it no mind. You could still feel him deep in your gut, and you rolled onto your side, curling into yourself.

You didn’t hear him the first time, but the second time Rafe told you to get up, he was forcing you to your feet. It hurt, and you could barely walk, and your confusion only grew. His hold was tight, and his tone sounded off, and you discovered why when headlights from the yard bled through the windows and into your line of sight.

He was rushing you to get upstairs, but you kept stumbling from both the pain and your blurry vision. Rafe didn’t let you go until you were just inside of his room, and as you collapsed to the floor, you could hear the door opening downstairs. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to, and you hadn’t even realized Rafe had left—to give some half-baked excuse for the broken glass, no doubt—until he returned, suddenly kneeling at your side and begging you to stop crying.

You tried to push him away, but your movements were sluggish, weak, and you weren’t able to hold your own as he pulled you to your feet. Rafe stumbled into the bathroom with you, an arm around you and holding you up as he started the shower. You didn’t want him touching you, but you were physically unable to stop him. Every step hurt and made you stumble, every wave of your arm made you sway, and when the warm water ran over you both, there was nothing you could do as he washed away every remnant of his assault.

You were at Rafe’s side on his birthday, a small smile on your lips as he kept an arm around your waist. Rose thanked you for coming, not that she would expect anything different, and Wheezie asked if you would be staying over. The youngest Cameron had taken a liking to you—all of them did really—and she looked forward to having you around. You wanted to tell her no, but that wasn’t what you said. Instead, you said:

“Its’ Rafe’s birthday. Why wouldn’t I?”

The dark-haired girl beamed, adjusting her glasses, and her satisfaction was contagious. You knew that Rafe’s dynamic with his family was tricky at the best of times, and while you were sure they loved you just fine, something in you also wondered if they liked who Rafe was when he was around you. They were happy to host you for as long as they could.

They had no idea that it was only 24 hours earlier when Rafe tried to kill you.

Trying to leave Rafe resulted in the last thing you ever expected.

That night—and all the other nights that followed—haunted you. When you closed your eyes, you could only see Rafe at his lowest, holding you down and hurting you. You could only feel the pain of him forcing himself inside of you, and the pain that lingered when he was no longer there. The memory of bloody water swirling down the drain was a constant in your mind. As well as the memory of Rafe putting you in his bed, pulling his shirt down to your knees.

You should have left the night of your birthday, you should’ve gotten out then, and none of it would have ever happened, but you told yourself that late was better than never. You told yourself that you learned your lesson and you didn’t have to experience any more hurt to leave. Your eyes were open, and while you didn’t know if you’d ever go against Rafe legally for what he did, you did know that you were leaving him. You had to focus on each step at once. Trying to think so far ahead was enough to scare you.

Right now, you just needed to leave him.

His entire visage had been eerily calm as you broke up with him, voice shaking as you did. Even he hadn’t been able to deny how your relationship had deteriorated, become something unrecognizable and unhealthy. The morning after, you felt like you were existing outside of your body. You could see Rafe leaving apologetic kisses along your face as you stirred, but you couldn’t really feel it. You couldn’t feel his hands either, not until they found a home between your legs, at least.

Your protest was almost immediate, but Rafe had assured you it was fine…and you were scared.

So, you believed him.

Experiencing pain and pleasure at the same time was foreign to you. Rafe’s previous assault was not something to be ignored, but it felt odd to come around him and hiss from the pain of it at the same time. He was gentle, pressing his lips to yours and grazing his fingertips against your skin. His thrusts had been slow and careful, but the damage had been done, and every push of his hips brought out conflicting reactions.

That was how it always went.

Even after the pain and bruises were long gone, you couldn’t stop being afraid of Rafe. After all, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t respect any kind of refusal from you. What kind of relationship was that? How could you thrive in that? Rafe may have been your first everything, but you weren’t naïve. He was an abusive asshole…and you were just too scared to do something about it.

Until last night.

You thought it would be easy. You even remembered internally laughing at yourself for how dramatic you’d made it in your mind. You thought… You thought that Rafe would move on, let you go. After all, he’d finally gotten what he wanted, and you had even exhaled when he nodded, a soft ‘okay’ soon to follow.

“Let me drive you home,” he’d said.

“Okay,” you’d replied.

You didn’t know why you thought it would be that easy.

Things with Rafe hadn’t been easy in months, and your attempted breakup was no different.

You realized that when the needle on the speedometer started to rapidly climb, the sound of Rafe’s revving engine loud in the truck. You asked him what was going on, where he was going, even though deep down you knew. You knew Rafe better than anyone probably, so you knew the answers to your questions before you even asked them.

“Rafe, stop,” you’d begged, reaching for his arm, but the blond simply fixed you with a wry smile.

“Why?” he’d wondered with a shrug. “So, you can leave me? Why would I want that?”

The houses and trees were flying past you outside the window, and you never felt more powerless than in the moment you were trapped in Rafe’s truck, unable to do a thing as he raced down the road towards the end he’d already picked out for the both of you. Any attempt to grab the wheel only resulted in Rafe jerking it—jerking the vehicle in the process—and scaring the shit out of you.

Retracting everything you’d said earlier only resulted in a harsh slap to the steering wheel, a dry laugh from Rafe soon to follow.

“You think I believe that load of shit? Huh?”

“Rafe-!”

“You just tried to break up with me not even thirty minutes ago,” he screamed.

He wasn’t wrong, and you still wanted to, but you were more afraid of dying than living a lie. You pleaded with your boyfriend, assuring him that you didn’t mean it. He only laughed again, and you got the feeling that Rafe was genuinely amused by you. By your tears, by your fear, and by your desperation.

Your heart was racing so fast it could be classified as painful. Your hands were sweating and constantly sliding against the door from where you tried to hold on to it. You pulled at his arm when he swerved into the other lane, swerving back just in time to miss an oncoming truck. Your stomach twisted painfully, bile rising in your throat, and at this point you couldn’t even see the road because of your tears.

“Rafe, please, please just talk to me,” you cried.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, blue eyes focused on the road with not a glance spared towards you, and you pressed your hand to your mouth. You looked out of the window again, unable to make out a thing, and when you reached for Rafe this time, he didn’t slap your hand away. He didn’t protest when you wrapped your arm around his waist, leaning into him and resting your hand against his chest.

You knew that your tears were staining his shirt, and you didn’t know if you stopped fighting as some unconscious tactic or simply because you were accepting what was impossible to escape. Rafe had to have been going a hundred miles an hour, this kind of speed something your brain could barely fathom. It was after some time when you felt his hand on your head and some time after that when you gradually felt the truck slowing.

You were still shaking long after it came to a stop in some wooded area, and the silence in the vehicle was loud. Rafe was just playing with your hair while you trembled against him, and when he stopped, it was only to trail his hand to your neck, gripping the back of it harshly as he forced you to sit up. You knew you looked as distraught as you felt, but Rafe…

Rafe looked calm and in control and nothing less.

His blue eyes ran over your face, drinking in your trembling lips and wet cheeks, lingering on your wide eyes the longest. You felt him rub his thumb along your skin, and when he hummed, it harshly pressed against the side of your neck. Suddenly, the corner of his pink lips curved just the slightest, and nothing about it was soothing.

“I wasn’t serious… You know that, right?”

You didn’t respond because he wasn’t kidding, and you both knew it. Rafe shifted, moving closer, and he brought his other hand up to touch your cheek, wiping your tears away. He studied your eyes, leaning in and grazing your lips.

“It was just…something I didn’t mean. You understand though. Doing things…saying things we don’t mean,” he slowly said to you, swiping his tongue between his lips. “Right…?”

The drop in his voice and the slight raise of his brows had you swallowing, and he was looking at you like he dared you to disagree. Fighting the urge to throw up, and with a shaky nod, you told Rafe what he wanted to hear.

“Right,” you whispered, and he chuckled.

“Alright,” he breathed with a blinding smile, pulling you into his side. “Kelce is throwing together some small thing at his house. I told him we might stop by…”

He trailed off, leaving room for a comment, and you only shrugged.

“That’s fine with me.”

Your voice was barely audible, but Rafe heard you fine, starting the truck and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I knew it would be.”

You’d been quiet the whole night, and you’d been quiet all day, only existing as silent support to Rafe on his birthday. If anyone noticed your reserved demeanor, no one commented on it. No one knew that as you wished Rafe a happy birthday, you were afraid of what could happen if you didn’t smile hard enough. When he kissed you, you could only think of how he’d kissed you after threatening to kill you both. Every time Rafe held your hand, it felt like a chain tethering you to him.

You dreaded the moment the party would thin out and everyone would start trickling from the home in pairs, heading back to the comfort of their own homes until just Rafe and his family remained. Eventually they would call it a night too, and you and Rafe would be alone, and you wouldn’t have a choice but to kiss him back when he eventually kissed you.

…and kiss you he did.

“You almost ruined my birthday, you know,” he mumbled into the kiss, making you pause for half a second.

Your only response was a quiet apology, and Rafe sighed into your mouth.

“That’s okay, baby,” the blond purred. “You know I’ll let you make it up to me.”

You were terrified of your boyfriend, and that was why you let him undress you. You let him wrap his arms around you and hold you close and press kisses to your skin. It was surreal to have sexy with someone you were afraid of, like you were being held hostage in your own body. If Rafe noticed—and you were sure that he did—he didn’t care.

He was content to lay you down and bury his face into the crook of your neck. In fact, you were sure Rafe liked your fear, liked that you were so scared of him. You thought it made it all the more fun for him to push his cock into you and feel you tremble in fear. You just knew there was something in Rafe that took great pleasure in making you momentarily sacrifice your fear of him for ecstasy instead.

He forced your head back, and your chest arched upwards into him. You gasped at the feel of his tongue on your skin, gliding over a hardened bud and tasting you. His hips came down slowly, like he was savoring the feel of you clinging to his cock. He sighed with every thrust, and you were never able to swallow down your own moans once Rafe started stroking that fire building within you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, nipping at your lip as he plunged his cock into you.

One of your legs were thrown over his shoulder, and the stretch burned in a way that wasn’t painful but wasn’t the best either. One of your hands was wrapping around his arm, trying to ground yourself as the other twisted into his sheets. You couldn’t stop gasping, clenching down on him every time Rafe hit that spot in you that made you lose your breath.

When he pushed your leg back more, you yelped in pain, but Rafe only hummed. His thrusts became rougher, and he only hummed again when you hissed. Your hand rested on his chest, pushing against him slightly—a nonverbal communication—but Rafe ignored it.

“Rafe…”

His hips were slapping against yours, and you couldn’t even pretend to enjoy it. Your other hand came up too, and he slapped it away, that same hand wrapped around your throat only moments later. You let out a choked cry, reaching up, but Rafe didn’t stop, continuing to fuck you and choke you.

“Look at me-look at me,” he quietly spat.

Too afraid not to, you did, your distressed gaze meeting his even one in the low lighting. He was so close, nose almost brushing against yours, and he looked between your eyes. His hand tightened around your neck, making your heart skip a beat, and his free hand covered your breast, squeezing it, and your free leg kicked at the sheets.

“I will kill you.”

Your nails pressed into the skin on his arm.

“Do you understand me? You try to leave me again…and I will kill you.”

Your heart was threatening to burst from your chest, and the ceiling behind Rafe’s face was starting to blur. The edges of your vision were growing faint, darkness creeping along the outer rim.

“I will dump your body on the side of the road, and I will get away with it.”

His words and cadence were slow, purposeful, and you knew that Rafe was entirely serious. Tears had long spilled over, and you couldn’t stop crying. Rafe shook you, your neck straining from the action, and the whole time he kept fucking you. His lower movements didn’t stop once, sliding into you over and over and stroking your walls all the while he threatened you.

He roughly let you go, and you coughed, touching your throat and shaking uncontrollably. When Rafe shifted, your leg falling to the bed, you pressed your hands to your face, sobbing into the palms of them. Rafe caged you in, thighs meeting yours with every thrust, and he didn’t seem to care at all at the sight of your distress. In fact, he kissed the back of your hands, humming with every stroke, and you could only think that if you had broken up with him on your birthday then he wouldn’t be threatening your life on his.

Ward Cameron may have felt a lot of things about Rafe, but he wasn’t going to let his only son go to jail.

You should have known that when you called the police, throat tight and phone call tearful as they asked what your emergency was. Telling the woman on the other side of the phone that you were hiding from Rafe Cameron inside of the bathroom wasn’t easy. Telling her that he had a gun was even harder, and something in you wondered if they would’ve been as urgent if they hadn’t heard his booming voice from the other side of the door as he threatened you.

You were sitting on the steps when a familiar car pulled into the driveway behind the cruiser, and you felt your face crumble. There was some relief as the older man went back and forth with Shoupe, but it dwindled the longer it went on. When Ward turned his head towards you, you dropped your gaze, eyes tracing the blood on your foot from where a few shards of glass had nicked it. You didn’t dare look up, not even when you heard his footsteps approaching despite the loud protests from the Sheriff.

When Ward said your name, it was cautious—gentle—and you shook your head.

“No.”

Your name rolled off of his tongue again, and you interrupted whatever he was going to say.

“No, no, no! No,” you cried.

You knew what he was going to say, where this was going, and you refused. You were tired, so tired, and each time you’d tried to do the right thing after your disastrous birthday, you got screwed over. Each time, Rafe was one step ahead or using that charming smile and devious words to convince you it would never happen again. Every slap, every shove, every hand around your throat was proof of all the lies that left his lips.

You were sure that the only truth Rafe had ever told was when he said he’d kill you.

 It was silent between you two for some time, and you heard Ward sigh. You bit your lip, worrying it so much you started to taste blood, and you sniffed, wiping your face as you refused to look at the man. When he took another step towards you, you flinched, and only then did you look up to see the way Ward’s face fell.

You watched him press his lips together, only a thin line, now.

“I want you to tell me what happened.”

You scoffed.

“You know what happened. I’m sure Shoupe told you,” you forced out, and Ward exhaled through his nose.

He briefly glanced over his shoulder, looking at his son in the back of the cop car.

“I want to hear it from you. I want to know how a couple’s quarrel turned into-.”

“A couple’s quarrel?” you repeated in disbelief, tears falling as you exhaled. “He threw a vase at me. He put a gun in my mouth.”

You couldn’t tell how Ward took your words, but he did put his hands on his hips.

“Now, Y/N…you know it’s a crime to lie to the police.”

His response didn’t surprise you, and you nodded, your laugh humorless. Ward knew you were telling the truth, he knew just how unhinged Rafe could be, but he didn’t want him in jail. He couldn’t have the Cameron name tarnished by the arrest of his only son on domestic violence charges. Ward would rather handle this in private, away from prying eyes…and it disgusted you.

“I’m not lying, and you know I’m not lying,” you choked out.

“Why would Rafe do this? Right out of the blue?”

You were on your feet, now, sneering at the other man.

“It’s not out of the blue. Rafe has been treating me like shit for months!”

“…and this is the first we’re hearing of it…?”

The eldest Cameron tilted his head to the side, studying you, and you felt your breath leave you. You watched him touch his chest, gaze soft as he seemed to plead with you.

“Now, I’m not saying that’s not true…but you know that’s what they’re going to ask you. They’re going to ask you why you didn’t tell anyone…and they’re going to note how convenient this all is.”

You knew that, and you looked away, hands falling at your side.

“Rafe says you dropped a vase, and it started an argument.”

“He’s lying-.”

“…and anyone can say you’re the liar.”

You pressed your hands to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears fell. Even through your lids, you could see the change in colors from the flash of the squad car, and when you opened your eyes again, the procession of red and blue lit the yard.

“That gun is legally his…and no one saw him do what you claim he did.”

“Why are you protecting him?” you loudly wondered, looking at the man in disbelief.

You’d eaten dinner with his family, even watched his daughter some nights, and he’d smiled in your face on numerous occasions, treating you like his own. Now, though…when push came to shove…Ward Cameron was showing you that you were not one of his own. Rafe was his own…and you were now a threat.

He took a step towards you, and you reached out to grip the rail to keep yourself from falling.

“I am just telling you what will happen if you continue with this,” he slowly started, and you crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to look at him. “They will take Rafe away, and I will pay his bail, and he’ll come home with me. There were no witnesses, and everything is pure speculation, a simple case of he said she said.”

You knew that he was right, and you felt yourself start to shake.

“…and in that scenario, I can’t help you.”

You knew what he was saying. You knew that he was talking about protecting you from more than just scrutiny and the law—he was also talking about protecting you from Rafe. Your lips parted, and you shakily exhaled. You felt like you were going to collapse, legs unsteady, and when you looked over…your eyes finally met a familiar blue pair.

You were positive that Rafe hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since they’d put handcuffs on him. If looks could kill, you were sure that you’d be six feet under, and you frantically blinked. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and your stomach churned at the memory of his hand on the back of your neck. His other held the gun, angrily forcing the weapon into your mouth as he sneered at you.

Something about returning the smile from some pogue at The Wreck—blond and rowdy and kind of familiar.

You recalled that his name was JJ.

The fight had started almost as soon as you got inside, and you shuddered at the flare of pain in your arm, recalling the way Rafe had shoved you into the wall. You’d only slid down just in time to miss the flying vase. Just thinking about it was enough to paralyze you with fear…and then you thought about what would happen should you choose to have a legal battle with Rafe and his family.

…and lose.

You let out a choked sob, looking away, and letting your face fall into your hands. You collapsed back down onto the steps, Ward’s voice reaching you.

