#with the extra cassette tape

[black-and-yellow]

Friendship ended with Bradley. Now Louis is my best friend.

[textsfromhannibal]

Who wants to hear a clip from Peacefield on a 40+ year old Panasonic RX-5031 for maximum 80s vibes? I guarantee the sound is gonna blow your minds.

(I beg you not to come after me for copyright, this track is played for informational purposes so other people will go find vintage audio equipment, restore it, and buy even more fresh new tapes to support working musicians. I am making no profit off this video, thank you Lucifer bless.)

Edit: Lachryma benefits SO MUCH from the extra bit of grungy noise.

Edit 2: I'm literally SOBBING at Guiding Lights on this thing, it sounds like an 80s dark fantasy soundtrack, everyone needs to go get a tape player.

[burningcomputerpersona]

my cds (and cassette tape) finally arrived in the mail today!!

[binbogummy]

Got another two in the mail today with slightly differing aesthetics~

~~~

[spacedkey]

shrimps247 and jazz radio save me

[ultimate-blorbo-collector]

My correction tape on my typewriter went out in the middle of my Pantalone ballerina fic!! And it was getting good! I have ideas! Shit!

Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing if it ran out since I need to finish my masterwork and finish editing my Dottore oneshot.

[jedivoodoochile]

Video Magazine/ 1988

[onlyheluvsme]

Girl I’ve been thinkin sooo much about the entries in Ellie’s journal and 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 can you pls write reader finding some nsfw drawings or entries in her journal?

my mind also likes to wander and think of all the things ellie must put in there as someone who also keeps a journal. id like to think she would fill it with song lyrics she would find, what she would imagine planets to look like close up, omg i cant shes fucking adorable.. thank you for this anon!!

˗ˏˋnaked in her journal i´ˎ˗

you find drawings in your best friends journal — mdni, lowercase intended, bestfriend!ellie, loser!ellie, fluff/smut *ೃ༄pls leave reqs!!

headphones sat on ur head as you laid on ellie's bed waiting for her to get back from patrol. you knew her entire schedule by heart and since you had an extra key to joel's garage and currently ellie's bedroom, you felt no shame as her best friend waiting for her in her room slightly earlier than needed.

it had been a long day and you desperately needed your best friend. no one understood you like ellie did, always listening so intently to the issues you had. you listened to some track ellie had already set in her cassette tape, something joel had given her when you hear a thud.

eyes shooting open, your hands remove the headphones and you sit up inspecting the noise. jackson was relatively safe but you still worried about something making it through those walls.

"ellie? joel?" you called out to the empty room, your eyes scanning each corner to find the window open, a breeze coming through, and a book that had sat on the ledge now on the floor.

with a roll of your eyes and a sigh, you rise from her bed the feeling leaving you cold and make your way to close the window. with a heavy push, you manage to close the rusty thing and lean down to pick up the object that had fallen.

what looked like some kind of notebook stared back at you, the name 'ellie' written across the front in large block letters. what was this? you didn't realize ellie kept a journal and you'd known ellie since the day she and joel walked into jackson.

your eyes shot to the garage door, then to the half-working clock ellie kept next to her bed, and finally back down to the journal in your hands. you had probably five minutes before ellie walked through that door huffing about how annoying jesse had been today.

you bit your lip, slightly in guilt but also in excitement. of course you knew it was wrong to go through your best friends most important thoughts. yet everything in your body was telling you just to take one peek. how would she ever know?

caving into your thoughts, you flip open to a random page somewhere in the middle, 'june thirteenth' it reads across the top right corner. you giggle at the chicken-scratch that is ellie's handwriting.

you read about her day with joel, raiding some pharmacy that probably had nothing left to give anyway. mindlessly, you flip the page to find something drastically different from her takes on joel's horrible jokes making you pause.

the page you find, well what spans across two pages are different drawings. they scatter from one side of the notebook to the other, they're all different but all the same; each of them depicts you. ellie had drew you in various positions, yet in every single one of them you were completely bare.

your eyes were wide as you scanned each and every drawing. there was not a single part of you that felt disgusted or uncomfortable, only a heat began to pool between your thighs. she likes me back.

every image she drew was different from the next, a few of your full body laid out on what seems to be her bed, completely bare in different positions; splayed out on your back with two fingers curled into ur glistening cunt and your face in a moan, your ass in the air and head to the bed cunt being spread by two very familiar fingers.

