#And then got dragged into it without realizing

[undyingdecay]

helloooo, this is my very first time requesting anything on tumblr, but your writing is just too good to pass up the opportunity.

i cannot, for the love of all mankind, get dark!bucky barnes out of my brain. it’s like an itch that can’t be scratched, no matter how hard i try. and i’m talking about some straight up dark shit that would potentially make me look fucking insane if i said it out loud.

(non-con) WHO SAID THAT? 👀

(tw: very heavy non-con, translation: khoroshaya devochka — good girl)

ok everyone sit down and listen, so ideally — and this is so bad it’s good — i’m thinking very freshly post-hydra!bucky. the kind of fresh where he still moves like a fucking predator without realizing it. where his hair’s still got that dry, greasy texture because he hasn’t figured out conditioner and tony’s too much of a prick to explain it to him. where his eyes are still vacant half the time, like there’s a stel trap wrapped around his head, but then — then there’s moments. quick flashes. like his gaze catches on your neck a second too long when you tilt your head or his jaw ticks when you laugh a little too loud in the kitchen because sam’s being a dick. little cracks in the armor.

and here’s the kicker, steve asked you to look after him. not like he was a rabid dog. no. steve wouldn’t call him that. steve would never say it like that. it was more in that… do-it-for-me tone, that boyish all-american pleading like he’s just shy of getting down on one knee. it wasn’t fair. you were good at saying no. you were good at keeping boundaries. but when he asked, when those big stupid hands were scrubbing sweat off his neck post-run and his biceps were gleaming under the LED lab lights?

you agreed. because you’re an idiot.

and bucky, bucky didn’t talk to you.

not much, anyway. he barely talked to anyone, truth be told, and you weren't about to make him. you’d still check in. you’d talk at him, mostly. about dumb shit — what kind of cereal was on sale, how tony’s AI fridge locked you out for putting a can of off-brand soda in it, how nat had somehow learned to crochet and was currently making sweaters for the knives she kept under her mattress. normal stuff. and maybe you wondered if he was listening but only sometimes.

you kinda forgot who he was, to be honest. like, yeah, there were moments you remembered — like the time you were standing in front of the fridge, reaching for the leftover pasta you’d been thinking about all day, and he just… picked you up. didn’t say a word. just lifted your entire body out of the way like you weighed nothing. set you down a foot to the left. opened the fridge. pulled out a bottle of water. left. no ‘excuse me’. no ‘move’. just manhandled you like a fucking doll and dipped.

but then came the night. and you swear on your life you didn’t hear him come in. you didn’t. you always did before. you could hear the way his boots dragged a little or the click of metal fingers against the wall. not this time. one second you were half asleep, the next you were on your back, bedsheets twisted around your ankles and something cold and heavy pressing your wrist down into the mattress.

you knew it was him. even in the dark, even before you opened your mouth, you knew.

“bucky—?”

his hand was in your hair, not pulling but holding, fingers twisted so deep into the roots it made your eyes sting. the words didn’t register. he was speaking, low and harsh in your ear, and you couldn’t understand a word of it but you knew it was russian because natasha would curse under her breath in that same jagged way when she was pissed off.

he was grinding against you. fully clothed. all rough denim and stiff tactical gear, and you could feel the press of him through it. the sick, hot friction of fabric on fabric like it was enough for him. like he didn’t even care about getting his cock out, just needed to rut against something warm and soft and unwilling. his breathing was so fucking loud, low grunts slipping out every time his hips jerked forward.

you were pleading. of course you were. because what else do you do when a supersoldier’s on top of you with a metal hand around your throat? you were asking him to stop, babbling out whatever you could think of — please, bucky, you don’t wanna do this, you don’t wanna hurt me, please, please— but it barely mattered. didn’t even look like it registered.

and some part of you — some deep, shriveled, awful instinct — told you to stay still. like maybe if you didn’t move, didn’t scream, didn’t make it worse, he’d finish faster. like maybe this was the least you owed him. not as a person, but as a thing. a thing that had been torn up and stitched back together wrong. like maybe this was how you repaid the debt you never owed in the first place.

and it made you sick to your stomach.

he muttered something sharp in russian again, voice rough like gravel and whiskey, and his hand moved from your hair to your neck. not squeezing — not yet — just pressing down enough to make your throat work harder.

“stupid things,” you caught, because that was in english. “never listen.”

and then quieter — almost tender, which made it worse — “zhenshchiny ne mogut plakat', yesli oni mokryye naskvoz'.”

you didn’t even understand what the fuck that meant at first. not until later. not until you found natasha at the gym and repeated it in a shaky whisper and watched her face twist, real ugly and mean.

and she told you. told you what it meant.

'women can't cry if they are soaking wet'

and you’ve never slept right since.

you should’ve known better to.

the first time it happened, you thought maybe it would be the only time. some awful, one-time, trauma-fueled mistake. a sick, violent need in him that would burn out and leave you in peace. you even tried to tell yourself he didn’t know what he was doing — the way he’d snarled in russian, the cold clamp of vibranium fingers around your throat, the sharp rut of his hips into yours like an animal. the way he kept you pinned under him, fully clothed, grinding himself into your cunt through your shorts until your body betrayed you, slick gathering no matter how much your mind screamed. you thought maybe, maybe it would end there.

it didn’t.

he stayed after. lay there beside you in your own bed, that metal hand still curled around your wrist, eyes wide open and unblinking in the dark. watching. like a predator deciding whether to finish the kill or let the wound fester. he didn’t speak. didn’t explain. didn’t leave.

the next night, you thought about locking the door. stood there with your hand on the knob, heart pounding in your throat. and then you let it go, because what was the fucking point? a lock wouldn’t stop him. nothing would. not when the winter soldier still lived in his bones, moving his hands before his brain caught up. and sure enough, sometime past midnight, boots heavy on the floor, the oppressive presence of him filling the room — and this time, there was no hesitation.

he undid his tactical pants just enough, the harsh rasp of the zipper making your stomach twist. there was no slow approach, no pretense. his hand knotted in your hair, wrenching your head back, and then your face was in the pillow, his grip like a steel trap around your neck.

“stop—” you tried, and that was the last word you managed.

he spit on your cunt first. a thick, cruel thing, then smeared it with his fingers, muttering something in russian that you didn’t need natasha to translate. the intent was clear enough. then he shoved himself inside you, one brutal thrust, tearing you open like he owned the place. no prep. no care. the stretch was merciless, thick and unrelenting, your breath ripped from you as your whole body jolted forward.

and the worst part? you felt yourself get wet.

it wasn’t want. it wasn’t arousal. it was your body’s betrayal. terror slicking your skin, nerves on fire, every cell screaming and still — still the ache built between your thighs, heat blooming where it shouldn’t. he noticed. of course he did. leaned down, breath hot and ragged against your ear.

“khoroshaya devochka,” he rasped, rough and pleased. “knew you’d stop fighting.”

he fucked you like he didn’t need to be gentle, like your body was just a place to bury himself. every thrust brutal, grinding your hips into the mattress. teeth in your shoulder hard enough to bruise, to break skin. and every time you made a sound — a sob, a plea, a ragged whisper of his name — you felt him twitch inside you. like it turned him on more.

by the time he came, it wasn’t soft. a sharp snap of his hips, a guttural snarl in your ear, his teeth sinking into the muscle of your shoulder as thick, hot ropes spilled inside you. his hand never eased up on your neck. he kept you pinned there, limp and wrecked beneath him.

and then — he didn’t leave.

he rolled you onto your back, head resting on your stomach like it was some sort of goddamn prize, one hand lazily stroking your thigh while his cum leaked from you in slow, hot pulses. he stayed until dawn, and you lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, praying for death or daylight, whichever came first.

when the sun finally broke through, you got up, made coffee. looked at yourself in the mirror. bite marks and bruises trailing your neck, fingerprints mapped across your skin like a claim. you didn’t tell anyone. not steve. not nat. not sam. what would you even say? that their broken weapon was breaking you?

he came back again the next night.

and the next.

each time worse than the last. new ways to bend you, to mark you, to drag desperate, shamed pleasure from a body that didn’t know how to stop responding. every night his cock inside you, his voice in your ear, muttering in that dead, cold russian.

you stopped begging. stopped trying to fight.

because deep down, you knew he’d decided you were his.

and stupid things never learn.

(ive officially lost it)

[meiplays]

🧨 “Whipped & Wrecked”

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Rating: 💥 SFW (but spicy, lap grinding, thigh riding, hickeys, hair pulling, worship, possessive & feral Ben energy)

Word Count: ~2.8k

Warnings: Intense lap grinding, thigh riding, hair pulling, whimpering, kissing, marking/neck kisses/hickeys, teasing, possessive behavior, begging Ben (softly), whipped energy, reader in Ben’s shirt, praise, mutual obsession, canon Ben attitude

Summary:

All Ben wanted was to hold you in his lap. Just cuddle you for a while. But you knew exactly what you were doing the second you started grinding your hips over his thigh. Turns out, Soldier Boy isn’t as in control as he likes to act—especially not when you’ve got your fingers in his hair and your lips on his throat.

A/N: this is probably the spicest thing I've written (as what I'm comfortable with) first time writing soldier boy! Hope you enjoy xo

“C’mere, baby. Just wanna hold you for a while.”

That’s how it started.

You were curled up in bed, wearing nothing but one of Ben’s old shirts—soft, worn-in, and way too big. He was leaning against the headboard, dog tags still hanging against his chest, arms open, eyes soft in a way no one else ever got to see.

And you melted for it. Always did.

You crawled into his lap without hesitation, straddling his thick thighs, resting your body against his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arms came around you instantly, solid and warm and possessive. He let out a quiet breath, one of those rare, content ones, like just having you there grounded him.

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing his face into your neck. “Been thinkin’ about this all week.”

His voice was lower than usual, warm against your skin, and it made you shiver in his arms. You could feel his hands rubbing slow, lazy circles on your lower back, fingertips brushing just beneath the hem of the shirt. Nothing urgent—just comfort.

But you weren’t exactly behaving.

You shifted in his lap. Just a little. Enough to feel the way his muscles tightened beneath you. Enough to make him pause mid-breath.

“Careful,” he warned, but his grip on your hips got firmer. “You’re in dangerous territory, sweetheart.”

You smiled against his throat. “I’m just getting comfortable.”

Another shift. This time, you let your thighs tighten around his. The hem of the shirt slid higher as your body naturally moved over his lap, creating friction that neither of you could ignore.

Ben groaned, deep and low. His hands flew from gentle to gripping, fingers digging into your hips as his jaw clenched hard.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his voice rough now, “you tryin’ to kill me?”

You looked up at him through your lashes, playful. “What if I am?”

His eyes darkened.

“Don’t play with me, doll,” he rasped, rocking his hips just barely upward. “You know exactly what you’re doin’. You sit here, all sweet in my shirt, like you’re just here for cuddles—and then you start ridin’ my thigh like it’s an accident.”

“Maybe it is,” you whispered, grinding slow against the thick muscle beneath you. You could feel how hard he was breathing, how tense his hands had gotten. “Maybe I just like being close to you.”

“Bullshit,” Ben growled, dragging you closer. “You know how goddamn sensitive I am to you. You start movin’ like that, and I forget how to breathe.”

You rolled your hips again, this time firmer—grinding right against the curve of his thigh, where his muscles flexed under your heat. Ben’s head fell back against the headboard with a guttural sound.

“F**k, baby…”

His hands gripped your waist, guiding your movement before he even realized what he was doing.

“Keep goin’,” he muttered. “You’re gonna ruin me. Might as well finish the job.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his jaw, whispering sweet and sinful things in his ear as you rolled your hips over and over again, using the thick, strong muscle of his thigh like a toy built for you. His dog tags jangled softly between your chests as he tried to hold himself back.

“Takin’ my f***in’ breath away,” he groaned. “Look at you—makin’ a mess on my leg, actin’ all innocent. You know you’re the only one I’d ever let do this, right?”

You nodded, panting now, clutching his shoulders for leverage. “I know.”

His hands slipped under your shirt, up your spine, pulling you flush against him. His thigh tensed again—harder—and your body shivered in his lap.

Ben kissed you rough, possessive, like he was trying to remind you exactly who had you. When he pulled back, his eyes were blown wide with heat.

“You ride me like that again,” he muttered, “and I swear to God, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

You grinned, grinding once more. “That the plan.”

Ben let out a strangled noise—something between a growl and a prayer—and pulled you tighter against him, burying his face in your neck.

“Whipped,” he mumbled. “I’m f***in’ whipped for you.”

You stroked the back of his neck softly, kissing his cheek as you moved with him. “I know, baby. And I love it.”

You didn’t even realize how far you were pushing him.

Not until you tugged on his hair—and he whimpered.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

Just a soft, helpless sound that slipped from his lips the second your fingers tangled into that thick mess of his hair and gave it a firm pull.

Ben froze. His breath caught. Then his eyes rolled back just a little like he’d just been sucker-punched straight in the nerves.

You stilled in his lap, straddling his thigh in nothing but his shirt, lips parted in surprise. “Wait… you like that?”

Ben groaned—deep and rough like he hated how much he loved it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, voice barely holding together. “You’re gonna break me.”

You tugged again, slower this time, watching his reaction.

Ben shivered. You felt it under your hands. He dropped his head back, his lips parted, a low sound catching in his throat.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, “you really do like your hair pulled.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Instead, his hands snapped up to your hips and dragged you harder against his thigh—his grip bruising, jaw clenched, eyes wild with hunger.

“Baby…” His voice was gravel. “You keep doin’ that, I’m not gonna be able to stop.”

You rolled your hips slow, dragging the heat of your core over the thick muscle of his thigh again and again, your thighs clenching as he flexed beneath you.

“Then don’t,” you breathed. “Let go.”

That was it. That was the match to gasoline.

Ben’s mouth crashed against yours, hot and heavy, hands gripping like he needed you to stay there—like you’d disappear if he wasn’t touching every inch of you. His kisses were everywhere: your lips, your jaw, your neck—worshipping.

“You drive me f***in’ insane,” he growled between kisses. “You—this—this sweet little thing sittin’ in my lap like you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

“I do,” you whispered, fingers in his hair again, pulling hard.

Ben gasped against your skin—and then whimpered again. Raw. Real. The kind of sound he’d never make for anyone else.

“You like that?” you asked, teasing against his ear. “You like being pulled around like a good boy?”

“F***,” he choked out, rutting his thigh upward under you so hard it nearly made you moan. “I’ll be whatever the hell you want me to be, baby. Just don’t stop.”

He started kissing down your neck again, slower now. Not rough—needy. His tongue flicked over your pulse, his lips suckling a spot just under your jaw until you gasped. Then he did it again. And again.

“Gonna mark you up,” he mumbled, dazed. “All over. So you never forget who you belong to.”

“You’re the one who’s whipped,” you panted, grinding shamelessly against his thigh. “You’re the one who begs when I pull your hair—”

“I do not beg—”

You yanked again. Harder.

Ben whimpered. Louder this time. His eyes squeezed shut. His hips jerked upward under you like he couldn’t stop.

“Okay,” he gasped. “Maybe I do.”

You laughed breathlessly, but he wasn’t done with you.

He flipped you gently—fast but controlled—until you were on your back and he was hovering over you, his thigh still wedged perfectly between yours. You tried to protest, but his lips were already on your neck again, his hands sliding under your shirt, skin on skin.

“You make me weak,” he whispered. “You hear me? You ruin me every time you climb into my lap like that, grind on me like you own me.”

“I do own you,” you teased, breathless.

Ben grinned against your collarbone, and you felt his teeth graze your skin right before he sucked another mark into you, just beneath the line of your throat.

“Damn right, you do,” he muttered. “So let me show you what being yours means.”

He trailed kisses down your chest, slow and heavy, tongue flicking, lips sucking, worshiping every inch of skin he could reach without going too far. You tugged his hair again just to feel him twitch. Just to hear that sound again—the little gasp he couldn’t hide.

“You’re evil,” he muttered against your ribs.

“You love it.”

“Damn right, I do.”

He came back up, kissing you breathless, tasting every inch of your lips like he needed them to live. His hands never stopped roaming—your waist, your thighs, your hips—everywhere he could hold you down and pull you close.

When he finally slowed, both of you were panting, chests heaving, still tangled together on the bed. Your shirt had ridden up high. His sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips. But neither of you had crossed the line—yet.

“Ben?” you murmured, brushing his hair from his forehead.

His eyes cracked open, and for once, he looked… soft.

“Yeah, baby?”

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You know I’ve never seen you like this with anyone else. You’re not just mine. I’m yours, too.”

His throat worked like he was trying to swallow the lump in it. One of his hands slid up, curling around your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“I don’t deserve you,” he rasped.

You kissed him again, slow and lingering. “Too late. You’ve got me.”

He pulled you into his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapping protectively around your waist as he held you like he was afraid the world would take you away.

And you laid there like that—on top of him, tangled, flushed, and ruined—while his fingers idly stroked your back, his lips pressing lazy kisses into your temple.

Every few seconds, you tugged his hair just to hear that helpless little whimper again.

And Ben?

He let you.

Because he was yours. Whipped, marked, and happy about it.

[st4rlvr]

FELIX GETTING HIGH HEADCANNONS

- He gets high way too fast one hit and he’s blinking real slow, lip caught between his teeth, already crawling into your lap like he belongs there. “Mmm… why does your skin feel so good?” He says dragging his fingertips down your arm, eyes locked on you.

- He starts slurring compliments. “you’re my baby. my girl. my cutie. my little—” he falls asleep mid sentence, drooling into your shirt. wakes up 3 minutes later just to whisper “still in love with you” and then knocks back out.

- You told him to go easy “Just a small hit,” you warned, but he was feeling bold. cocky. “Pfft. I got this. I’m Australian.” as if that has anything to do with it. he takes a huge hit, holds it in… and then immediately starts hacking like you just poisoned him.

- He really can’t shut up. “you’re so pretty,” he breathes. “you’re gonna ruin me. you know that right?”

- Five minutes after making out like his life depended on it, he’s suddenly dead silent. then “Wait. Do we have snacks?” sits up like he just remembered his life’s purpose. “Like… chips. Or gummy worms.”

- The compliments turn filthier real fast “You’re so hot, it’s actually disgusting.” he’s muttering it against your collarbone now, nosing under your shirt. “Like, how do you expect me to behave? Look at you. Look at what you’re doing to me.” his voice is a low whine by now, all breathy and dizzy with you.

- Begging without even realizing it “Kiss me. No like, really kiss me.” it starts soft, then gets messy fast. his hands in your hair, body pressed so close it’s like he’s trying to crawl into you. “I need you,” he whispers against your mouth.

- Eventually passes out surrounded by snack wrappers chips in the blanket, chocolate on his chin, one arm around your waist.

(i need to get high with him rn)

[thunderbolt-ing]

Three Roommates and a Loft [3]

PREVIOUS | NEXT The One Where You Get Romanoff'd: A lifestyle adjustment, a bed-rotting intervention, a surprise guest, and a rebound roster. Yeah, you'll probably regret this later. Warnings: none, just pure silliness and slight (stupid) sexual innuendo. I'm sleep deprived when I'm writing this, so this is just pure crack. Word count: 6.6K (sorry for the mistakes, i dont proofread as you already know)

You were jolted awake at exactly 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday by the unmistakable sound of an old-timey trumpet muffly blaring through the ceiling, specifically, a World War II-era jump blues song. 

🎵 He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way,

He had a boogie style that no one else could play,

He was the top man at his craft,

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft,

He’s in the army now, a blowin’ reveille, 

He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B! 🎵

There was only one possible culprit: Steve Rogers. 

His room was directly above yours, and apparently so was his nostalgia-fueled alarm clock. The song continued at full volume for a solid two minutes before Steve finally got up and shut it off. 

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the end of it. 

Next came the footsteps. Then the light stomping. Then… counting… and grunting…? 

Was he doing pushups? At six-thirty-five in the morning? On a Sunday? 

You buried your head under a pillow and groaned. The realization settled slowly and painfully; the walls in this loft were way too thin. Adjusting to life here was going to take time and possibly noise-cancelling headphones. Or earplugs. Definitely earplugs. 

Eventually, you managed to fall asleep again, though it was more like drifting in and out of consciousness while dreaming about WWII-era trumpets. Still, your body naturally woke up at your usual weekend time of 9:00 a.m., groggy but functional. 

Noise was already filtering in from the living room—voices, at least two of them, mixed with the clatter of dishes and the unmistakable sound of someone being way too enthusiastic for a Sunday morning (suspects are either Steve or Sam. You’re leaning towards Steve). 

You stared at the ceiling and sighed. 

This was your life now.

With the weight of reluctant acceptance, you braced yourself for the horror of human interaction. You got up from your bed and mentally prepared yourself to walk out of your room looking like a witch who’d just crawled out of a bog. Your oversized t-shirt was twisted halfway around your torso, your hair was an unruly mess, and you were certain that your face bore the imprint of your pillowcase. 