“You tell Shoupe this was all one big misunderstanding…and I can do so much more for you. …but I can’t help you if you go through with this.”

You couldn’t stop crying, because you were trapped…and you knew it. Your parents had money too, just as much as the Cameron’s, but that only evened the playing field, it gave you no advantage, and you were back to square one of your word vs Rafe’s. You knew he would be far more forgiving if you just…did what Ward said. You knew that if you went through with this and lost, Rafe would wring your neck.

“I won’t let my son go to jail, Y/N. One way or another…”

You knew he was telling the truth, the conviction in his tone matching the certainty in your chest.

“…but at least this way, I can help you.”

Your knees bounced as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your tearful gaze focused on the perfectly manicured grass. You curled in on yourself, head falling, and your shoulders shook from your sobs.

“He scares me,” you struggled to say, and Ward placated you.

“I know…I know he does, but you have to let me help you.”

You pulled the ends of your sleeves over your hands, wiping your face. The night was still lit up with red and blue, and you closed your eyes, stomach sinking. It took everything in you to give Ward a shaky nod, and you kept your eyes on the ground as Ward waved the other man over.

You felt like you were betraying yourself, arm still aching and throat still raw from all of your screaming. A lot of your trembling was still from what had happened hours ago, and like that day in his truck…and the night of his party…you’d really thought you were going to die. You couldn’t go through that again, but Ward said that he would protect you because you knew Rafe better than anyone, and you knew that if you tried to press charges against Rafe and didn’t succeed…

He would kill you.

“Y/N wants to talk to you.”

You glanced up at the sound of your name, holding Ward’s gaze for a few seconds before finally meeting Shoupe’s.

“I want… I don’t-I don’t wanna press charges.”

Your words tumbled out, and for a moment, you were sure that Shoupe hadn’t heard you properly. You came to realize that he heard you fine, and his confusion wasn’t from a lack of understanding. You watched him rest his hands on his hips, looking between you and Ward.

“Now, Y/N…” he started, seemingly trying to organize his thoughts. “I heard that phone call. I heard what you said and I heard him yelling.”

“It was just a regular argument, Shoupe,” you whispered with a shrug. “It was stupid. A stupid vase…”

“That he threw…”

The pause was heavy, and you glanced away.

“That I dropped.”

You shook your head when he said your name, and you licked your lips, gaze pleading as they met his again.

“Please, just let him go. He didn’t do anything to me. It was a stupid fight that I exaggerated because…I was angry and things got out of hand, and this just went way beyond what I intended, so…”

The other man didn’t look like he believed you, at all, and you watched him glance at Ward—who hadn’t said a thing—before looking back to you. He sighed, fixing you with a look you couldn’t name.

“Are you sure…?”

Your only response was a nod, unsure if you could lie any more without breaking down. With an aggravated sigh—aggravation at you or at Ward, you didn’t know—Shoupe signaled to his deputy to let Rafe go. Ward was pulled to the side as the two men had a hushed and heated conversation, going back and forth, while your gaze rested on Rafe.

You felt like you were doing the worst thing possible as you watched them guide him out of the backseat. He looked far from happy as they uncuffed him, and just like all night, his gaze refused to leave you. The flashing red and blue bathed him, blue eyes glinting almost dangerously, and you pressed your lips together while you watched him rub his now free wrists.

The other men were distracted as Rafe slowly made his way over, and you didn’t dare move. You were too scared to, and as much as you wanted to pull your eyes away, you couldn’t find the strength to. It was just hours ago that you’d stared into that face as he yelled at you for something as harmless as a smile. Only hours ago, he was pushing you around and threatening you.

…and now those same hands were reaching for you and pulling you to your feet.

You cried for so many reasons as Rafe wrapped his arms around you, rocking you from side to side and shushing you in what was meant to be a soothing voice. They were tight, and you cried harder, apologies slipping past your lips before you realized what you were doing. Rafe was always quick to forgive if you were quick to apologize.

“I know,” you heard and felt him murmur into your hair.

“Please, please don’t…”

You both knew what you were begging for, and he gently shushed you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out again, repeating it as many times as you thought you should, hoping and praying that it was enough. “You have to know that…”

Your words died in the air at the sound of his voice.

“I should be angry with you…but I understand,” he softly told you. “You were scared, and you should’ve been.”

You sniffed, staring at the red and blue grass.

“I went too far, and you were right to be scared.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there, telling you the words that brought you temporary relief.

“I forgive you.”

[itneverendshere]

thinking of how rafe wouldn’t want you to work while pregnant

that man would be so stressed, since day one!! and bartender!reader would noooot give him a break, still covering bartending shifts even tho she was the manager bc she simply enjoyed doing it every once in a while. and he's like ?????? will you sit your ass down PLEASE. but you're not listening, if there's ONE thing the pregnancy hormones gave you was extra attitude. somethin' along these lines:

rafe could feel his jaw clenching as he watched you across the room, rolling your eyes for the third time in the past five minutes. you were doing it on purpose now, deliberately ignoring him while standing behind the bar, mixing drinks like you weren’t six months pregnant.

the bartender had called in sick, and you, the manager, jumped in and covered for him. rafe crossed his arms, leaning against the counter, and tried not to look too annoyed, but fuck if it wasn’t hard.

you still had that spark in you, that independence that drew him in from the start, but now? now it just made him worry.

worry like he never thought he could.

“you’re really gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that?” he called out, his voice carrying over the chatter around the country club.

most people were too busy with their drinks and golf gossip to notice you two bickering, but anyone paying attention could see that familiar dynamic. you doing whatever you damn well pleased, him trying to keep his cool, which he never really could when it came to you putting yourself at risk.

you glanced at him over your shoulder, hands moving like second nature as you garnished a drink. “’m fine, baby” you told him, voice just as breezy as ever, like the huge bump pressing against your shirt was nothing more than an accessory. “it’s just a couple hours.”

there was that old habit of yours—acting like everything was fine when you clearly weren’t. or maybe you were, but that wasn’t the point.

the point was, you shouldn’t have to be there.

“you say that, but i know you’re gonna be hurting later,” he muttered, pushing off the counter and walking around to your side of the bar.

his hand landed gently on your waist, thumb brushing the small of your back like he always did when he wanted to get you to stop for just a second.

“c’mon, baby. just take a break, you don’t need to be on your feet like this.”

it wasn’t that you didn’t want help—you’d worked through that over the past couple years—but that stubborn streak was still there.

“’m not some porcelain doll,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes again, “’m not gonna drop dead because i’m pregnant.”

he felt his stomach drop when those words left your mouth. "jesus christ, woman," he muttered, his eyes widening in exasperation. "don’t say that shit.”

“alright, my bad,” you gave in, “didn’t mean it like that.”

rafe sighed, his hand still resting on you. he hated when you talked like that, like you had to remind him how capable you were. of course he knew. 

"promise me you're taking a leave starting tomorrow," he practically begged you despite attempting to sound firm, but that undertone of worry had been his constant companion ever since you'd found out you were pregnant. 

"next week," you sang back, not even looking up from the drink you were finishing. 

you were still in work mode, determined to keep things running smoothly despite the fact you should’ve been at home, resting.

"tomorrow," he insisted, leaning in closer, his voice softening but no less serious.

you turned to face him, eyes narrowing. "next week, or you’re not getting sex for the next three months. now get outta my bar.”

rafe blinked, his jaw going slack as he stared at you, completely blindsided. 

“what—"

“go on,” you gestured toward the other side of the counter with a flick of your hand, “out.”

his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, like a fish. he was processing, but slowly.

"but… baby," he whined, his voice dipping into a tone that could only be described as kicked puppy. “just—wanna make sure you’re okay. that you’re safe, and you’re not overdoing it. you can’t kick me out, i need to be around you.”

you gave him that look, the one that told him he was pushing his luck. "rafe, i swear to god—”

he let out a long, dramatic sigh, but started to back off, lifting his hands in surrender.

"alright, alright, ‘m going," he grunted, dragging his feet toward the exit like a kid being told to go to bed. but before he did go, he turned back one more time, his eyes pleading. "i’ll be outside if you need me."

"of course you will," you muttered, shaking your head with a half-smile. you knew he wasn’t going far, probably just far enough to hover and peek through the windows, pretending to give you space but unable to help himself.

"i love you, stop spiraling," you called out after him.

he paused, turning back to look at you, his expression softening.  

“love you too.”

[depresssant]

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second. 

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care. 

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air. 

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things. 

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup. 

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

[theonottsbxtch]

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.2 | MV1

an: guys my time off is coming to an end, i move to france next week and start my job the week after rip me but in the mean time enjoy this badboy i've been sitting on

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 6k

part one

Max pushed open the door to The Rusty Wheel, the familiar creak of its hinges greeting him like an old memory. The low hum of country music drifted from the jukebox in the corner, and the faint smell of spilled beer and worn leather hung in the air. Not much had changed since the last time he’d stepped foot in here, years ago—except, maybe, for the fact that now every pair of eyes in the place was on him.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the bar, pausing only long enough to hang his cowboy hat on one of the hooks by the door. He used to come here every weekend, same as the rest of them. He hadn’t expected the town to change much—but somehow, it felt smaller now. Tighter. Like it didn’t quite fit him anymore.

Before he could take a seat, the owner, Earl, stepped out from behind the bar. Earl was a grizzled old cowboy, his flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a white beard flecked with grey. He stopped in his tracks, wiping his hands on a rag, and gave Max a once-over, his face creasing with disbelief.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Earl muttered, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t believe it when they told me.”

Max chuckled softly, not missing the edge in Earl’s voice. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“You actually back for good?” Earl asked, still eyeing him like he was trying to decide if he was a mirage.

Max shrugged. “Looks that way.”

Earl grunted, leaning his hands on the bar. “Guess we’ll see how that works out.”

Before Max could reply, a figure appeared beside him, sliding a bottle of beer across the counter. Max glanced up and saw Daniel—his best friend from back in the day—giving him a smirk as he set the beer down. Daniel was leaner now, with a few more lines around his eyes, but he still had the same mischievous glint that had gotten them into trouble as kids.

Daniel raised an eyebrow as he wiped down the bar. “Bold move, man,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, really bold.”

Max took the beer, the cold glass sweating in his grip. “Figured it was time.”

Daniel leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, half the people in this town think you’ve got some nerve coming back after what you did to her.”

Max’s stomach clenched, but he kept his face neutral. He knew it wouldn’t take long for that topic to come up. “And the other half?” he asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

Daniel snorted. “They’re just in awe of what you’ve done with your career. Hell, I’ll admit it—I followed your rides. Man, some of those bulls you took on… I thought you were insane, but you sure made a name for yourself.”

Max nodded, setting the bottle back down on the bar. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Daniel tilted his head, studying him. “That right? Because last time I checked, you were in all the magazines, got sponsors throwing money at you, and about a million followers watching your every move. That doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”

Max sighed, leaning his elbows on the bar. “It was great for a while. But the thing is, they don’t see the rest of it. The part where you wake up and don’t know where you are half the time. Or when you’re trying to remember which interviews you’ve already done or whose hand you shook at some event you didn’t even want to go to.” He shook his head, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Everyone thinks they want that life until they get it.”

Daniel didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched him, the silence between them hanging heavy. Then, after a beat, he nodded. “So why’d you come back? You finally get sick of signing autographs?”

Max’s eyes drifted to the shelves of dusty bottles behind the bar, memories of a simpler life flooding back. The long nights in places like this, where the biggest problem he had was getting enough cash together to fill his tank. Where people knew him as Max, not Max Verstapppen, the famous bull rider plastered on posters across the country.

“Something like that,” he said quietly. “I was never cut out for that big city stuff. The lights, the cameras… all of it.” He paused, running a hand along the neck of the beer bottle, feeling the condensation slick against his skin. “I missed home. The quiet. The way things made sense out here.”

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “Home, huh?” He let out a slow breath. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad to see you. Always hoped you’d come back. But you know it’s not going to be easy. People here… they don’t forget.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his grip on the bottle a little firmer. “Yeah, I know.”

Daniel stared at him for a long moment, and then his expression softened, some of the teasing edge fading from his voice. “She’s still hurt, you know. Even if she doesn’t show it. You coming back… it’s gonna stir up a lot of things.”

“I figured that,” Max replied, his voice low, almost resigned. “But I had to come back anyway.”

Daniel nodded, his eyes softening. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’ve got a lot of work to do, man.”

Max took another swig of beer, the cool liquid doing nothing to settle the unease that had been bubbling in his gut since the moment he’d driven into town. “Trust me,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “I know.”

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupted the conversation, and Max glanced over his shoulder to see a group of locals walking in, laughing and chatting as they made their way to a corner booth. He recognised some of them, faces he hadn’t seen in years, but he wasn’t ready for more conversations, more questions.

Turning back to Daniel, he nodded toward the bar. “Mind if I hang here for a while?”

Daniel smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. “Stay as long as you need. Just don’t expect the town to make it easy on you.”

Max nodded in appreciation, as he sipped his beer, letting the familiar hum of the bar settle around him. The chatter, the music, the faint clink of bottles—it all felt like a song from a time he thought he’d forgotten. But he hadn’t. Not really.

He’d been running from home for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like to just stand still. And now that he was back, he wasn’t sure what hurt more—the memories of what he’d lost, or the fear of facing the woman he’d left behind.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, Max stepped out of his truck, the early sun casting long shadows across the gravel driveway of High Ride Stables, Austin. The familiar scent of hay, leather, and horses filled the air, stirring memories he hadn’t thought of in years. It was a place he knew well—he’d worked here as a kid, mucking out stalls and helping with the horses. But today, the barn felt different, like the weight of his past was waiting for him inside.

He pushed open the large wooden door, the creak announcing his arrival. Inside, horses shuffled in their stalls, and the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed from deeper within. He glanced around, spotting the counter near the back where Leslie, the barn’s owner, was talking to one of the stable hands.

Leslie had been running this barn for as long as he could remember. She was tough as nails, with streaks of grey in her otherwise jet-black hair and a sharp gaze that could cut through any excuse. The stable hands called her “Les” when she wasn’t listening—if she caught them at it, they'd regret it.

When she saw him, her conversation trailed off, and her expression hardened. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter, eyeing him like he’d just tracked mud through her pristine barn.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Leslie drawled, raising an eyebrow. “If it ain’t the hometown hero.”

Max tried to smile, but it fell flat. He took off his hat and held it in front of him. “Morning, Les.”

“Morning,” she replied, her tone flat. “What brings you here?”

“I’m lookin’ for work,” he said, stepping closer, but staying on the other side of the counter like it was a barrier between them. Which, in a way, it was.

Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “Work?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “After all that bull riding fame and fortune, you’re back here beggin’ for a job?”

“Not beggin’,” he muttered, his voice low. “Just askin’.”

She pushed herself off the counter, walking around it and standing toe-to-toe with him, hands on her hips. “Same difference.”

“Come on, Les,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You know how it goes. The fame doesn’t last forever. Sponsors move on, injuries pile up… and the money—well, it dwindles. I can’t live off my bull riding winnings for the rest of my life.”

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “Sounds like a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem.”

Max sighed, glancing around the barn, trying to find the right words. “I grew up here, working in this barn. I know horses, I know the work. You know I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Leslie tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “You really expect me to just hand you a job, after everything?”

He frowned, confused. “After everything?”

She shot him a knowing look. “Don’t play dumb with me, Max. You know who works here.”

His stomach sank, realising where this conversation was heading. Of course, she worked here—why wouldn’t she? It was her world. She’d never left it, never had a reason to. But that didn’t make this any easier.

“I’m not lookin’ to cause any trouble, Les. I just need work,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll stay out of her way.”

Leslie raised an eyebrow. “Stay out of her way? You can’t just waltz back into this town, askin’ for a job, and think you can just avoid her. This is a small town, boy, not some city where you can hide from the people you’ve wronged.”

Max winced at the word “wronged.” It was blunt, but he couldn’t argue with it. He had wronged her. Maybe more than he even realised.

He took a deep breath, meeting Leslie’s gaze. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt her. But… I need this job, Les. Please.”

Leslie studied him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then, she turned and walked back to the counter, rummaging through a drawer before pulling out a small notepad. She scribbled something down on it, then tore off the piece of paper and held it out to him.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. “I’ll give you a job if you go apologise to her. And not just any apology—she has to forgive you.”

Max stared at her, not taking the paper. His heart raced, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “Les, that’s impossible.”

Leslie crossed her arms again, looking at him with the same steel-eyed determination she always had. “Well, if you think it’s impossible, you don’t want this job bad enough.”

His eyes flicked to the paper in her hand, knowing exactly what was written on it. He didn’t need to look to know it was her address.

“You know she’s not gonna forgive me,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of the past like a stone in his gut.

Leslie gave him a half-smile, but there was no softness in it. “Well, you better get working, boy.”

Max finally took the paper from her hand, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. He looked down at the address, familiar yet distant, as if it belonged to another lifetime.

“I’m serious,” Leslie said, her voice softening just a bit. “You want a job here? You’ve gotta make things right with her. I won’t have you causing more mess in this barn—or in this town. Either she forgives you, or you pack your bags and keep drivin’.”

Max swallowed hard, tucking the paper into his back pocket. He wanted to argue, to tell her that there was no way in hell she’d ever forgive him. But he knew Leslie well enough to know that there was no arguing with her.

He nodded once, stiffly. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll try.”