some of them were more close up images, the tinier details. your eyes caught one of your tits, every detail exactly perfect down to the beauty mark that she definitely shouldn't know about. had my ellie taken a peek during one of our sleepovers?

your eyes find another one, this time its your back and ass on display, then another, your neck stretched back.

"fucking hell ellie" you whisper into the book, flicking through more pages of your naked body, completely engrossed in her beautiful drawings.

she notices that? you note as your eye catches one of your smile, a little higher on the left side.

you don't hear the door open or ellie's whisper of a "fuck" when she sees you on her bed, specifically when she sees what's in your hands. all of a sudden the journal is ripped from your hands, head shooting up so fast it's a surprise you didn't hurt your neck.

"ellie-" you attempt with no success as her babbling starts.

"you weren't supposed to see that, fuck! please don't hate me or think i'm weird, i promise i don't mean anything weird by it! i honestly didn't realize what i was drawing till i was done! no- wait- that sounds bad-" you cut off her babbling with a hand to her mouth.

"ellie, shut up" you smile as you look into her eyes, filled with fear and embarrassment. once you're sure she won't continue her nonsense, you remove your hand from her mouth.

slowly taking the journal from her shaking hands, you place it onto her bed and turn back to your nervous best friend.

"ellie?" you look at her freckled face.

"y-yeah?" her cheeks a shade of pink,

one of your hands goes up to brush a stray auburn lock behind her redden ear and her eyes go wide at the act this situation going completely different from when it did in her head,

"you wanna touch me ellie?" you innocently question her, pulling lightly on her earlobe as you watch her eyes flutter and jaw go slack.

she gives you a mindless nod in response, completely in shock by the entire situation. you don't find her repulsive? weird?

your eyes catch one of her pencils on her desk and a new idea sparks. with a new excitement you turn around grabbing ellie's journal and walk over to her desk, taking the pencil.

you turn to find her eyes watching you curiously, still in her clothes from patrol, shaky hands at her sides. walking over to her, you place the two objects in her hand and grab her desk chair rolling it up to her bed.

ellie watches you with confusion as you sit on her bed, her desk chair a few feet in front of you,

"c'mere" you pat the desk chair, signaling her to sit in it.

hesitantly, ellie walks over and sits in the chair, her journal and pencil between her sweating hands. when you could see her begin to get anxious, you slowly begin pulling the strap of your tank top down your arm. her eyes catch it immediately.

"here's what we're going to do ellie..." you speak seductively as you slowly remove your shirt; ellie's brain began to short circuit at the sight,

"you're going to open that journal of yours and draw pretty pictures of me and I'm going to make myself come." her wide eyes shot to yours in shock.

when ellie first starting drawing you, after years of imagining what you might look like in those delicious positions, she thought you would find her completely repulsive. she never thought this would be the reaction she got and fuck did she feel so blessed.

ellie couldn't move, frozen in her spot as she watched you slowly removed each article of clothing. first your top then your shorts leaving you in only a lace bra and panties. she held her breath watching you remove your bra, tits bouncing with their release.

"fuck" ellie whispers, chest heaving.

you continue with your show, slowly laying back onto her bed as your hands come down to slide off your panties.

"better start drawing baby" you tell her, spreading your legs to give her a perfect view of your soaked cunt and ellie loses it.

"fuck, please let me touch you" she leans forward, hands reaching towards you but your foot comes out and presses into her chest stopping her.

"draw." is all you give her as you push her back into the chair with your foot, re-spreading your legs, and dragging your hand slowly down your body until it reaches your aching clit.

ellie's eyes catch each movement as she fumbles with her pencil and journal. not once looking at the objects as her hand starts rapidly drawing across the page, no her eyes stayed on your fingers and cunt the entire time.

part two

[ellie masterlist]

[aurorawritestoescape]

CHERRY LIPS

Clint Flood x f!reader || 4,5 k

Summary: Clint and you have a simple relationship - you fuck each other and go on with your lives. Can it stay that way? What if one night changes everything?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, age gap (the size is up to you bb), stripper!reader, Cherry is her stage name (mentioned once), Clint is in love, protective!Clint, canon typical violence (not towards reader), bratty reader, lots of banter, praise kink, FEELINGS, mention of m!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, swearing, alcohol consumption (Clint has a beer). Reader has hair.