You didn’t even bother to make yourself look presentable. What was the point? 

You needed caffeine. You needed breakfast. And most of all, you needed to not be spoken to until at least a cup of coffee had been fully consumed. 

You sluggishly dragged yourself out of your room, your first stop being the bathroom. You just wanted to splash some water on your face and pretend to be alive. Instead, you opened the door to find a near-naked Bucky Barnes hunched over the sink, towel slung low on his hips, mid-shave. 

Your brain short-circuited, but he didn’t flinch. He just met your stunned silence with a deadpan stare. 

“Do you know how to knock?” he asked coolly, eyes narrowing like you’d just ruined his entire day. 

You blinked, fighting the instinctive downward glance that, traitorously, happened anyway. It only made everything worse. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, slamming the door shut as your heart pounded loudly in your chest. Your face burned with the mix of rage and embarrassment, and now, thanks to him, you were fully and disturbingly awake. 

From inside the bathroom, you heard him mutter just loud enough to be heard: 

“Unbelievable.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped through the door, patience running thin with the lack of caffeine in your system.  

“No thanks,” he called back flatly without missing a beat. 

You were two seconds away from throwing the door open and escalating when Sam’s voice rang out from the kitchen: 

“I told y’all to come up with a bathroom system.” 

You huffed and stomped your way into the common area, still fuming. 

Sam was at the stove flipping pancakes that were definitely a little burnt, but pretending not to notice. Steve was already seated at the newly placed dining table (thanks to your charitable donation), sipping coffee like this was a perfectly normal, drama-free Sunday morning. 

“Hey, sunshine!” Steve greeted you as you stepped into the room, entirely too cheerful for someone who caused your 6:30 a.m. trumpet wake-up call. “How was your first night?” 

“What is wrong with him?” you shot back, completely ignoring Steve’s question. “Does he not believe in getting dressed after a shower? Is that not a thing for him?”

Sam’s laughter echoed through the loft. “Wait—did you see him butt-ass naked?” 

Steve choked on his coffee, but being Steve, he tried to play it off with a composed nod and a sip like nothing had happened. 

You gave Sam a withering glare. “Toweled, but barely. It was an assault on my morning.” 

Sam was practically doubled over now. “Man, you and Bucky are gonna kill each other before the month’s out.” 

“Yeah?” you muttered as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. “Well, I’ll make sure I get to him first.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky said unenthusiastically, stepping into the room fully clothed this time. 

“No one’s killing anyone,” Steve cut in with a chuckle. “We just need time to adjust. There are four of us now, it’s gonna take a little grace.” 

You and Bucky locked eyes over your mugs. Clearly, there was no grace, only war. 

——

After breakfast, the guys headed out for a Whole Foods run, arguing over oat milk versus almond milk as they disappeared out the door. You stayed behind, however, choosing to confront the disaster that the loft turned into from your move-in yesterday. So, with Japanese Breakfast on Sam’s speaker, you got to work. 

You hauled your boxes to the center of the living room, then tore through them with the determination of a woman who was about to perform a miracle. Blankets, candles, books, and years of collected knick-knacks found their homes. A patchwork quilt over the chaise. A vase of bodega flowers on the dining table. Your Princess Diaries poster now hung proudly beside Bruce Willis, which perfectly summarized the loft’s new look. 

In the kitchen, you replaced the single wooden spoon with actual utensils, alphabetized the spice rack (because who was stopping you?), and stuck a whiteboard on the fridge that read Weekly Chore Rotation — TBD in teacher handwriting. You almost changed your alphabet magnet message from HELLO ROOMIES to HELLO FUCKERS, but you figured you’d soft launch your personality and have them get used to the harmless kindergarten teacher first. 

Perhaps you were getting carried away, but you even cleaned the entryway. Now there was a shoe rack, jacket hooks, and a key bowl because you weren’t a barbarian. You felt very smug about your work… until you opened the hallway closet and discovered the mini-armory. 

Mounted neatly on the back wall was an array of throwing knives, each blade gleaming despite the dim light. Steve’s old, battered shield leaned against the corner, the once bright paint chipped and scratched raw to the vibranium. It looked like it had been through hell, probably had. Maybe he kept it for emergencies, or maybe out of sentiment. Above the shield, resting on a shelf, sat a worn military grade duffle bag with WILSON embroidered on the front. You didn’t dare to open it, something told you that it didn’t hold gym clothes. 

And then, there was the bundle. It was tucked in the far corner, hidden enough that it could be overlooked. Before you could even begin to think about unwrapping it, keys jingled outside, and the front door swung open with a dramatic slam. 

“Guess who survived Whole Foods!” Sam’s voice rang through the loft, followed by the telltale thud of grocery bags hitting the floor. 

You quickly shut the closet door, forcing a casual smile despite your heart hammering in your chest. “Hey! So, who won the milk debate? For the record, I was team oat—”

“Hold up,” Sam cut in, eyes widening as he entered the living room. He gasped, hand clutching his chest theatrically. “Is that Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Queen of Genovia next to John McClane?!”

You followed him into the living room with a shrug. “Don’t they look cute together?” 

“Who the hell is that?” Bucky asked, breezing past with grocery bags and heading straight for the kitchen. 

“Princess Diaries,” Sam and Steve answered in unison, though Steve was a beat slower and slightly more ashamed about knowing. 

Steve bent to pick up the remaining bags, but paused as he took in the living room. His eyes did a slow sweep across the space before he broke into a pleased, golden-retriever grin. “You redecorated.”

“Holy shit, you did,” Sam added, spinning in place to look around. “No more hostage bunker, frat house adjacent. This place has… character now.”

“There’s a key bowl,” Steve noted in delight, pointing to the entryway like you’d just placed a national treasure. 

“I’m ignoring this,” Bucky cut in from the kitchen. He scowled at the whiteboard magnetized to the fridge. “Weekly Chore Rotation? This is not elementary school.”

“Also, where are the tongs?” he asked, rummaging through the newly organized drawer with increasing irritation. 

“The rusty ones?” You asked, joining him in the kitchen. “I threw them out before it gave someone tetanus, but don’t worry, I replaced them with new ones.” You opened the other drawer and showed him the new tongs. 

Bucky turned to you, arms crossed. “So you’re in charge now?” 

You smiled sweetly. “Someone has to be a functional adult out of the four of us.” 

Steve chuckled as he dropped the last bag on the counter. “She’s not wrong.” 

Bucky muttered something about “whiteboard dictatorships” as he walked off, but not before you caught him glancing at the newly filled bookshelf. 

That was the closest thing to approval you were probably ever going to get. 

——

Adjusting to your new life at the loft with three superhero roommates was… messy at best. The only man you’ve ever lived with before was Adam, and while that came with its own set of issues, chaos had never been one of them. Adam had been neat, predictable, and quiet. The exact opposite of the three men you now shared a loft (and very thin walls) with. 

The loft wasn’t perfect. It was loud, unfiltered, and filled with clashing personalities. But oddly enough, it was exactly what you needed right now. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, not to them at least, but the chaos helped. It distracted you from thinking about Adam and from falling back into the life you’d walked away from. 

Monday started off strong. 

You were in the kitchen, half-asleep and clinging to your coffee before work, when Sam practically sprinted down the stairs looking like he’d already finished at least three marathons.

“Morning, miss girl,” he beamed, already reaching for your mug as if you didn’t need it to survive. “What’s your sign by the way? Wait—don’t tell me. You’re a Virgo aren’t you? You alphabetized the spices.” 

You stared at him. You didn’t even get a word in before he declared you his ‘platonic soulmate’ three times and tried to convince you to join him on a sunrise run. It was 5:07 a.m.

Later that day, after work, you found Steve in the living room, utterly absorbed in The Great British Bake Off. You expected him to switch to something more macho when you sat beside him, but instead he turned to you with a frown.

“I just think he could’ve decorated that cake better…” 

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond at first. “You know what, you’re right. It’s lacking something and the sponge looks dry.” 

“You wanna make something better?” 

“...Sure?” 

By the end of the hour, you were in the kitchen covered in flour, while Steve was making frosting. You two were making something completely unrelated to the show, and the smell of vanilla filled the loft. Steve wore an apron that said ‘Be Patriotic & Kiss the Captain’ with an arrow pointing toward himself. You didn’t question it, but you had a sneaky feeling that Sam was the one who gave it to him. 

Steve and Sam were surprisingly easy to get along with, but Bucky on the other hand, was the human equivalent of a locked door. 

On Tuesday, he glared at you for leaving your clothes in the dryer. 

On Wednesday, you got into a five-minute shouting match because he was using your shampoo. 

On Thursday, he accused you of “hogging the hot water” like you’ve just committed crimes against humanity. 

But on Friday, your shampoo was replaced with a fresh bottle, and when you walked into the living room later, he was reading your copy of Anne of Green Gables. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you just baked the cookies that Steve offhandedly mentioned Bucky liked. He didn’t say thank you, but the cookies didn’t last a day. 

Midweek, the boys left on an impromptu mission. It was a quick recon, nothing too dangerous according to Steve, but the silence in the loft was jarring. You wandered around in your fuzzy socks, grading math quizzes with background noise from a sitcom rerun just to fill the void. 

You actually missed the chaos. 

They came back home a day later, exhausted and grumpy. You didn’t say anything, but you had grilled cheese and tomato soup ready for them. Steve muttered something about being “blessed,” and Sam dramatically asked that you platonically marry him (whatever that meant). Bucky just gave you a curt nod, which, in his language, might as well be a hug. 

On Saturday, Steve and Sam insisted on helping you grade a stack of your kindergarteners’ spelling tests while eating cereal straight from the box. 

“Why does this kid spell ‘banana’ like ‘bunahnuh’?” Sam asked. 

“Gwen spells phonetically,” you replied, like it was obvious. 

Steve, squinting through his reading glasses with a red pen in his hand, held up a paper. “What’s turlul?”

“Turtle,” you replied with a grin.

Then Sam, looking deeply concerned, held up your lesson plan. “You’re teaching them Romeo and Juliet with puppets?” 

“What? They’re five and they love tragic romance.” 

Steve chuckled. “New York kids… gotta love ‘em.” 

The week ended with you, curled up on the couch, blanket over your legs, grading kindergarten science homework while Steve sat beside you, quietly sketching. Sam DJ’d badly from the kitchen while Bucky was silently fixing the crooked picture frame you meant to fix days ago. 

“You hung this badly,” he muttered.

“I’ll fix it later,” you replied without looking up. 

“It’s going to fall.” 

“Aw,” you looked up and smirked at him. “So you do care.” 

His lips twitched just a little, but you didn’t point it out. 

Living in the loft was a mess, but it was home. 

Your home.

——

Two months into living with the boys, a rhythm had settled in. It was morning coffees with Sam’s unsolicited astrology takes, quiet evenings grading assignments with Steve, and your usual snark-filled cold war with Bucky. Against all odds, the arrangement was working. And yet, even with all the laughter and distractions, the sinking feeling hadn’t gone away. If anything, the stillness between the noise made it even louder. 

You missed Adam. Terribly and painfully, in spite of the hell he put you through. Some wounds didn’t announce themselves with aching pain, they crept in during the quiet, slipping through the cracks when you were doing everything to keep moving forward. 

You thought you were hiding it well, smiling when you needed to, laughing when expected. But somewhere deep down, you had a feeling that the boys were starting to catch on. 

It started with Sam. One afternoon after work, he appeared at your door without knocking, flopping onto the edge of your bed with a bag of chips and zero introduction. He didn’t pry or asked how you were, he just talked about nothing. He complained about the subway system. He argued about why almond milk was better than oat milk. He recalled the dream he had where Steve ran for mayor and lost to RuPaul. 

Then Steve started stopping by too. He’d sit in the armchair in the corner, sketchbook in hand, half-listening to Sam’s ramblings and occasionally offering stories about old missions and silly anecdotes about his teammates. He talked about the Avengers often that you were starting to feel like you knew them, even though you hadn’t met any of them in person. Steve never asked what was wrong, he just stayed just like Sam did. 

Bucky never set foot in your room, but the arguments with him stalled. The sharpness between you dulled just a bit. He still glared, still muttered under his breath when you used the last of the coffee, but he didn’t pick fights the way he used to. It was as if he didn’t want to add more weight to what you were already carrying. 

At one point, the quiet sadness that had been simmering beneath the surface tipped into something heavier. A mini depressive episode, maybe. If you could even call it that. It crept in gradually at first and was barely noticeable, but soon your behavior shifted in ways the boys couldn’t ignore. 

You started locking your bedroom door after work, claiming you were just tired. You bailed on loft game night more than once, always with a vague excuse about lesson planning or needing to grade your students’ assignments. Even when you didn’t have a stack of spelling tests to get through, you stayed tucked away in your room, lights dim with Pride and Prejudice looping in your TV just to feel something. 

You stopped lounging on the couch. Stopped making dinner for the loft. Stopped bickering with Sam over his abhorrent snack combinations or baking with Steve for fun. You slipped in and out of the kitchen like a ghost, only entering when the coast was clear. You timed your showers to avoid Bucky, dodging eye contact in the hallway like it was a full-time job. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t care. You did. It was that everything suddenly felt unbearable. Every noise, every conversation, every mundane task, it all felt too much. 

The worst part? You didn’t even know how to explain it to yourself or the boys. 

By the time the weekend rolled around, you’d all but vanished into your room. The door stayed closed, the lights stayed off, and not even the smell of Steve’s buttermilk waffles managed to lure you out. 

Sam, in an attempt to get you to talk, slipped a piece of paper under your door:

Are u mad at me? Yes or no. Circle one pls <3. 

You saw it, but you didn’t pick it up. 

Later that evening, the three boys were sprawled on the couch, half-watching a terrible action movie and working through their respective takeout containers. The dialogue on the screen was awful, the explosions louder than necessary, but no one bothered to change the channel. 

Then, casually, as if tossing in an afterthought, Bucky asked, “What’s going on with her?” 

He didn’t look up from his food, he just stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork. “Last night, she had this song on repeat. Something about a girl sitting in a restaurant, waiting or something. Played it for hours. I didn’t say anything. Kinda liked it.” 

Sam froze mid-chew. Slowly, he lowered his chopsticks. “Wait. Was she playing Right Where You Left Me?” 

Bucky shugged. “How should I know? I wasn’t paying attention. Her room’s next to mine, I just heard it.” 

Sam immediately placed his food on the coffee table like it had become irrelevant. “Oh hell no. That’s the emotional paralysis anthem.” 

Steve frowned. “You got all that from a song about… a restaurant?” 

“It’s not about the restaurant, Steven, it’s about the metaphor,” Sam said, deadly serious. “It’s heartbreak, it’s what you play when you’re stuck. And she’s got it on loop? Oh, I’m gonna kill that Adam guy.” 

“Who the hell is Adam?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing. 

“Her ex,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Steve and I met him briefly. Bad vibes, stank aura, absolutely zero stars.” 

“Not a pleasant man,” Steve added diplomatically. “Didn’t seem to appreciate her.” 

Bucky went quiet for a moment, then muttered. “Figures.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Figures what, Barnes?” 

“Nothing,” Bucky replied, too quickly. He refocused on his takeout with exaggerated interest, stabbing the piece of beef in his plate half-heartedly. 

Steve sighed and looked toward your room, his features softening. “I should try checking in on her again.” 

Sam was already on his feet, grabbing the extra box of chow mein from table. “Nope. We’re doing this together. This is a group effort.” 

Bucky didn’t move. 

Steve glanced at him. “You coming?” 

Bucky groaned, dragging himself up with zero enthusiasm. “Do I have to?” 

“Yes.” Sam and Steve said in unison, leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Bucky followed them down the hallway. Sam knocked first, rapping his knuckles gently against your door. 

“I know you’re alive in there,” he called. “I can hear Mr. Darcy monologuing through the wall.” 

No response. 

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “Wanna insult me? Could be therapeutic. I’m an easy target and I used up all your conditioner again.” 

Still nothing. 

Steve gave the door handle a patient turn, but it didn’t budge. “We just wanna check in. No pressure.” Steve said, his voice low and gentle.

Sam held up the box of food like you could see it through the door. “We brought noodles… and poor emotional boundaries.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky muttered. 

Steve side-eyed him. “You offered yourself up for verbal abuse two seconds ago.”

“I’m just trying to help!” Bucky snapped, crossing his arms. 

Another beat of silence followed. Then, from inside the room, you spoke up, your voice muffled, “Is it chow mein or lo mein?” 

Sam grinned triumphantly. “Chow mein.”

You shuffled to the door and creaked it open an inch. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “But only because I’m hungry and you guys are loud.”

As you stepped back to let them in, Bucky was the last to follow, but not before glancing at your TV, the frozen frame of Pride and Prejudice paused on Darcy’s rain-soaked confession. He didn’t say anything, just slipped inside and quietly straightened the crooked calendar by your door as the others made themselves at home. 

Sam looked around your room, eyebrows raised at the unmade bed, scattered tissues, and the lopsided stack of grading papers on your desk. “I love you,” he said as he handed you the box of chow mein, “But this is just… a mess, and I will be cleaning while we talk.” 

You gave a weak laugh as he started picking up the empty cups on your nightstand like he lived in your room, too. 

Steve sat gently on the edge of your bed, his tone soft. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to us.” His brows pulled together in concern. “I know we’re not… the best at this kind of thing, but we care and we want to help.” 

You looked down at the box in your hands, fingers digging into the paper. “It’s not that I didn’t feel comfortable with you guys,” you said, voice tight. “I just didn’t know how to explain it. And honestly, it’s stupid. I’ve been crying over Adam.” 

The words felt small and pathetic once they were out in the open. But the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental.

From the doorway, Bucky shifted his weight, arms still crossed tightly. His gaze stayed on the floor, then he mumbled, barely loud enough to hear. “It’s not… stupid.” 

You glanced up at him in surprise, but he refused to meet your eyes. 

Sam looked between the two of you with a knowing expression. “Well damn. If Barnes is offering moral support, then you’re officially at rock bottom.”

Bucky glowered at Sam while you flipped him off. “Whatever, Wilson,” you muttered in mock annoyance. 

Steve smiled, looking relieved that they were somehow helping. “Why don’t you go and spend a day with your own friends?” He suggested kindly, his tone gentle. “Not us, you know, like… women. People who get it more than we do.” 

“Sure! That’s cute,” You said dryly, bitterness bleeding into your voice. “Except all my friends were Adam’s friends, and when we broke up, he turned them all against me. They blocked me, every single one of them.”

“That motherf—“ 

“Okay,” Steve cut in quickly, shooting Sam a look before he could finish. “I’m calling Nat. She’ll know what to do.” 

“Nat?” You echoed, confused. “Who’s Nat?”

“Natasha,” Steve clarified, pulling out his phone.

“You know… Natasha Romanoff,” Sam clarified further, seeing your confused expression. “Black Widow…? Come on, keep up.”

“Oh no, no, no,” You sat up a little, alarmed. “I am not meeting her like this. She’s going to think I’m a loser. I mean, she kills men for sport, and I’m here sobbing into my pillow over one. I’m literally crying over someone who owns a mug that says ‘Rise and Grind’, I am beyond pathetic.” 

Steve raised his brow, but you kept going.

“It’s already embarrassing that you three know,” you muttered, tugging your blanket higher. “Just give me one more week of bed rotting and I swear I’ll bounce back.” 

“You’ve been rotting,” Sam said bluntly. “We’ve hit the compost stage.” 

“Advanced decay,” Bucky chimed in, arms still crossed. You shot him a glare. “Nat won’t judge.” Steve reassured, patting your shoulder gently. “She’ll understand more than we do.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “She’ll actually be gentle, like surprisingly gentle. You need someone who gets it, because if it were me? I’d just deck the guy and move on.” 

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed dramatically. “If I end up crying in front of Black Widow, I’m changing my name and I’m leaving the country.”

“She cried during Marley and Me, you’ll be fine,” Steve reassured as he pressed Natasha’s contact on his phone. 

——

The next morning, you shuffled out of your room in an oversized t-shirt and mismatched socks. Your only mission for the day: retrieve coffee without making eye contact with anyone. 

You failed instantly. 

All three of your roommates were seated around the dining table, and sitting casually among them, as if she hadn’t just completely caused your soul to leave your body, was her. 

Natasha. Romanoff.

The Black Widow. 

Former Assassin. Legendary Avenger. Threat to all men. 

She was drinking her coffee from one of your ridiculous mugs. She wore no tactical gear, no combat boots, just jeans and a fitted black top, with a posture so immaculate that it made you stand up a little straighter. 

Her red hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, and her gaze met yours the moment you entered. She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown, she just looked. It was as if she was quietly assessing whether you were dangerous or just a sad little mess Steve had guilted her into babysitting. 

You, of course, chose to freeze like a deer in headlights. 