Leslie smirked, her eyes gleaming with something he couldn’t quite place. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

As he turned to leave, the barn door creaked open behind him, and for a split second, his heart froze. He half-expected to see her there, standing in the doorway, glaring at him like she had on that road. But it was just another worker, coming in to start the day.

Max let out a breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It had been one thing to face her the first time, in the heat of the moment. But now… now he had to go, hat in hand, and ask her to forgive him. To admit he was wrong. To dig up all the things he’d been trying to bury for years.

He shoved his hat back on his head and walked out of the barn, the piece of paper burning a hole in his pocket. The road ahead of him felt longer than it had ever been.

The next day, Max stood at the front steps of the small house, nerves twisting in his stomach like a coiled rope. He stared at the chipped paint on the door, feeling the weight of years pressing down on him. This was the house he’d been avoiding ever since he set foot back in town. And now, here he was—about to knock.

He took a deep breath, raising his fist and rapping his knuckles on the door. The sound echoed in the still morning air, louder than it had any right to be. For a moment, he thought maybe she wouldn’t answer, maybe he could just turn around and—

The door swung open.

She stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowing the second she saw him. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she wore an old flannel shirt that he recognised—one she stole off of him when they were kids. She didn’t look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked like she’d been expecting him.

“Nope,” she said flatly, her hand already on the door, ready to slam it shut. “Not happening.”

“Wait,” Max said, holding up his hands. “Just… just hear me out for a minute.”

“I don’t think I need to,” she shot back, her voice cold. “I’ve already heard enough.”

“Darling, please—”

“Do not call me ‘darling,’” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. Her eyes flashed with anger, and Max felt the sting of it, like a whip cracking against his skin. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Max took a step back, raising his hands defensively. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean?” she interrupted, her voice rising, filled with a raw, seething rage that had been simmering for eight long years. “What, Max? You didn’t mean to leave me in a hospital bed without a word? You didn’t mean to disappear without so much as a goddamn goodbye?”

He swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at him like it always did when he thought about that day. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as if to protect herself from him. “So, you just ran? That’s your excuse?”

“I wasn’t running,” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow even to him. He’d been running for years—he knew it, and so did she.

“Bullshit,” she spat, her eyes blazing. “You’ve been running your whole damn life. When things get hard, you don’t face them—you just pack your bags and leave. That’s what you did to me, and that’s what you’ve been doing ever since.”

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that wasn’t true, but the words died in his throat. She wasn’t wrong. He had run. He’d run the second things got complicated, the second he felt like he was losing control.

“I thought I was doing what was best,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less sure. “I thought you’d hate me if I stayed.”

Her jaw clenched, and she took a step forward, her fists balled at her sides. “You really think I could’ve hated you?” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of years of hurt. “You think I wanted you to just leave me behind like I didn’t matter?”

“I didn’t think I was enough for you!” Max burst out, the frustration and regret spilling out of him. “You were laid up in a hospital bed because of that fall, and I was getting calls about sponsors and competitions. I was torn in two, and I didn’t know what to do! I thought if I stayed, you’d see me as some reminder of what you’d lost, of the future we’d been planning and couldn’t have anymore.”

Her eyes widened, and for a second, the anger flickered, replaced by something else—something rawer, more vulnerable. “So, what? You thought I’d hate you? That I wouldn’t want you anymore? Out of pity?” She shook her head, stepping back from him as if the very thought disgusted her. “Is that what you really think of me?”

Max dragged a hand through his hair, hating how badly this conversation was going. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice pleading now. “I didn’t want to be a burden. You’d just lost everything, and I didn’t want to remind you of the future you couldn’t have anymore. You deserved better than a guy who was barely hanging on.”

“Barely hanging on?” She seethed, her fists trembling. “You didn’t give me the chance to decide that! You didn’t even try to talk to me, to ask me what I wanted. You made that choice for me.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing!” Max shouted back, his frustration boiling over. “I thought if I walked away, you’d move on. You’d be better off without me, and I could… I could disappear before you realised I wasn’t enough.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a mixture of rage and heartbreak. “You think leaving was easier for me? You think watching you drive off without a word made me better off?”

“I wasn’t strong enough to stay,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I thought I’d hurt you more by sticking around. I thought you’d hate me, that you’d look at me and see someone who was staying out of pity.”

“God, Max,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You don’t even get it, do you?”

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words crushing him. “Then tell me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I didn’t see.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her breath shaky as she tried to compose herself. When she opened them again, there was no anger left—just hurt. “You were everything to me. Everything. And you took that away because you were scared. You left me in that hospital bed, and you didn’t even let me fight for us. You made that choice, and I had to live with it.”

Max felt his chest tighten, the guilt and regret almost suffocating. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Her lip trembled, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then, just as quickly, she straightened up, hardening herself again. “Sorry doesn’t fix eight years, Max. Sorry doesn’t undo the fact that you abandoned me when I needed you most.”

He took a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance between them. “I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “It’s not that easy. You don’t get to just walk back into my life and pretend like nothing happened.”

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I can’t fix what I did. But I want to try. Please, just give me a chance.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she stepped back inside and slammed the door in his face.

Max stood there, staring at the closed door, the sound of it still ringing in his ears. The weight of her words, the pain he’d caused, hung heavy in the air around him.

He slipped his hat back on, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes. As he turned and walked back to his truck, the gravel crunching beneath his boots, he realised something: he’d always been running. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he could ever stop.

That night, Max couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, the weight of her words pressing on his chest like a stone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—angry, hurt, and accusing. It had been easier when he thought he was protecting her by leaving. Now, after their argument, it was clear that all he’d done was rip open a wound neither of them had been able to heal.

With a frustrated groan, he threw off the blankets and sat up in bed. Sleep wasn’t coming—not tonight. He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight, but it felt like the hours were crawling by, leaving him trapped with his thoughts.

His mind wandered to the only place that ever brought him a sense of calm: the rodeo. The old training grounds on the outskirts of town where he’d spent countless nights like this, working out his frustrations with the one thing he understood—bull riding. He hadn’t been back there in years, but tonight, it felt like the only place he could go to clear his head.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and his boots, Max grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the house, the cool night air hitting his face as he headed to his truck.

The rodeo grounds were quiet when he pulled up, the faint glow of the moon casting long shadows over the empty bleachers. The scent of dirt and leather filled his lungs, familiar and comforting in a way that nothing else had been since he’d come back to town. He walked toward the arena, the sounds of his boots crunching on gravel the only thing breaking the silence.

As he got closer, something caught his eye. Movement in the arena. At first, he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but then he saw her.

She was on horseback, weaving through the barrels in the dim moonlight, her movements graceful and precise. It was like watching a memory come to life. She moved with a fluidity that made it look effortless, but Max knew better. He’d seen the hours she used to put in, the work that went into every sharp turn, every quick burst of speed. She hadn’t lost her touch.

He stopped at the edge of the arena, standing just out of sight, not wanting to disturb her. For a moment, he just watched, his chest tightening as he remembered how much she loved this—how much they had loved this world together.

Then, it happened. As she rounded the last barrel, something went wrong. Maybe her horse misstepped, maybe she pushed too hard, but in an instant, she was thrown off, hitting the ground hard. Her horse skittered to the side, startled by the fall.

Before he could stop himself, Max was moving. He vaulted over the fence and ran toward her, his heart pounding in his chest. She was sitting up by the time he reached her, dusting off her jeans with a wince.

“Who the fuck did I piss off in my past life for you to be the one to find me?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced up at him.

Max skidded to a halt, a little breathless, and held up his hands in surrender. “I was just passing by. You okay?”

She shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Like you care.”

He didn’t argue, just crouched down beside her, unsure of what else to do. “How can I help?”

“Help?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You really think you can help now, after everything?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice softer than before. “But I’m trying.”

She rolled her eyes, but her usual fire seemed to be dimmed, just a little. “Doctor’s orders,” she said finally, wincing as she shifted her leg. “You wanna help? Raise my leg and keep it elevated for fifteen minutes.”

Max hesitated for a moment, unsure if she was messing with him or not. But the way she was holding her side, the tightness in her face, told him this was real.

He nodded and carefully slid his arm under her leg, lifting it gently and resting it on his knee. She didn’t protest, but she also didn’t look at him. They sat there in silence, the tension between them as thick as the night air.

The minutes dragged by, and Max could feel every second of it. He kept his gaze focused on the ground, resisting the urge to say something—anything—to break the silence. But she was the one who spoke first.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” she said quietly, her voice lacking the venom it usually held.

Max swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I couldn’t.”

“You mean you didn’t want to. Big difference.” She still wasn’t looking at him, her focus trained on the darkened arena ahead of them.

He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle her leg. “I missed this place,” he said after a long pause. “Missed the people. Missed… you.”

She scoffed, but there was less bite to it. “You missed me? Is that why you didn’t call for eight years? ‘Cause you missed me?”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought you’d moved on. I thought it was easier for you if I wasn’t in the picture.”

“Easier?” She let out a humourless laugh. “Do you even hear yourself, Max? You just disappeared. You didn’t even give me the chance to move on, to deal with any of it. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces.”

He clenched his jaw, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “I thought I was doing what was best.”

“Stop saying that,” she snapped, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were filled with anger, but underneath it was something else—something softer, more vulnerable. “You keep saying that like it was some noble thing you did, but all you did was make a decision for both of us. You never even asked me what I wanted.”

Max opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She was right. He hadn’t asked. He’d just assumed.

They fell into silence again, the weight of the unspoken things between them pressing down like a heavy fog.

After what felt like forever, she sighed, leaning back against the fence, her leg still resting on his knee. “You know,” she said quietly, “there was a time when I would’ve given anything to hear you say you missed me. But now… I don’t even know what to do with that.”

Max looked at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her so close, yet so far away. “I’m trying,” he said softly. “I know I messed up. I know I can’t fix what I did, but I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She didn’t respond, just stared out at the empty arena, her face unreadable.

The silence stretched between them, and Max could feel the weight of it settling in his bones. He wanted to say more, to tell her everything that had been building inside him for years. But the words felt too small, too insignificant for the damage he’d caused.

After a long while, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

Max’s heart clenched, but he nodded. “I get that,” he said quietly. “But I’m not going anywhere this time.”

She didn’t say anything else, and the two of them sat there in the quiet of the rodeo grounds, with nothing but the stars and the distant sounds of the horses to keep them company.

For the first time in years, it wasn’t the silence that felt unbearable. It was the hope buried somewhere beneath it.

She shifted slightly, wincing a bit as she adjusted her leg on his knee. Max kept his hold steady, though every muscle in him was tense. He was waiting, unsure if she’d kick him out of her life again or keep him suspended in this strange limbo they found themselves in.

“What was it like?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but cutting through the stillness. She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes trained on the horizon, as if the answer was out there somewhere in the night sky. “To make it big? To live that life?”

Max glanced at her, surprised by the question. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. His instinct was to downplay it, to gloss over the highs and lows like he had so many times before when people asked. But this wasn’t just anyone asking—it was her.

He took a deep breath. “It was everything I thought it’d be,” he started, his voice low. “At first, anyway. The crowds, the money, the fame… it was wild. Everything moved so fast. One minute I was just this kid from nowhere, the next I was on posters, doing interviews, getting invited to places I’d never even dreamed of.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as the memories flooded back. “The adrenaline—it’s like nothing else. Every ride, every victory, it felt like I was on top of the world. But the crashes… they’re just as big. Bigger, even.”

She listened quietly, her face unreadable. He wasn’t sure if she cared or if she was just being polite, but he kept going, needing to get it out.

“There were nights when I’d lie awake in a hotel room, hundreds of miles from home, and wonder what the hell I was doing,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I was surrounded by people all the time, but I never felt more alone. It was like… like I was chasing something, and no matter how far I got, I couldn’t catch it. Every high came with a low, and after a while, the lows started outweighing everything else.”

She still didn’t say anything, her eyes fixed on the stars. He looked down at the ground, the dirt beneath his boots feeling more real than anything had in a long time.

“I got tired of it,” he confessed after a long pause. “Tired of the crowds, the noise, the pressure to be something I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anymore. I missed this place. I missed…” He trailed off, but she didn’t need him to finish the sentence. They both knew what he meant.

Finally, she turned her head slightly, her eyes finding his. “And you think you can just come back?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with something bitter, something hurt. “After all of that? Just walk back into this life like nothing happened?”

Max swallowed hard. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think that. I know I can’t just… fix things. I’m not here to pretend that the past didn’t happen.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze sharp, cutting through the quiet. “Why should I trust you?”

He didn’t flinch at the question. He’d been expecting it, waiting for it.

“You don’t have to,” he answered honestly, meeting her eyes. “I know I haven’t earned that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Her jaw clenched, and she turned her gaze back to the arena. “You hurt me, Max. You didn’t just leave—you disappeared. Like I meant nothing.”

“I know,” he whispered, the words heavy with regret. “And I’m so damn sorry. If I could take it all back, I would.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “You don’t get to come back after eight years and expect me to forget what that felt like.”

He nodded, his throat tight. “I’m not asking you to forget. Or even to forgive me right away. I just want a chance to make things right. To prove that I’m not that guy anymore.”

She didn’t respond, just sat there in the silence, her leg still resting on his knee. It was a strange kind of intimacy—one built on years of unresolved hurt, but also on something deeper. Something neither of them wanted to name yet.

After a while, she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Nothing ever changed here, you know,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “While you were out there, living that big life, everything just… stayed the same. The same people, the same rodeos, the same barns. It was like I was stuck while you were off becoming someone else.”

Max’s chest tightened at her words. He couldn’t imagine what that must’ve felt like, to watch the world move on without her, to feel left behind. And worse, to know he was part of the reason she felt that way.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words feeling inadequate, but it was all he had. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to leave you stuck. I thought you’d move on. I thought you’d—”

“Stop thinking,” she cut in, her voice sharp again, though there was a weariness in her eyes. “You keep telling yourself you did what was best for me, but you never asked me what I wanted. You just decided for both of us.”

He nodded, taking the hit. She was right, and he wasn’t going to argue with that.

She shifted again, pulling her leg off his knee and standing up, brushing the dirt off her jeans. Max stood too, though he kept his distance, unsure of what to do next. The tension between them was still there, heavy and thick, but something had changed. There was a crack in the wall she’d built around herself, just a small one, but it was there.

“Look,” she said after a long pause, her voice softer now. “I don’t know what you expect to happen. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. But… I don’t hate you. Not anymore. I thought I did, for a long time. But it’s just… it’s hard to hate someone you used to love that much.”

His heart stuttered in his chest at the word “love.” Even though it was in the past tense, it still felt like a lifeline.

“I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly. “I just want to be here. Whatever that looks like.”

She gave him a long look, her eyes searching his face as if she was trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. Finally, she nodded, just once. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even close. But it was something.

She turned and started walking toward her truck, her steps slow, like she was still testing how much she could trust the ground beneath her.

Max watched her go, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the weight of the past still pressing on him. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

part three

[darlingdaisyfarm]

a small gift

tags: Stan x fem!reader x Ford, birthday, humour, fluff, just had to write this wholesome little fic for them because they deserve to be happy, singing, awkward Ford, sfw, inspired by Lana del Rey song

Stanley Pines leaned back in his old armchair, glancing at the calendar on the wall. His eyes landed on the circled date — June 15th, their birthday. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of his brother, hunched over his never-ending stack of research papers, buried in his makeshift lab. Typical Ford. Always with his nose deep in some crackpot science theory, instead of, you know, enjoying life.

"Yeah, no way I’m lettin’ him get away with that this year." Stan muttered to himself. This time, he thought, Ford’s gonna get outta his damn cave and actually have some fun for once.

Stanley strode towards the stairs, stopping at the basement door. He gave it a sharp, rhythmic knock. "Hey, Poindexter! You better not be down there doin’ more of your ‘save-the-universe’ mumbo jumbo! It’s our birthday, ya know!"

There was a brief pause before a muffled voice responded. "Yes, Stanley, I’m fully aware of the date. Just let me finish these calculations—"

"Calculations, schmalkulations! You been finishin’ calculations for forty years, Ford. Trust me, that last decimal point ain’t gonna make a difference to the end of the world or whatever. Now c’mon!" Stan rapped the door again, growing impatient. "I got somethin’ special planned for us tonight. And don’t even try pullin’ that ‘I’m busy’ crap on me this time!"

Ford’s face appeared at the door, peeking through his glasses, which were just a little too smudged from the constant tinkering. "Stanley, I’ve told you, I’m close to a major breakthrough with this—"

“Yeah, yeah, ‘major breakthrough,’ like I haven’t heard that one before." Stan cut him off, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe. "Newsflash, nerd, we ain’t gettin’ any younger, and you’ve barely stepped foot outside since you got back from that other dimension. So, guess what? I’m takin’ ya out tonight!"

Ford frowned. "Out? To where exactly?"

Stan waggled his eyebrows. "Oh, you’ll see. Let’s just say it ain’t the library."

Ford looked at his brother with disbelief. "Stanley, I have absolutely no interest in your usual haunts, whatever dive bar or—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow your roll, Stanford! It’s our birthday! You’re actin’ like I’m draggin’ ya to a strip club or somethin’." Stanley chuckled, already imagining Ford’s awkward reaction if that was the plan. He slapped a hand on Ford’s shoulder. "Nah, I’m takin’ ya to a place with some class. . . and somethin' that'll remind ya why the real world’s worth livin' in, instead of buryin’ your head in books all the time."