A/n: this started as a pwp but as usual turned into something else. I hope you’ll enjoy it❤️ Sweet kisses to @milla-frenchy for coming up with the title (inspired by the song Cherry Lips - Garbage) and for beta-ing! ILYSM!😘 Dividers by @huraxy

MASTERLIST || more Clint

You walk out of the club late at night after your shift and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with crisp air. It’s a little cold outside and a shiver runs down your spine, your skin erupts with goosebumps, but after heavy cigarette smoke of the club you relish the freshness of the night. Besides, you don’t have time to get really cold - a hot flash burns your insides when you see him waiting for you.

Clint is leaning against his blue Chevy, huge arms crossed in front of his chest, broad shoulders straining a black leather jacket. His glare tells everyone to ’fuck off’ and only to you it whispers ‘C’mere’. You bite your lip at the sight, your desire pulling you to him like a magnet.

“Hey, Cherry! How much for a bj?”

You roll your eyes, hearing some asshole shout behind you. Of fucking course. The motherfucker had the pleasure of seeing your tits, so now he feels entitled to trying the other goods out.

“I’m not a hooker, asshat. I’m a dancer,” you throw at him, not turning back, heading to the man you would give a hundred bj’s for free.

Clint’s scowl turns extra threatening when he hears the guy talk to you.

“Hey, Cowboy,” you purr, reaching the car, and Clint opens the door for you to get in, but his eyes are set on the man following you from the club.

“Are you her pimp?” the fucker asks, coming up to the car and getting into Clint’s face.

“Big mistake,” you mumble under your breath, already in the passenger seat. Through the window you watch him show Clint his index and middle fingers and yap,

“Your bitch owes me two lap dances.”

“Don’t call her that,” you hear Clint’s growl, quickly followed by a crunch of bones.

You look away in disgust and then see Clint walking around the car to the driver’s seat. The asshole is squealing on the ground, cradling his broken fingers, and you pop your head out of the window to smirk into his crying face, before Clint drives you off.

“How’s work, baby?” Clint asks as if nothing has happened, giving you a quick up and down look. After watching him stand up for you, there’s a risk of you sliding off the leather seat, but no way you’d show him how much his protection turns you on — you’re a strong independent woman after all.

“Uneventful,” you reply, grabbing a cassette tape from the glove compartment and sliding it into the player. “Well. Until you broke my client’s fingers.”

A song you love starts playing and you bob your head to the beat, humming under your nose. Clint seems to be focused on the road ahead but then he asks,

“Should I apologise?”

“No, he deserved it,” you reply with a shrug. “And I loveeeee when you’re protective of me.”

“Don’t say this word.”

“What? ‘Love’?” You furrow your brows, hearing his growl. “C’mon Cowboy, you said it, I didn’t, what’s the big deal?”

Clint doesn’t reply and keeps silently driving you through the empty streets, but electricity in the air is palpable.

Familiar feeling crawls into your chest - a mixture of guilt and anger, and as soon as it pangs your heart, you get defensive.

“Quit working for the mob and maybe I’ll change my mind. Your life's too messy for me.”

“Messy,” he repeats slowly, his thumb drumming against the steering wheel. ”Yours isn’t? That dick coulda attacked you.”

“I doubt it. But if he had, I would’ve used a pepper spray. And the mess you’re in—,” you pause, pointing a finger at the man, ”no amount of pepper spray would help with that.”

Clint chuckles bitterly, glancing your way.

”You’re too wise for your age, you know that?”

You smirk and turn to him in your seat.

“Oh, I bet you’d want me to be a lil bimbo, huh?” You make your voice higher and squeeze your breasts together between your arms, pushing them out, as you blabber, “Big clever man, please, teach me life, while I’m sucking your fat cock!”

Clint chuckles, shaking his head, but his paw darts down to adjust a prominent bulge in his jeans.

“You’re funny.”

“So what am I? Wise or funny?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Ok. Whatever you say, handsome,” you shrug and throw your shoes off. You put your feet on Clint’s lap and he rests his free hand on your ankle. His warm touch makes you purr like a cat and you melt against the seat.

You two are driving in silence, only music filling the car, both in your own thoughts, until you see his house.