Flattening your sleep-matted hair instinctively, you stood awkwardly in the doorway, wondering if you should apologize for daring to set foot in front of her presence. You didn’t understand why she was here. There was no way someone like Natasha Romanoff wasted time on strangers. She must’ve owed Steve big-time if she came to the loft immediately after he called yesterday. 

“Good morning,” Natasha said smoothly, voice low and unreadable. It was a statement, not a greeting. Like a poker player declaring her turn.  You stalled in real time, your brain shutting down in a panic. And then, you opened your mouth despite every survival instinct begging you not to embarrass yourself: 

“Hi. Wow. Is being hot a requirement to be an Avenger because… damn.” 

Silence. You could even hear the birds chirp outside. 

Sam snorted into his coffee. Steve blinked slowly like he was rebooting. Bucky coughed to hide what suspiciously sounded like a laugh. 

Natasha tilted her head, still expressionless. “Yes,” she said simply, and took another sip of her coffee. “That’s why Sam didn’t make the cut.” 

Your laugh came out before you could stop it. It was your first real laugh in weeks, and it caught everyone off guard. 

“Okay, first of all, I just didn’t sign the papers, Romanoff,” Sam shot back, pointing his fork at her like it was a weapon. “I was recruited! There were negotiations!” 

“Yeah,” she replied dryly. “Negotiations to keep you off the roster.” 

Steve hid a grin behind his coffee. Bucky didn’t bother hiding his smirk, though he kept eating like he wasn’t paying attention. 

Sam turned to you with a hand over his heart. “I’m being dragged in my own home. Do something,” he said, turning to you with pleading eyes. 

You dropped into an empty seat next to Bucky, grabbed a piece of toast, and casually stole a forkful of eggs from his plate. He shot you a look, brows knitting in mild disapproval, but he didn’t stop you. 

“Not too much on Sam,” you said with a grin. “He’s an emotional guy. He cried during Paddington 2.” 

“He went to prison!” Sam cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Why would you incarcerate a cute little bear who just wanted to make marmalade?!”

Steve nodded solemnly, like he was testifying in court. “It was deeply unfair.” 

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re all unwell.” 

“This is my life now,” Bucky muttered, sliding the rest of his eggs your way with a resigned sigh. You beamed at the gesture. 

Natasha took a sip of her coffee, eyes scanning you like she was running a background check. Then, finally, she nodded. “Okay. I like you. You’ve got potential.” 

You blinked at her, your fork halfway to your mouth. “Potential for…?” 

Natasha stood up from her chair, already grabbing her keys off the counter like this was a done deal. “Not sure yet, but you’re coming with me today.” 

You choked on your eggs. “What—why?” 

“Does it matter?” she said, already halfway to the door. 

You looked around the table like someone might save you, but Steve just gave you a thumbs up and took another sip of his coffee. “You’ll be fine.” 

“Fine or maybe dead,” you muttered. ‘What’s her idea of fun anyway?” you asked in a small, horrified voice as Natasha opened the front door. 

“Get dressed,” Natasha called. “Ten minutes. I leave with or without you.” 

Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Congratulations. You’ve been Romanoff’d.”

Bucky, now taking back his eggs, gave you a flat look and a lazy wave. Then, with zero sympathy, he nudged your chair with his foot. “Go. Now.” 

You groaned, already standing. “God help me,” you muttered, fast walking to your room like your life depended on it because with Natasha Romanoff waiting at the door, it just might. 

——

Spending the day with Natasha Romanoff was nothing like you’d expected, but exactly what you needed. She didn’t drag you to brunch to get bottomless mimosas or ask how you were feeling. Instead, she tossed you into the passenger seat of a black Corvette Stingray, drove like every red light was a suggestion, and took you to an underground boxing gym in Brooklyn where she taught you how to properly throw a punch. You expected sympathy, but she gave you bruised knuckles and a protein bar. 

Later, she made you walk through the city with her, mostly in comfortable silence, stopping only to grab overpriced lattes and people-watch like spies on a stakeout. At one point, she handed you a pair of sunglasses and muttered, “Put these on. We’re stalking your ex.” You tried to protest, but she was already leading the way, reciting tire-slashing tips like they were ancient wisdom. “Don’t worry,” she added coolly, “I’ll make sure there’s no trace.” You still don’t know how she found Adam’s car, but you did it, and oddly enough, it felt like therapy. 

By the time you got back to the loft, your head felt a little clearer, your shoulders a little lighter, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest had eased. You didn’t feel fixed, but you finally didn’t feel like rotting for the foreseeable future. 

Now, the five of you were sprawled across the loft’s living room, half-watching The Princess Diaries play on the TV. It was Sam’s idea, of course. He insisted that Bucky had to be cultured, and no one else had any other suggestions. 

Steve sat on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, fully invested. Bucky was squinting at the screen like he was trying to solve a murder. Natasha, lounging in the armchair with her legs propped on the ottoman, glanced at you. You were pitifully curled up under a blanket with a bowl of ice cream. She gave you a once-over, then turned to Steve. 

“She needs a rebound.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, maybe to disagree, but instead he gave Natasha a thoughtful look and decided to keep his mouth shut.

You choked on your spoon. “I’m sitting right here.” 

“Exactly,” Nat said coolly, not missing a beat. “You’re sitting, you’re sad, and you haven’t been laid in…?” 

“Do not answer that,” Sam interjected, hands raised. “Please, I beg.”

Unfazed, Natasha went on. “You need someone pretty who’ll tell you your hair looks good and you know… absolutely ruin you in the best way.” 

Your face flushed an alarming shade of red as you stared hard at the TV. “I need to get struck by lightning.” 

“Whatever you do,” Bucky said flatly from the opposite end of the couch, “Do it at his place. I’m not hearing that.” 

Sam gagged dramatically. “Can we not talk about her getting defiled during Princess Diaries?’ 

“Uh-uh,” Natasha cut in smoothly, already pulling out her phone. “No talking unless you’re volunteering, I need to focus.” 

Before anyone could argue, she cast her screen onto the TV, replacing The Princess Diaries entirely. Sam let out a horrified gasp as the screen flickered. 

“Nat! Princess Mia was about to give a speech!” 

“Shhh,” Natasha waved him off. “This is more important.” 

On the screen, three crisp photos appeared in a neat row. 

“These,” she said, gesturing toward the candidates like she was presenting a PowerPoint presentation, “are all people we know. Which means they’re not losers… not really. Low emotional investment, good hygiene, passably good-looking. All solid rebound options.” 

The screen displayed the following candidates: 

Johnny Storm — Shirtless in a bathroom mirror, abs flexed, sunglasses on indoors. There was a 99% chance this selfie had originally been sent to someone else, or possibly everyone else. He looked like the human embodiment of a “wyd?” text at 2 a.m. “This guy? Really?” Bucky sighed, genuinely disappointed. “Slim pickings, huh?” “I’d steer clear with this one,” Steve added with a grimace. 

Sébastien Noir — A S.H.I.E.L.D agent with a sleek black-and-white headshot, clearly pulled from a classified S.H.I.E.L.D file (because, of course, Nat had access to that). Dark hair and a darker smirk. Very French, very suave. “Could be the next James Bond,” Natasha said casually. “Or a complete poser,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Matt Murdock — The Avengers’ lawyer. Crisp navy suit, tousled hair, holding a cane and leaning casually against a brownstone like he walked out of a Jane Austen adaptation if it was directed by Scorsese. “I like this one,” Sam said with a thoughtful nod, “Lawyers have money.” 

After much deliberation and a fair amount of peer pressure, you begrudgingly settled on Sébastien Noir. Johnny had given you nothing but red flags, and you didn’t hate yourself enough to fall for a walking thirst trap with the romantic depth of a frat boy.. 

Matt Murdock, on the other hand, was too much. Too handsome, too smart, and too put together. You weren’t emotionally stable enough to be perceived by someone that kind, and to be honest, it felt borderline disrespectful to label him a rebound. 

So… Sébastien it was. 

Tall, French, and suspiciously charming, he felt like the safest terrible decision. There was a certain relief in choosing someone who came with low expectations and virtually no risk of actual feelings. If it all went up in flames, you could just blame it on ‘cultural misunderstanding’... or Natasha. 

“Are you sure about this…?” Steve asked cautiously, like he might step in and offer a better alternative if you gave him even a hint of hesitation. 

“Not really,” you admitted with a frown. “I feel like I’m setting feminism back a few decades.” 

“That’s how you know you chose the right rebound,” Natasha nodded while typing something on her phone, probably texting Sébastien himself. 

Bucky didn’t even bother commenting. He just sat there, slowly shaking his head like a man watching a car crash. 

“What? No notes?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow. 

“This is just… unbelievable,” He simply muttered, shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth like he was trying to eat away his disapproval. 

“To your slut era, I guess,” Sam said half-heartedly, raising his beer before switching the TV back to Princess Diaries like nothing life-altering had just occurred. 

——

Later that evening, on your way out of your room to brush your teeth, you caught a glimpse of Bucky standing by the hallway closet you jokingly dubbed the mini armory. The door was open, and dim light spilled out over the floor. He was unraveling a black bundle you vaguely remembered seeing months ago, back when you were just trying to store your cleaning supplies. 

You paused in your room’s doorway, unsure if he’d want company. 

The cloth slipped from his hands to reveal a silver prosthetic arm with a red star near the shoulder area. 

“So that’s what it was,” you said softly, stepping out just enough for him to hear. 

Bucky froze. His head turned slightly, shoulders tense. “You were looking around here?” 

“I just thought it was a normal closet, okay?” you said quickly, holding your hands up. “I was just looking for somewhere to stash my Swiffer and boom… murder closet.”

That earned the smallest twitch of his lips. Barely. 

“I should throw this thing out. Make room for your junk.” 

You smiled just a little at the jab. “I don’t know…” You said, tilting your head. “I kinda think you should keep it.”

He gave you a look. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s good to have a reminder of how far you’ve come,” you said, meeting his eyes. Then, with a wry twist of your lips, you added, “And also, maybe we can use it as a talking stick. In my class, we pass around this glittery baseball bat to stop the kids from yelling over each other. This could be our version.” 

That earned you a real smirk this time, brief but genuine. “You’re weird.” 

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” you said with a shrug, just as your phone buzzed. 

You glanced down at your phone to see a text from Sébastien. Bucky noticed, and his smirk immediately faded. 

“You’re going through with Romanoff’s idea?” He asked, crossing his arms. 

“Why not?” You replied, shrugging your shoulders. “It could be fun.” 

“You’re going to regret it,” he warned, putting his old prosthetic back inside the closet like he was wrapping up the conversation. 

“Probably,” you called over your shoulder as you turned to the bathroom, “But at least I won’t be looping Pride and Prejudice in my room anymore.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, he just gave you one last unreadable look before retreating to his room and closing the door with a soft click.

—————————————————————————————————— End Notes: this was so dumb i cracked myself up writing this one. oh and for some reason, when i was writing this i kept imagining Sébastien (original character) as Sebastian Stan when he was the mad hatter in ONCE hashsdhasdhahdfh i need to sleep oh and i will be changing the summaries to look like friends episode titles because why not

tags: @projectjuvia @vibraniumavenger @mommymilkers0526 @iyskgd @pllwprincess @hiraethmae @b1pan1cg1rly @starstruckfirecat @soupiemeowmeow @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @cherrypieyourface @lasnych @okbutiambabygorl @herejustforbuckybarnes @ilistentotayswifttocope @s-sh-ne @ficmeiguess @alagalaska

[alltimecharlo]

more mack biting will plssss

your wish is my command ✨🩵

Will’s not sure when the room got so quiet.

He’s pretty sure it was making noise before—he remembers the soft whir of the fan in the corner, the echo of someone’s playlist bleeding through the walls from the apartment next door—but all of it’s faded to the background now. Drowned out by Mack’s breathing, warm and steady against his jaw.

They’re on the couch, half tangled, the cushions sunken beneath them. Will’s legs are hooked around Mack’s, one sock half-off. His chest rises and falls, quickening when Mack leans in again, brushing their mouths together with a lazy sort of heat that makes Will hum low in his throat.

“I like kissing you,” Will murmurs, because it feels important to say.

Mack laughs quietly against his mouth. “Good,” he says, and kisses him again. “Would be awkward if you didn’t.”

Will huffs, but it turns into a sigh when Mack’s hands press at his sides, pulling him a little closer until Will’s back hits the cushions and Mack is above him, braced on one elbow. His eyes are dark and fond and focused, and Will thinks, fleetingly, that this is probably his favorite version of Mack—the soft one. The one who lets himself look at Will like this.

And then Mack tilts his head, just slightly.

Will freezes. His breath catches.

Because he knows that look.

“Mack—” he starts, and then bites his bottom lip as a shiver runs down his spine. “Don’t—don’t make me ask.”

Mack’s already grinning, that smug little tilt of his mouth that Will both wants to kiss and slap off his face. He ducks his head anyway, nose brushing the column of Will’s throat, lips following a second later. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Stay still.”

Will swallows hard and tilts his chin, exposing his neck without a second thought.

Mack bites down, not too hard—more nibble than anything, the scrape of teeth and then the wet press of lips—and Will shudders under him, hands tightening in the back of Mack’s shirt.

“God,” he breathes. “You’re so annoying.”

“Mm.” Mack presses another kiss lower, down over his collarbone, one hand slipping up under the hem of Will’s shirt. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Will’s not even going to dignify that with a reply. Not when Mack keeps going, trailing kisses lower still, over the thin fabric of Will’s t-shirt, teeth dragging just enough to leave warmth and goosebumps in their wake. He’s not trying to hurt, not really—just mark. Just claim, in a way that’s subtle and selfish and sweet all at once.

When Will glances down, he sees it in Mack’s face—that soft focus, like he’s lost in the moment, like he doesn’t even realize how gently he’s looking at him.

Will reaches up, cups the back of his neck, and smiles.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “You’re kinda cute, you know that?”

Mack just groans, buries his face in Will’s chest for a second before glancing up again, cheeks flushed and mouth kiss-reddened. “Shut up,” he mutters.

Will doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

He’s too happy to, grinning like an idiot as Mack mouths at his shoulder again, slow and easy, leaving behind little teeth marks that bloom red before they fade.

He knows they’ll be gone by morning.

But it doesn’t matter. Not really.

Because Mack’s still here, and Will’s still his to touch.

♡

[shouterwatt]

BIRTHDAY BOY X READER

You can clearly see that I'm trying to be as aesthetic as possible

NOTICE! → dom gender neutral reader, sub younger character, NSFW

MINOR DNI

Archie Archie, such a little spoiled brat, isn't he, Romancer?

Meeting

It was his 18th birthday and everyone hated little Archie because he's a little whiny spoiled bitch so naturally everyone at his birthday is his mother and father

And his mother (bless her heart) she felt bad for her bitch ass son so she hired you and your friend's group to come to his birthday, so you'd assume it would be kind of awkward having a bunch of strangers on his birthday (it was) but who cares? you get cash and cake, win-win am I right?

So here he is sitting on his chair with his cake set on his kitchen table in front of him he had his eyes set on the cake so he didn't notice that everyone in his birthday party is a stranger besides his parents after he blew his dumb little candles out he looked around and realized wait- who are these people?

Oh wait it's gift time who cares?

As you friends start giving him the dumb ass gifts they got from the dollar store you start to realize you have to bring a gift in a birthday party

"hey, what about you? Where's my gift?"

"uhh I forgor"

Oh for fuck sake how can you forget to get a gift??

And now he's glaring at you whilst he's cutting the cake just great

While his mom was about to give you a piece of cake just like every one of your friends he stopped her

"um actually mom I think I want to talk to them for second"

Before she could answer he dragged you to his room probably still pity about the gift locking the door

" you think you can just come to my party without a gift? Well think again I want my gift and I want it now!"

"but I didn't bring anything"

"well you did bring yourself in here"

NSFWish?

Before you can even ask him what he meant that mf got down on his knees in front of you crotch smirking like a little bitch and looking up at you

"doesn't that technically mean that you're my gift?..."

"no not really"

"but it has to be you I mean it's your fault you didn't bring me one"

"can I just give you two dollars or something?"

"but I wanna taste you..."

He doesn't look even a bit fazed by your offer nuzzling against your crotch like a bitch in heat

Bitch got you considering it I mean free cash, cake and oral? You can just snatch the cake after and go home...

"fine but nothing more and this doesn't make us anything"

"yes yes! Thank you..."

He almost jumped in joy when you said yes almost snatching your clothes off literally gawking at your privates like fucking pervert and you're sure you heard his mom yelling for him to come which he obviously didn't hear too busy digging his face in your privates doing everything he knows as pathetic virgin boy with never done something like this before

Anyway you got your oral and cash and his mom even gave you a piece of cake

He's not gonna start begging you for more right? RIGHT?

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. VIII

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1747

previous chapter.

Su-Gang's hand shot on its own to grab you by the back of your neck. 

However, before he could, a familiar face showed up. 

"Teacher [Name]."

Jae-Kyeong stood in front of you, her chest heaving up and down. A cluster of her curly hair stuck on her forehead, indicating that she was sweating—she ran all the way here. 

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I need her help." 

"Can't you see that we aren't done talking yet?" He loosened his tie and combed his hair with his fingers. "Are you blind?"

"It's an urgent matter." 

"Do I look like I care?"

"What could be it?" you rasped.

"Papers." The apples of her cheekbones moved upward. "Come with me." 

You did not let Su-Gang do something; you practically sprinted just to get to your colleague.

You were saved.

"I see," you said, nodding. 

She grasped your arm and drag you with her until you got out of the hallways that led to the art room. 

"I didn't know what's going on, but you need to stop provoking him. If it weren't for that first year, I wouldn't have known that you were with him right now."

"Ah, Jin-Hyung." 

"Think of your safety." She smiled, but there was a knowing disapproval laced in it. "And ours, too." 

It made you feel nauseated to hear her speak about her worries when she was just like her other coworkers—of those who were dangling you into the waters as bait to keep the beast from harming them, and they were enjoying that you were acting as their shield unwillingly, yet now that you were doing the same to them, suddenly, you were jeopardizing everyone due to your selfishness.

A person without a backbone to keep them standing up and from breaking down the moment his eyes has been laid upon them, lecturing you? A person who could do nothing but apologize and beg for mercy when his mother arrived at the school with her hells lacking like a horse galloping through a battlefield. Whether it was due to concern or otherwise, you could not help but be disgusted with it. In fact, if you could pull out your guts out and squeeze all of their contents to dispose this creeping feeling that nestled inside your core. 

How dare they act as though they know Su-Gang more than you? 

Even if they were to spend their lifetime with him, their knowledge about him and how far he can go with his little games of amusement would never amount to what you have witnessed firsthand. In a place where he was the emperor—even higher than his kingly power inside the complicated walls and architecture of this school���only you were the only one who could even manage to get close to him. You have came to near to him that you saw the extent of what he can do just because. 

"Where are you going?"

You did not even realize you were diverting from the path to the faculty, but you made no move to follow her again. 

"Washroom," you replied.

You left her and made your way to the nearest single-stall lavatory. Inside, you immediately searched for a trash bin and threw the mask you did not know you kept holding onto for dear life. You locked the knob and leaned onto the door. 

"Damn this school," you spoke under your breath. 

You turned the tap on and made the water gush out loudly. You let its noise drown the thoughts that plagued your mind to no end, and you let it calm you down before you do anything more idiotic than saving that kid from Su-Gang. You gasped for air, keeping yourself from gagging and expelling the food you have eaten during lunch earlier. You gathered some of the water with your palms, and you washed your mouth. You rubbed your lips—inner and outer—to scrub off any of the trace that might have penetrated your mask. Tears then fell from your eyes, but they were not out of fear.

They were out of vexation, each drop filled of despisal for everyone who existed in this cursed place—including and especially yourself. You simply wanted to live normally, but you knew that you could not—yet you could not let go of that foolish desire of spending your days as a teacher peacefully when the monster you escaped from was the one who owned it.

"Hah," you scoffed.

You chuckled bitterly, feeling that helplessness you have once felt before inside the clutches of his family. You knew their tenacity more than anyone else in this school, and you knew that they were not the ones to let go of a grudge. 

You supposed that this was the greatest consequence that you could ever have. 

Like a rat, you have skittered around in order not to catch the wrath of those who claim to value you a little more than the people they can get rid of without even batting an eye. They loved you so much they wanted you in their picture-perfect family, but you did not want to join them, so you left. With those scars that could never fade, you left them with promise of no return. 

So why were you here?

Why do you keep stepping inside this school knowing what he was capable of doing just to have you again? Why do you keep attending the class that he was in? Why do you keep pushing through, when you could have accepted you fate and let him control you like a puppet? 

"Don't make me laugh," you mumbled. 

Either you die or you leave—those were the only options for you. 

Either he kill you or he fire you—those were the only options for him. 

No matter which choice he take, there is no other end but him letting you go—of setting you free once and for all. 