Ford adjusted his glasses, still hesitant. "Stanley, I really don’t think—"

“Ah, save it! It's out of the question, buddy, tonight’s gonna be a birthday to remember! Trust me." he turned, heading towards the door, already sensing his twin following behind reluctantly. "And don’t forget, you owe me for all the times I’ve bailed your six-fingered butt outta danger! So, tonight, you’re gonna relax, have a drink, and maybe even talk to someone who ain’t made of equations or alien technology."

***

Stan grinned smugly as looked at Ford’s face. Neon signs flashed ahead, but this wasn’t one of those rough, rundown places Ford hated. It was something fancier. Classier, at least by Stan’s standards. From the open door came the low hum of jazz, mixed with the clink of glasses and soft chatter.

Stan slapped Ford on the back, ushering him forward. "Don’t make that face, Ford It’s nothin’ crazy, but it’s got live music, good drinks and a whole lotta people who don’t speak in alien gibberish. It’s a start, huh?"

Ford blinked, looking genuinely surprised for once. "This. . . isn’t what I expected."

"Yeah, I bet it ain’t!" Stan chuckled. "thought I was gonna take ya to some cabaret joint, didn’t ya?"

Ford didn’t respond, but his silence said enough.

“Look, Ford, I know you’re allergic to fun, but tonight’s our night. No weird science, no alternate dimensions. Just you, me, and a stiff drink. Let’s enjoy it while we can, alright?"

Ford hesitated, looking at the customers sitting at candlelit tables with soft jazz swirling around them. He slowly nodded, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, but only because you’re my brother."

Stan clapped his hands together, beaming. "That’s the spirit! Now, come on, let’s get some drinks in us. You might even get lucky and find someone who actually understands all that nerdy crap you talk about."

Ford smirked, adjusting his coat. "I highly doubt that, Stanley."

Stan winked. "Well, let’s hope so, Sixer. Let’s hope so."

Stan and Ford made their way deeper, the soft jazz filled their ears. The place was packed, but not in an overwhelming way. Couples sat at small round tables, sipping drinks, while a few loners nursed their glasses at the bar, heads swaying to the music.

Stan led Ford to an empty table in the corner, claiming it like he’d been there a hundred times before. He slid into his seat with a satisfied grunt, slapping the table lightly with the palm of his hand. "Alright, Poindexter, sit your six-fingered butt down. I’ll go grab us a couple drinks."

Ford eyed people with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort, still adjusting to the unfamiliar scene, a little anxiety crept into his head. "Stanley, I really don’t think this is—"

"Ah, none of that thinkin' stuff tonight, Ford. You’ve done enough of that for ten lifetimes." Stan got up, heading for the bar with a mischievous grin. "Just sit back and let me handle the drinks. Somethin’ a little more exciting than your usual black coffee or whatever sludge you drink."

Stanford couldn’t help but observe the people around him. They were just different. Lively. Engaged in conversation. Present. It was strange to him—an entire room full of people who weren’t obsessed with solving the mysteries of the universe. They were just living. He sighed, running a hand through his graying hair.

Stan returned a few minutes later, balancing two glasses of amber-colored liquid. He slid one across the table to Ford with a satisfied smirk. "There ya go. Whiskey. Nothin’ fancy, but it’ll do the trick."

Ford picked up the glass, inspecting it with confused face. "Stanley, you know I’m not much of a drinker—"

“Yeah, well, tonight you are." Stan raised his own glass in a toast. "To another year of not gettin’ ourselves killed, huh? And maybe to you actually takin' a break from savin’ the world for once."

Ford hesitated, then clinked his glass against Stan’s and finally smile appeared on his face. "Alright, to surviving another year."

They both took a sip, though Stanford immediately winced, the burn of the whiskey stronger than he’d expected. Stan, on the other hand, downed half of his glass in one go, letting out a contented sigh.

"Ahh, now that’s the good stuff, that's what I call life." Stan leaned back in his seat, eyeing his brother with a knowing smile. "So, how’s it feel to be out in the real world again, Poindexter? A little better than starin’ at equations all night, huh?"

Ford looked around again, enjoying the warm golden glow of the place. It was nice, he had to admit. The music, the atmosphere. . . it was different from his usual solitude. "It’s certainly a change of pace," he said, chuckling softly.

Stan smiled, shaking his head. "I swear, Ford, you could be sittin’ in a room full of clowns on fire and you’d still be playin’ it cool."

"I’ve seen stranger things, Stanley."

"Yeah, yeah, I bet you have. But look around!" Stan waved a hand at the room. "All these people? They’re just livin’ life. No wormholes, no time anomalies. Just fun, just drinks and music. And trust me, you could use a little more of that."

Ford stared into his drink, swirling the liquid around before taking another small sip. "You’re probably right," he admitted, though his tone was still a little stiff. "It’s just difficult to switch off sometimes. My work, it—"

“Your work ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re always gonna have some world-endin’ thing to worry about. But that don’t mean you gotta shut yourself off from everything else." he leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "I mean, you spent thirty years away from here, Ford. I’m just tryin’ to make sure you don’t spend the next 30 stuck in your own head."

Ford was quiet for a moment, listening to his brother’s words. He knew his brother was right. As much as he valued his research, his wish to understand the universe, he had to admit—there was something refreshing about being out here. With real people. But much better, with his family. With Stan.

Stanley must have noticed the gears turning in Ford's head, because he suddenly slammed on the table, breaking the silence. "Alright, enough of this sappy crap! Let’s get you another drink and maybe we’ll even see if there’s a lady in here who’s crazy enough to listen to you talk about multiverses for more than five minutes."

Ford nearly choked on his whiskey. "Stanley, I’m not here to—"

"Ah, come on! It’s your birthday too, ya know. And don’t pretend you ain’t lonely down in that lab of yours. I saw the way you looked at those nachos. Pretty sad, Poindexter. And frankly, disappointing.”

Ford thought he was imagining it. “I didn’t—“

***

Their evening was going great. Stan entertained himself by cracking jokes at the expense of the room’s more eccentric patrons, while Ford watched, occasionally interjecting with his dry wit. They argued about everything from the proper way to run a business to the existence of life on other planets.

Stan leaned back in his seat, nursing his third glass of whiskey, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Y’know, I gotta admit, It’s good havin’ ya back."

Ford looked at his brother and a genuine warmth was reflected on his face."It’s good to be back, Stanley."

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything because they simply didn’t have to. The jazz band played on and the low murmur of the bar filled the silence between them.

Then, just as the moment threatened to get too sentimental, Stan ruined it in classic Stan style.

"Now, let’s see if we can’t find you a nice gal who can keep up with all that crazy stuff in your head."

Ford groaned, rubbing his temple. "Stanley. . .”

Just as Stan was about to say something to embarrass Ford once more, the lights in the room dimmed slightly, drawing everyone’s attention toward the small stage at the center of the club. A soft spotlight illuminated the area, casting a golden glow over a lone figure standing in front of a vintage microphone. There you were,breathtaking, wrapped in a dark red dress that shimmered in the light like velvet. The fabric hugged your form perfectly, falling to the floor in gentle waves that wrapped around your legs. A high slit revealed a teasing glimpse of your leg as you stood with one hand resting lightly on the microphone stand.

The dress was luxurious, dark crimson in color, like wine aged in the shade. It clung to you in all the right ways, that made you look like something out of a classic movie, a femme fatale come to life. There was something called old-Hollywood glamour about you.

You scanned the audience, searching for faces in the dimly lit room, but two figures near the front caught your attention. Mysterious twins, two men, were both staring straight at you. Their eyes widened, and in unison, as if connected by the same thought, they spoke under their breath.

“Wow.”

But Stan continued. "Well, I’ll be damned. Now that’s somethin’ you don’t see every day."

Your lips curved into a small smile as you began to sing, letting your voice fill the room and as you sang, their attention never wavered.

"I've seen the world, done it all, had my cake now,

Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel Air now,”

Stan couldn’t stop admiring, resting his arms on the table, his grin spreading wider with every passing second. “Well, look at this. Ain’t she somethin’,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He tipped his head slightly in your direction, his eyes trailing the line of your dress. “Charming girl, isn't she, Ford?”

Stanford sat frozen, his eyes never leaving you, completely entranced by the way you moved, by your voice, dress, face, by everything. He swallowed hard, shifting awkwardly in his seat, his mind racing but his body still, as if locked in place.

“You hearin’ that, Ford?" Stan nudged his brother without taking his eyes off you. "That voice. Like honey, huh? Bet she’s got every poor guy in here wrapped around her finger."

Ford finally said something. “She’s. . . remarkable.” he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Stan, of course, couldn’t let it go. “Remarkable?” he gave a short laugh. “C’mon, Poindexter. Don’t be shy. You can’t tell me you’re not feelin' that.”

You let the lyrics spill from your lips, your voice rising with the music. “Hot summer nights, mid-July, When you and I were forever wild,”

As you sang, your gaze drifted back to them, and you caught Ford, he stared at you dumbfounded, biting his lip. God, he was flushed, was it really that stuffy here? His fingers tapped lightly on the table. He was hooked and he didn’t even realize how obvious it was.

Stan, on the other hand, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Just look at that,” he said, shaking his head in admiration. “This girl’s got it, yeah? Ain’t often you see a performer like that. It’s the whole package - looks, voice, everything.”

But Ford’s compliments weren’t loud, weren’t teased out like Stan’s, but they were there, written all over his red face. The way his brow furrowed slightly, the way his lips parted just a bit when you hit a particularly emotional note, it was clear that he was just as captivated, if not more so, than Stan.

"I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will, Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?" as you hit that line, your gaze settled squarely on them, locking eyes with both brothers, one after the other.

“Now that’s a question, huh?” Stan said with a smirk, leaning closer to Ford. “You think she’s askin' us that? 'cause, uh, if so, I ain’t complainin'.”

Ford’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes fixed on you. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t.

You moved into the next verse.

"I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now, Channeling angels in the new age now,” you didn't just perform, you lived every note, every lyric.

“Look at ya, Poindexter. You're sittin' there like a deer in headlights. Ain't you ever seen a girl before?" he chuckled under his breath, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hell, you’ve seen aliens, damn demonic triangle! this should be easy for you.”

Ford tried to hide it, to look anywhere but at you, but useless, his gaze kept drifting back. He was still speechless, lost in your performance.

Then came the line that took both twins' breath away.

“Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven Please let me bring my man,”

Here, the crowd melted away. It's just you, the music and these two mysterious men. Your voice softened, and you sang with all your heart, with all your soul and love. You looked directly at them, first at Stan, whose grin widened even more, then at Ford, whose breath caught in his throat. You held both their gazes and you smiled at them. It was playful, teasing, what made both brothers mutter another “wow” at same time.

Stan almost spilled whiskey on himself.  “Well, darlin’, I sure as hell hope they’re lettin’ me in, ‘cause if you’re up there, I’m signin’ up early.”

But Ford still couldn’t find his voice. He tried, opened his mouth, closed it again, then opened it again. You had him completely disarmed, and he didn’t know how to handle it. As you continued to sing, you knew their attention locked on you. Stan’s gaze was open, unashamed, drinking you in with every word, while Ford’s was more cautious, but no less intense. They were both falling and you could see it plain as day.

Ford glanced at Stan, then back at you, clearly wrestling with himself. He finally managed to speak, but his voice sounded shaky. “She. . . she has a beautiful voice.”

“A voice? Told ya, she got the whole damn package, Ford! Look at her!”

You smiled, even if you didn't hear what they were talking about as the song drew to a close. You hit the final note, letting it linger in the air, and when the applause came, it felt like a distant sound compared to the connection you’d felt with them, both of them.

The stage lights dimmed as you walked off, your dress sweeping behind you like a crimson river. The applause rang out across the room and you slipped behind the curtain, disappearing from view. Back at the table, Stan and Ford sat frozen, their eyes still locked on the now-empty stage.

Stan was the first to speak, his usual swagger returning full force. “Well, that was somethin’. Hell, she practically dedicated that song to me.” he smirked, tapping his fingers on the table in satisfaction. “She’s got good taste, I’ll give her that.”

Ford shot him a side glance, his expression annoyed a bit. “Stanley, she doesn’t even know you,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Calm down.”

“You jealous? ‘cause I’m pretty sure she was lookin' right at me when she sang that whole ‘Dear Lord’ line.”

Ford stiffened. “I’m not,” he replied quickly. “I’m just pointing out the facts.”

“Sure, sure. No need to get worked up, Ford.” Stan laughed, watching his brother’s obvious discomfort. “Looks like she’s got both of us good, huh? don’t you worry, Poindexter, I’ll let you have a shot. Maybe.”

Ford muttered something under his breath, avoiding Stan’s teasing gaze. He couldn’t shake the image of you, standing there in that dress, your charming voice echoing in his mind. It was magnetic. He wasn’t one to get distracted by things like this, but something about you had hit him hard. Harder than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

Stan, meanwhile, was already planning his next move. He stood up, all cocky swagger again. “Alright, Ford, let’s go. We’re meetin' her.”

Ford blinked in shock. “Wait— what?”

“You heard me!” Stan’s grin was all confidence. “we’re gonna find her dressing room. Gotta congratulate the girl on a performance like that, right? Besides,” he added with a wink, “she might want a closer look at the Stanley Pines himself.”

Ford shook his head, already regretting this, but deep down, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see you again. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Nah. It’s genius.” Stan patted Ford on the back as they made their way toward the backstage area. “C’mon, Ford, live a little. Believe me, she’ll be all over us. And hey, if you get nervous, just let ol’ Stan handle it. I’m great with the ladies, y’know.”

Ford sighed, not bothering to respond. His heart was already racing in his chest, his mind replaying the song over and over.

And then they reached the dressing room.

Stan took a deep breath. “Alright, here we go. Follow my lead.”

He knocked on the door and then there was a moment of silence before it slowly creaked open. You stood in the doorway, your stage dress still clinging to your figure.

For a second, neither of them said anything. Stanley suddenly found himself at a loss for words, his usual cocky grin faltering. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mind scrambled for something to say, but all he could think about was how stunning you looked up close.

Ford, standing behind him, wasn’t much better too. His eyes met yours, which took his breath away. Every thought he had prepared vanished the moment he saw you again. Oh god.

You looked at them a bit confused, but tried to hide it with curious smile. “Can I help you?”

Stan blinked, finally snapping out of it. “Uh— yeah, we— uh, just wanted to say,“ he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “That was, umm, one hell of a performance!”

Ford nodded. “Yes, it was really beautiful.”

Stan gave him a quick glance, then forced a grin, trying to recover his usual confidence. “Yeah, what he said. You were amazin’. Best thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Ford shot him a glare, but said nothing, still too flustered to form a coherent sentence.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by their obvious struggle to compose themselves. “Thank you,” you said softly, stepping aside to let them in. “I didn’t expect to have such enthusiastic admirers.”

Stan’s grin returned, a little more confident this time. “Well, y’know, when a girl sings like that, it’s hard not to be impressed.” he winked, but it was so obvious he wasn’t as sure of himself as usual.

The room felt smaller now, air not enough, the three of you standing in this intimate space and this damn silence isn’t making it any better. Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling strangely out of place for the first time in decades. Hell, they were both pushing sixty, damn sixty, and yet, standing here in front of you, they felt like awkward teenagers all over again.

Stan glanced at Ford, mentally asking for support, but his twin looked equally as lost.

For all the things they had seen and done over the years, monsters, mysteries, the paranormal, nothing had prepared them for you.

Surprisingly, Ford spoke up. “What we meant to say is—” he paused, realizing he was rambling, and cleared his throat again. “It’s rare to find someone with such talent. And, um, charisma.”

Stan nodded. “Ya know, we’re not exactly the youngest guys in the room, but damn, if you didn’t make us feel like a couple of teenagers again.” he chuckled awkwardly. “Never thought I’d be this tongue-tied at my age, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at their awkward flirts, it was clear they were both trying hard to impress you, even if they were struggling to find the right words. “You guys really don’t have to flatter me like that,” you said, feeling your cheeks turning a little bit red. “but I appreciate it.”

Stan looked at his brother and then at you. “See? Even Poindexter here’s smitten,” he teased. Ford flushed, shooting his brother a glare, but didn’t protest. If he was being honest, he couldn’t deny it. Being around you, he felt awkward and unsure.

You took a step closer, smiling gently as you regarded them both. “You two are adorable, you know that?”

After that, the room felt lighter now, like the tension had eased into something more comfortable. Stan and Ford, for all their differences, were in this moment, together, both stunned by you, equally out of their element, but somehow, that was okay. You had them both wrapped around your finger without even trying.

Then Stan leaned closer to you, whispering. “If anything, choose me, not this weirdo, he has a fetish for triangles.”

[cindol]

SHE GOT A WHAM… GYAT DAMN !

Black fem reader

characters included: connie springer, ino takuma, satoru gojo, suguru getou, renji abarai, sukuna ryomen

synopsis— y/n’s man really love her fat ass and have different ways of showing it.

tw— written in 3rd person(y/n is referred to as she/her), suggestive, smut,Spanish spoken(linda,grasa), connie is a white Dominican, ass slapping, ass eating, anal play, true form sukuna, sukuna has two dicks,

tagging— @ykimobessed @conniesdramaqueen @simpingfor-wakasa

a/n: tumblr pls don’t flag it this time !!

CONNIE SPRINGER

Love showing his appreciation for her ass by kissing it. When y/n and connie are just watching tv lazing around with him laying on her ass hell lazily kiss it. It makes her giggle and try to shoo him away with her hand but he just continues.”just showing appreciation for the best fucking ass I’ve ever laid my eyes on baby.”