Clint’s place is simply decorated, clean and always dimly lit. You love it- after strobing lights of the club your eyes and mind can finally rest, your soul feels at peace. There you’re always on high alert, your guard is constantly up - half naked, glitter on your skin and in your hair, you can’t help but feel like a prey that’s inviting a predator, grinding on some guy who would have happily taken you by force if not for the security.

At Clint’s house you unwind, relax, take a deep breath of his scent and feel yourself protected, cared for, loved.

‘Loved’.

Clint never says it now, the word alone makes his chest rumble with thunder. He did once and your reaction surprised you both. You laughed. Then you got furious.

You’d been seeing each other for a few weeks and his confession was unexpected but also cruel. Those three little words made your relationship complicated and dangerous for you. Like a rope tied around your wrists, bonding you to him. How long till that rope would be around your neck?

Clint always thought that he was invincible, a warrior no one could fuck with. But what about you? You’d seen too much shit happen to girls because of their men and you didn’t want to be one of them. So you fucked him and went on with your life. He fucked you and went on with his.

“Gonna take a shower. Wanna join me?” you purr, pressing your palms to Clint’s strong chest, when you two step into his place.

”I’m good. I’ll wait for you.”

He leans in and kisses your pouty lips. Soon they part and he hums at the taste of cherry, your favorite lip gloss flavor.

You come back soon wearing his band tee, big enough to cover your ass, and a black thong. Clint’s waiting for you on the couch, nursing a beer in his hand, deep in thoughts as usual. His leather jacket discarded, you bite your lip seeing him in a flannel shirt over a grey Hanley. The broadness of his torso, the spread of his thighs make you gush into your fresh panties.

“How was your day, honey?” you trill with a smile, padding to the cassette player on the drawer. Clint sighs and takes a sip of his beer.

“Fine.”

“Sounds like it,” you mumble and slide the cassette you made for him into the deck. You rewind it to the song you sometimes dance to at the club and smile, enjoying the sexy tune. As if by itself your body starts moving and you turn to Clint, seductively swaying your hips, your hands slowly pulling the hem of your tee up, exposing more of your body.

You saunter to the couch and stop between Clint’s legs.

“You don’t have to dance for me,” he utters, but his eyes take in everything you’re giving him.

“I know I don’t have to-,” you smirk, turning around. “I want to.”

With your back to the couch you bend over, showing off your ass, your palms gliding over your naked legs, your skin erupting in goosebumps. You bring your hand to your covered pussy and trace your seam over the wet fabric. A moan falls out of your mouth, loud enough for Clint to hear even through the music. The man growls, his obsidian eyes set on the place that’s throbbing desperately for him.

You straighten up and turn around, facing him again. Clint licks his lips, his Adam apple bobs, and you feel giddy inside seeing how turned on he is because of you. Making people horny is literally your job, but only with Clint you feel a thrill as if you’re dancing for someone for the first time.

To push him further you lift your bare foot, put it on his denim-clad thigh and slowly drag it up, up to his big bulge. When your foot slightly pushes his clothed cock, you take a sharp breath - he’s rock hard under his jeans.

Suddenly Clint grabs your ankle and pulls you to him, making you fall on his lap with a gasp.

“Bad Cowboy,” you scold him, giggling and straddling his thick thighs. Your nails dig into his shoulders as a punishment but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Quit your teasing.”

He sits up, holding you close with one arm wrapped around you, and places the unfinished beer on the side table. His strong body against yours, the way he holds you like a doll, sends a bolt of lightning to your core, and you bite your lip, suppressing a needy whimper.

Clint leans back on the couch and slides his hands under your tee. They’re so big and warm on your hips, that you purr at the feeling.

Then you bring your index finger to his face and trace a line that goes from the bridge of his nose down to his cheekbone.

“When are you gonna tell me how you got this scar?”

Clint scratches the place that you’ve tickled and gruffs,

“When you behave.”

“Never then. ‘k.” Your laughter lightens up the room and Clint shakes his head with a soft smile.

After a few moments of silence you ask,

“Why do you never come see me dance at the club?”

“I don’t go to strip clubs.”

Your brows shoot up as you remind him,

“Didn’t we meet there, Cowboy?”

Clint shifts his jaw and replies,

”Yeah, but I was working. You know it.”

“Oh, yes!” You tilt your head to the side and reminisce, ”You were so cute. Trying not to stare at my tits when I was dancing for your boss.”