Because in this quiet yet deadly battle of yours against him, you refuse to lose. 

You need to win, and you would rather die than stop trying.

"He should be the one who needs to stop provoking me."

Your phone vibrated inside your pocket, and thankfully, it was not your mother. 

"Hey," Kwon-Jung said. 

"Hi."

"Are you feeling well?" He coughed. "Your voice sounds hoarse."

"Says you."

You covered the microphone of your device and sniffled, not wanting him to hear that you were crying. Of all people, you did not want him to be involved with the complexities of your past, which was now entangled with your present. 

"Let's meet up," he abruptly borough up. "It's Friday." 

"I don't have money to spare."

You used your non-dominant hand to hold your phone, while you used the other one to cup yourself water to rinse your eyes with. You blinked your tears away, and soon, you have stopped crying. 

"My treat, then."

"How generous of you."

"I'm not kidding. Today's my day off."

"And you're sick?" you teased. "Talk about unlucky."

"Mhm."

You heard him create some noises only a sick person could make, and you made him finish his capella before hitting him with something you knew all too well would make his mood worse. 

"Can Si-Min come?"

"No."

"Why not?" you drawled. 

His cousin, Si-Min, was the reason he met you, and he will always be grateful to her due to that. However, there was no way he could want to send this moment with you with her, since they frequently meet each other anyway. Besides, he want to be a one with you at least once. 

"You've met up just this recent." 

You laughed softly, not even clearing up that you were merely annoying him by asking a question he obviously disliked hearing. 

"Wear a mask when you meet me." 

"That's a given."

When the call ended, you felt your chest has become lighter than before. 

Your remaining classes passed by in a blur, and you soon found yourself walking toward the entrance of the school. 

Not too far was a tall man, with his side leaning against the metal bars of one of the gates. He was not putting any foot inside the academic institution, and you appreciated that he was abiding with even the smallest and simplest of rules. 

"You're wearing a hoodie," you said pointedly. "Couldn't you have worn something nicer?"

He grunted before stepping backwards. 

"I'm sick. Be nicer with me, would you?"

He even coughed to make his point clearer. 

You pulled him back to stumble for a step inside or two, and to your silent approval, he lowered his head so you could put your hand on it and estimate his degree of sickness.

"If you're so sick, then you shouldn't have come here." 

"I missed you," he answered sincerely. 

Your nose scrunched, and you only realized that you forgot to wore a mask.

"Ugh." You mildly nudged him on the forehead. "I'm telling Si-Min about this." 

"No. Everything but that," he protested. "She'll kick me in the face."

"You'll survive it, don't ya worry."

"[Name]."

"Whatever shall you do?" You huffed, a small quirk of your lips showing. "Unfortunately for you, you'll need to comfort me with your company."

When he heard that, his joking yet gentle disposition switched into a more concerned one. 

"Something happened?" 

"I'll tell you about it once we're somewhere safer."

"Safer?"

You need not to elaborate what you could mean by that, but you really wanted to tell him. 

Lest something happens to you in the future.

"Later."

He peeled his eyes away from you and quickly looked around the entirety of the buildings. His eyes fell onto a car with a group of students resting on its rear.

"Sure."

He held your hand, and his heat almost scorched you.

"You're burning," you commented.

From the opposite side, Eun-Gyo eyed your pair with curiosity. Moon-Ki glanced at her, wondering why she was staring at the gates for a minute now. With Su-Gang gone, she was a lot quieter, and it would not take any genius to figure out that her loud enthusiasm to eager him was faux, used to keep him from making her target. 

"What are you loo—"

"Miss Temp," she cut him off. 

The others followed her gaze, and soon, the few cogs inside their miniscule brains turned. 

"Don't tell him about this," Su-Gang's second-hand man ordered them. "No one's telling him about this."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

"Don't tell me what?"

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ashayein @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525

[dayasfilms]

Chapter Nine - The Beginning of the End

Summary: You defeated Vecna but Hawkins is left destroyed. Thinking that it’s over, you all soon realize that it’s far from that, and that this was just the beginning of the end.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Y/N, blood, death, gore, choking, murder, hospitals, broken bones, mentions of being brain dead and being blind, thoughts of self harm, depression, feeling worthless, mentions of sex, weapons, angst, fluff, heartbreak, crying, insecurity, making out, mentions of menstruation, pregnancy, and children, descriptions of getting naked to shower but nothing happens, surgeries, fire, little bit of changes in the plot but nothing too drastic

Word Count: 12.1k

Note: Reticent is finally finished! Until ST season five releases, this series is done! I had such a fun time writing and sharing all of my ideas with you all. It makes me delighted that so many of you have read this and ended up liking it, it truly warms my heart. I want to say that I will be posting Reticent one shots when I have the time so you can delve deeper into Star’s story. Many of the storylines cannot be integrated in the original series, so these one shots happen outside of the regular timeline. If you would like to read them, you can click on this link or even go back to the main Reticent Series Masterlist below and find them there. Thank you so much for letting me share this story with you all!

Series Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

Steve parked the RV just outside the trailer park after dropping off Lucas, Erica, and Max. All of you remained inside, gathered around to go over the plan one last time. Standing at the front, your gun and sword secured in their holsters, you faced the group. “Alright. Let’s run through it again. One more time. Phase one.”

“We meet Erica at the playground,” Nancy said. “She’ll signal Max and Lucas when we’re ready.”

“Phase two,” you continued.

“Max baits Vecna,” Steve added. “He’ll go after her, which’ll put him in his trance.”

“Phase three?”

“Me and Eddie draw the bats away,” Dustin said with a nod.

“And phase four?” You asked, eyes sweeping the group.

“We head into Vecna’s newly bat-free lair and…flambé,” Robin finished, shaking the bottle in her hand.

You let out a breath, gaze serious. “No one moves to the next phase until we’ve all copied. No one deviates from the plan. No matter what. Got it?”

“Got it,” they echoed in unison.

You all stood and exited the RV, making your way toward Eddie’s trailer. Through the darkness, you slipped inside without any of the neighbors noticing. Steve then flicked on the light and shrugged off his bag.

“Be careful,” Dustin told him.

“Thanks, buddy,” Steve replied, grabbing hold of the rope. He climbed up and disappeared through the gate. A few seconds later, he looked up at them, shrugging with his arms out.

“Woah, what does he want us to do? Applaud?” Robin muttered to you and Nancy. You chuckled softly, unable to help it.

On the other side, Steve dragged a mattress beneath the opening. “Alright, let’s go.” You took off your bag and weapons, tossing it through the gate before grabbing the rope and climbing. The moment your body hit the mattress, Steve reached a hand out to help you stand. “Gotcha.”

His hand lingered on yours. You looked at each other, just for a second, and then you both looked away, releasing your hands. Nancy came next, using Robin’s knee as a boost. She landed with a thud, and you helped her up and away from the gate. One by one, everyone followed, tossing their gear through and climbing after it. Dustin was last, with Steve and Eddie grabbing each side of him, pulling him up.

Once everyone was through, you slung your bag over your shoulder, picked up your weapons, and headed out of the trailer. Just before you left, you and Steve turned back to face Dustin and Eddie.

“Hey, guys, listen,” Steve said seriously, locking eyes with them. “If things here start to go south, I mean, at all, you abort. Okay? Draw the attention of the bats. Keep ‘em busy for a minute or two. We’ll take care of Vecna.”

The boys stared back, silent.

“Don’t try to be cute or be a hero or something. Okay? You guys are just–”

“Decoys,” Dustin finished. “Don’t worry. You can be the hero, Steve.”

“Absolutely. I mean, look at us,” Eddie said, gesturing between him and Dustin. “We are not heroes.”

Steve gave a short nod. You stepped forward and pulled Dustin into a hug. “Be careful,” you murmured.

“You too,” he said, hugging you tightly.

You and Steve turned to leave when Eddie called the latter out. “Hey, Steve?” Steve glanced back. “Make him pay.”

Steve nodded firmly, falling back into step beside you. You, Steve, Nancy, and Robin walked away together, flashlights sweeping the path ahead as you made your way to the Creel House.

Yasmin, Joyce, and Hopper were inside the dimly lit church, trying to catch their breath from everything they’d just been through. Hopper rummaged through a stack of old boxes tucked in the corner, searching for fresh clothes. After a minute, he found a few pieces that looked somewhat wearable and tossed them onto another box beside him.

He turned to face the two women, holding up a couple of shirts and pants. “Yeah, these were the smallest I could find.”

Yasmin let out a tired sigh and stepped forward, taking the bundle from his hands. There was a coat too, the same kind Hopper had picked for himself. He handed another pair of clothes and a jacket to Joyce. The three of them glanced around the church, eyes scanning for a bit of privacy.

“I think there was a bathroom in there,” Joyce said, nodding her head toward the back of the room.

“You can go, Joyce,” Yasmin offered gently, before motioning to another corner. “I’ll change over there.”

Joyce gave her a grateful smile before heading toward the bathroom. As Yasmin made her way past Hopper, she bumped into him lightly, both of them letting out small, tired laughs. She went behind a shelf, casting a quick glance over her shoulder as Hopper moved to the opposite corner. Then she turned back to the shelf in front of her and began setting the clothes down.

Finally free of the worn, filthy outfit she’d been stuck in for days, Yasmin pulled her shirt and pants off, left in just her undergarments. She exhaled, grateful to breathe without the tightness of fabric clinging to her. She quickly slipped on the new shirt and pants, pulling them up just as she turned and froze at the sight of Hopper.

He was facing away from her, wrapping a bandage around his injured arm. Her eyes fell on the marks covering his back. Her heart clenched in pain.

She stepped toward him, her eyes tracing the scars. “What did they do to you?” Yasmin whispered, her voice trembling. Hopper turned slowly, his back now pressed against the shelf. “Oh my God.”

He gave a small shake of his head, clearly trying to not worry her. “No, it’s not that bad. It’s…” He let out a slow breath. “You know, I needed to lose weight anyway.”

Yasmin frowned, giving him a stern look.

“It’s given me time to think, you know?” He said, eyes moving away from hers. “About who I’ve been…and what I’ve done.” He met her gaze again. “I never should’ve sent you that message.”

“No,” she said quickly, cutting him off. “You didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“I knew it’d be dangerous.”

“So did I.” Yasmin’s voice was firm. “I’m glad you sent it. I made the choice to come here, to find you. And I would choose it again, even knowing everything I know now.”

He stared at her, like he still couldn’t believe she was standing there. Yasmin tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile forming on her lips.

“Besides…we have that date to get to. You remember?” She said.

“Remember?” Hopper scoffed, smiling for real now. “I’ve been dreaming about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve got it all planned out,” he said with a nod.

Yasmin laughed under her breath. “Oh? Let’s hear it.”

“I’m getting two orders of breadsticks. Two,” he said, pointing a finger. “Those things knock your socks off. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. And when you dip it in olive oil? Forget about it. And for the main course…I’m torn between the veal and the lasagna, but I think I gotta go with lasagna, right?”

She looked at him, half smiling, half aching. “You’ve been dreaming about breadsticks and lasagna?”

He nodded without hesitation. “I’ve been on a diet of watery soup, moldy bread, and maggots, so yeah, I’ve been dreaming about breadsticks and lasagna. I mean, sue me.” She laughed, eyes glimmering. Hopper straightened, stepping closer to her. “Should I have been dreaming about something else?” He asked, voice softer now.

She shrugged, a little breathless. “You tell me.”

“Well…there’s wine.”

“Oh, well, wine’s good,” she said, playing along.

“I was thinking a nice Cheeanti.”

“It’s Chianti,” she corrected.

“Chianti. Right.” He nodded, unbothered. “Then there’s dessert.”

“Of course. Gotta have dessert,” Yasmin said, crossing her arms.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

There was a pause before she spoke again. “And after that?” She asked, lips barely parting.

Hopper couldn’t help it. He smiled again, wider than he had in months, taking another step until there was no space left between them. “I don’t know.”

“Use your imagination,” she whispered.

“Who needs imagination?”

And then, he finally kissed her. His lips met hers like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, his hands sliding around her waist as she rose to meet him, arms wrapping around his neck. Their laughter tangled between kisses as Hopper accidentally backed into a stack of boxes, nearly knocking them over. They couldn’t stop touching each other. His hands moved to her hair, her fingers cupping his face, and for a second, they drowned out everything around them. They waited too long to have this moment.

Suddenly, the phone rang. They broke apart, groaning in irritation and half out of breath. Then they realized that the call could be from them. Hopper immediately pulled away and rushed toward the phone, Yasmin staying behind, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

“Remember, they’re listening!” She told him sharply as he picked it up.

The four of you continued through the woods, but the longer you walked, the more unsure you became about your direction. The worry about getting lost crept in your mind. Robin seemed to be thinking the same.

“Uh…I don’t mean to freak anyone out, but I swear we’ve seen this tree before,” Robin said nervously, pointing.

“That’s impossible,” Nancy said, shaking her head.

“That would suck, right?” Robin muttered. “If Vecna destroyed the world because…because we got lost in the woods?”

“We’re not lost, Robin,” Nancy assured her, walking up behind. “Robin, hey. Watch out for the vines! Hive mind!”

“Careful, Robin!” You called, watching the two girls ahead. You stayed beside Steve, your eyes drifting to the ground as you tried to find something to say.

“Don’t worry about her,” Steve said. “She’s just stressed. You know, scared.”

You gave a small chuckle. “Yeah. Believe me, I know the feeling. It’s just…”

“She’s a super klutz?” He asked with a grin.

You tilted your head, amused. “She did tell Nancy and I that it took her longer than most babies to learn how to walk, so…”

Steve laughed. “I really shouldn’t laugh. When I was a baby, I actually crawled backwards.”

You blinked. “What? Crawled backwards? Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Yep,” he said. “You know, I’d push with my hands like this.” He motioned forward with his palms. “Beep, beep. Always in reverse, you know?” You stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Come on, it makes sense,” he insisted. “You push to move, right?”

“No,” you said, laughing. “No, it absolutely doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, it did to my tiny little Harrington brain. That is, until I reversed my baby butt down a flight of stairs and thumped my head really good.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh my God. That explains so much.”

“Yeah. I think it kinda does.” He gave you a sheepish smile. “I think, like, right out of the gate, like, I’m super confident. But I’m also, like, an idiot. Which is just…I mean, it’s a brutal combination.”

You frowned. “You’re not an idiot, Steve. Don’t say that.”

He chuckled, softer this time. “Nah, I definitely am. But, I mean, the good news is, I get a big enough thump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. I can crawl forward.” He slowed, turning slightly toward you. “Listen, I guess what I’m trying to say in a really stupid, roundabout way is, um…is thank you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Thank me?”

“Yeah.”

“For what?”

“For giving my head the biggest thump of its life two years ago.”

You paused, the memory hitting you at once. The Halloween party, the bathroom, the words you said when you revealed the reason why you ended things with him in the first place. Steve had never forgotten. Neither did you.

He started walking again, and you followed. “I needed it. It’s changed my life. And now I’m crawling forward. Slowly.”

Your chest tightened. He still remembered. He still thought about it.

“I just wonder sometimes…you know, if some other girl had given me a proper thump before we’d met, would things have been different?” He turned his entire body to look at you again. “Like, if we were meeting together for the first time right now, part of me…I dunno, part of me thinks we would’ve made it.”

You felt the heat rise in your chest, heart pounding. His words made your throat close up. You couldn’t move, eyes locked onto him. “Steve…”

“Remember the dream I told you about?” His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. “About the Winnebago? Seeing the country with my six little nuggets?”

You nodded slowly, a small smile forming.

He smiled too. “It’s all true. Every last word. But I left one part out. It’s the most important part.” He stepped closer, his voice soft. “You’re there. You’ve always been there.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the words rising in your throat, but they wouldn’t come out. You just stood there, stunned. “Steve…I–”

“Hey, guys!” Robin’s voice cut through the moment. “Awesome news! Looks like we weren’t going the wrong way after all!”

Nancy stood beside her, watching the two of you carefully. Her gaze lingered on you, noticing how you stared down at your boots. “Let’s go,” Nancy said, turning away.

Robin took off running, prompting Steve to shout. “Robin! Slow down!”

You and Steve followed, walking in silence. As you made your way to the Creel House, your mind was still back in that moment, still playing his words over and over again. You’d have to talk to him later. If you all even made it out alive.

You reached the edge of the woods, your eyes landing on the old house in the distance. The blue tinted sky flashed with red, and the air was filled with high-pitched screeching. As you turned your head, you caught sight of the playground, its lights flickering.

“Erica…” Steve breathed out.

You rushed toward the playground, giving Erica the signal that you had arrived. Now all you could do was wait for the next phase.

It didn’t take long for Erica to speak. “Okay, the lovebirds have copied. Max is moving into phase two: distracting Vecna.”

“So far, so smooth,” Robin said nervously.

“Yeah, we’re not even at the hard part yet,” Steve replied.

Your gaze shifted back to the house, brows furrowed. “Take the bait, you son of a bitch,” you mumbled to yourself, thinking about Max. “Take the damn bait.”

Then Erica’s voice came through again. “Okay, she’s in. Initiate phase three.” Your chest tightened. Max was in the trance again, under Vecna’s spell. You had to get this done as soon as possible.

Robin quickly radioed Dustin and Eddie. “She’s in. Move on to phase three.”

“Copy that. Initiating phase three,” Dustin answered. Soon, the distant noise of metal music filled the air, and you saw the bats swarming toward it, away from the house.

“Okay, it’s working. Let’s go,” Nancy said.

The four of you stood up and moved toward the house. You led the way, the music growing louder with each step. Screeches from the bats echoed in the night as they went toward the sound. Steve picked up his pace until he was walking beside you. The two of you reached the front door, and he pushed it open. Your breath caught. Vines covered nearly every inch of the house’s interior.

“Oh shit,” Steve muttered. “That’s not good.”

You exchanged a look with him. He gave you a quick nod, then began hopping in the small spaces between the vines. You turned to check on Nancy and Robin. Robin was trembling.

Nancy reached for her hand. “It’s okay. You got this.”

Robin met her eyes, still unsure. You stepped back towards her and gently took Robin’s other hand. “Don’t worry. We’re here with you.”

Robin gave you both a small, grateful smile and nodded. You all turned back to face the vines, stepping carefully through the little gaps. The stairs were the worst, with it being completely covered. You tried to control your breathing as you made your way up, dodging all the vines.

At the top, Steve reached out to help pull you up. You took his hand, letting him steady you. He helped the others too, and soon all four of you stood at the top. Your eyes went straight to the attic door. Vecna was in there, no doubt in a trance. You glanced between your friends, preparing yourselves. One by one, you drew your weapons, your hand tightening around your shotgun.

But before you could move, the entire house began to shake violently. Steve and Nancy grabbed your arms on either side as the floor shook beneath you and all four of you tumbled back.

After a long minute, the ground stilled. You scrambled upright, your breaths ragged.

Then, suddenly, a vine wrapped around Robin’s ankle. Her eyes went wide with terror. She was pulled backward and slammed into the wall. Vines surged forward, wrapping around her legs, arms, and throat, pinning her in place.

“Steve! Y/N! Nancy!” She screamed, her voice cracking.

You and Nancy jumped forward, smashing your shotguns into the vines to break them off. Steve swung his axe, cutting into them, but another vine wrapped around his weapon, ripping it from his hands and pulling him to the other wall. He struggled to retrieve it when one coiled tightly around his throat and slammed him into the wall. More vines followed, pinning his limbs.

Nancy cried out as she was struck next, thrown across the floor before being slammed against the wall beside Robin. Vines constricted around her limbs and throat just as fast.

Your heart pounded in terror as a vine wrapped around your ankle, throwing you off your feet. Your shotgun flew out of your hands as you were dragged across the floor. You fought to get free, clawing at the ground.

Reaching behind you, you grabbed your sword and swung it blindly. The blade sliced through the vine, freeing you. But before you could get up, another vine tied around your arm and slammed you against the wall beside Steve. Your head hit hard against the surface, pain exploding at the same exact spot you’ve hit so many times, already aching and throbbing.

The vines continued to twist around your arms and legs, locking you in place. One tightened around your neck, choking you. You tried to fight it, but it was no use. Your airway was cut off. You felt yourself slipping, darkness creeping in as your vision blurred.

You weren’t ready. You still had to finish Vecna, you had to save Max. You still had so many things you wanted to say to everyone. So many unspoken words to the people you loved. But your chances of surviving this felt terrifyingly slim.

“You shut off this fence, right?” Hopper asked, glancing between Yasmin, Joyce, and Murray as they stepped into the prison yard.

“Yeah,” Joyce replied with a nod.

“Good,” Hopper said, turning to face them. “So you can turn it back on again.”

Murray chuckled dryly, throwing his arms up. “Jim, you wanna clue us in on what you’re thinking here, or are we supposed to read your mind?”