At random when she’s kicking her feet laying on her stomach on the couch scrolling through Tiktok he grabs the opportunity to slap her ass even through your jeans making you gasp and pout at him. He just does a mischievous grin.”I’m sorry baby, I can’t keep my hands off this big grasa y’know?” He grabs at the fat of her ass for full effect too.

He even has a pet name for her ass too. Whenever he’s just kissing and squeezing her ass he’ll giggle and mumble,”love my little linda..”

NSFW

He will sloppily make out with her own ass, literally. With her laying stomach down and ass up as she hugged a pillow. Rubbing his hands like a villain he’ll give her a playful ass slap before spreading her open with his two hands, looking at her wet hole and grinning.”Bon appetite as they would say right?” That makes y/n whine as she clenched the white pillow.”stop teasing con and fuckin’ dig in already.” He gave her another smack on the ass making her moan.”don’t rush a critic baby.”

His tongue came in contact with her asshole making her whimper at his wet muscle on her hole. As he gripped her ass cheeks tonguing her out, he gets real sloppy with it. His whole mouth is practically kissing on her hole, making it sloppier as he makes audible groaning and moaning noises himself kissing it, chasing after her own high.

INO TAKUMA

He already treats y/n like a fragile glass plate, so it’s expected of him to treat her ass with care. Always letting her wear his beanie while he gives her warm ass rubs on the couch. He hated seeing those “is my ass big?!” questions on tv so he would hate hearing it from his girlfriend’s mouth. When she begs the question while looking into their shared bedroom mirror he just looks up from his phone smiling and looking her up and down saying.”looks pretty nice and fat to me, just how I like my booties!” It makes her cringe but giggle.

He loves seeing her ass in skirts most of all, whenever she would bend down to grab something she dropped, a shivering sound nearly would come out his mouth.

NSFW

He’s an ass eater and not ashamed of it, once she tells him she loves a good munch he takes any chance to take a nice bite out of her. When they’re getting nice and comfy doing Netflix and Chill that’s when he plots his plan on her. When there’s a sex scene on the screen y/n just makes a soft giggle at it.”what’s so funny baby? They’re doing what we always do all the time” he said it with a smile making her giggle turn into a full laugh.

“Well they ain’t doing it right I’ll just say, girlie doesn’t even look like she’s enjoying being ate by him.” Ino hums with his hand rubbing her ass.” You think I can do better than that sleaze on the screen maybe?” Her eyes meet him while he has that lazy look and smile on his face while she giggles saying a little,”maaaaybeeeee..”

That dragged out maybe leads to her sitting on his face on their couch. She doesn’t resist either as she lays her pantieless ass flat on his face and smiles looking down at him.”jus’ lemme know when you’re readdyyyyy!” Her last word ended up dragged out once she felt his tongue inside her ass. The way his tongue slurped at her hole and his mouth getting sloppy made whimpers and soft moans erupt from her mouth as she gripped a heart pillow from behind her for leverage against her boyfriend’s powerful tongue. He was getting her soaking wet, getting her slick from top to bottom until he abruptly stopped making her pout and get up off his face once he tapped her thigh. “thought you were gonna show me how better you are than ol’ boy on the screen..” she teased but he said nothing in response.

All he did was take off his baggy sweater and black beanie, ruffling his hair a bit and letting out a curse.”damn sweater was too stuffy, can’t eat properly. Now c’mere.” He easily grabbed her by the legs making her gasp.

SATORU GOJO

he loves a girl with a nice rack but loves the wagon his girlfriend has on her. He’s always cracking jokes about her ass or making a whistle when she tries on some new jeans that fit on her ass just right. When she looks at him for feedback he pretends like he’s thinking with a hand on his chin while licking his bottom lip.”might need to cop a feel to see if it’s snug on there baby, y’know? Never know with these online companies and pants! I would know..”

He likes to do silly things with her ass, always slapping on each ass cheek like bongos making her snort and laugh.”you’re gonna bruise my cheeks doing this satoru!” He just does that devilish laugh he always does in response.”can’t help it, it’s like your cheeks are telling a story sweetheart.”

He likes watching things bounce off her ass too, it’s like watching the laws of gravity. He’ll have her laying face down while he bounces small little tennis balls off her ass like a game.

NSFW

Fucks your ass in doggystyle, loves him some anal. His ego grows 10x more larger as he slowly puts every inch inside his poor girl just to hear her shakey moans and “oh god!” and “satoru!” While he shushes her while petting her hair. He starts off with a slow pace and goes off on her reactions to his strokes.”hitting me so good..“ he smiles at that upping his pace inside her ass.”yeah? Want something a lil more up your speed baby?” She responded with a moan and head shake.

He thrust his hips up to a higher pace than last time.”like that?” She whines nodding her head as best she can and he takes that as an obvious yes, he does this game with her until they find the best pace and that’s when he gets to work. With one hand on her shoulder he would give her fast thrusts and strokes inside her ass. Her moans would reach a higher octave.”ah.. satoru..! Wait s-slow down I might..” He just continues making out a giggle when her moans turn into a short gasp when she comes.

Gojo pulls out slowly patting his poor girlfriends head when she looks so flushed and bashful after.

SUGURU GETOU

he likes seeing her in his clothing most importantly only his long white t-shirts. He loved to come into their kitchen when she’s cooking up a nice morning meal then the wide smile that comes on her big lips when she sees him.”breakfast almost done baby!” Saying that like he didn’t just fuck her stupid last night.

He’s a calm man but it’s so hard. When she’s cooking with the girls he has to clench his fists when he sees her in some short clothing and apron. These clothing are appropriate of course but when he sees her backside and ass it’s hard to keep composure as she giggle with the girls when they look back worrying about him.”don’t worry about papa baby, let’s just make yummy cupcakes for papa!”

He a great masseuse just as much as he is a great father meaning that he loves to massage every part of y/n. When she tells him her ass has been slightly sore he secretly loved it even though his calm smile didn’t show it.”come here dear, I’ll relieve some of that tension in your soft spot.” His massages on her ass are always so nice. His hands are so clean and makes her moan at how he treats her ass fat like dough.

NSFW

In the bedroom it’s a different story. He loved to rough her ass up with her given consent. With her laying flat across his lap on her stomach he would squirt cold lube on her ass hole making her gasp out and him make a warm smile.”ah relax dear it’ll get better in a moment I promise.” Once their was a good amount of lube he started to insert his fingers, fingering her hole to good enough pace to where she got a bit soppy and wet stopping making her whine and him hush. He grabbed the anal bead toy next to him adding it in her hole inch by inch making her moan with each inch entering her asshole.

He liked to flog her ass too, he hates seeing her cry in any other setting but seeing her teary eyes and gasp each time the flog would slap against her brown ass and how she let out many “oh god!” and “suguruuuu!”

RENJI ABARAI

he of course loves a fat ass, his mother would slap him on his mouth if he didn’t. Before he even started dating y/n when Ichigo introduced him to her he knew her being around him would be a problem.

He loved having her sit on him in a less sexual way and more in a laying claim way and never questions it. He always has a careless look about too, like when she just comes to sit on his lap while he’s playing a online game match with Ichigo and the others, he liked feeling the weight of her fat ass on his lap. He encouraged her to actually sit on him herself and flaunt him off. He liked aimlessly scrolling on his Instagram stories and seeing her story of herself sitting on renji’s lap while he napped on their bed.

NSFW

Renji may be a dumbass but he liked having her needy for him also, when given the chance he takes advantage of it actually. Seeing the needy look she was trying to control around their friends made him laugh. Rukia would laugh a little looking at y/n.”looks like you may have to use the number 2 y/n.” She shares a look with Renji for a second and then looks back at rukia laughing.”nah.. just cramps, you know how us women get right?” Rukia laughs along.

What they didn’t know was the fact he had her wearing a vibrating plug at a high 4.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

Having y/n as a new girlfriend showed him a lot about the new modern world and era, like more new technology and fashion. What he did notice was how y/n had a completely different shape than the women he usually would be around in the heian era and it interested him. He would always comment on y/n’s shape with his all 6 eyes looking her bounce whenever she strutted around the house. Without fail it always makes her gasp when he lands a sharp slap on her ass.”nice shape! If you were in my era tehy would’ve loved how fattened up you are in the ass era and boiled you and chopped you up into pieces to eat.” It makes her just pout but chuckle slapping one of his arms.

It amazes him how soft her ass feels too, he’s always been so use to the skinny women with pancakes back in his era so it’s a completely no feeling with brown soft ass.

NSFW

sex with him gets trippy. He always fits both dicks in both holes. While one is in her ass the other is making her pussy cream. When she starts to squeal is when he rolls his eyes and uses one of his hands to cover her mouth.”enough of that, don’t need your neighbor coming and discovering the monster you’ve been hiding in your house do you woman?” She makes a quick head shake making him laugh.”then shut up.” And quicken his pace in both holes again.

It’s so mean how he expects her to be quiet when he’s purposely trying to making her cum on both of his dicks

[sobersturniolos]

| GODSPEED,, chris.s

warnings: angst, arguing, making up (?), asshole chris ( what have i done ), chris x fem!reader

“ I will always love you. How I do, Let go of a prayer for you. Just a sweet word. “ ~ frank ocean.

you and chris were finally face to face with each other. after finding out what he really thought of you. he was yelling and you were yelling too.

„why wont you just stop! i tried to apologize for being this way, you ignored me. i tried calling, you hung up. i tried texting and you blocked me. you fucking blocked me.” you yelled, having your arms crossed over your chest.

„ maybe because you’re fucking annoying. you keep trying to get back with me and its not gonna work out. it.will.never.work.out.” he said, calmly.

„maybe thats because you arent trying to make it work! all you do is yell at me.”

„what do you not get? i dont want it to 'work’ because i dont like you. nor do i love you.” he replied, causing you to walk out the door in tears.

you cried the entire way home, barley being able to breathe.

you passed by a minivan, which immediately made you think about chris and his brothers.

you just decided to speed away from the van, wiping your tears with the fabric of your clothes.

when you arrived back to your house, you tore down every single damn Polaroid on your wall. folding up all the shirts he gave you and putting them on the highest shelf in your closet. then, punching holes with a pen in those „sweet cards” he made about how much he „loved you”

you laid on the floor on your knees. sobbing thinking about what you couldve done to have a different ending.

after you sobbed until your eyes were red, you just decided to get up and go take a bath.

you turned on the shitty generic speaker you had, turning on a random playlist. and who wouldve believed that the song that reminds you so much of chris would play.

that one fucking frank ocean song.

you couldnt even get through the first verse without feeling tears stream down your face.

jesus, you couldnt even listen to frank ocean because it always reminded you of chris. the chris who once cared for you.

all that time down the drain.

a couple weeks later, you got a text from chris. fuck.

the text consisted of him asking you to come by the lake, you and his favorite place to watch the sunset.

you almost immediately walked out that door, destined to see him at least one last time.

when you made it there, you saw chris throwing rocks into the lake with a sad expression.

„chris?” you managed to blurt out after a moment of trying to speak.

he turned and almost knocked you over as he engulfed you in a hug. he apologized so quickly.

„im so sorry. i didnt know what went over me. you were the best girlfriend, im a asshole for making you feel bad, i still love yo-“ you cut him off.

„chris.” you said, coldly.

„ are you gonna hate me after this?” he whined in the crook of your neck.

„ i could never hate you. i was wrong too, i did things that were unforgivable.” you admitted.

„ so would you give me one more chance?” he asked, his voice shaky.

„ one more chance. “

[rkiveinmarvel]

upon a different life - james bucky barnes des. barnes never trusted you, not once. but upon a different life, he would. notes. angst/comfort, establishing relationship, slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers, i miss bucky, avengers being siblings (and weak for plot),mentions of violence,

hello! it's my bucky fic! i had a bucky fic back then but I deleted it anyway, this was supposed to be a one part but i got carried away, enjoy barnes knowing you! *i wrote this around 3am so, if i have some mistakes, i'm sorry!!*

(part i) (part ii) | w.c: 3.5k

James Buchanan Barnes is slowly getting used to in living with Avengers and the era he is in, in general, he enjoys the slowly yet steady step to forgive himself and earn forgiveness to those people around him as well familiarizing the more advanced world, but nightmares and remarks of his past action come and go; everyone notices it, especially his friend Steve Rogers, but despite this minor setback, he still move forward because it’s not every day, that you die in the 80s and woke up 75 years later. 

In terms of forgiving, the sergeant doesn’t know if the genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist have forgiven him—it’s not a secret Stark gives the money and sponsor on the compound they live in but despite his hesitation to live with them, Stark still offered him—it might be a silent agreement with Rogers but somehow, Barnes hopes Stark acknowledges how sorry he was. 

But among other things, he wishes he can finally get used to. He finds himself not getting used to you. Even the entire team knows how much James hates you; to you, it’s no secret: you’re his last handler afterall and if the tables are different, you would hate Barnes too. Before Zemo took control of Barnes as Winter Soldier, you were his last boss, a menace actually, you would let him be used. He gets used by someone, you get rich, a simple deal between HYDRA and you. But that changed, when the Winter Soldier regained his memory; with no leverage in making a deal with HYDRA, the Black Widow offered you a place to stay.

It was a nice place, really, a lot nicer than the one you lived in, except, maybe for the fact that you’re still under someone jurisdiction: while the sergeant is able to roam around the city, you keep staring at the wonderful electronic tag in your ankle: in your deduction, you believe that the Avengers are only keeping you alive because of what you know—it’s not even sympathy why the Black Widow offered you stay with them, it’s more of a business. 

From the moment you receive glares from everyone in the room, you know damn well that this is just another business. So, it is indeed a surprise, when the A.I enters your room.

“Ha, did Stark send you to check on me again, Vision?” You asked as the artificial intelligence gave you a look. Despite the team’s lack of enthusiasm with you, Vision, Clint, and Thor are the only ones who seem to talk to you. You have talks with Natasha, Tony, and Bruce as well, but it is more of a business than a talk. 

“No, I was wondering if you wish to join me, Clint, and Wanda to watch Dick Van Dyke, she seems very excited about it.”

“What makes you think she wants me to join you guys?” You asked hypothetically.

Vision nodded as he glanced at your electronic tag. “If it makes you feel better, they don’t really hate you that much. In my defense, I think you only did the things you have done because you want to survive.” You scoffed as you said that. 

“Well, tell that to Sergeant Bar–” but Vision cut you off. “People won’t always use you. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you realize you’re more than just a HYDRA pawn.” You stared at him, as he continued. “At least, that’s what I observed with Sergeant Barnes.”

“Thanks, Vision.” You gave a bland smile, as he left your room. A part of you wants forgiveness, but for someone who learnt life in a hard way, you’re hesitating to give this one a try. Yet for once, a robot was more human than you.

A year after an endless discussion between the Avengers, they decided to remove the electronic tagging and let you roam freely, but still under their jurisdiction. Somehow, Stark and Banner acknowledge your knowledge while the rest give respect to your fighting ways and quick judgment; well, all of them are getting used to you. Well, maybe except for Bucky. Steve told you it takes time, but to your knowledge, it won’t take time because it won’t happen. You accepted the terms that Barnes will not and never forgive you, you don’t blame him though, mostly you blame yourself.

In this scene, you finally learn to adjust, not going out of your room if he was outside, not training–the same time as him, and definitely not talking to him; even a spare glance, felt like a struggling pain of unforgiven lingering. The team respected Barnes more than they respected you, but somehow, it felt like you finally belonged to something. Well, atleast, that’s what you thought.

Their mission to infiltrate HYDRA failed terribly, despite the information you gave them, they weren’t prepared and outnumbered. Despite their failure, they were able to take a hit on HYDRA’s camp, it’s not much but still affected HYDRA. As the quinjet landed on the hangar, the medical team supported those who were injured. A lot of them were, including those who sometimes get out without a scratch.

In the med bay: you saw Clint and Sam—they somehow, took a toll, as you walked further, you saw the entire team taking care of their small cuts, with them helping another, they were able to close the wounds, well, maybe except for the Winter Soldier—or as they call him the White Wolf. On the back of his right shoulder, he was bleeding badly, despite having all the needed things to tend his wounds around him, he sat on the bed feeling out of place, besides it’s only a shoulder wound. 

Due to the lack of people in the med bay, you offered help in the team. As you finished to tend some of the team’s wounds including Rogers’ and Romanoff’s. Your eyes met a struggling Bucky Barnes, grasping his right shoulder with his metal arm. Your footsteps were slow as you walk towards him.

“...Do you need help?” He wanted to say no, everything part of him says no, but as he glanced that there’s no person who can help him in his injury, he nodded. Afterall, you’re also the one who patches him up whenever he gets injured in his missions back then.

You carefully clean his wound as you tend him, you wipe the dirt and the things visible that might infect the wound, as you try to start a talk. “Was it bad out there? In the mission, I mean..” He just let out a grunt, which you expected, but he replied with. “They have three more Super Soldiers and one enhanced, just like Wanda.”

You didn’t respond, just continued stitching his wound. As you finish, you put on some bandages as he asked. “Did you know?” Barnes asked.

“Did you know about the Super Soldiers?” He asked again, for a quick moment, you realized that he is still an assassin, you felt his anger and bloodlust. At that moment, you wish you didn’t work with HYDRA. In truth, you didn’t know where they were but you knew HYDRA didn’t stop making them. But your stuttering left the Sergeant furious even more.