You remember that day like it was yesterday. The pull you felt when you saw Clint for the first time - tall and broad, dangerous-looking. A pair of grabby hands were creeping over your body, no one would dare to stop a mob boss from groping a stripper, but you didn’t care. All your attention was focused on his enforcer, standing in the shadows. You weren’t dancing for the asshole in the chair, you were dancing for Clint.

After the lap dance, you managed to sneak a paper with your phone number into his palm and he called you the next day.

A smile tugs at Clint’s lips as he mumbles, looking almost shy,

“‘Cute’. No one ever calls me ‘cute’.”

“That’s because you’re cute only for me.” You slowly lean down and give him a teasing peck on the lips. When your eyes slide down his chest, you see that his bulge has gotten even bigger. God, you want it inside!

You grab the hem of your tee and take it off, freeing your naked breasts, your nipples diamond-hard.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Clint groans and bucks his hips up at the sight.

Your dance continues as you’re moving back and forth on his lap, bringing your tits closer to his face and then pulling away. Your clothed pussy grazes his bulge, whimpers fall from your mouth at the sensation of the rough material against your heat.

Clint’s eyes are dark as he’s watching you, they trail over your naked breasts, your heaving belly, a small triangle of your thong, stuck to your wet folds. You tease yourself with your fingers and press your lips to his thick neck. Your tongue darts out, his skin salty and hot. Suddenly Clint growls and pushes you to sit up.

“What?” you whine, already missing the feel and the taste of him on your tongue.

He is rubbing your arms up and down and says,

“Lemme look at you first.”

“Perv.” You roll your eyes, and Clint huffs a laugh but his gaze is full of longing, his hot palms trail over your skin with a softness only he gives you.

“Don’t look at me like this,” you whisper, feeling a lump in your throat.

“Like what?”

You leave his question hanging in the air, too hard to answer, to say the words out loud.

A corner of Clint’s mouth rises up but his eyes lack humour. His hand slides from your hip to your back and he pulls you closer. He presses an open mouth kiss to your collarbone, making your heart beat so hard and fast, he surely can feel it on his lips, as they trail down to your naked breasts. He kisses a spot just above your nipple and your eyes flutter shut, your body lighting up at the feeling of his soft touch and scruffy facial hair, his big hand keeping you in place.

Clint tilts his head up, his eyes are dark with lust, but there’s something else there, something warm and real. You push him back slightly, clinging to your power, refusing to accept his vulnerability, but your walls crumble when he murmurs three simple words,

“You’re beautiful.” All of a sudden, you stop breathing as he continues, “Do they tell you that?”

“Who?” You croak and clear your throat.

“Assholes you dance for.”

He leans back against the couch while his eyes are staring into your soul.

“Sometimes.” You’re not lying. Some men shower you with praise when you dance, but their words are tasteless, only Clint’s compliments make your heart flutter.

He hums, narrowing his eyes at you.

Your voice is shaky when you tell him, “I’d love to give you a dance at the club. Wanna show you what I can do.”

“You’re showing it now, baby. Doing a damn good job,” Clint smirks, watching you straddle him. He brings his hands to your tits to cup them and grazes your perked up nipples with his thumbs.

“Could I touch you like this in the club?” he asks, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“No, I’d ask you to sit on your hands, bad boy.” You give him a smile but you don’t feel like laughing - the lust sends hot flashes through your core again and again, your pussy aches to be filled.

“Do you want me to sit on my hands?” Clint’s husky voice makes you shudder and goosebumps cover your skin as you shake your head.

Clint hums in approval, his hands now grabbing two handfuls of your ass and squeezing them. A sudden slap follows right away, not hard but strong enough for your asscheek to jiggle.

“Could I do this?”

He’s challenging you, waiting for you to beg him to fuck you.

“No,” you reply, your voice small, barely audible through the music.

He tuts as his hand snakes to your mound and he cups your heat over your panties.

“What about her? Could I touch this little pussy? So wet,” he adds, massaging it with his paw.

The reply gets stuck in your throat, you’re drunk on him, with the way he’s masterfully playing with your body, with his scent enveloping you, his obsidian eyes focused on you. Clint lightly slaps your mound to get your answer.

“Could I?”

“No,” you mumble, “you’d be asked off the premises immediately.”