Hopper looked around the empty yard, jaw clenched. “This pit was designed to trap monsters. We get ‘em in here, we lock it up, we rain fire from above, and we hope to hell that gives El, Y/N, and the others an upper hand.”

They had already snuck back into the prison, only to find everything destroyed. The tanks that once held the frozen creatures were shattered, glass littering the ground. Most of the Russian guards were dead.

One guard had been barely clinging to life, long enough to warn them that the shadow had entered the creatures, making them come alive. They’d watched the surveillance monitors in horror, seeing the demogorgons stalking the halls. The monsters had already killed the rest of the guards. There was no one left. They knew there was only one thing left to do to help everyone back at home.

“Okay,” Murray said, nodding slowly. “I’m with ya, except the whole, uh…‘getting them all in here’ part.”

“It’s a hive mind,” Hopper explained. “You draw one, you draw ‘em all.” He tossed a flamethrower to Joyce, the second already in Murray’s hands. Then he pointed at both of them. “You two are the grill masters.”

He turned to Yasmin next. Her brow was furrowed with confusion.

“And you,” he said. “You’re the jailer. Get that fence turned on. Once they’re all in here, lock the door behind ‘em.”

Yasmin didn’t move. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She had a feeling about what he was going to do, but she didn’t want to say out loud. “What about you?” She asked. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m the bait.”

The words hit her like a punch to the chest. She could barely breathe. She followed him silently back toward the security room, where the monitors and gate controls were. Her stomach twisted. Her throat burned. The only thought echoing in her head was that he was going to lure the demogorgons himself.

Hopper pointed to one of the monitors. “That one there,” he said. “See him? In the laundry room? It’s not far from here. He’s all alone. He’s our target.”

Yasmin couldn’t move. All she could think about was the people she lost. Her daughter was gone. She lost Hopper months ago in the mall. She had survived that grief once, barely. Now she had him back. And she had you after her daughter. She couldn’t do it again.

“Hey,” Hopper said softly, pulling her back. His hands landed on her shoulders. “I’m gonna die someday. But not today.” He gave her a gentle smile. “I’ve still got a date to make. Remember?”

He was trying to keep it light, but nothing about this felt light. Yasmin shook her head, her voice shaky. “I don’t know, Hop,” she whispered.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, his hand rising to cup her cheek. “This time,” he said, his voice certain. “It’s gonna be different.”

She sucked in a shaky breath, eyes slipping shut. “It better be,” she whispered. Then she opened them, locking her gaze with his. “Because I am not having another funeral.”

He kissed her then, softly, telling her that it would be okay. And when he pulled away, Yasmin was still holding her breath, praying that this time would be different.

Yasmin stayed glued to the monitor, barely breathing as she watched Hopper head down the corridor, searching for the demogorgon he’d chosen to target. Her fists clenched at her sides. Every second felt too long. She saw him come to a stop, whistling to get the creature’s attention. The demogorgon let out a low growl before chasing him.

Her heart climbed into her throat. She kept watching, unable to look away. He ran, dodging into different hallways, trying to keep his distance, but she knew he could only keep it up for so long. She glanced around the security room in a panic, eyes falling on the taser prods hanging on the wall. Without hesitation, she grabbed one and bolted out the door, the grip of the weapon tight in her hand as her boots pounded against the floor.

Her breath was heavy as she turned a corner, praying she wasn’t too late, and then she saw them. The demogorgon had Hopper pinned, mouth split open and ready to feast. He was using everything in him to close its mouth.

She ran at full speed, raising the taser and jamming it into the creature’s side, electricity crackling as it screamed in pain. The demogorgon thrashed once and then collapsed.

Hopper stood up, chest heaving as he looked at her with wide eyes, relief flooding his face. “Yasmin,” he breathed, pulling her into his arms.

Thudding footsteps echoed through another corridor. They were loud and heavy, and they were getting closer to them. They both turned at the same time, eyes landing on the wave of demogorgons charging toward them. Hopper immediately grabbed her hand and ran, pulling her down the hall and into the open prison yard. He used his shotgun to shoot at them, trying to slow the creatures down.

But the monsters were still right behind them, they were too fast. They went into the closest cell, Hopper slamming the door shut just as the creatures reached them. His arms wrapped tightly around her, both of them bracing for impact as the gate was broken away.

One of the demogorgons roared and stepped through, snarling and ready to kill. Yasmin froze, her entire body going numb. This was it. They were going to die.

“HEY, ASSHOLES!”

Murray’s voice rang out and the demogorgons paused, heads snapping up toward the sound. Flames burst across the yard as Murray and Joyce opened fire with their flamethrowers, lighting up everything in sight. Hopper pulled Yasmin to him, shielding her away from the heat. The demogorgons screeched, burning as the fire consumed them, one by one.

As soon as the last bit of hope slipped from your mind, you felt the vines release you. All four of you dropped to the ground, gasping for air. You coughed harshly, bringing a trembling hand to your throat, trying to ease the soreness as your chest heaved with every breath.

“I don’t believe in a higher power or divine intervention,” Robin croaked, her voice rough from the pressure on her throat. “But that was a miracle.”

You grabbed your weapons, sliding your sword into the holster on your back as you held your shotgun tight in your hand. You turned toward the door, your body still shaking. “Then we better not waste it.”

“Phase four,” Steve said under his breath.

“Flambé,” Robin added.

You walked into the attic, your eyes locked on Vecna who was in his trance just like you’d hoped. Robin lit the bottle in Steve’s hand, and without wasting a second more, threw it straight toward the monster. The flames immediately engulfed Vecna’s body. His eyes snapped open, his scream echoing through the room as he fell to the floor.

Thousands of miles away, there was still another monster. After Joyce and Murray lit all the remaining demogorgons in time, they all turned into a blob, the fire sizzling out on the prison field. Smoke thickened the air as Hopper and Yasmin exited the cell, both of them shaking. But Yasmin’s eyes caught onto another demogorgon that was still moving. It staggered to its feet, injured but alive, a low growl coming from its mouth. She also noticed a sword a few feet away from Hopper’s feet.

Before he could reach for it, Yasmin stepped forward and grabbed it herself. Hopper paused, looking at her, but her eyes were on the creature. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, anger burning beneath her skin. She had enough of this.

Back in the Creel House, Vecna let out another cry as Robin lit the second bottle and threw it, more flames burning him. You and Nancy raised your shotguns, stepping forward. The two of you fired in sync, bullets tearing into Vecna’s chest, the force knocking him back. He stumbled but didn’t fall. He locked eyes with you both, and you didn’t hesitate to fire again, making him scream in pain.

Yasmin slid forward, the sword slicing through one of the demogorgon’s arms. It roared and stumbled but didn’t stop. It swiped at her with its remaining arm, but she ducked, spinning low to the ground before slashing again, this time cutting off the creature’s leg. Blood splattered across her face, but she didn’t flinch.

Nancy stepped back and watched as you advanced toward Vecna. He tried to step forward again, but your next shot hit his shoulder, throwing him off balance. His body shook as his legs almost gave way, though he still remained standing.

With a full turn of her body, Yasmin swung the sword a final time, cutting the demogorgon’s head off. It dropped to the floor with a thud, blood pooling at her feet as her chest heaved. She looked at the creature that was now turning into a glob. Hopper walked over to her, his lips parted before wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight against him. They then heard the sound of a helicopter, and they looked up to see Dmitri and Yuri waving at them from above. Murray and Joyce yelled in joy, while Yasmin and Hopper grinned, holding one another tight.

And in Hawkins, you took one last shot, this time aiming straight for the center of Vecna’s chest. You held your breath, squinting your eyes before pulling the trigger. The bullet’s force threw him backwards, smashing through the window behind him as his body disappeared from your sight.

You slowly lowered your gun, your chest rising and falling. You turned back, looking at the other three before rushing out of the room. The others followed, running down the stairs and out the front door. But when you reached the spot where Vecna should have landed, your breath caught.

He was gone.

Only his imprint remained, flames sizzling around it. You stared, brows furrowed in disbelief, lips parted as a familiar feeling of dread settled into your gut. Then came the sound you feared the most.

The chimes.

The four of you ran back into the house, eyes set on the grandfather clock. Your stomach twisted as you counted the sounds. One…two…three…

“Four chimes,” Robin whispered.

“Max,” Nancy said quietly.

Your eyes filled with tears, lips parting as your knees nearly gave out. You barely had time to process it before the ground started shaking violently beneath your feet. Steve grabbed your hand as the house trembled again, new openings splitting through the walls and floor. The four of you held onto anything you could, bracing yourselves as the Creel House was torn apart from the inside.

When the shaking stopped, you slowly stood up. You looked around in horror. The vision Vecna had shown you had come true. The Upside Down was now in Hawkins.

You all ran out the house. There was no time to speak. You needed to get out of here. You needed to get back to the gate you came from and find Dustin and Eddie.

As you reached the Upside Down version of Eddie’s trailer, you slowed down. There were new gates everywhere, but your eyes were drawn to the boy on the ground, crying. It was Dustin. Your stomach dropped.

The four of you rushed toward him, eyes widening as you saw Eddie lay there, his body lifeless and chewed up by the bats. Dustin sobbed over him, shaking uncontrollably. You couldn’t breathe.

Steve pulled Dustin back, whispering something you couldn’t hear. You moved beside them, grabbing Dustin’s arm, helping him up. The boy limped in pain after injuring his leg as you tried to drag him away from Eddie. There was nothing you could do but leave him there.

You all went back through the gate, escaping the Upside Down, but it didn’t feel like you won. The trailer park was split apart by gaping red cracks, some things swallowed into the ground. You stepped out of Eddie’s trailer and finally fell to your knees, body trembling as sobs overtook you.

Your hands pressed to your face, palms digging into your eyes, but nothing could stop the emotions that poured out. You cried harder than you ever had in your life.

Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Dustin, who were silently crying, looked at you, watching you tear yourself apart. Steve walked over to you slowly, his own eyes red and glassy. He knelt beside you, reaching for your shoulder, but you flinched away violently.

“I told you it was a bad idea,” you croaked, voice hoarse.

His face fell but he didn’t say anything.

“I told you Max shouldn’t have gone. I begged all of you,” your voice broke. “And none of you listened to me.” Steve tried to speak again, but you stood up and stepped forward, pointing a finger at each of them. “I told you,” you said louder. “And none of you fucking listened!”

“Y/N–” Steve tried gently.

“No!” You shouted, eyes burning. You shoved him hard in the chest, your fists hitting him again and again. “It should’ve been me! I should’ve gone in! I should’ve been the bait!”

Your legs gave out as the sobs took over again, and Steve caught you instantly. You collapsed into him, gripping his jacket with everything you had. He held you close, one hand tangled in your hair, the other around your back as he buried his face into your shoulder, letting you take it out on him.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He could feel you falling apart in his arms, and it broke him in a way nothing else ever had.

Steve took you to his house after you refused to let go of him. You clung to him like a lifeline, barely breathing, unable to speak. Every time Max crossed your mind, your eyes welled with fresh tears.

The hospital had been chaos. You’d all rushed there to get Dustin checked out, and deep down, you knew Max would be there too. Your suspicion was confirmed when you saw Lucas and Erica sitting in the waiting room. Max was in surgery.

The moment your eyes met theirs, you pulled them both into a hug, all of you sobbing together in the middle of the room. Lucas told you what happened, that Vecna got to her. That she died for a whole minute. You broke at that, falling apart in his arms. But then he said she started breathing again, one minute later. The doctors called it a miracle.

You collapsed into Steve again, his arms wrapping around you tightly as you cried into his chest. Around you, the waiting room filled with more people. Many were hurt due to the collapse of Hawkins. All you could think about was Max. You were so close to saving her, to saving Hawkins. But now, she was almost gone, and you didn’t even know if she was still alive. You failed again.

Eventually, a surgeon came out and explained Max’s condition. She was alive but in a coma. You followed the group to her hospital room, legs barely carrying you, until you saw her in the bed. The sight made your knees buckle, but Steve caught you before you fell.

She was wrapped head to toe in bandages, her body broken and eyes closed. They said she was blind, as well as braindead. The odds of her waking up were slim. You couldn’t look at her anymore. You ran out, choking on your own sobs as your hands covered your face.

Steve followed you out. Not because he thought you were fragile, but because he was scared. After hearing you say you wished it had been you instead of Max, he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what you might do.

He pulled you into him again, holding you tightly, his hand moving up and down your back as you cried harder, letting your weight fall into his chest. He didn’t say anything, he just held you.

A few minutes later, Nancy stepped out of Max’s room and saw the two of you. Her own eyes were red, tears staining her cheeks. Steve met her gaze as she walked over to the two of you and he shook his head. “I’m going to take her back to my place,” he murmured, gently tightening his hold on you.

Nancy nodded, understanding instantly. “Okay. I’ll bring her stuff over in the morning.” She looked at you one last time before turning away, heart breaking not only for Max, but for you too. She knew you’d carry the guilt, even though none of it was your fault.

By the time Steve reached his house, you had stopped crying. You didn’t say a single word but your red, swollen eyes and tear-streaked face said everything.

He helped you inside, taking you straight to his room. You sat down on the edge of his bed without a word, staring at the floor as he searched for something comfortable for you to wear. He returned with a stack of clothes and set them beside you. You didn’t move.

You were still replaying everything in your head, the way you’d snapped at everyone, the screaming, the guilt. You made a mental note to apologize later, but not now. Right now, you didn’t want to feel anything. You just wanted to shut it all out.

Steve kneeled in front of you, placing a hand gently on your cheek and guiding your face to meet his. “Hey,” he said softly. “You think you can take a shower?”

You didn’t respond. You stared at his chest, avoiding his eyes. He reached out again, tilting your chin up.

“Come on, honey,” he coaxed. “Just a shower. Or a bath. Whatever you want. You need to get out of these clothes. You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you nodded faintly. That was all he needed. He stood and helped you to your feet, walking you to the bathroom. You stood silently as he turned the shower on, waiting for the water to warm.

“I’ll be in the other room,” he said gently, just as he was about to step out. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” As he reached for the doorknob, your hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his. He stopped, looking down at your fingers curled around his, then up at your face. You didn’t meet his eyes at first.

“Stay,” you whispered. Your voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear you.

Steve’s heart clenched in his chest. For a second, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right. “Are you su–”

“Please,” you said again, louder this time. Your voice cracked, your eyes glistening. The look on your face broke him all over again.

He didn’t hesitate. He stepped back toward you and nodded. His eyes lingered on your clothes, unsure of what to do next. “Can you…take off your clothes?”

You shook your head slowly, lips trembling. You took his hands gently and guided them to the zipper of your jacket, trying to show him what you meant. His eyes widened as realization hit, but he didn’t say anything. With careful fingers, he unzipped your jacket, still trembling slightly as he began to undress you.

The moment was intimate, but it felt right. You let him peel off your layers, jacket, shirt, and then the rest, your eyes never leaving his. You stood bare before him, vulnerable in every way, but he only looked at you with so much care it made your chest ache.

Steve didn’t hesitate to undress himself next. He kicked off his pants, pulled off his jacket, and the only thing left was the makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around his torso. The second you saw it, your throat closed. You swallowed hard, your eyes beginning to sting again.

Steve stepped forward and cupped your cheeks with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the fresh tears before they could fall. “No, no, no. Don’t cry, honey,” he whispered softly. “I’m okay. Doesn’t even hurt that bad anymore, alright?”

You nodded slowly, even though you didn’t quite believe him. The tears still came. “We need to clean it,” you said, voice cracking. “Your wound.”

“We will,” he murmured, his eyes gentle. “And we’ll clean your wound too, on your arm.”

You blinked in surprise, as if remembering it for the first time. The wound still stung faintly, but you barely felt it. Your body was too numb, too overwhelmed by everything else. The physical pain didn’t matter anymore. But Steve noticed. He always did.

He reached for the edge of the bandage and slowly began unwrapping it from around his waist. You watched, your stomach twisting as the dried blood peeled away with it. His movements were careful, and when the last bit was off and the wound was exposed, it was worse than you remembered. You reached for him instinctively, resting your palm lightly on his ribs, your thumb brushing near the edge of the wound. He leaned into your touch.

Without saying anything more, he took your hand and led you into the shower. The bathroom filled with the sound of running water as steam slowly fogged the glass. He stepped in first, holding out a hand for you. You took it, letting the water run down your bodies, washing away the blood, the grime, and the dirt from the Upside Down.

The heat of the water grounded you both. Steve winced as it hit his wound, but didn’t complain. You reached for the soap, lathering it between your hands before gently, carefully washing the dried blood from his body. Your touch was featherlight, scared of hurting him more, but he didn’t flinch. He just watched you.

He reached for your arm next, silently asking for permission. You nodded. He took your injured arm in both of his hands, washing around the wound delicately. The pain made you hiss under your breath, but you didn’t pull away. His eyes met yours, searching for signs to stop, but you just nodded your head, letting him continue.

You both moved slowly, his hands roaming over your arms, your shoulders, down your back. You turned to face him fully, pressing your forehead to his chest as the water poured over both of you. His arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time. He didn’t care that it hurt, he just needed you close.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

After the two of you got out of the shower, put on fresh bandages, and changed into new clothes, you felt a little bit better. You definitely felt refreshed, and for a second, you forgot everything. It wasn’t until Steve left you alone in his room to get you something to eat when the emptiness started creeping back in again. That familiar heaviness pressed against your chest, crawling its way up your throat.

You took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. But it didn’t help. Ever since you’d climbed out of the Upside Down hours ago and started crying, it was like something inside you had cracked wide open. The crying hadn’t stopped. You didn’t even know you could cry this much, but the tears kept coming.

Every time you thought you were done, it would hit you again. It was as if a dam broke and the water wouldn’t stop rushing out. You used to be good at hiding your emotions. You were the one people leaned on, the one who didn’t break. It was hard to show emotions when you were trained to be emotionless. You didn’t want to be seen as weak, never letting anyone truly see you. But now you couldn’t even stand upright without feeling like the world was tilting.

Your thoughts spiraled to Max. You weren’t there but you could imagine the sound of her bones breaking, the way her body went still in Lucas’s arms.

You needed your mom. She was always the one who could bring you back when the panic attacks started, when the world got too loud for you to handle. After that prison, after everything you’ve been through, she’d be there to hold you through the nightmares. You thought you’d grown past needing that. But tonight proved you wrong.

Steve moved quickly in the kitchen, trying to make something fast. He didn’t want to leave you alone for long. He settled on scrambled eggs and toast, the one thing he knew you’d eat no matter what time it was. It was easy and fast, and he’d made it for you countless times before. He moved around the kitchen in a rush, barely waiting for the bread to pop from the toaster before throwing everything on a plate. He hurried up the stairs, wanting to get back before anything happened.

As soon as he walked into his room, his stomach dropped. You weren’t there. He stopped cold, eyes scanning the room, his breath catching. You’d been sitting on his bed. You were right there.

He quickly set the plate of food down on the nightstand. He looked toward the bathroom, thinking maybe you’d gone in there, but then he heard your tiny, broken cry.

He turned his head, heart pounding, following the noise around to the other side of his bed and found you there. You were curled up against the frame, knees pulled tight to your chest, your back pressed to the edge of the mattress. Your hands were covering your ears, your body rocking ever so slightly. Your lips were moving, whispering something he couldn’t make out. It hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, immediately crouching down in front of you. You didn’t respond and he didn’t want to push. He didn’t want to startle you so he moved slowly, lowering himself onto the floor beside you until he was at your level. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You blinked, like you were just now realizing he was there. And without a word, you shifted forward, collapsing into him. Steve wrapped his arms around you without hesitation, holding you close, letting you melt against him as your tears soaked his shirt. He rubbed gentle circles into your back and pressed his cheek to your temple. You clung to him like he was the only person left in the world.

Steve managed to get you to eat after calming you down. You forced him to eat with you, knowing he hadn’t eaten either. You felt terrible for being so difficult. For clinging to him. For being a mess. You weren’t even together anymore, yet he still did everything for you, held you when you fell apart, cleaned your wounds, fed you like you hadn’t just broken his heart a few months ago. That reminded you that you still needed to talk to him, your mind going back to what he told you in the woods.

The two of you lay under his blankets, facing each other in the dark. You could hear the sound of his breathing, the slow rhythm of it matching yours.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

His finger came up and brushed lightly against your lips, shushing you before the guilt could spill out. “I don’t want to hear you apologize,” he whispered, voice soft. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And nothing’s wrong with you. Your feelings are normal. You’re allowed to break down. You don’t always have to be the strong one, you know? And I’ll always be here. Whenever you need me.”

You blinked slowly, your chest tightening. You hated crying again, but it still came, just quieter this time. You breathed out, voice trembling. “Thank you. For everything. You don’t have to be so kind, yet you’re always taking care of me.”

He gave you a small smile, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You’d do the same for me.”

You stared at him, the words on your tongue, waiting to be said. “I still think about us,” you said. “A lot more than I want to admit.”