“I–I..” That was the only thing you could say when you suddenly felt his metal hand around your neck, at other times this can be hot and daring, but at this time, you were damn sure that the Sergeant would be able to crack your neck: he could kill you. The team in the med bay immediately sat up. 

“Buck, put her down.” You assumed it was Rogers who was talking to the Sergeant. As it was getting hard to breath, James starts to explain that you knew there were Super Soldiers, in that Rogers asked you. 

“Did you actually know?” Barnes shook you, as you met the Captain’s eyes. “I did.” Before James finally kills, you continue. “I didn’t know they were stationed there.”

If this was a HYDRA facility, they would’ve shot you despite you telling the truth, Wanda nodded, a confirmation that you were telling the truth. Steve asked Bucky to let go of you, with an angered stare, he let go. As you try to catch your breath, you notice some of the bandage of Rogers came off. You reached your hand to help him but a metal hand covered your wrist. 

“Stop pretending to be a good guy, we know you’re глупая игрушка of HYDRA.” He grabs your wrist tighter. “You’re not even part of the team.” That was the last straw, you pulled your wrist away, as you searched for someone to stand with you but all you saw was them looking away from you, even Vision. You nodded as you felt some tears sting. You never actually belonged in the team. Just like Barnes said, a глупая игрушка. 

A stupid toy.

Stark spotted you, making tea in the middle of the night. “So, you’re the one that’s drinking tea.” His voice echoed in the empty kitchen. You nodded as you asked him if he wanted some, as he nodded. “Heard what happened.”

“Of course, you do.” Stark eyed you as you finally sat down and Stark rolled his eyes. “I forgave Terminator a while ago.” You looked at him.

“I know he took everything from me, but, I guess it’s just the way it is…Pepper is really good at convincing , I give her that, well, maybe because we–”

“Are pregnant…?” You asked, in which Stark immediately shook his head and chuckled. “Well, no, but, I just want peace, you know.” 

“That’s a bit out of character.” You commented. “Ah, the secret service have their humor.” The billionaire chuckled. As he glanced at the stair towards the rooms. “You did not know about the soldiers but, the information you gave was really helpful. We can start with that.” As Stark stood up. He added.

“Oh, and next time, make sure you suit up. You can tag along in the mission if you want, secret service.” Stark walked away with a smug smirk. “You sure, they’ll allow me in the field, Mr. Stark?”

“Maybe not. But, we have a higher chance of winning if they don't know what they’re up against.” He said as he left. But, when the morning comes, there’s no trace of you—only the cup of tea you shared with Tony and a room filled with your stuff, as well as, a folder with all of HYDRA’s information and coordinates in sticky notes. As the team assembled, they wondered if you were stolen from them or you were actually planning to betray them a long time ago.

And there’s only one way to find out.

As the Avengers rode the quinjet, Stark drove peacefully as Romanoff shared her side. “Steve, if we do this and see her there, we can’t save them like we did back then.”

“We didn’t save her, Romanoff. We used her…” Steve added. “But, you guys cared for them too.” His eyes fall on Bucky. “Buck, I know this is—”

“It’s a mission. As long as we’re done. I don’t care what happens to them.” James added.

As they reach the base of HYDRA, with the coordinates in the folder, they immediately search for you, but to their mistake, they fall right into a trap. Not even their strongest and the witch was able to see the trap, as they sat and chained in chairs, Natasha cracked a joke.

“This is probably their revenge.” In which none of them find them funny. Especially the guy with a metal arm. As the time passes with the endless blabbering of the man on the computer, lights and warning signs alarmed the area: as the Avengers look for an escape. It was an unfamiliar site, even for Bucky, all of the soldiers on HYDRA are getting deployed, what could possibly be the reason? As the chain, holding the Avengers finally loose, they stood up immediately, they ran in the door meeting you.

“ROGERS?!” You asked breathlessly. They were all confused but much more concerned about the blood painting your entire body. “Oh, it’s not mine.” You said in a smile. “We have to run, quinjet is outside the building.” As the team sprinted outside, surprise to see the number of bodies you took down. 

“You took them all down?” Natasha asked as the quinjet was finally visible. “Ah, yeah. I was raised by them so, nevermind, we have to go.”

It was going so well, but in the escape, a lot of missiles were aimed at the quinjet, as you, Sam, Tony, Wanda, and Sergeant Barnes fought the trailing jet in the back of quinjet, James rode a jet that is about to crash with another, he dodged the explosion but fell unconscious. Without thinking, you jumped out of the quinjet to save his unconscious body, hoping it’s water underneath all the chaos. 

As the cold temperature of water hit you, you swam to get the sergeant’s body. People in quinjet knew what happened, but in the height of the situation, they had no choice but to continue to flee; hope to save the sergeant and you, tomorrow.

The sergeant woke up in a bed made of leaves and an open night-sky. As he familiarize with his surroundings, he saw the heat radiating from a bonfire and you sitting by the shore. It was as if you sensed him.

“You’re finally awake.” You said as you walked towards him; he immediately tensed up. “Oh, right.” you placed the sugarcane on the sand as you sat down. “Tony would probably search for us tomorrow, once the sky is cleared.” You added but he is still weary of your presence. 

“What’re you playing at?” He asked, as you looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You being a goody-two-shoes, you know, none of us trust you.” He added finally, grabbing the sugar cane munching it. “And now, you leaving and suddenly appearing at the HYDRA facility, makes you more of a traitor than a help to us, so, what’s really your play?”

“...I want to help—”

“You have a funny way of showing it…” He grumbled as you replied. When you hear him grumble, you grab a swiss knife in your pocket, as you did when he was on guard but then, you place it on the sand and look at him. “I wasn’t there because I wish to betray anyone, I was there because…..” 

You sighed and looked at him. “I wanted to apologize to you. What I did in those years is unforgivable, hell, even I would be angry if I was in your position. I wanted to apologize to you and your family, the one you grew up with. I want to see if HYDRA knows about them, in that way, I can apologize for manipulating Winnifred’s only son and Rebecca’s only brother.” 

Bucky stared at you. “But who am I kidding, it is full of shit..I just really hoped because—I finally felt like I was part of a team. It’s a bit much, right? I was ahead of myself.” You chuckled. As you stare at the sea, you continue. “The swiss knife will be there, do whatever you want with it. Whether you used it for survival or against me, it’s up to you.” You smiled at Bucky.

“This probably will make you hate me even more but it truly means everything, I am really sorry, Bucky.” 

That was the first time he heard you mutter his name. His first time seeing you smile. His first time hearing you say sorry; his first time seeing you.  As the night grew deeper, you fell asleep, except for the guy with a metal arm, he fidgeted with the swiss knife and kept glancing at you. He has you, he can kill you, revenge. With a lot of contemplation; balancing his morals, he stood up, gripping the swiss knife tightly and went to your sleeping body.

He was really thankful that you were asleep.

You watch from upstairs as you see the God of Thunder, the White Wolf, and Captain America struggle with their new phone given by Stark.

“10 Bucks says Barnes will break it.” Sam told you as he stood watching the three as well. “20 Bucks says Odinson will be the one who will break it.” You added; to anyone’s surprise, it was Steve who made the screen crack. 

“Dammit.” Sam muttered as you noticed his suit. “Got a date or something?” Sam just nodded and said something about meeting his sister in the bank, as he left, you called Barnes out. “Sergeant, we’re losing daylight, let’s go.” You said as he ran upstairs, leaving the compound as well, with you next to him. 

He grips the swiss knife tightly, as he walks to your unconscious body as he shakes you awake.  “Hey.” he muttered slowly: “Did you find them? Rebecca, I mean…” In your state, you would have said something random but as you met his eyes, he was just pleading as you nodded, he retracted the knife and handed it to you. 

“Go say your apologies to them then. Bring me to them.” In that he awkwardly smiled but was sincere. “Okay.” As he went to his side on the sand, he then sighed, “It means everything, Thanks for saying that.” With a soft heart, you slept soundly and Barnes did too as the sand felt more like the best bed in town.

As you drive, Barnes asks how you find his family. “It was more of how HYDRA hid it, what surprised me is that—they don’t pick dead bodies up in the 40s?” In that, Bucky eyed you. “What do you mean? I fell of the—”

“If I was like one of the bosses, I would’ve.” Bucky sighed. “It was war back then, it was better to leave them, I guess.” You sighed and acknowledged his explanation. As you two reach Brooklyn, his eyes wander. “First time back in Brooklyn?” he nodded as he explained how different times were. He wasn’t talkative much, but you saw how his eyes lit up when the corners of Brooklyn hit him home. As we reach the cemetery, you glance at the grave.

“This is Rebecca’s and your Mom’s. I couldn’t find anything on your father, I’m sorry.” As Barnes walked out the car with flowers in his hand, you watched him but then he opened your door, “Aren’t you going to apologize to them too?” You smiled and got out of the car, “I did say that.”

We stayed there for a few minutes, as Bucky walked to get something in the car, he heard your voice talking to them as if they were still alive, it felt new to him, this side of you, it’s more warmer than before. He walks cautiously as he slowly hears a bit of your words. “Rebecca and Mrs. Barnes you have an amazing brother and a son.” 

Despite everything and hate lurking in his chest towards you, his painful experience, he was willing to give this forgiveness a shot, because he was a human and not a machine. 

As the two of you drove back to the compound, the silence was now replaced with a calmer one, which Bucky glanced at you. “Something wrong?” He asked you. 

“No, it’s just, I don’t know what we should talk about, I’m still getting used to this too. Food that is warm, going to places that don't require guards, a bit warmer home, and bright home, and a house full of people, still getting used to it, I guess.” You explained.

“Well, me and you are on the same boat.” He added assuring you. The ride back was more of a relaxed one, as you heard Bucky’s stomach growl. “We should eat something.” Before he could protest, you parked the car and you two went inside a diner. 

As you two sat, you kept glancing at the machine on the edge of the table, as you saw Bucky eyeing it as well. “What is it?” You asked him, as he cleared his throat. “A Jukebox.” but your lack of response made him look at you. “You don’t know what—”

You shook your head. “Well, with HYDRA raising me I only know the static radio.” You explained, looking away awkwardly. “Oh, it’s a music box, like a vinyl but you need a quarter to play a song.” He explained as you nodded. “I have a quarter.” As you give him the quarter, he signals you to press a button to play music.  As you two eat a meal in the diner: the low volume of Chet Baker’s I Never Been In Love Before plays, it is safe to say that two people felt more human than before and a lingering warm feeling in their chest. Safe to say, they’ve never been in love before.

⚘ masterlist 1 | 2 | 3

[ccazimi]

Nightingale (pt. 4)

Read pt. 3

CW: stepcest, noncon, partial p in v, choking/breathplay, dacryphilia, namecalling (sweetheart, cockslut, etc.), degradation, dirty talking, sadism, cock worship, blowjob, throat/facefucking, cumplay (?), lmk if i missed anything else

WC: 3.5k

a/n: please! pay attention to the warnings! i'm gonna proofread this tmr so excuse any mistakes... also i think this miniseries will have one more part as the last one

“I’ll make it up to you.”

You hate those stupid words that he’d uttered because now you can’t get them out of your head.

With bated breaths and timid glances you sneak at him you wait patiently, wondering if he really meant what he said.

Those stupid words that kept you yearning in a way that was unfamiliar to you- if not to feel his tongue or his touch again then that damned toy he’d used on you.

The orgasm it gave you kept you up for nights, only heightened when you thought of him using it on you.

But Sukuna had been working long hours lately, and you had no idea how to even bring this up to him- as if you would, even if you knew how.

Amidst your thoughts being infected with him, you somehow didn’t feel the want to go on anymore dates. You gave excuses- that you were busy with schoolwork or that your parents were strict, because the truth was gross.

You wanted your perverted stepbrother to fuck you, use you, make you feel good in ways that had you questioning your sanity. That he’s tainted you till the point you get wet when he calls you his little sister.

These days disgust and discomfort are hard to differentiate from want and dark desires.

Still, you wondered if something had shifted in your dynamic with him since that night. He seemed a bit less antagonistic these days the few times you saw him, still teasing and taunting but in a more playful manner, and you felt yourself easing up with his presence, like you weren’t a stranger in your own home whenever he was around.

Any amiability came to a stand still not even a week later, when the situation regarding your finances came up.

Maybe it partially arose from the fact the Mr. Itadori had stepped up in his paternal role, happily offering to pay for your expenses including your college tuition. It was no secret that he was smitten with you, maybe because having a daughter was a nice change after raising two sons his whole life.

Even this would still be fine if he didn’t make Sukuna - the only other earning man in the household - pay for your expenses as well.

You insisted otherwise but Mr. Itadori was set on making his older show up for you, perhaps thinking this would show him how to act or how to be a real brother to you.

And that’s how you arrived with Sukuna having to pay your credit card bill, which clearly pissed him off to no end.

“Seventy-eight thousand yen?! Are you fucking serious?”

You stood awkwardly in the doorway of Yuuji and Sukuna’s shared room, feeling guilty enough as it was going up to him and asking him if he could pay your bill since Mr. Itadori told you to go to him for it.

Honestly, you’d try to postpone this meeting for as long as you could but your bill was due very soon.

“It was over the course of one whole month, okay?” You reply defensively, thinking you’d actually done a decent enough job budgeting this month.

Sukuna’s lip curls in irritation as he looks up from the statement to glare at you. “You don’t fucking get it do you? Spoiled fucking brat, you’ve just had everything handed to you your whole life.”

His words sting, like they always do. You’re tired of hearing this same tirade from him over and over again- and to act like he knows you or whatever the hell your life was like?

It grates your nerves.

“Don’t act like I’m the problem just because you’re miserable.” You finally spit back.

“You are the fucking problem, you just enter our fucking lives and start leeching off of us.” He seethes, creases etched into his face that’s twisted in anger. “Getting coddled like you’re a damn toddler while the rest of us actually have to work.”

“I’m a full time student, you know this!” You step closer, done bowing your head and putting up with his bullshit. “And you have no right to act like you’re a fucking saint just because you have a job, after all the things you’ve done to me.”

You despise the way your voice breaks just a bit after you hiss out the last part, the way his expression contorts with something mocking, condescending.

He scoffs. “Done to you, huh? You keep playing this card like you don’t fucking love it,” He leans closer, “Like you don’t fall apart under my touch as if it’s the only good thing that’s ever happened to you. I bet you even fuck yourself on your fingers at night pretending they’re mine, don’t you?”

Sukuna watches you try to hold yourself together and keep your composure as you stubbornly deny him what both of you know is the truth, acutely aware of how close he was and that glint in his eyes. “I don’t. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Sweetheart, you’d probably get on the floor and do it in front of me right now if I asked you to.” He smirks. “If I promised you I’d make you feel so good, if you did. You don’t have nearly as much shame as you pretend to.”

You push down the lump in your throat, fingers curling inwards and unfurling again as you’re rudely reminded of the situation you’d been dealing with this whole fucking week, how even now your craving mind wonders if this is an offer.

“Make me feel good….how?” You murmur under your breath, heat seeping through your body and across your cheeks as you look down and away from his face and towards the long fingers that were pumping inside you.

You’re ridiculously horny for him.

He laughs, a callous sound that rips through and yanks you out of your stupor.

“God, you were really fuckin’ gonna do it, weren’t you? Pathetic bitch.” He sneers.

Tears of resentment, anger, and humiliation prick at your eyes and before they have a chance to fall your hand is suddenly flying through the air and slapping him squarely across the face.

“Fuck you, fuck, I wish you’d never entered my fucking life!” You yell, hating how your hit seemingly does nothing to him, or that sleazy grin on his face. “No wonder your mom left, it was probably because of you, her fucked up shit-show of a son.”

Whatever mirth lingered on his expression quickly disappears as his face hardens.

You know you’ve crossed a line, even before he stands at his full height reminding you of just how much bigger and stronger he was then you.

You’re still angry and honestly it felt good spewing that venom at him, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling something new right now like cold water in your veins.

It turns icier when he smiles again, the kind of smile that signals you should leave now.

“Maybe you’re right. Wanna see how much of a ‘fucked up shit show of a son’ she gave birth to?” He prowls closer, agonizingly slow as you continue to back further and further away until you’re near his door.

You really shouldn’t have gotten yourself into this situation while the only other person at home was Mr. Itadori who was contentedly asleep in the living room sofa while the tv plays loudly in the background.

Finally you swivel around, though you know it’s pointless.

You’ve played this game before- Sukuna will always be bigger, stronger, faster.

And just like that he’s in front of you, shoving you away from the door as a condemning click tells you there’s no getting out of this now.

It alarms you, enough that you’re leaping across the small expanse of the room, though you know it won’t do anything, confirmed by a tight grasp around your wrist before you’re shoved face first into the dark covers of his single bed.

It all happens so fast, you feel the immovable weight of him above you as you struggle uselessly and panicked tears are wet on your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Sukuna, I didn’t mean it—”

His hand is around your throat in an instant, pressing the air out of your words as he pushes your head back till your neck is straining. “Shut up, just shut the fuck up. You had it fucking coming.”

You stop trying to fight back, with both wrists held together behind your back in just one of his hands and another that could choke you out at any time, you were only just wasting your energy.

He leans in, breath hot and humid as it ghosts across your ear. “I really held out on this, you know. But you’ve pushed your luck too far this time…”

A sickly feeling curdles in your gut when he shifts so you can feel the hardness in his pants, rubbing along the curve of your ass. “So let me show you what a mean older brother I can be.”