He smirks, his thumb slides under your thong, and when he swirls your clit, your needy moan rings loudly in the room.

“Why the hell would I go to the club, then? If I couldn’t make my girl happy.”

“I’m not your girl.” Your whimper has just a trace of defiance.

“Keep telling yourself this,” Clint gruffs, taking in every sign of your pleasure. His thumb begins rubbing your puffy clit under your panties, but his touch is feather-light, torturous, up and down, up and down. “Lie all you want but she can’t. Always wet and warm for me, always ready to take me.”

“Huh, bet you want it to be just you and her right now.“

It’s difficult to tease him when he’s working your pussy like this but you can’t help yourself. Clint’s eyes are set on your cunt as he smirks,

“No, I like you.“

“Oh. Only like me?”

“Not only. But…” His hand leaves your heat and he brings it up to glide his thumb over your lower lip. “Sometimes you make me wanna shove something big in this pretty mouth of yours, just to shut you up.”

Clint’s words set your core on fire, the ache getting unbearable. You dart your tongue out and lick the pad of his finger, tasting your own juices on it.

“What’s stopping you, Cowboy?”

“I guess I’m a gentleman, baby.”

“Huh. So that’s why I’ve been grinding against you forever and you still haven’t fucked me? Cos you’re a gentleman?”

A thunder rumbles in Clint’s chest and he tilts his hips up, his bulge poking your centre.

“No, it's just— you always leave as soon as we’re done and…“

“And you wanna keep enjoying my amazing company?“ You finish his sentence with a giggle but he’s not laughing. It seems that you’ve hit the bullseye and the realization makes you melt.

Who has ever wanted you like that? Fully, unconditionally, sincerely?

You feel tears well up in your eyes and, hiding them, quickly push your face into the crease of his neck.

“Fuck me, Clint, please, just… just fuck me.”

Your hips start to grind against his cock bulge, your pride be damned, you need him with every cell of your body.

A fresh surge of wetness floods your core when you hear his belt buckle clank. You lift your hips so Clint could unzip his jeans, tug them down together with his boxers and pull his cock out.

You’d never tell him but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever had or seen. Long and thick, two veins bulging on the sides, a wet red tip curved upwards for your pleasure - it looks like it was made for you.

You hover over his length, your hands planted on his broad shoulders, and he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your needy pussy.

“Fuck, these are soaked. She’s less stubborn than you, beautiful. Needs me bad,” Clint smirks, brushing your dripping folds with his bruised knuckles. It’s impossible to deny that you are desperate for him, you both see it.

“Yeah, she wants it real bad, Cowboy.”

“She’s gonna get it, beautiful. I’ll give it to you both nice and hard.”

His big hand darts to grab your waist and he pulls you down. When his hot tip notches your tight hole, you brace yourself- taking him is always a challenge. You begin slowly sinking on his length and Clint grunts through his teeth when your pussy starts swallowing his cock inch by inch. When you take all of him, your ass flush with his heavy balls, a moan falls from his parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m so full,” you mewl, sitting pretty on his cock. Clint leans against the couch and thrusts his hips up, making his dick plunge even deeper into you. You cry out, the dull ache making the pleasure extra delicious. Clint’s hot wet breath fans your tits as he shudders and twitches inside you, his thick fingers digging into your soft hips.

“Haven't had any since our last date, Cowboy?” you gloat, giddy with the idea that you’re the only girl he’s fucking.

Clint retorts through heavy breaths,

“You sucked my dick at the backseat, baby. You calling it a date?”

“Fuck you,” you bite back and, feeling spiteful, rock your hips, massaging his cock with your walls, making him lose his mind.

“Easy, tiger,” he growls but how can you stop now? “Little minx…” Clint gruffs, when you start enthusiastically riding him. He pulls you flush against his chest, wraps his huge arms around your torso, rendering you completely helpless, and keeps you still.

“Ya heard me? I’ve had a hard day. Let me get used to her first.”

“Or what? You gonna bust too soon? Guess it’s normal at your age, Cowboy.”

You playfully kiss his neck but your teasing finally pushes the man to the limit. Clint plants his feet wider on the floor, the grip around your torso tightens, and he starts thrusting his cock up into your cunt with fast and rough strokes. His breathing is hot and shaky against your temple, you’re moaning and whimpering while your pussy is being ruined. You feel the stretch like never before, his thickness splitting you in two, and your eyes roll back into your head, thanks to the divine angle of his pounding. His stiff cock is rubbing the pleasure button inside your wet heat, and you rise so high and so fast, that your head starts spinning.