He didn’t say anything right away. His eyes flickered between yours. “Me too.”

“I hated how it ended,” you confessed. “I thought breaking it off would be easier, but it just made everything harder. I tried pretending like it was the right thing, like letting go was the mature choice, but all I’ve wanted since I left was to come back. To you.”

Steve let out a breath, one he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I thought I was doing the right thing too. I didn’t want to hold you back. You had this whole new life starting in California. And I–I didn’t think I fit into it.”

“You did,” you said, reaching for his hand under the covers. “You still do.”

His hand tightened around yours. “I meant what I said back there. You’ve always been there. I never stopped loving you.”

You nodded, voice barely audible. “I never stopped loving you either.”

Steve looked at you like you were his entire world, like nothing had changed even though everything had. “So what now?”

You moved closer, pressing your forehead to his. “Maybe…we stop pretending that letting each other go was ever going to work.”

And when his lips met yours, your heart exploded. It was soft and warm. You’ve been dreaming of this ever since you left, dreaming about him being yours again. It felt like coming home after being gone for too long. He was your home.

That night, you fell asleep wrapped in the arms of the man who never stopped waiting for you.

It was two days after everything happened. You had visited Max again at the hospital, with Steve by your side. The guilt coursed through you as you silently cried. You hated seeing her like this, her entire body covered in bandages.

You kept trying to calm yourself down, but every time you did, the guilt came rushing back. You still believed it should’ve been you instead of Max. At least then, she would be safe. You had failed to protect the kids again, even after promising yourself you would always be there.

The only good thing you could think of was having Steve back. Nancy dropped off your things the next morning, and Steve gave the two of you some time alone while he made lunch. You apologized to her for breaking down in front of everyone. But your best friend didn’t even blink, she was there for you, reminding you again and again that none of this was your fault. You were grateful for her. For all of them. You just wished you could believe it.

Now, you were at the Wheeler’s house, helping them sort through boxes of items to donate. You still felt awful for blowing up on them that night, screaming at everyone about what happened to Max. Maybe it came from years of pent-up frustration, or maybe it was just from being so exhausted. Either way, you apologized to them afterward, and they all shook their heads, offering soft, reassuring smiles like it hadn’t changed a thing.

Steve had handed you a letter from Max that was addressed to you, one of the ones she wrote in case she didn’t make it. You didn’t know how long you cried, only that it was long enough. You hated letters ever since Hopper’s.

You saw more and more people packing their bags and leaving Hawkins, realizing that the town really was cursed. You watched as car after car left the city, not once looking back.

You loaded one of the last boxes into Steve’s trunk. You were all headed to Hawkins High, where the donation center was set up. So many people had been hurt, so much had been destroyed. Everyone was trying to help however they could.

You and Steve arrived hand in hand, and though most of the group, except Nancy who already knew the morning she came to drop off your stuff, was surprised to see the two of you back together, they were happy. You tried your best to stay joyful, laughing along with the others, your hand constantly finding Steve’s. He never minded. He liked keeping you close. In fact, he kissed you whenever he could, even when Dustin groaned about the two of you ‘sucking each other’s faces off’ in front of the Wheeler house.

Steve only narrowed his eyes at him, tightening his hold around your waist. “Shut up, Henderson.” And instead of stopping, he pressed even more kisses to your face, just to annoy him. Dustin gagged dramatically, making you giggle as you gently shoved Steve away and returned to packing the last box into the car.

You heard a vehicle behind you, but didn’t think much of it until Karen’s voice rang out. “Did someone order a pizza?”

“Pizza?” Dustin repeated, confused, as you all turned to face the pizza van pulling into the driveway. You knew that van.

Your lips parted as you watched the doors open and saw the people you hadn’t seen in a week. Jonathan, Will, Eleven, Mike, and Argyle. They stepped out one by one, and everyone around you broke into smiles. You didn’t hesitate, running straight to El and wrapping your arms around her tightly.

“Oh my God, El!” You squealed, pulling back to cup her face in your hands. Your eyes drifted to her head, widening in shock. “Your hair?!”

Eleven laughed, nodding. “I missed you,” she said, voice soft.

Your heart swelled. “I missed you, too,” you grinned, pulling her in for another hug. When she glanced over your shoulder to see Dustin, you let her go, letting her run to him.

Turning back around, your eyes landed on another familiar face. Jonathan gave you a small wave, and you jogged over to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He wrapped you into a big hug without hesitation. Nancy lit up at the sight of her best friend and her boyfriend.

You smiled into his chest, relief washing over you. You’d been so worried about them, especially after they hadn’t answered any of your calls.

When you pulled back, you lightly punched him in the chest, making him blink in surprise. “Why the hell weren’t you answering the phone?! We were all so worried!”

Jonathan sighed. “I know, I know. I’ll explain everything, okay?” He glanced at Nancy, who gave him a tiny smile. “I’ll tell you all everything.”

“You better,” you muttered, and then realized you had your own explaining to do about your past. “I’ve got some things to say, too.”

Jonathan furrowed his brows, glancing at Nancy. She only shrugged, knowing it wasn’t her place to say anything.

Steve then walked up, wrapping his arm around your waist. Jonathan raised a brow at the gesture, and your cheeks flushed. “Jonathan,” Steve said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Steve,” Jonathan replied with a small nod. The two of them were trying to be civil.

You still didn’t understand why they hadn’t tried harder to get along. As far as you knew, whatever differences they had years ago were long behind them. You and Nancy exchanged a look, both rolling your eyes at your boyfriends’ awkward tension. Neither of them noticed.

You then saw Argyle standing nearby, grinning at the group.

“You’re here too!” You said, pulling him into a hug.

“Yeah, dude!” He grinned, giving you a light shake. “It’s wayyy different from good ol’ Cali, but still super cool. Not how I pictured spending spring break, though.”

You laughed. “Try moving away from here to California. Talk about different.”

“It’s crazy!”

You moved on to hug Will and Mike, holding the former a little longer. You missed them so much more than you’d even realized.

Dustin filled the California crew in on Max’s condition, and their faces turned somber. You and Nancy knew it would be best to take them to the hospital, to let them see Max, Lucas, and Erica, even though your heart still ached at the thought. You knew Lucas would be happy to see them.

You looked at Steve, not wanting to leave him. You’d already packed the donation boxes into his car, but now it seemed like you’d be splitting up. But then you had an idea. Your eyes flicked between his BMW and Argyle’s van, your mind racing.

Steve caught the look on your face, tilting his head. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

You turned to him. “I think I’m going to go to the hospital with them. Do you wanna come?”

You saw the hesitation in his face, how much he didn’t want to be apart from you. He glanced at his car. “I want to,” he admitted. “But who else is gonna take all these boxes to the school? Robin can’t drive.”

You smiled before looping your arms around his waist. “What if we move all the boxes into Argyle’s van? That way, we all ride together, drop off the stuff, and whoever wants to stay at the school can. Then the rest of us go to the hospital.”

Steve looked down at you, his expression softening. He smiled before leaning in and kissing the tip of your nose. “I like the way you think.”

You all piled into Argyle’s pizza van after moving the boxes from Steve’s car into the back, driving off toward the school. Robin and Dustin volunteered to drop off the donations, letting the rest of you head straight to the hospital. Your chest tightened the closer you got, your heart racing as the image of Max all bandaged up kept replaying in your head. Steve gave your hand a gentle squeeze, a silent reminder that he was right there beside you.

Once you arrived at the hospital, you followed the familiar path to Max’s room. You and Nancy led the way, both of you having already been here a few times. The others trailed quietly behind, while Argyle stayed back in the hallway to give you all some space.

Lucas was sitting by Max’s bedside, reading softly from a book. He looked up as soon as the door opened, his expression changing completely when he saw the group enter the room.

“Oh my God,” he breathed out, rising quickly to his feet and pulling Will and Mike into a hug. “We’ve been calling you guys like crazy.”

“I know,” Mike said, hugging him back. “We came as soon as we heard.”

You didn’t say anything. Your eyes were glued to Max’s motionless figure in the bed, and the lump in your throat grew too large to ignore. You felt your breathing pick up as fresh tears stung your eyes. Backing into the corner of the room, you pressed a fist to your mouth to muffle the sob that threatened to slip out.

Steve noticed immediately. His eyes were on you, full of worry, but he didn’t move. He knew you well enough by now, knew that sometimes you just needed a second to collect yourself, to let yourself breathe.

You wished, more than anything, that they had listened to you. That they had let you be the bait. The guilt weighed heavily on your chest. You couldn’t stop thinking that if you had been in Max’s place, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe she’d be okay. Maybe they’d all be okay.

You glanced around at the pained expressions on everyone’s faces, each of them hurting in their own way. And it crushed you. You could’ve prevented this. You were supposed to protect them no matter what.

You needed to find a place to hide Eleven from the government, so you suggested Hopper’s cabin. It wasn’t in great shape since it had been destroyed the year before, but if you all worked together to fix it, it would work.

Jonathan drove Argyle’s van deep into the woods until the cabin came into view. The sight of it for the first time since July made your heart ache. It looked even worse than you remembered. You glanced over at Eleven, who had stopped walking, a sorrowful expression settling on her face. Gently, you rested your hand on her shoulder. She looked up at you.

“It’s going to be okay, El,” you said softly, offering a reassuring smile. She gave a small nod before the two of you followed the others into the wrecked cabin.

“Oh Jesus,” Jonathan muttered as he took it all in.

“Holy shit,” Mike breathed. “This place is a total disaster.”

“This is crazy,” Steve added, eyes scanning the damage. He wasn’t there with you all when the Mind Flayer destroyed everything here.

“Yeah,” Jonathan agreed, eyes drifting up toward the gaping hole in the ceiling. “Well, that’s a bit of a problem.”

“I get that we’ve gotta hide Supergirl and all,” Argyle chimed in, mouth hanging open. “But this ain’t the Fortress of Solitude, man. It’s more like…a fortress of grodiness.”

“Guys, come on. Positive thoughts, alright?” You said, trying to lift the mood a little.

“Seriously. I’ve seen Mike’s room look worse than this,” Nancy added as she made her way over to the sink.

“Ah, brutal, dude,” Argyle said, laughing as Mike scoffed at her sister’s words.

Nancy turned on the faucet and grinned when water started flowing. “See? Water still works.”

You let out a small laugh and rummaged through the cabinets until you found a box full of cleaning supplies. “And we’ve got cleaning supplies!”

Groans immediately echoed behind you. You turned and glared at the boys, throwing mops at Will and Mike. “No complaining. Get to work.”

You, Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve were on window duty. There was just enough wood around the cabin to cover the broken windows. You and Steve took the back while Nancy and Jonathan handled the front.

You held the boards steady while Steve hammered them into place. When the last piece was finally secure, you both stepped back to admire your handiwork. Steve grinned, hands on his hips. “Look at that. We’re all done. We really do make a pretty good team, Kaul.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Why? You had doubts before?”

“Funny,” he said, rolling his eyes. Then he laughed softly, shaking his head. “It’s nice, though. Makes me think of how we could build things together in the future, you know? Like when we start a family. Have kids.”

Your smile faltered. You’d forgotten about that. You needed to talk to him, you needed to be honest before it was too late. You were terrified of his reaction. You had just gotten him back, and now you were scared of losing him all over again.

“Steve, um…listen. About the dream you told me–”

He noticed the hesitation in your voice, and his own smile faded. “Hey, we don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready,” he said gently. “I get it. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I’d rather have you in my life than not have you at all.”

His words softened something in you. You took a breath, heart pounding. “No, no. I…Steve, I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Steve’s head shot up, eyes wide. “You do?”

You nodded slowly. “But…”

“But?” He asked, voice gentle.

“I can’t give you what you want, Steve,” you whispered, turning your face away as tears welled in your eyes.

His brow furrowed. “What? I don’t understand…”

You looked back at him, voice trembling. “You said you wanted a family. That you wanted kids…”

He nodded slowly, starting to see where this was going. “Okay. But the six kids thing? That was just me being dramatic. We don’t have to have kids at all if you don’t want–”

“That’s the thing, Steve. I do want kids,” you cut in, voice cracking. “Not like six kids. But I still want children.”

“I still don’t get it.”

You looked around to make sure no one was near before leaning in. “I…I can’t have children.”

His eyes widened in shock, but his hands immediately landed on your arms. “That’s okay,” he said quietly. His hands slid up to cup your face. “We don’t need kids. All I need is you.”

“No, you don’t understand.” You shook your head as tears slipped down your cheeks. “When I was in that place, they performed surgeries on all the girls. We were getting our periods and it was interfering with our training, so they…”

His thumbs stroked your cheeks gently as he listened, never looking away.

“They forced us to get hysterectomies.” You took another shaky breath. “That’s why I can’t have children.”

Steve’s heart shattered. It all clicked for him now. All those times you brushed off the need for condoms, telling him you were on the pill to regulate your cycle. He’d never questioned it. But now he saw the truth, and it made his stomach turn with fury at the people who hurt you.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you cried. “I can’t give you what you want.”

“Would you just shut up?” He whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “Stop apologizing. You’re all I want, okay? You’re everything I need. I don’t care about anything else.” He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. “Do you understand that I can’t even breathe without you? All those months away from you…it nearly destroyed me. I felt like I was falling apart. I don’t ever want to feel that again. I can’t live without you.”

Your lip trembled. “But what if, years down the line, you grow to resent me? What if you end up miserable because we can’t have kids? I’d rather you spare me now than you end up hating me. It’s your dream after all.”

“I will not hate you,” he said firmly, hands still cupping your face. “The first thing I think about when I wake up is you. The last thing I think about before I sleep is you. You’re stuck in my head permanently. If anything, I will be miserable without you. I love you.”

A shaky but relieved laugh escaped your lips as you leaned your forehead against his chest. “I love you,” you whispered. You looked up again, noses brushing. “I love you so much.”

His hand slid to the back of your neck, his other still gently holding your cheek. His eyes were soft, full of love. “I love you more.”

You smiled, wanting to freeze time and stay in this moment forever. “I know I said I can’t give birth, but…maybe we could adopt.”

His face lit up. “We can definitely do that. When we’re ready,” he said with a playful grin, giving your side a little pinch.

You squealed, laughing as you swatted his shoulder. “Steve!”

“But I mean, babies are kind of overrated anyway,” he teased. “They’re loud and messy and they poop in their pants.”

You gave him a mock-serious look. “You used to poop in a diaper too, Steve.”

Steve fake-gagged, turning his head dramatically. “Ugh, I can’t believe I did that.”

“I thought having a family was one of your dreams?” You giggled.

“Dreams change!” He said, grinning at your laughter. He tugged you closer, one hand slipping to your waist, breath warm against your lips. “Besides…I think I’d rather just stick to practicing.”

He kissed you before you could respond, pulling you flush against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, lips moving in sync with his. He spun you so your back hit the cabin wall, but all you could feel was him. His hands roaming your body, his lips kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been making out, but eventually, reality crept back in and you realized you were still outside. Breathless, your lips swollen and puffy, you gently pushed Steve away. “Okay, we need to stop before we actually start practicing out here.”

He just shrugged, grinning as he watched you walk off. “I don’t mind.”

You rolled your eyes, rounding the side of the cabin to head back to the front. Steve followed close behind, still wearing that silly smile. You were just about to tell Nancy and Jonathan that the two of you had finished your job when your eyes landed on a familiar face.

“Steve and I just finished putting up all the wood–Mom?”

Yasmin turned at the sound of your voice, a wide smile on her face. You ran straight into her arms, shocked but overjoyed to see her.

“I missed you! What are you doing here?” You asked, pulling back. But before she could answer, another familiar face caught your attention. “Joyce, hi! Wait–Joyce?” You blinked, utterly confused. She waved at you warmly, smiling from ear to ear. You even spotted Murray nearby, making the situation feel even more confusing.

Yasmin laughed gently, placing her hands on your shoulders as she turned you around. “There’s someone you should see.”

You let her guide you, brows furrowed in confusion. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat the moment your eyes locked with his.

Hopper stood in front of you, holding Eleven in his arms. El let go of him to rush into Yasmin’s arms, but you remained frozen, stunned into silence. Hopper opened his arms, and that was all it took for you to move. You launched into him, wrapping your arms around him tightly as tears flooded your eyes. He laughed softly, hugging you just as tightly and rubbing your back as you cried into his shoulder.

You finally pulled back, and Hopper cupped your face with both hands. “I told them,” you said through tears, a smile breaking across your face. “I finally told them everything.”

Hopper grinned, eyes full of warmth and pride. “I knew you would. I’m so proud of you.”

You let out a small laugh, wiping your tears away as you took a good look at him. “You’re…smaller now,” you teased.

He chuckled, nodding. “Guess I am. And you’re still shorter than me.”

You scoffed, playfully punching his arm. He smiled, then turned to glance toward a woman standing by a black car. He gave her a subtle nod. She returned it before quietly getting in and driving away.

It felt like a piece of you was being stitched back together. You never thought this moment would come. Hopper being alive felt like something out of a dream, and even now, standing in front of him, it was hard to believe.

You turned back to your mom and hugged her again. Yasmin kissed the top of your head, having missed you more than words could express.

“I didn���t think you could bring a victim home with you, mom,” you joked.

She laughed, shaking her head. “He was a special case.”

You looked around, your heart full. Despite everything that had happened, this moment brought you peace. You had your mom. You had Hopper. You had Steve. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to go back to California.

But you should’ve known that happy moments never lasted long.

An odd sensation started crawling up your spine. Your brow furrowed as you looked at Yasmin, who noticed the change in your expression.

You turned your head and locked eyes with Will. He was already touching the back of his neck. You both slowly turned to the sky to see dark clouds spreading. Everyone noticed the sudden change in your demeanor and followed your gaze, eyes lifting to the sky as soft white flakes began to fall.

You held out your hand, catching one in your palm. Your breath hitched, knowing it wasn’t snow. It didn’t look like snow.

Everyone grew quiet, concern spreading through the group instantly. Hopper took the lead, walking out of the woods to see what was happening. Joyce, Yasmin, and Murray followed close behind. You walked with Steve, Eleven, Will, and Mike, while Nancy and Jonathan followed. As you stepped into the open field, your breath caught.

The odd sensation within you increased. Your mouth parted slightly as you took in the scene. Dark clouds could be seen from a distance. Red lightning streaked across the sky. There was smoke in the air.

Steve squeezed your hand tight, pulling you closer. You stood side by side with him, surrounded by the others. Will and Mike. Nancy and Jonathan. Joyce and Murray. Yasmin and Hopper. All of you were frozen in place. Eleven walked a little further ahead by herself, pausing only to pick up a dead flower from the ground. She stood slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon.

The Upside Down had collided with Hawkins. Everyone’s lives were in danger. You knew Vecna wasn’t done. He wouldn’t stop, not until he got his revenge. This was just the beginning.

It was the beginning of a war and you had already lost.

[glxssy-the-first]

1x1x1x1⚔️x depressed!reader hurt/comfort

Requested by Anon, reader goes by They/them. 1x is genderfluid and goes by all pronouns.

TW: Themes of depression, bedrotting, and su1c1d3

May be OOC

[Name] laid on their bed, staring at the ceiling like they've done so many times before. They felt worthless. like they were just another person on this world that nobody really knew about or would care about.

Sometimes they didn't want to even move from their bed. Just wanted to stay in their room all day. Other times- they felt like they shouldn't be here to begin with. Maybe they should help themselves leave this realm if nobody was gonna help them.

They turned over onto their stomach, lifting up their phone and going onto their phone. Scrolling through it. Just seemed like the same thing again and again. Life seemed boring nowadays.

Knock knock knock

Someone was at the door.

"What?" [Name] responded to the interruption, maybe a bit brashly.

"Open the door" It was 1x. "They told me to come check on you."

You huffed. Of course it had to be the embodiment of literal hatred knocking at the door to see if you were doing fine. Of course it had to be.

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ⚔️ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

They stood outside, waiting and listening as you got up and saw the door handle turn. Next thing she knew, you stood before them. Hair all messy and looking tired and burnt out.

"You've been in there for a while." He crossed his arms as they looked down at you. You weren't extremely short, you were just up to her shoulders. "Why haven't you come out? At least to eat or something?"

You sagged your shoulders, looking off to the side. You forgot to take care of yourself, didn't you? "I-It's just...nevermind, its nothing. I'm just resting" You turned back to return to your spot on your bed but 1x caught your shoulder.

"Someone doesn't 'just rest' for almost an entire day." They spat, forcefully dragging you out of your room and sitting you down. "Also, you look like a mess. Tell me what's going on."

You opened you mouth to protest, but was cut off by another demand to tell you why you were spending you're time inside your room and not coming out.

You caved. "I feel worthless. Happy?" She narrowed his eyes, knowing that wasn't everything.