Your breath turns shaky as you feel him undo his pants, shifting around to free his erection before crudely yanking your own bottoms and panties down, just enough that you can feel air brush against your exposed ass and cunt. “No, no, no, I’m not ready Sukuna, please you c-cant,”

His fingers tighten back up around your trachea, the uncomfortable pressure and your anxiety letting only a scant amount of oxygen to make it to your lungs.

“I can, and I will. Besides, you were ready that night, huh? Just to lose it to some random guy you barely even knew, if it came to it.”

You feel it then, the hot and leaking tip of his cock rubbing against your pussy. You try to swallow but you can’t. You want to yell, say something, anything, but not a single word can make its way up your squeezed throat.

“Oh fuck, you’re wet.” He chuckles lightly, exhaling audibly as his cock slides further into your lubricated folds, sliding it back and forth in your slick. “You like this or something? Is this turning you on? God, you might just be as ‘fucked up’ as me…”

His grip loosens slightly on your throat, allowing you with some much needed air as you find yourself getting even more worked up, despite the fear and bitterness that boiled in you.

Your stomach tightens when you feel him stop his movements to prod his tip against your entrance. “St-stop Sukuna, I won’t be able to take it,” You whisper as fresh tears fall, “You’ll tear me up.”

“Just take a deep breath.” He says flatly, not a hint of concern in his voice. “Or don’t, I don’t really care either way.”

He presses himself further into you, and you can already feel the pain gathering as he’s barely even inserted himself.

“No-”

Your cry of protest turns into a wincing gasp as he pushes himself further into you, just the tip of him forcing its way past your entrance.

“Oh shit, you’re tight,” He groans.

It hurts. A painful burn that felt like you were being ripped open as he tries to inch himself deeper into you.

Your body’s tensed in pain, breath labored while you let out feeble whimpers as tears stream and stream, trying to just get through it, remembering how you were always told that there would be pleasure after the initial pain.

Even if it doesn’t seem like this pain would ever be worth it.

He can’t honestly be more than an inch in, but you feel him stop moving.

He’s looking at you.

A second passes before he sighs. “Fuck.”

And with that there’s another sudden burst of pain before it’s gone all together and you realize he’s pulled himself out of you.

His hand leaves your throat, relief flooding your veins when you feel his weight lift off you.

As soon as you can, you quickly turn over, harshly pulling your own pants up to see he’s already tucked himself back in as well.

You scoot farther away from him on his bed until your back is to the wall.

He’s looking down at you with a scornful look of frustration with a gaze that makes you feel small before finally breaking the silence. “Get on the ground. You’re gonna have to make me cum another way.”

“Wh-what?”

“Are you dumb? Get down and on your knees. Now.”

You do as he says, slipping off the edge of his bed and slowly lowering yourself till he knots a hand in your hair and pushes down on your hear till you’re at his crotch level.

“And take off your top.”

You hesitate.

It doesn’t make sense for you to be shy about this, especially after everything else.

You swallow and grab your shirt by the hem to pull it up over the top of your head before pausing and looking up at him.

“Don’t make me fucking say it.”

Well, at least you tried your luck.

Slowly you unclasp your bra and take off the straps before throwing it to the side to expose your bare chest to him.

Sukuna’s eyes roam over your tits as your nipples harden in exposure to the air and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“That’s what I like to see.” He hums before gripping your head tightly again to push you forcefully into the large bulge in his pants so that he can grind it on your face. “Feel that? You’re gonna take all of it down your dumb little throat and you’re gonna love every single second of it. Understand?”

Tears sting your eyes and your face burns in equal parts shame and arousal as you nod obediently.

“Say it. Haven’t I taught you how to use your words?”

“Y-yes, I understand.” The words come out muffled by his clothed erection pressed against your mouth.

He pulls away. “Strip me.”

For a second you pause before quickly getting to work, unable to look up at him in the eye as you do so.

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down, the outline of his hardened cock through the black boxers sucking the air out of your lungs. Your fingers brush against his skin as you hook them around the waistband and peel them down to release his swollen dick.

Your stomach coils again.

Maybe it’s just the angle but you swear it looks even bigger than last time, with a vein running around the underside that you hadn’t previously noticed.

There was no way in hell you could have possibly taken that thing inside you and survived.

“Look up at me.” He orders as he grasps his cock with one hand.

You tilt your chin, round tear eyes meeting the hungry ones above you, watching his pupils blow out even more when he slaps his blushed tip against your face, making you wince softly.

That wicked leer of his only grows, the one that always means bad news.

“Kiss it. Show me how much you love my cock.”

Your eyes widen slightly, laying your hands around the dark tattooed bands encircling the muscular tops of his thighs before placing a chaste kiss right on his slit.

“Ah, fuck,” He exhales as he rubs the leaking tip of his dick up against your lips, smearing the precum all over them like it’s lipgloss. “That’s a good girl. Keep this up and you might actually make up for before.”

You resist the urge to bite his dick off.

He taps his cock on your mouth. “Open up.”

You comply, entirely confused by how much you hated this, especially after what he’d just tried, yet found yourself just as desperately wanting to taste him.

He immediately begins to slide his length through your opened mouth, groaning at the contact against your wet tongue, continuing to go deeper and deeper till it was uncomfortable.

You try to fight your gag reflex from being triggered but it happens anyway, with something so long and large being pushed down your throat. You grip his thighs pathetically and try to push away from him as your throat convulses around his cock, trying to squeeze it out.

You’re offered no mercy because it only hardens his dick more, and with a cold laugh he harshly shoves your skull further down his length till your nose is pressed against his pelvis. “Oh come on, you’re being dramatic.”

Dramatic?

You can barely breathe, growing dizzy when he finally pulls out and peers down at you as you cough a bit and regain your breath.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re such a sensitive little thing, because fuck, it turns me on to see you all pathetic like this.” You wish you could ask him to be gentler but you know by now that there was a good chance he’d likely just do the opposite. So instead you wipe your tears and determinedly take his dick in your hand to put it into your mouth again- though this time not all the way.

Sukuna let’s you do this without shoving himself back down your throat, watching your face and fighting the urge to let out a moan as you swirl your tongue around his swollen tip.

You gaze up at him and he inhales sharply when you dig your tongue into the divot of his frenulum, dragging your soft tongue up from it over his tip, and back down his shaft again.

His breathing grows heavier, no longer able to fight the urge to thrust in and out of your warm, wet mouth in time with your motions and the way your tongue laves so sensually all over his dick. “Shit, you like this you little cockslut? You like sucking off your big brother?”

You moan around his dick without even thinking, and Sukuna grins again. “Wow, you really are messed up.” He rasps. “Now suck my balls like a good little slut, yeah?”

He pulls his wet length out of your messy mouth, smeared with precum and saliva. You hold his cock up and close your lips around his heavy scrotum, sucking and lapping gently at the soft flesh while you stroke his shaft with your hand.

The last restraints of his control begin to crumble at the sensation, at how fucking filthy you look like this. “Ah -fuck- god, you really are nothing more than my obedient little dog, huh? I can make you do -hah- whatever the fuck I want you to…”

His grip in your hair suddenly tightens and he pulls away to shove his cock through your parted lips, unable to control the urge to fuck your mouth any longer.

The pressure is sudden and before you can adjust he’s gripping your hair so tightly you feel pinpricks on your scalp. That pain is quickly overshadowed when he begins snapping his hips back and forth at a brutal pace.

You struggle to keep your mouth open while you try not to choke on the cock slamming into the back of your throat over and over again.

“Ah, shit, you pathetic, stupid, needy little thing. You’re -hah- really worth nothing more than being a -fuck- a cocksleeve for me to use.”

You don’t notice tears are falling again, running down your cheeks and only adding to the ness of spit dribbling obscenely down your chin from where he mercilessly thrusts in and out of your mouth.

It hurts, your jaw aches and you feel like you’re suffocating on his cock abusing your throat, hoping it won’t be long till he cums because you don’t think you can keep this up much longer.

And like your prayers have been answered, suddenly he snaps his dick all the way out of your mouth and jerks it above your face before cumming with a hiss, ropes of thick hot cum spurting out and painting your whole face white. They keep coming for a few seconds more, and by the time he’s down you feel the viscous fluid dripping lewdly down your face.

He pants, eyes drinking in the sight of you kneeling with cum all over your face, and it almost makes his dick harden again. “God, you look perfect right now, sis.”

You can barely look up at him, thinking it would’ve been a lot less degrading for him to just cum down your throat than this.

Sukuna furrows his brows in mock confusion. “Where’s your gratitude? Show some thanks and lick that shit up like a properly trained mutt.”

You don’t even think, just moving automatically to swipe your fingers in the semen drying on your face, and sucking them clean. He watches you do it over and over till of it is gone into your stomach, and you look expectantly up at him.

He’s tucked himself back in, reaching forward to pet the top of your head. “Good girl. I guess you’ve earned me paying your bill, huh?”

[ariisheresstuff]

Raised Voice

Pairings: Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are visiting your boyfriend while he’s at work, unfortunately for you, you didn’t know Carmy wasn’t having the best day and he ends up taking it out on you and embarrassed you in front of the whole crew.

Genre: Angst to fluff

Warnings: Yelling, cursing, and crying

MasterList

A/N: My requests are open! Have a good day! <3

“Yo cousin! Would ya stop being such a jag off for two fucking seconds?!?” Richie yelled across the kitchen to Carmen who was giving him a nasty scowl.

“Shut the fuck up Richie, I don’t have time for all your bullshit.” Carmy said with a attitude making Richie roll his eyes. Carmy ran his hand through his messy locks as he tried to take some deep breaths to calm himself down, but clearly that wasn’t working for him. Just the whole day has been shitty for him and he couldn’t figure out why. Carmen wiped the sweat from his forehead as he stormed off into his office slamming the door.

“There he goes again with one of his moods.” Sydney said as she was cleaning up her station. Richie walked passed her as he huffed.

“He’s been such a dick this whole day. Probably missing his girl or something.”

Sydney just nodded with a sigh as she continued to clean up while Richie took cover of the front of the restaurant.

You opened the door to the entrance and immediately smiled seeing Richie.

“A table for one?” You teased as Richie’s head quickly rose to the sound of your voice, he quickly smiled as he walked over to you.

“Y/N, thank the fucking lord you’re here.” Richie pulled you into a hug, you hugged him back but looked at him confused at what he meant by that.

“What do you mean?” You questioned as he lead through the kitchen to greet the others.

“Carmy is being a real jag off right now and pushing everyone down. I think he’s been having one of those days.”

You frowned at that, you really hated when Carmy was like this. It hurt you to see him so distraught. You gave Richie an apologetic smile as you apologized to everyone else.

“I’ll talk to him, I know how much of a hot head he can be. Especially when he’s like this.” You teased making Richie snort.

Richie gave you a quick “thank you” as he rubbed your shoulder, you gave him a soft smile before taking in a sigh and walking up to Carmy’s office door. You lifted your fist and hesitated with knocking. You took a deep breath before knocking.

“Who the fuck is it?” Carmy snarled back making you wince slightly.

“It’s me babe, Y/N.” You said with a soft tone trying not to anger him more. You heard him moving before the door opened swiftly. You looked up at your boyfriend who had the most nastiest frown on his face.

“Why are you here?” He said with attitude making you frown a bit.

“I came to see you, until Richie told me you weren’t having the best day. What’s wrong?” You asked as you raised a hand to cup his face. Softly stroking his cheek with your thumb to calm him down. You gasped softly as he immediately slapped your hand away.

“I don’t need to tell you every single fucking thing, okay?!? So stop pestering me all the damn time! It’s annoying as fuck and it’s keeping me down with work. Don’t bother me anymore I’m tired of your bullshit. Leave now, I’m dead ass serious Y/N. I’m tired of you!!!”

You flinched back as your eyes widened. Carmen just yelled at you. Like really yelled at you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You felt your throat tighten as fat tears clouded your vision. You didn’t even hear the others coming in asking what the hell just happened. You just stared at Carmy with the most heartbreaking face. You realized his facial expressions changed quickly from looking at the tears falling down your face. Before he could say anything, he heard Richie’s voice.

“What the fuck just happened here?!?” Richie roared as he stared at Carmen before looking at you. Tina pulled you into her arms as she shushed your cries bringing you outside with Sydney.

“Why the fuck would you yell at her cousin?!? She did nothing to you. I asked her to check on you and you yell at her? Now you’re a real jagoff for that cousin. That wasn’t cool.” Richie shook his head in disappointment. He turned away as he went outside to calm you down with the others.

Carmen just stood there as he processed what he just did. He fucking yelled at you. His girl, the love of his life. He yelled at you and made you cry.

“Fuck.” He said with a crack in his voice before punching the door in anger. “Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you Carmen?!? Get your fucking shit together!” He yelled at himself as he sat back down on his chair. Running his hands through his hair in frustration. He took a few deep breaths like you taught him to calm down. He cleared his throat before standing up. He took one big deep breath and exhaling before walking to the entrance to find you.

“I-I can’t believe he j-just yelled at me.” You sobbed into Tina’s chest as she rubbed your back.

“It’s okay mama, that’s just Jeff being an asshole. I know for sure he is regretting yelling at you like that.”

You hiccuped as you turned your head to look at Richie. He shook his head as he came by you and rubbed your back with Tina.

“I’m sorry Y/N. Carmy knows better. Little asshole. He especially should not be disrespectful like that towards you. His girl. Such a fucking jagoff.”

You wiped away you tears as you gave Richie a frown. “A-all I was doing was m-making sure he was o-okay.” You said with a whimper as you felt more tears fall.

Richie and Sydney were about to say something before the door opened and everyone turned their heads to stare at Carmen. Everyone gave him a look making him look down at the ground. He especially refused to look at your broken self.

“I-I I need to talk to Y/N. Alone.” He said as he looked at Richie who gave him a frown.

Richie nodded his head to the door, signaling everyone to go inside and to give Carmen and you some private time. Tina kissed your temple making you smile a bit, Sydney squeezed your hand and gave a soft smile, and Richie patted your shoulder as he nodded at you. Everyone left leaving you and Carmen alone.

You looked down at your feet refusing to look into his eyes, you didn’t even realize Carmen walked in front of you, now closer to you. He softly cupped your face making your head lift up. You had no choice but to look into his blue eyes that had sorrow in them. You felt more tears burning in your eyes. Your lip trembling. He quickly wiped the tears falling down your cheeks.

“Baby… I’m so, so, so sorry for yelling at you like that. That was such a fucking dick move of me. I should’ve never taken my anger out on you. I was just having a bad day and I know that shouldn’t be an excuse for my behaviors towards you. I just want you to know that I really love you and that I really am sorry for yelling and embarrassing you like that in front of everyone. I will never let that happen again and I’ll do anything for you. Anything.”

You hiccuped as you tried to talk but the sobs just came out that you were holding in. Carmy quickly pulled you into his arms. Comforting you like the good boyfriend he is.

“It’s okay baby. I’m so sorry, I never wanna be the reason for your tears. I love you so fucking much. I hope you know that.” Carmy kissed your head repeatedly as you wrapped your arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest.

“I’m sorry you h-had a bad day Carmy.” You whispered as your tears startled to settle down. You looked up at him as he gave you a sad smile at the tear stains you had on your cheeks. He cupped your face again as he leaned down to leave a long kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes at the touch.

“Don’t be sorry, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who should be sorry. You were just looking out for me and that’s what I love about you. You always makes sure I’m okay and that shows how caring you are babe. I swear I didn’t mean any of that shit. Please forgive me. Please.” Carmy whispered as he pulled your face in closer to his. Your noses touching lightly and feeling each other’s soft breaths. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you gave him a smile.

“I forgive you Carmy. But the next time you pull some shit like that again I’m gonna cut your dick off and make you eat it.” You playfully said making Carmen snort.

“I definitely don’t want that to happen. I’ll be 100% sure that I won’t pull that again on you. Never ever.” Carmen said softly with a smile as he leaned closer.

You leaned closer to feeling his lips softly touch yours. You both leaned into the kiss as you enjoyed the moment. You sighed happily while Carmen cupped your face to bring you closer to him. Completely forgetting you were outside in public.

“I love you so much Y/N, I hope you know that.” Carmen said between your lips

You giggled, “And I love you more Carmy. I always will love you.”

At that you two began to kiss more passionately. You two didn’t even notice that the crew was watching you guys the whole time through the window smiling.

“There they go sucking faces again. Jesus fucking christ! They always go at it.” Richie said as he faked gagged.

Tina smacked Richie on his arm giving him a stern look “You’re just mad because you don’t have what they have.”

“Damn!!!! Richie you just got burned!” Marcus said while Sydney and him started to cackle in the back.

Richie gave Tina an offended look making Tina chuckle.

“Man, fuck you guys!” Richie flipped them off as he pouted while they continued to laugh at him.

They didn’t even notice the two of you walking back into the restaurant hand in hand. They turned to look at the two of you.

“So, y’all made up?” Sydney said with her arms crossed.

“Yup all good, told him to never pull that shit again or I’m cutting his dick off.”

Richie choked on his soda that he was drinking before laughing out the soda. Carmen just rolled his eyes as Richie began to tease him. As long as the two of you were okay, he was okay.

Tag-List: @otomefan @chunnies @slasherstories123 @avengersfan25 @th3h0nkz

[janeyseymour]

Save Me Before I Lose Myself- part 3

Part 1. Part 2.

Summary: Your wife finds the note Melissa gave you, because... of course she does.

WC: ~2.7k

Carrie is back at her position sitting at the head of the table typing furiously on her laptop when you walk in with Millie excitedly telling you about how much she adored what they did in Miss Schemmenti’s classroom today.