“Take it—take it—take it,” Clint grunts, his voice husky and strained. “ ‘s all you want, uh?— to be fucked hard?—like I don’t give a shit about you— like I don’t love you…”

You freeze in his arms, his hips still moving, his cock still jackhammering your pussy. For a few moments he keeps fucking you until you wiggle out of his iron embrace and sit up.

You’re both panting, blown out eyes locked, and you lean in and kiss him, his scruffy cheeks in your hands, your mouths desperately swallowing each other’s air. Always knowing what you need before you do, Clint begins caressing your body, his fingers writing confessions all over your skin, your tongues licking into each other’s mouths. His lips leave yours for a moment so he could say,

“Ride me, baby. Take what you need, I got you.”

You know he does. He always does. But you need to feel all of him now. So you push the flannel off his shoulders and Clint hastily takes his Hanley off.

You hungrily take his naked torso in and start dancing on his cock, slowly, sensually, gliding your palms over his broad chest, muscular arms, ruffling up his pushed back curls.

Clint’s hands don’t rest either - they start kneading your breasts, palming your hardened nipples, twitching and pulling them. You drop your head and see how perfectly your pussy is stretched by Clint’s thickness. The sight mesmerizes you, your lips part and you moan watching her swallow Clint’s glistening shaft again and again, your pearly cream sits like a ring around his base.

“Hey, keep your pretty eyes on me.“

Clint pinches your chin and tilts your head up to face him. Here it is again. That look of his that tells you volumes without words, that terrifies you, excites you, makes your heart flutter.

You don’t fight it this time. Don’t tease him, don’t throw a joke to dilute the feeling, don’t shut his wordless confession up. You let his gaze take you to your peak, make your thighs shake and pussy quiver.

You come with his name on your lips, not ‘Cowboy’, not a cold ‘handsome’.

“Yes, baby, like that, doing good for me,” Clint encourages you and bounces you on his cock, prolonging your shuddering orgasm. Then he freezes with a moan and begins exploding inside you, painting your walls with his warm load. You cling to his chest and his arms envelop you again but he’s not restraining you now, he’s holding you close, while ecstasy is rippling through your bodies. Your lips meet and you’re making out lazily, getting down from your highs.

Feeling exhausted, still spasming on his cock from time to time, you put your head on his shoulder and close your eyes with a satisfied sigh. Clint’s gentle hands glide over your tingling skin and soon they put you to sleep.

You wake up when the morning sun is peeking through the drapes in his bedroom. Clint’s on his back next to you, his breathing deep and slow. For a few seconds you’re watching him, his dark lashes fluttering, his chest rising and falling. You take a deep breath, overwhelmed by the desire to kiss him, trace his scar with your lips, run your hands over the vast expanse of his body. You want it so much your chest hurts, but you fight it and get up. Not seeing your clothes, you grab Clint’s flannel off the chair and put it on.

“Hittin’ and quittin’ and stealing my favorite shirt,” Clint croaks behind you and you turn around with a smile. “Bad girl.” His lips are slightly curved too, sleepy eyes sliding up and down your half naked body.

“I need to go. I’ll give it back to you, don’t worry.”

Clint hums and then stretches. He spreads his big arms, huge muscles bulging, and a sheet slides off his leg, exposing his thick hairy thigh. A pronounced shape between his legs makes you salivate and you bite your lip.

“Stay,” Clint says softly. “We can go again.. Or just cuddle.“

Your eyebrows shoot up as you giggle,

“You wanna cuddle?”

“I wanna cuddle the shit out of you, baby.”

Your laugh rings loudly in the bedroom, but you’re hesitant. You’ve never stayed till the morning, never made breakfast for you two, never let him pull you too close. Yet something in you has changed tonight, the strong feeling sits warm and heavy in your belly. You crave all of that now.