"Okay, okay. I'm just...I don't feel like doing anything anymore. Life feels boring." You admitted. You would think the embodiment of hatred would just brush your feelings off, but instead, they picked you up

"Heard enough, you're gonna get something to eat." He left no room for defiance and carried you to a small table, forcefully sitting you down once more. After a few minutes, they set down a PP&J for you to eat. Not exactly a meal, but at least it's something.

Surprisingly, you started to eat it without much complaint. It felt like a blessing to your stomach, which you just now realize was BEGGING for something to eat.

"...Thanks" You mumbled.

She nodded, giving you a pat on the head. "Listen, whether you like it or not, you need to take care of yourself. Even if life seems bland, you need this for yourself. At least try to be fine. Take care." They said before walking off

...

Maybe life wasn't that bad when you have people by your side.

[gugudalala]

ft. sae itoshi / rin itoshi x reader

synopsis: They grew up together, hearts quietly entwined — even when Sae left for America. Now that Sae's back, Rin is done watching from the sidelines and pushes his way between them, Sae's long-suppressed jealousy boils over — the quiet bond they once shared threatens to erupt into something far more dangerous.

TW: smut with plot, spanking, degradation, size kink, unprotected, praise, ect+++

words: 1155

A/N. I do not own any of the character or picture (credit to the rightful owner) only the plots are mine. 

Enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

CH: 1 | 2 | 3

────୨ৎ────

"Rin, please stop" he pushed you back onto the door as you both got inside his room. With both his hands on the side of your head, kissing so passionately. When you try to escape only for him to force you back into the kiss. 

‘How... how did it come to this?’ 

Sae just returned for a family visit. You've known each other since we were kids, growing up in the same neighborhood and even sharing the same class. Then there's Rin, Sae’s younger brother. He’s always been around, even when Sae wasn't. When you were younger, you found it adorable how Rin looked up to his older brother. Even after Sae left, Rin kept showing up—asking for help with homework, tests, anything to stay close.

But over time, Rin began to change. He started to grow into someone who reminded me more and more of Sae—your first love… and your darkest secret.

You were just having a normal family dinner, with his parents and yours, celebrating Sae’s return. With Sae sitting right beside you, you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter every time your eyes met. But that moment didn’t last—because then Rin caught your gaze, stood up without a word, and pulled you into his room before anyone even noticed.

Pulling away from the kiss "The way you looked at him… Why? I've always been here for you. Why can’t you look at me like that? What does he have that I don’t?" 

"Rin, please…" Confused by his actions, your heart stumbles. All this time, you believed he was just the younger brother of the one you once loved — one you never saw coming.

"You were so excited all morning, dressing so well... just because my brother was coming back?" pushing you into his bed, he reached into your skirt cupping onto my heat "Look at how wet you are, hopping for my brother to fuck you, don't you" his finger move your panties aside as he tease and thrust his finger into you. You can't help but squirm but his hand held you into place "listen to it" lewd squelching sound filled up the room, you can't help but listen to how wet you were. “Such a good girl being wet and ready to be fuck” Feeling of shame creeping up on you, this is just not right. His finger reached all the spots that had never been played with, pleasuring you like never before — and you don’t want him to stop. Each thrust is hard and fast and as you were about to reach your climax, he pulled out along with your panties. Looking back at him, he was licking his finger, cleaning off your juices, you can’t help but blush by his action

Getting on top of you, he pulled down his pants. Realizing how far this would go, you tried to escape him only to be dragged down by your leg toward him. “Rin, we should not be doing this… I have never done it before” you plead only for his eyes to light up “Then let me have it,  I won’t watch him steal what I’ve waited for all along." He slipped the dress off your shoulders, only to shove it upward, trapping your arms, and locking you in place. When your eyes met his, the air shifted, there was no mistaking it, the heat in his gaze said everything — raw, undeniable desire. He adjusted himself on you, spreading your leg and slowly pushed into you. Stretching and filling you out. You can’t help but to cry out only for him to kiss back your scream. He started moving while giving you small kisses around your face while keeping his thrust slow. “Rin..” you moaned “You are taking me so well” he praised as he kissed away your tears as he adjusted his place and moved faster.

The room is filled with the sound of your skin slapping against each other, while your arm is still trapped by your dress both his hands on your side pushing you toward his thrust. You almost reached your climax but then he suddenly pulled out, again. Flushed and whining “Rin?” you asked but only to be flip onto your stomach with your hip up in the air. He pushed right back in, this time thrusting deep and slowly edging you “Please, please” already breathless and crying from how sensitive you are. He's making you almost cum over and over again, you tried to bounce back into him as you felt the heat coming back but once again he pulled out before you could even cum

Pulling out he moved back, sitting on the bed with his black to the bed frame “Do it yourself” Looking straight at you he demanded “If you want to cum, help yourself” Looking into his eyes, buried by the tears. He's been edging you for hours and you want nothing more but to cum, hard. Even knowing that it is wrong you can’t help but get onto him, removing all your clothes you got on top of him, breath shaky as you sit up “Good girl, you don't know how long I have been waiting” he reaches and tugs some strain of hair behind your ear, tracing down onto your lip with another hand reaching down teasing your clit  “Whatever you're feeling right now—it’s not even half of what I’ve felt, waiting, aching for you all this time. You have no idea what it’s been like" he pushed his finger into your mouth at the same time with his other hand inside you, both your mouth getting filled and played with, making you see the star.

Once he pulled out, both hands reaching for your sides "Go ahead, take what you want” dropping your hip onto him, feeling him filling you to the top. “Too much” you cry trying to stop but only to be pushed down more by him. “All of it, take it all” With him gripping your side he pushed upward while holding you down. Desperately holding onto his shoulders as he drives his cock into your sloppy cunt. The heat came rushing back afraid he was going to stop once again. You bounced back down, meeting his thrust and finally coming on him, and with a few more thrust he comes into you

Within a moment, he pushed you down to your back, not letting you catch your breath before sliding back in “Rin! — Wait, I just came” your voice breaks, reaching toward him to stop but he uses that opportunity to grab both your hands and pull you toward his trust “Shh… you’re doing good, one more” he grunts, rocking his hips again, again, and again.

You didn’t even know how long you had been going for, but you woke in his arms as the first light of morning crept in—unaware of the shadow that had lingered all night beneath Rin’s door, silently listening.

[ramp-it-up]

Girls Who Wear Glasses

The Cleo Era | Muse Masterlist

Summary: Ari gets your glasses dirty.

Word count: 1.6 K

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model!Reader

A/N: Muse Monday on a Wednesday!!! I just got some new glasses and I... Well, this is the result. This is a part of the Muse vers, but can be read as a standalone. Enjoy! (And if you do, or if you don't, let me know!)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, menace mommy Muse, Editor-in Chief Muse; brat Muse, dom Daddy Ari, glasses kink, rough oral (male receiving), cum play, the glasses get dirty, SIZE KINK, wall fucking, allusion to shower sex.

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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

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Editing the magazine confirmed two things: you were a stickler for detail, and you needed reading glasses.

At first, your vanity flinched.

Briefly.

Then the fashion brain kicked in.

Your editor Trixie had a field day.

She put out the call, and by week’s end, your desk was flooded with designer frames. They were all fire, but the ones that stopped your heart came with a note from Virgil himself.

Limited edition Louis Vuitton. Matte black wire with tortoiseshell tips: clean, sharp, and seductive.

You brought them home the second they arrived.

After riling Cleo up to crash-out levels, tickles, giggles, and a shared mango popsicle, you handed her off to Ari and slipped into the bedroom.

Off came your pencil skirt and heels.

On went his button-down, black lace panties, and thigh-high socks.

When you stepped out, the lights were low, and the nursery glowed gold.

Ari was in the rocking chair, humming something soft, holding Cleo against his chest. One hand curved over her tiny back, and she was nearly out, her face nuzzled into his shirt, and her breaths slowing into perfect little puffs.

He didn’t look up right away.

But when he did…

His eyes dragged over you from the socks, to the lace peeking out beneath the hem of his shirt, to the hint of breast and the chain he'd given you for your anniversary. And finally, to the slim LV frames perched on your nose.

“How do they look?” you asked, voice low and playful, wondering if he’d even register what you were talking about.

Ari didn’t even pretend to play it cool.

His gaze dragged back down, then up again, lingering where the shirt barely brushed the tops of your thighs.

“Fuckin’ edible,” he murmured, eyes hungry now.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You tilted your head and smirked.

“I meant the glasses, Ari.”

That pulled his gaze back to your face. Finally.

He looked at your face properly, the realization finally settling behind his eyes. And then his mouth curled into that crooked, filthy little smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Well,” he rasped, his voice deeper now, “you look like a librarian I’d corrupt in a heartbeat. Like I’d bend you over the nearest table and fog those lenses up.”

You tried to keep a straight face and failed, then grinned as Cleo stirred in his arms. He adjusted her gently, without looking away from you.

“You like them?” you asked, more sincere now, lips parted, your cheeks warm.

“I love them,” he said, eyes darkening.

“But I’d love anything on your face.”

You let out a shocked little laugh.

“Ari...God, you’re filthy.”

“And still not done,” he murmured as he rose, holding Cleo close. 

He kissed her head, whispered something soft, and gently lowered her into the crib. He gave her one last glance to make sure she was out.

Then he turned toward you.

You were waiting in the doorway, leaning against the frame, glasses low on your nose, shirt open just enough to make him come closer. When he reached you, his mouth brushed your ear.

“Those little glasses make you look like you follow instructions,” he rasped.

“But that lace?” 

His fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt. 

“That tells me you don’t plan to.”

You bit your lip.

“That’s not what I meant…”

“I know what you meant,” he said, eyes dark and glittering. 

“And I gave you the truth. You’re my favorite problem. One I don’t want solved.”

You started backing out of the nursery as Ari followed you, eyes locked on yours and predatory.

“So,” you whispered, letting the shirt fall open completely. 

“You were saying?”

He moved even closer. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripped your jaw. His mouth hovered just above yours.

“I was saying,” he murmured, “you walked out here knowing I couldn’t touch you when I wanted to. And now you want me to be calm?”

His hand slipped inside the shirt, thumb roughly rubbing your nipple, leaving it aching, then dragging down your body to the waistband of your panties.

“Ari…” you breathed.

“You wore these,” he whispered, “knowing I’d lose my mind.”

“Maybe I wanted you to.”

“You look like you want to be ruined,” he growled, “with your hair wrapped around my fist and those pretty little frames sliding down your nose while I fuck that beautiful face.”

Your knees almost buckled.

“You’d mess up my glasses?”

“They’re cute,” he rasped.

“But I told you. I’d love anything on your face.”

You sank to your knees without a word.

He watched you the whole way down, his chest rising and falling harder now.

You adjusted your glasses and looked up at him like you were his dirtiest fantasy in thigh-highs and nothing else.

He swallowed hard, his knees weak from how gorgeous you were, but he didn’t say anything. He groaned and pulled himself from his sweats, already hard, wet, and aching.

“Open,” he whispered, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip.

You did. 

Your lips parted and your tongue stuck out as he slid his broad crown as deep into your mouth as it would go. Your hands gripped his thighs as you licked and sucked his girth.

You worked him slowly and sinfully, your tongue swirling, eyes locked on his, the glasses slipping with each glide of his hips.

You looked obscene like this.

Messy and beautiful, like your mouth was built to take him. Almost.

You were Ari’s Head Master, sweet, filthy, and fucking perfect.

He couldn’t last.

Not with you on your knees, glasses fogged, mouth slick and trying to swallow everything he gave you. He came with a growl, spilling his cum thickly across your tongue, your lips, your neck.

Your glasses caught the rest, little drops that painted them prettily.

Everything you couldn’t swallow dripped from your chin. And when you looked up at him, you looked like a filthy little angel.

“I just wanted to know if they looked good,” you said innocently.

“They look better dirty,” he said, voice rough, reaching down to pull you to your feet.

“But I plan to get them much dirtier.”

He dragged you up like he couldn’t stand being apart from you another second. Your knees barely had time to lock around his waist before your back hit the hallway wall.

Your glasses were crooked now. And your lips were still swollen from sucking him off. You were adorable.

Adorable and hot.

He reached up, adjusted your glasses, and then grinned.

“They stay on.”

Ari looked feral as he tugged the shirt down your arms, baring your breasts to the cool air and his hungry stare.

The sight earned you a delicious sound from deep in his throat. Then his mouth was on you.

His tongue swept inside your mouth, tasting himself on your lips, groaning when you moaned into him like you needed more. Your fingers gripped his hair because you needed something to hold on to.

His hands gripped under your thighs, lifting you without breaking the kiss. You hips ground down to where he was already hard again, dragging delicious friction through his sweats.

“You think I’m done with you?” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “Think I’m not gonna fuck you stupid against this wall?”

“God, Ari,” you gasped. “Yes. Yes, please.”

You kissed his neck, sucking just below his ear as you whispered, “I just wanted to know...”

He lined himself up and slid inside you in one thick, devastating thrust, the angle deep and sharp, making your head thunk softly against the wall as your mouth dropped open.

He was so damn thick.

Your body protested for a split second, then gladly lubricated and accepted him. You were gasping, helpless, and clutching his shoulders as he started to move with rough, controlled thrusts that hit the deepest part of you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your glasses slipped; you didn’t care.

He growled against your throat.

“Look at me.”

You tried, but your eyes were half-lidded, mouth open, glasses fogging again as the heat built impossibly fast. He slipped his hand around your neck, his thumb tilting your jaw up.

“Look at me when I fuck you like this. I want to see those eyes. Want to see how wrecked you get behind those perfect little frames.”

The dirty glasses made it all hotter, messier, and more unbearable.

But Ari fucked you through it.

And you felt everything. The grind of his hips. The drag of his cock. The stretch, the ache, the overwhelming fullness. Your head fell back with a whimper as he slammed deeper.

“You look so goddamn pretty in these,” he panted.

“Riding my cock with fogged-up glasses like you were made for it. Taking it like the good little filthy girl you are.”

Your orgasm hit fast and brutal.

You clenched around him, nails digging into his back, body trembling as you reached for that peak. He fucked you deep and hard, all while kissing the air out of your lungs. He fucked you through every aftershock until you were shaking against the wall. 

Then he, hooked your knees around his arms and dug even deeper, pushing you over the edge again until your vision whited out, your cries muffled by his mouth. And when your pussy milked his cock again, glasses tilted, shirt hanging open, he lost it right behind you. 

He stayed buried inside you for a long, shuddering breath, holding you close, his forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your ass in his huge paws.

“I ever see you in these glasses in public,” he whispered, “You better get someplace private. Fast. You understand me?”

You nodded, boneless and buzzing.

He kissed your cheek, let your legs slide down to the ground, and held you steady with one hand as he gently adjusted your frames again with the other.

“Still look perfect,” he murmured.

You smiled.

“Thanks for your review,” you whispered. 

“I have 28 other pairs at the office.”

Ari groaned.

Then he threw you over his shoulder, causing the glasses to fly off somewhere behind you as he headed toward the shower.

Because Ari absolutely wasn’t done with you.

[birdofwildness]

♱Favorite.

♱Dark lord!Tom Riddle X deatheater!reader

Sumarry::Your boss has a soft spot for you,and you need to talk.

Warnings::power imbalance,possessiveness,tension,mentions of violence

you knew tom riddle didn’t tolerate weakness.

he preached discipline like it was scripture, punished failure without hesitation, and regarded most people with the same cold stare he’d give a dying insect.

but you were an exception.

or at least… you thought you were.

he never raised his voice with you. never forced you to kneel. you got away with remarks the others wouldn’t even think. and when you failed—rarely, but it happened—he didn’t crucio you. he let you explain.

and that’s why, when one of the lower-ranking death eaters said the dark lord wants to see you, you didn’t flinch. didn’t bow. just straightened your robes and walked the halls like you belonged there.

he was alone in the room when you entered. not his usual throne, just standing by the window, fingers folded behind his back.

“you wanted to see me?” you said, trying to keep it light, like the silence between you wasn’t thick enough to choke on.

“shut the door,” he said. voice even. unreadable.

you did. and for a second, you stood there, hands behind your back, waiting. then he turned.

“we need to talk,” he said.

that alone was unusual. tom riddle didn’t talk. he ordered. he commanded.

“okay,” you replied, one brow raised. “talk then.”

he sighed. actually sighed. dragged a hand through his dark hair like he’d spent the whole day suppressing the urge.

“they’ve started to notice,” he said simply.

“who?”

“the others. my inner circle. they’re wondering why you haven’t been punished like the rest of them. why you’re allowed… leniencies.”

you tilted your head. “and what did you tell them?”

he looked at you like it annoyed him that you’d even ask. then he stepped forward.

“i told them nothing. but that’s the problem.”

he was close now. not touching. just standing there, looking down at you like he was trying to decide something.

“tom,” you said, soft enough that it felt like a risk. “if you want me to fall in line, i will. just say the word.”

his hand moved, not quickly, but deliberately—fingers brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, grazing the edge of your jaw.

“it’s not that simple,” he murmured. “you don’t understand what it does to me. letting you get away with things. watching you walk into rooms like you belong to no one.”

you didn’t move. didn’t blink.

“i don’t belong to anyone,” you said, but it came out quieter than you meant.

he leaned down, voice low and calm, venom-sweet.

“you do,” he whispered. “you just don’t realize it yet.”

his hand slipped away. the moment broke. tom stepped back like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just claimed you without even touching you.

“you’ll be on the raid tonight,” he said. “and after, we’ll… talk again.”

you swallowed hard. “yes, my lord.”

[malevoreenthusiast]

In honor of my upcoming 21st birthday, can you please write a short story of me getting eaten by Freddie? Something like me going to the club for the first time and end the night in his belly

Happy birthday king! I hope you enjoy his stomach chamber for your 21st. :)

The floor was sticky. That was the first thing Freddie had thought when he entered the nightclub. On a whim, he had decided to take a night out by himself to try and work on his social skills because, the more he thought about it, the more Freddie realized that he really didn’t have that many close confidants outside of his inner circle. After a fair bit of encouragement from his friends, the socially awkward jock found himself stumbling into a bar on a Saturday night in a leather jacket he would never usually wear. The material felt like it was pulling his skin unnaturally taut, and he desperately wanted to retreat into his phone in the corner to call his friends to pick him up.

A clammy hand ruffled through his brown curls and the predator steeled himself for a night of fun. This certainly wasn’t his scene, but he would need to make sacrifices if he wanted to expand his social circle. Deafeningly loud music shook the floor beneath all of the clubbers as Freddie began shuffling towards the bar. He succinctly ordered a drink from the bartender and kept his head down, afraid to initiate any social interaction.

That’s when you noticed him from the dancefloor. A tall, lean, cute-looking guy sitting alone at the bar. Since you were surrounded by your friends all there to hype you up, you were fueled like an amorous jet to go walk up to the guy. Lifting your feet felt like a hassle because of how desperately it clung to your soles, given the adhesive that the spilled alcohol provided; however, you persevered, getting closer to the stranger. His shoulders were broad, and he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck without looking up. This hot guy was obviously quite shy, but that gave him a mysterious factor that was undoubtedly enticing.

“Hey!” you tapped him on the shoulder, inhibitions gone with the few drinks you’d pregamed with.

Freddie turned to look at you, eyes somewhat wide and shocked by your confidence (and perhaps drunkenness). He cocked his head sideways and yelled, “What?”

You giggled at his cluelessness, taking a seat next to him. You tried once more, drowning out the music with your desire to know this stranger. “I said hi! It’s nice to meet you.”

The leather-wearing predator ahh-ed in comprehension, returning the volley with a “Nice to meet you, too! I’m Freddie! Uh.. Happy birthday?”

“What?! I can’t hear you… the music,” you said, gesturing to the DJ behind you.

The curly-haired man smiled crookedly and reached his hand to the sash your friends had forced you to wear for your 21st birthday. It read in giant gold letters with a glittery silver background: “Birthday Boy.” It was mortifying at first, but your friends and yourself quickly grew attached to how silly it was.

“Ohhhh! Thank you! Yeah! I’m 21!”

Freddie chuckled, taking a hearty gulp of his drink. “I figured!”

Just as you were about to open your mouth to ask more about Freddie, the opening notes to one of your favorite party songs began to shake the floor. It felt like a bullet of glee and excitement had just caressed your temple, prompting you to grasp Freddie by the hand and drag him into the center of the mosh pit with all of your friends. “Come on! I love this song!” 

Freddie followed obediently, and he was certainly a little awkward at first, but after the first few songs, he warmed up beautifully. The night went on like a tornado of celebrations and fun, and your new handsome friend slowly became more and more verbose as he got more alcohol into his system, brightening him to the people he was with. As the party climaxed, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, taking Freddie with you. 

As you dragged him by the hand, looking back at his large biceps (he had ditched the leather jacket, and it was fastened tightly around your waist), you winked as you led him towards the private restrooms at the back of the club.