It’s clear your wife is not happy about the disruption and noise that you bring into the house- but what is she expecting? Millie is seven, of course she’s excitable about what she’s been doing at school. And you can not comprehend how she could ever think of your daughter as a disruption. Sure, you sometimes have to put things on pause in order to take care of whatever your little girl wants, but isn’t that what being a parent is supposed to be?

“Amelia, quiet,” is all your wife states as your daughter kicks her shoes off at the front door with a loud giggle, followed by an “Oops! Sorry Momma!”

Millie immediately goes silent, and she shoots you an apologetic look, and you sigh heavily before making your way further into the house.

“Hi, honey,” you whisper as you lean forward to kiss her. It nearly repulses you to do that. You hate her at this point, and if it weren’t for Millie, you wouldn’t still be with her. There’s no damn way. But, Millie needs… well, she might actually do better without Carrie in her life at this point. You can’t find it in you to get away though. Because you know the repercussions, and then you might not always have your little girl. Despite the fact that Carrie pretty much despises your daughter’s mere existence (despite the fact that she is the one who carried her and gave birth to her- and you truly believe that may be part of the reason she has such a distain for the sweet little girl you have), you know your wife would somehow manage to get shared custody. You don’t know which is worse- having to put up with your abusive wife’s behaviors, or worrying about your daughter when it isn’t your time with her. 

“Glad to see you can do one thing right,” Carrie rolls her eyes, not so much as kissing you back. 

“Th-thank you,” you mumble and kiss her temple. “I’m going to get Millie set up with her homework for tonight, but then I’ll be back to make dinner, okay?”

Your wife just huffs. You’re not really sure what to do. “Or I can start dinner and have her do her homework after?”

“I don’t give a shit what you do.”

You sigh softly and make your way to the cabinets to prepare dinner again. Once dinner is in the oven, you help Millie with the math homework that Melissa had assigned at the dining room table, and then you’re plating dinner. You set three platters out on the dining room table, one in front of your wife, when she stands abruptly.

“That looks awful,” is all she tells you before walking away. You can hear her climbing the steps a few seconds later.

“It looks yummy, Momma,” Millie tells you softly. She gives you a warm smile that melts away some of the ice in your heart. 

“Thank you, baby,” you give her a tired smile. “Eat up, hun.”

Your little girl follows your soft order, and a few minutes later Carrie appears again in an entirely different outfit.

“I’m going out.”

“I thought you would stay for dinner?” you ask quietly. “I made your favorite.”

“And I told you it looks awful.” She grabs her purse from her chair and leaves without another word.

“I love you,” you call after her, although you know those words are said out of habit, the meaning behind them lost long ago. You don’t get a response. 

It’s not easy getting your daughter ready for bed that night. She downright refuses to sleep in her own room. So you allow her to curl up on your chest in your own room once you’ve changed and prepared yourself for bed. Carrie still isn’t home.

“Is Mom coming home tonight?” Millie asks you quietly as she twirls your hair in her fingers.

“I’m sure she is,” you tell her quietly. “But I think my little girl needs to catch some shut eye if we’re going to be up and out of the house on time again for school.”

Your daughter yawns against you. “I don’t want her to come home. I wish it was just me and you.”

You briefly pause the circular motion your hand is making on Millie’s back as you take in what she said. How are you supposed to respond to that? You have no idea. So you don’t. You just begin to softly sing, knowing your voice is always able to lull the seven year old to sleep. It’s always been that way- from the time you and Carrie brought her home from the hospital. 

It doesn’t take long for your daughter’s soft snores to fill the air, and only then do you allow the damn to break, and you begin to cry in earnest. Your body is wracked with silent sobs that you force yourself to choke down, lest you wake your little girl while you’re like this. She would not fall asleep again that night if she woke up to you in this state. How did your life come to this? How did your life become a hole in the ground that you can’t see out of- that you feel like you’re being buried alive in? How did you become a shell of the woman that you used to be? 

Eventually exhaustion takes over, and your brain finally slows down enough for you to fall asleep. Carrie still isn’t home.

Meanwhile, Melissa is desperately searching for ways to help you. Logically, she knows what Barbara said is true- she can’t fully step in unless you admit it all and ask for help, or Millie is in danger and child protective services needs to be called. Good God does she pray that the latter never comes. She’s had a soft spot for your daughter from the beginning, a bright shining light with the sweetest smile and kindest soul- and that was before she knew everything that was happening behind closed doors. That doesn’t mean she can stop trying to figure out ways to help support you in any way she can. She’s up late into the night researching what to say to you, what to avoid saying to you, how to get you to see that what is happening is not okay (she’s fairly certain you’re aware of that, and she spends a long time contemplating what could keep you from leaving), and how to just generally show you that she is on your side and will help be there for you in any way she can. When push comes to shove, Melissa can do everything she can to help you through this less than ideal (hellish) situation, but only you can make the decision to leave. The hardheaded woman silently promises herself that she’ll take a better approach to this situation now that she’s more informed. Starting tomorrow, she’ll treat you as the many websites had instructed her to.

Carrie comes home that night smelling of booze, cigarettes, and the perfume of another woman. She stumbles her way into the room in such a way that despite the fact that you are utterly exhausted, you still wake with a small jolt. You immediately pull Millie closer to you, gripping her a bit tighter. Your eyes stay closed.

Your wife continues on in her drunken state, grumbling about how she can’t wait to take off her damned bra. You hear her clothing being thrown into the laundry bin, and then as she’s stumbling over to the bed, she falls. She falls over the jeans that you had haphazardly discarded from your body while getting ready for bed. The sticky note that your daughter’s teacher had given you earlier in the day just barely sticks out of your back pocket, but the lime green color stands out amongst the midst of the darkness.

Carrie pulls the note out of your pocket, looks it over, and sees absolute red. Before you know what’s happening, your already bruised over cheek stings more than it already has been. Your eyes fly open, and a sharp cry falls from your lips.

“What the fuck is this?” your wife screams in your face.

If Millie wasn’t woken by your small shout, she certainly is awake now. Her eyes snap open.

“Millie, go to your room,” you get out quickly. “Now.”

“What the fuck is this?” Carrie continues to loom over you, and you know that whatever is about to happen to you is not going to be good. Your wife is too intoxicated to notice that your daughter is in your arms. That, or she has taken notice to it and just doesn’t seem to care anymore.

“Amelia, now!” you shout when the little girl only clings to you tighter. You pry her off of you and practically force her off the bed. She runs out of the room quickly.

Millie doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what to do. Your phone is in your room with you, and the landline has been gone since the telephone company tried to raise your rates. She can’t do anything as much as she might want to. You would flip if she tried to leave the house in order to get help, and she knows she can’t enter the room again. Not with the urgency that you rushed her out of there with. She’s helpless, absolutely helpless. She can’t help you. Tears begin to pour down her face as she makes her way to her bedroom, desperately searching for her headphones to drown out the sounds of your cries and pleas for it to stop.

“Who the fuck is Melissa, and how long has this been going on?!” Carrie shouts out you, enraged. She throws your already sore body to the ground. “What the fuck?!” The lamp from her side of the bed very narrowly misses your head and shatters against the wall.

“It’s nobody!” you insist.

“Then why the fuck is she telling you she’s here when you’re ready?! Are you planning on leaving me?!”

“N-no,” you stammer out. “No. Carrie, I love you. I would never. I would never.”

“Then what the fuck does she want?!”

You bite the bullet. “It’s Millie’s teacher,” is all you can get out before your wife flies into another fit of rage.

“You’re fucking her teacher?!”

“No!” you cry. “She was just letting me know that if I need help with transportation for Millie, she’s here to help!”

Somehow, by some Grace of God, that gets through to her. You had thought with your weak excuse for that note, you would only be struck harder. “What?”

“She- she knows that sometimes my boss holds me later than he should,” you manage to grit out as you pick yourself up from the floor. “I- I don’t even know why she signed it ‘Melissa’ and not ‘Miss Schemmenti’.” That part of your statement is truthful. 

Carrie’s face falls. Her eyes turn soft, the softness that she used to look at you with appears for the first time in a long time. “Y- you’re not cheating on me?”

“No,” you sigh softly as you sit down on the bed gingerly. You grimace. You had hit your tailbone on the floor in the midst of your wife’s rage. That’s going to hurt tomorrow. You bite your tongue and don’t mention that while you would never cheat- you’re certain Carrie is cheating on you, and probably with multiple women.

“I- I’m sorry,” Carrie whispers as she crawls onto the bed next to you and pulls you into her arms. She kisses your temple gently, like she used to back when things were good.

You shrug and look at her with blank eyes. “It’s okay.”

It’s far from okay, and you know that. But if you say anything else, you know it will only turn into flames again.

“L- let’s just go to bed.”

So, you do. You lay down, and she holds you tenderly. She kisses the back of your neck lightly. You have to fight the hurt and anger that you want to let out. Instead of fighting or rolling away from her, you close your eyes.

Your alarm clock goes off far earlier than you had hoped. You groan in pain at the soreness all over your body. Your tailbone hurts like hell. But life doesn’t stop, and motherhood certainly will never give you a break, so you limp your way down the hall to Millie’s room.

When you expect to see your daughter asleep surrounded by the mountain of stuffed animals that she insists on keeping on her bed, you find her mattress bare. Your heart flies into your throat for a split second, before you see just the tips of her toes peeking out from under the bed.

Grunting as you lower yourself to the floor, you see that she’s sprawled out on the ground with a singular blanket laying over her, and her headphones planted firmly over her ears. Gently, so as not to startle her, you begin to rub what you can reach of her calf to wake her. You hear a soft groan before wide blue eyes meet your own.

“Mill,” you sigh softly.

“Momma!” she cries as she rips off her headphones and scrambles out from under her bed and comes barreling for you.

Instinctively, you put your arms up defensively. “Millie, no!”

Your daughter freezes. You’ve never denied her a morning snuggle before. “Momma?” Her tone absolutely shatters your heart.

“I’m okay,” you tell her. “Just sore.”

She frowns. “C-can I cuddle, or no?”

“Just very gentle, please,” you say softly. “And only for a few minutes. We have to be getting ready for school soon. I promised Miss Schemmenti I would get you there on time and pick you up on time.”

This morning is a stark contrast to what your mornings usually are. Millie is quiet. She’s not the happy little girl that she usually is in the early day. She doesn’t twirl around and giggle when she puts on her skirt like always. You know she knows what happened last night. You can only pray she doesn’t say anything to her teacher today about what happened.

She doesn’t even have to ask you to walk into the school with her. You know that after what took place, if you don’t obediently take her in as she silently pleads, it will be waterworks galore. So you limp your way into the building, down the halls, and into the second grade classroom.

Millie doesn’t greet her teacher. Instead, she clings to you as you lead her over to her desk. Melissa watches the strange behaviors closely.

“I’ll be back to pick you up at the end of the day,” you promise your little girl with a kiss pressed to the side of her head. 

You stand up straight, not even hiding the pain that you’re in. You turn to face the desk that her teacher was sitting in just mere seconds ago, although she isn’t there. Instead, she’s in front of you.

“Y/N,” the redhead says softly. “If I could talk to you in the hallway for a second?”

You brace yourself for the berating that you know you’re bound to get when you enter the hall. Instead, you’re met with a warmth that you’ve only recently seen. Melissa begins to speak just how the guides had told her to. About halfway through, you stop her gently.

“Please,” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over. “Please, stop trying to help me.”

“Why would I do that?” she asks you quietly, almost in a hurt way.

“B-because,” you sigh softly. “Because it’s only hurting me.” And with that, you turn on your heel, and you limp out of the building. Melissa can only watch, mouth agape, as she tries to decipher what that could possibly mean.

TAGS (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon

[simpforboys]

hey babe!!

i was thinking maybe protective!gf!reader x rafe, where they’re at the kegger together and a random girl starts clinging onto rafe, not knowing you’re his girlfriend and reader throws some punches

i live for protective reader oml🙇🏻‍♀️

learn your place

rafe cameron x fem!pogue!reader

summary: you teach a kook girl her place.

warnings: swearing, violence, fluff, rafe is proud af

sorry this took forever </3, also not proof read

the way your stomach turned over when you walked into the kegger with your long-term boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, was enough to shoot some red flags.

hundreds of kooks were on the Lighthouse Preserve, dozens of red solo cups littered onto the sand.

you were the only pogue who came to these parties, not really because you wanted to, but because Rafe had asked.

and unfortunately, whenever those baby-blue eyes looked pleadingly at you, you always seemed to cave.

“what’s up, Cameron?” Topper asked loudly, dapping up Rafe as you stood beside your tall boyfriend.

Kelce did the same to Rafe, before turning to give you a side-hug. “hey, future Mrs. Cameron.”

you playfully rolled your eyes at the nickname. “yeah yeah, shut up.”

you felt Rafe’s fingers interlock yours, pulling you into his side. more people came over to greet you, and the stares some of the kook girls were giving you were a nightmare.

you didn’t want to be one of them, and maybe that’s why they hated you so much. and maybe the fact you were dating the ‘Kook Prince’.

“let’s go get a drink.” Rafe said to you, holding you close to him as he walked over to the keg, supervised by some other guys you’ve never seen before.

as they pour you and Rafe a drink, you narrow your eyes at a short blonde who is drunkenly giggling at Rafe.

the sparkle in her blue eyes almost made you sick. you felt Rafe’s grip tighten around your waist, kissing your temple as he mumbled into your ear, “relax, baby. you look like you’re gonna kill someone.”

while you knew he was joking, you pressed your lips together and began to chug the beer.

➽───────────────────❥

a few hours later, you wandered around trying to find a bathroom. Rafe wanted to go with you, but you insisted that you were a big girl.

you finally found a little outhouse. after a couple moments, you walked back to the party, desperate to find hand sanitizer.

one of the only nice girls, Lizzie, happened to have cherry scented sanitizer. while you rubbed the liquid into your palms, your eyes looked around for your boyfriend.

the same blonde girl from earlier was holding onto his muscled bicep, trying to get his attention. the poor girl looked desperate, as Rafe wasn’t even acknowledging she was there.

Topper and Kelce looked uncomfortable, knowing all too well of your protectiveness of Rafe, and how badly you were going to kick the shit out of this chick.

“you can’t find any other guys to hang onto? or do you look for specifically taken ones?” your voice sent goosebumps down her tan skin as she drunkenly stared at you.

“excuse you?” she asked, trying to raise her voice, one that sounded almost babyish.

“i know my boyfriend is hot, but girl if you think holding onto him is going to catch his attention then you’re damn wrong.” you snapped, your blood boiling from her ‘pick me’ behavior.

“Rafey- this crazy girl is trying to fight me.” the girl looked up at Rafe, a forced pout on her face. you cringed at the nickname she gave your man.

Rafe just now seemed to be aware of the situation, as he tugged the girl off of him. “who the fuck is Rafey?” he laughed, his eyes shining as he turned his head to look at you.

you looked exactly like how he described earlier, like you were going to kill someone.

Topper and Kelce immediately downed their beers, knowing what was going to happen next. and while Rafe did too, he didn’t really care too much to stop it.

“you’re going to pick some… poor slut over me!” the girl whined, stomping her foot.

Rafe’s jaw dropped slightly, but before he could defend you, you had already shot your fist forward.

a loud crack was heard as your knuckles came in contact with her nose, shattering the bone. people from around moved into a circle, some recording as you moved forward again.

blood was gushing down from her nose, tears pouring from her eyes as you pushed her backwards.

rage filled your body, the alcohol pumping pure adrenaline through your system as you straddled her, throwing punch after punch onto her face.

your head was ringing, and you barely felt Rafe’s arms scoop you up. you kicked out, kicking the girl in the boob. you managed to get out of Rafe’s grasp.

“how’s that for a poor slut, huh? stay away from my man, bitch!” you shout, impulsively spitting on the girl as Rafe grabbed you once more.

“alright, baby. this isn’t Jersey Shore.” Rafe joked, pulling your body into his. your head rested against his chest, hearing his pounding heartbeat.

your own heartbeat matched his, the adrenaline beginning to wear off. you recognized the aching in your hands, your knuckles bruised and bloody.

Rafe helped you onto the little speedboat you two arrived in, turning the engine on. while Rafe was silent, you sat on the couch with your head in your hands.

your head ached with a migraine. the loud sound of the motor wasn’t exactly helpful, either.

the ride home was silent, except for the sound of the motor against the water. when Rafe pulled up to your dock, he tied off the boat.

“let’s get my girl cleaned up.”

Rafe said gently, walking in front of you. he opened the door to your run-down house, knowing where the first aid kit is.

there’s been multiple occasions of either you or Rafe getting into fights, so it became routine for the both of you.

as you put the toilet seat down, you sat on the lid as Rafe sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“damn, y/n. you might’ve broken a knuckle.”

Rafe comments, cleaning the blood up with rubbing alcohol. you hissed at the sting, shaking your leg. the motion caused his leg to shake too, before he trapped your legs between his thighs.

“stop moving, mama. let me take care of you.”

his words were gentle, soft. as he put gauze and bandages over your knuckles, you followed him into the kitchen where he grabbed two bags of frozen peas.

he placed them gingerly on your bones, careful not to hurt you.

“i’m sorry i hit her. so many fucking times…” you mumble.

Rafe lets out a soft chuckle, kissing your forehead.

“when will these kook girls learn their place?” he jokes, making you smile as you kissed his lips feverishly.