“That was sooo fun!” the sweaty predator giggled, clearly a lightweight when it comes to drinking. “Wanna go back out there?”

You nodded but locked the door behind the two of you. Since it was your birthday, you figured you might as well celebrate as hard as you could, so why not be spontaneous with a beautiful, sexy stranger? The dingy lighting in the graffiti bathroom made for a natural aphrodisiac in the atmosphere. The muffled music coming from the central room still beats in time with your heart, quickening as you bite your lip in anticipation. On the dance floor, as you subtly grinded on Freddie, you could feel his enormous package through his jeans. Every time you tried getting handsy with him, though, he pulled away. Thus, you figured you needed to be more direct with him.

“Yeah, but first can we hang out here? Alone?” You began loosening his jacket around your waist and you lifted your shirt off over your head, but you kept the birthday sash on your torso. The plastic felt sticky on your sweaty skin, but you wanted to remember every sensation you could right now. The thudding of your heart sent fire from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. You’d never been this reckless before, and something about the thrilling nature of this enthralled you like nothing else ever had before.

“Sure thing,” he cheered, still bubbly from his far-too-many drinks. Unbeknownst to you, Freddie truly was so naive to the point that he didn’t even register that you were lusting after him. The thought of sex was so far removed from his mind when in the presence of anyone but Brayden that he didn’t notice what you were hinting at. So, he offered, “You need some quiet time? I bet I could help with that!” He flashed you another crooked smile whilst patting his stomach, for some unknown reason, and his charm sent you wild.

“Please, please help me, Freddie. Do it for the birthday boy?” You half-joked, straightening out your sash.

The jock gestured you to come closer and he took off his tight shirt, boasting his impeccable washboard abs and well-built chest. In a flush, you rushed forward. You pressed your sweaty body into him, feeling the hardness of his muscles. Closing your eyes, you stood on your tip-toes to kiss him. You had to lean quite far forward, and when you opened your eyes, all you saw was darkness.

The handsome stranger’s hands seized your sides as you felt yourself get hoisted into the air. Immediately, your legs started kicking in a reactionary attempt to escape. Pulling yourself back, you registered instantly that your head was in a damp, dank cavern of some sort. Your face was pressed up against a spongy, warm bed that was slick, coating your face in something that smelled deathly unpleasant.

Freddie happily hummed, licking over your face and taking a beefy gulp, bunching up your shoulders and managing to engulf your pectorals, too. His chest bulged out slightly, and you could feel a tight, constricting passageway make space as your head pushed through. Loud gurgling noises echoed from below you, and with a sweltering realization, you understood what was happening. This beautiful, charming, mysterious stranger was eating you—swallowing you whole like a piece of meat.

Doing your utmost, you squirmed in resistance inside his esophagus, yelling as hard as you could for him to stop. Completely lost on how someone could do this, your best bet would be to reason with the guy. Still, it wasn’t like he could talk back with your entire torso in his gullet. As his throat pulled you in deeper, you tried not to think about how comforting it was to be fully embraced like this. You had wanted to get close to the guy, and even though this was definitely not what you had meant, he seemed to be giggling happily as he swallowed you whole in those big, manly gulps that echoed in the dim fluorescence of the bar bathroom.

Unaware of your consternation, Freddie took careful care not to rip your birthday sash as he kicked his head back and let your lower body sink into his belly. The predator felt your head push past his sphincter muscles and enter his stomach, letting his abs bulge outward impressively. Both hands let go of the iron grasp they had in your sides and began rubbing over his gut, which you could feel through the stomach walls. Freddie ran his tongue between your thighs, igniting a fierce arousal in you once more, but he seemed to only be interested in tasting you as you filled out his rapidly expanding beach-ball belly with haste.

As soon as your upper body had emptied into Fred’s stomach, you tried reorienting yourself into a position that wasn’t uncomfortable and contorting your body in ways it was never meant to twist. The predator’s stomach walls kneaded and massaged your sweaty body as the heat slowly increased as it had on the dance floor mosh pit. Feeling Freddie’s molars nibble slightly and apply pressure on your calves, you closed your eyes and silently wished this was all a dream. Unfortunately, his nibbling was equivalent to that of a pinch, and it definitely would’ve roused you from any dream you might be experiencing. Alas, you were still in the handsome stranger’s ballooning belly, listening to it gurgle and churn around you as the dark, dank environment thanked its owner for the massive piece of food it got to indulge in.

On the outside, Freddie continued massaging his belly delicately as he swallowed up your feet, taking your shoes off unceremoniously and gulping the last of you down happily. Once your feet had sunk past his lips, his jaw snapped shut, sealing you to his belly for however long he pleased. The jock groaned in pure bliss, feeling the last of your body bloat out his stomach to obscene proportions. The bulge of his belly pushed out from his frame like a mountain on a plain, but there was something so alluring and beautiful about his full belly that Freddie couldn’t help but admire. Feeling you squirm around in his tank, the predator moaned softly and braced himself against the back wall, feeling his belly move around with you inside it.

“Fuck… Fuck you were so yummy,” The predator cooed, patting his belly still in a drunken haze.

BBBBoooooooUUUUuuuuuuUrrrr—BBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

If he was lucky, the other club-goers would’ve just thought that earth-shaking belch to be a heavy bass on the current song that was blaring. All that expelling of gas, however, had forced you to curl up into a ball in his hefty tummy. Through his muscled abdomen, you could hear giggling again.

“Hehe, do you mind if–hic–you mind if I keep this? I think Brayden would like it…”

Not understanding what he was talking about, you tucked your head down and tried concentrating on how to escape this sweltering belch-maker before it was too late. As you reached down to fiddle with your sash, your hands were only met with your stomach-juice-soaked skin. Then, you figured out what Freddie was chortling about: he had belched up your birthday boy sash and was playing with it like a kitten would.

As the gurgling intensified and Freddie continued firing out enormous burps, the predator slowly grew more lethargic. You imagined that he sat down to take a breather, though it was hard to tell for sure, given your current situation. Freddie breathed heavily as he gradually fell into a food coma, aided by the large amount of alcohol in his system. Though it was twisted, what had just happened, his belly did feel somewhat comfortable in a very strange way. It clearly wanted you in there, which was nice at least—to feel wanted.

About two hours later, the snoozing pred woke up and instantly clutched his head, not used to the feeling of a hangover. Sucking air in through his teeth, Freddie tried to recognize his surroundings to no avail. When he looked down, he heaved a great sigh and jostled you in his belly, waking you up too. Belching up even more of your oxygen, Freddie grabbed his phone from his leather jacket and the sound of an ongoing call ensued.

“Bray? That you?”

“...Yeah,” he was groggy, which was pretty adorable, but that wasn’t the issue at hand right now.

“...I did it again… could you come get me?”

The sound of muffled shuffling could be heard on the other end of the phone. Freddie looked at the far-too-bright screen for a moment to check the time, which read 3:27 AM. He grimaced, feeling guilty for waking his boyfriend up so late into the night.

When Brayden responded again, he sounded much more awake: “Same bar I left you at? Who was he?”

“Yeah. Some birthday boy… he had a sash and everything–UUURRRPPPP”

“This doesn’t come free you know. Sleep is hard to come by these days when I share a bed with you. When we get back I’m riding you within an inch of your life, then you're tucking me in your belly until I say I’m done. Understand?

The predator smiled giddily and nodded, affirming that “I understand.”

P.S. I really wasn't sure if you wanted to be digested or not, so I left it kind of vague on purpose. On a serious note, I hope you have a wonderful birthday! Spend it well :)

[sirxaibs]

Do you know that scene in 'Regular Show" when Rigby tells Mordecai that his dating someone? You know, this one.

https://youtu.be/mTj87DvP0zE?si=dHh1sLPRuU5AA7RU

Right, so this is the exact same way I Imagine Sal telling his gang about him and his S/O. Right so you can just do whatever with it, you can turn it into a fic, use it in one of your other request, or just don't do anything with it. I just wanted to rant ig💀

OK GUYS PRETEND IM READING MY REQUESTS AND NOT BUSY!!!

this is a short one and is a heavily silly one!! I guess this can go with for popular reader AU! (modern au? idk i make a zoom reference)

masterlist

synopsis: gang minus ashley (supposed to be a dude hang out until the reader crashes it) finds out youre dating sal. Larry is as dramatic as fucking always.

“Dude,” Larry groaned, voice raspy like he’d just woken up which he had, two hours ago. “I think I’ve hit a new low.”

Todd didn’t even look up. “You say that so often bro.”

“No, no, this one’s different,” Larry muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I stayed up late watching compilations of goth girls with nose rings reading poetry last night. I don’t even know why. My brain’s starving, bro.”

Sal snorted softly, while drawing. “You’re unwell.”

“I’m deprived, man,” Larry said, dragging himself into a slouched sit up. “I haven’t been touched in, like, months. Not even accidentally. I brushed hands with some chick at 7 Eleven and popped a big one.”

Todd grimaced and finally looked over. “You need help.”

“I need a miracle,” Larry said, pointing between them like he was conducting a funeral. “I’m surrounded. Whores to the left of me ” he gestured to Todd, “virgins to the right ” he tossed a finger toward Sal, “and here I am, balls dry and brain fried.”

Todd pushed up his glasses. “Being in a committed relationship with Neil does not make me a whore.”

“tell that to neil, i think he would say otherwise” Larry replied, picking up a cold chicken nugget from the coffee table and eating it without hesitation.

“That’s private.”

Sal blinked. “youre actually so gross man”

“Don’t act surprised,” Larry said, pointing a chicken finger at him. “You’ve got that hopeful little ‘I believe in true love’ look in your eye. It’s disgusting.”

Sal gave a noncommittal shrug. “I just think you find the right person when the time’s right. Someone who sees you. Who, like, actually wants to sit in your mess and love you anyway.”

“Okay, Plato,” Larry scoffed. “You say that like someone’s gonna come knocking on the door and say, ‘Wow, Larry, I love how you smell like weed and sweat. Let me fix you.’”

Sal offered a small smile. “Maybe they will. You never know.”

Larry stared at him, deadpan. “Dude. No offense, but I’m not taking dating advice from the other virgin in the room.”

Sal opened his mouth like he might respond, then just shrugged again. “Fair enough.”

“Like, I’m dying out here,” Larry groaned, tossing his head back. “I’m the whole package! like you both think I am!”

Todd was trying not to laugh now. “You are… impressive.”

“Don’t parronize me, Todd. You’re out here getting laid between being a smart fuck and fucking smart and I’m just trying to remember what it feels like to make eye contact with someone who isn’t in a Zoom lecture.”

“You haven’t been in a Zoom lecture for months,” Sal said helpfully.

“Exactly!” Larry snapped. “I’m practically a ghost!”

Todd sighed, rubbing his temple. “You do realize that you could… I dont know, go outside and meet someone, right?”

Larry leaned forward with a dark grin. “thats not in the cards mate”

Sal let out a laugh that made Larry smirk. “dude then that's fully on you”

“Thank you,” Larry said proudly. “I may be dying inside, but I’m still funny. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Maybe you should try actually dating instead of just flirting with sad bookstore cashiers and girls who sell crystals on Instagram,” Todd muttered, standing to stretch.

“I like sad girls!” Larry defended. “They’re mysterious. not to manic pixie dream girl these girls but fortunately for them, it makes them on my radar, they've seen things”

“They’ve seen you,” Sal muttered under his breath, grinning.

“Exactly. And they ran,” Todd added.

Larry flopped over. “You’re both cruel. I open my heart and you throw shade.”

“much needed shade,” Todd muttered.

“literally shut the fuck up” Larry said with a shrug. “Anyway, if either of you know anyone hot, weird, emotionally damaged, and preferably into aliens or tarot, please send them my number.”

Sal gave him a look. “You say that like you’re a good investment.”

“I could be,” Larry corrected.

Todd rolled his eyes. “dinner could come faster if you shut up.”

“mmmm sure,” Larry said, suddenly perking up. “And if it’s pizza, I’m sitting next to you and giving you a personal special gift.”

“God, please don’t,” Todd muttered

Sal stretching. “We’re getting you a hobby.”

“Sex was supposed to be my hobby!” Larry called after them.

Sal blinked slowly, coming back from his stretch. “Dude, calm down.”

“I won’t!” Larry flailed his arms dramatically.

Todd shifted just enough to rest his chin on his hand. “You have issues.”

“I have needs, Todd. Human ones. I’m touch starved and mentally unstable. It’s a great combo if you’re into damaged goods, but apparently no one is!”

Sal sighed, still sketching. “Maybe you need to stop going after people who are guaranteed emotional disasters.”

“Oh, and what would you two know about my kind of dating?” Larry snapped, voice getting sharper. “Todd, you skipped the trauma part and jumped straight into cozy domestic bliss with Neil like it’s some damn romcom. And you ” He jabbed a finger at Sal. “You’ve got the dating experience of a damp napkin. Don’t lecture me on romance when your only action comes from drawing mysterious girls in your sketchbook like it’s 2005.”

Sal’s pencil froze for half a second. Larry leaned back, huffing, muttering under his breath. “God, even my insults are sad now.”

But Sal didn’t respond. He slowly set the pencil down and looked up. The room was quiet.

Larry glanced up. “What?”

Sal gave Larry a long, tired look. His voice was low and calm. “Actually, smart guy, I have been dating someone.”

Larry froze. “What?”

Sal shrugged once. “Yeah.”

“…Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”

“No. No, you don’t just drop that like it’s nothing. Who? Who the hell would date you?” Larry excitedly looked at him. “No offense, but if i were into you, I would but that’s because we match each others freaks, who else would?”

Sal leaned forward slightly. “It’s Y/N.”

Larry blinked. Todd looked like he was trying not to visibly flinch. Larry sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry what?”

Sal nodded, a little awkwardly but without backing down. “Yeah. It’s been a little while now.”

“You’re telling me… Y/N. Our Y/N. The only normal person who tolerates our lame asses. That Y/N.”

“hey im normal”

“youre literally not todd”

“Yes.”

“And you’re dating her?”

Sal just nodded again.

Larry slumped back into the couch like he’d just been slapped across the face with a cold fish. “Unbelievable. I am literally in hell.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Sal added quickly. “We were just… taking it slow. Didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Didn’t want to ” Larry laughed, raspy little noise. “Bro. Everything is weird. You should’ve led with that like, weeks ago! That changes the entire dynamic! I’m out here crying about not being loved while you’re sneaking off to make googly eyes at the one decent human being left in our orbit!”

“It’s not like I did it to spite you,” Sal muttered.

Todd held up a hand. “Okay, let’s not turn this into a thing ”

Larry ignored him. “You didn’t even tell me! ME. im highkey offended.”

Sal actually looked a little guilty. “I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“’Hey Larry, stop crying into your ramen, I’m dating the coolest person we know!’ That’s how you bring it up!” Larry exclaimed.

Todd muttered under his breath, “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“I earn my drama,” Larry hissed. “You guys are all out here winning at love, and I’m over here making up scenarios in my head.”

Sal’s voice was quieter now. “I get it. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

Larry let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Nah. Nah, it’s fine. I’m happy for you, man. Seriously.” He looked off to the side and added, “I’ll just go sacrifice a lock of my hair to the moon goddess or whatever the hell it takes to not die single.”

Sal chuckled. “Want help with that?”

“Not from you, traitor.. You don’t belong in my trenches anymore.”

Sal offered a faint, slightly guilty smile. “youll find someone ”

“I know,” Larry mumbled. “its just so rough”

The three of them fell into silence again Larry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Whatever. At least I still have pizza.”

“I actually thought we would warm up some leftovers” Todd pointed out.

Larry stared blankly into the void. “I have nothing.”

then the front door creaked open.

“Hey, losers!” came Y/N’s familiar voice. The warmth in her tone was immediate, She kicked off her shoes in the hallway with a thunk, holding a tote bag full of snacks and energy drinks. “I brought sugar and caffeine. Prepare to worship me.”

Larry didn’t even look up. “Oh, look what the cat dragged in.”

Y/N paused, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What’s with the tone?” She walked in further, holding out the snacks proudly. “I got those weird sour gummies you like, Larry.”

“Oh, wow,” Larry said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sour worms. Truly, you do care.”

Sal was now refusing to make eye contact with her, suddenly very invested in the corner of his page. Todd, meanwhile, was watching the scene unfold like it was a sitcom. Y/N squinted at all three of them. “…Did someone die?”

“Not someone,” Larry muttered, resting his chin on his knees. “Just my faith in friendship. And honesty. And romantic transparency. But whatever.”

Y/N blinked. “Okay. Definitely weird vibes going on here.”

“Is it?” Larry asked, dramatically pulling the blanket tighter around his body like he was the heartbroken lead in an indie film. “Or is it just the smell of secrets festering in the air?”

“What is going on?” Y/N laughed nervously, looking between the three of them. “Why are you all acting like you just got caught burying a body?”

Todd hummed. “Could say something was buried.”

Sal cleared his throat and didn’t look up. “Larry’s being dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m being dramatic?” Larry whipped around to glare at Sal. “You kept your little romance saga under wraps like it was state security, and I’m the problem?”

Y/N’s smile faltered. “…Romance saga?” Silence. Too long. “Sal?” she asked slowly, eyebrows raised.

“Hmm?”

“Wanna fill me in?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

Todd let out the tiniest chuckle. Y/N looked back to Larry, confused. “Okay, am I missing something? Why are you glaring at me like I just kicked you in the face?”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Juliet,” Larry hissed. “You think you’re slick. Romeo told me everything”

“did he now?” Y/N laughed, exasperated now.

“i would argue not everything” sal peeps in

Y/N’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked at all three of them, eyebrows furrowed in panic. “Wait. Wait. What do you think you know?”

Larry stood, pointing dramatically. “Don’t play dumb! I know about you and Sal!”

“Oh my god,” Y/N finally muttered. “He told you?!”

“Damn right he told me,” Larry snapped. “Dropped it right in my lap like it was no big deal.”

Y/N flushed. “It wasn’t supposed to come out like this ”

“Oh, you think?”

“I didn’t mean ”

Larry threw up his hands. “Do you know how long I’ve been bitching about being single to both of you?! You could’ve at least let me know you were off the market so I could suffer in targeted isolation!”

“I was going to tell you eventually!” she said, defensive now.

“When? At your wedding?” Larry barked.

Todd: “Oof.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. “Okay. Okay, fine. It’s true. We’re dating. Happy?”

Larry crossed his arms. “Not really. I was hoping one of you was secretly wanting to date me.”

Sal smirked faintly, still not looking up. “Sorry.”

Y/N looked over at Todd. “you're such a bitch”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to help,” Todd said casually. “Watching it click was the highlight of my week.”

Larry exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. So congrats, lovebirds. I hope you’re very happy. I’ll just be in my room. Alone. Googling shit for special time that looks like one of you.”

He stomped toward the hallway like a man defeated. Y/N looked to Sal. “…Should we talk to him?”

Sal shrugged. “Give him fifteen minutes. He’ll come back for snacks.”

Todd held up the sour gummies while opening them. “I’m hiding these until he calms down.”

Y/N sighed and flopped down onto the couch with an audible groan. “dawg i’m so confused, i feel like i just cheated in him.”

Sal finally looked up, his voice quiet and honest. “Ew me too, but at least its out in the open.”

Y/N gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Todd smirked to himself. “About time.”

[big-mean-trans-dyke]

"horny for paperwork" sounded so goofy until I imagined the sheer humiliation of that form. either a criminal terr or a bashful cuntgirl who thought this sounded like so much fun until she's staring at the two paper sheets, illuminated by the office's fluorescent lights. the background noise of the secretary's keyboard adds to the buzzing in her ears as she has to consider exactly how tight her asshole is. the shame burns through her with every cheeky glance she had gotten since she announced, a little too loudly, what form she was here to fill out. she marks down gangbangs under her dislikes, keenly aware of the group of four or so real women watching her fill out the form. her handwriting gets shakier, but it's ok. she'll have to fill out a new form anyway when she has to update her virginity list soon.

Yes, join meeeee! Enjoy the commodification of the cuntgirl body, the submission of filling out a form reducing yourself to meat. The dehumanization of rape combined with the conveyor belt of bureaucracy.

She manages to get it filled out without incident - it still needs to be processed after all. She's a nervous wreck the next few days, stomach aflutter as she considers what she might have just done. Luckily, she's got a good support network. One of her transfem friends is even nice enough to spend a few days at her place, helping out around the house. She's..... definitely not leaning over to glance at the mail as the cuntgirl opens it up, is she?

Of course, a couple days later, she sees the letter with government stationary, opening it up despite the pit in her stomach. Most of it doesn't matter, just one word jumping out at her - 'Approved'. And then, before she realizes what's happening, she's dragged backwards out of her chair, thrown to the ground, and pinned. She watches as her front door opens, and all the other transfems in her life, along with a few she's never seen before, pile in to see whether she really doesn't like gangbangs.

[mars-ipan]

some postgame doodles for pride month