The flannel shirt falls on the floor and you jump into the bed. Clint wraps you in his arms with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him and holds you close. And you let him.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback means the world💜

MASTERLIST || more Clint

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

People who were interested in the wip posts (no pressure to read, bbs) @604to647 @toxicanonymity @sawymredfox @yxtkiwiyxt @baronessvonglitter @tateypots

[stop-talking]

Happy Accident

a little NSFW Mike Schmidt imagine :3

MDNI 18+

This was just going to be a blurb, but I'm losing my mind over the thought of a touch starved, depraved, horny, & slightly perverted Mike Schmidt... so enjoy 2.4k words of filth <3

(gender neutral! reader ❤️)

*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°

• You'd been babysitting Abby for a while, but when Mike got that new night shift job... well, you weren't sure it was going to mesh with your schedule. Still, he needed you. And how could you say no to those big brown eyes?

• So, you started spending your weeknights at the Schmidt house. Mike would get home right as it was time for you to leave for school/work, so you had to get ready at his house, too.

• That meant bringing a change of clothes, usually thrown carelessly into an old blue duffle you used as an overnight bag.

• Coincidentally, Mike's work bag was strikingly similar to your own. If it wasn't just a tad bit dirtier, well... it might be easy to get them mixed up.

• Or... maybe the slight physical differences don't matter when you're both running on hopes, prayers, and caffeine. Hey, it's not easy adjusting to a new schedule. Especially one that requires Mike to leave when he should be going to bed.

• It only took a few days for him to slip up. You were running late that night, and while he couldn't blame you (you get what you pay for, and he hadn't paid you at all) he also didn't have time to stop and chat like normal.

• Instead, he hiked (what he thought was) his bag up on his shoulder, gave you a curt goodbye, and left for another shift at Freddy's.

• At first, everything was normal. He did a quick lap around the building, tried to ignore the creepy shuffling noises coming from shadowy corners, and checked the monitors once or twice before settling down into his chair for the night.

• Mike reached into his bag for his prescription, medicine to help him sleep. Or... perhaps a snack. Maybe even a hoodie he could bunch up on the desk and use as a pillow. Something like that. What his hand actually came back up with made his mind go blank, and he immediately forgot what he'd wanted in the first place.

• In his hand, he held... underwear. And not his own. Definitely not his own. Mike froze, heart pounding as he tried to make sense of what he was holding.

• You. You'd starting bringing a change of clothes for babysitting now, hadn't you? In a... a bag that looked nearly identical to his own. Oh. Oh no.

• Mike dropped the article of clothing, face flushing a deep crimson. Then, feeling guilty at leaving your clothing on the grungy pizzeria floor, he quickly tossed it back in the duffle bag and zipped it up.

• He kicked the whole thing under the desk, trying to hide the evidence further. Who from? He had no idea. Mike felt extra grateful today to be in the one room in the whole building without a security cam.

• Yeah. That's right. No one had to know about this. That he'd... well, it was an accident anyway. How could he have known it wasn't his bag?

• Taking a deep breath, he started to come up with a plan. He'd say he realized it wasn't his bag, but only after getting to work. Once he'd noticed it was yours, he left it in the car and didn't touch it. There. That would work.

• Relieved, Mike lay his head down on the desk to try and get some sleep.

• Unfortunately, sleep never came. He still felt bad about taking your bag, even if it was an accident. What would you wear to work? You always left right as he came home, even if he brought your bag back after his shift you'd still end up leaving late.

• It also didn't help that Mike didn't have his sleeping pills. Or his cassette tape with "sounds of Nebraska" recorded on it. All he had was a stupid Nebraska poster, and a bag that wasn't his. Mike tried staring at the poster, but without the accompanying music and medicine, it did nothing but annoy him.

• Stupid trees. Stupid Nebraska. Stupid job. Stupid Mike. How could he make such a dumb mistake? Surely you'd be angry with him. He hadn't paid you in weeks, and then he goes and makes things even harder for you?

• With his stomach in knots and his mind and heart still racing, Mike resigned himself to not sleeping tonight. Instead, he pushed himself up from the desk and started to pace around the abandoned pizzeria.

• Part of him just needed to relieve some nervous energy, and the other part needed a distraction. From the guilt he felt, yes, but also from that goddamn bag of yours.

• Well, not the bag so much as your clothes. The... intimate ones. Mike slapped his palm to his forehead, trying to physically force out the disgraceful thoughts plaguing his mind. You weren't interested in him like that. This was so fucked up. He was so fucked up.

• A few more slaps to his forehead later, Mike halted in his pacing around the dining room. It had suddenly occurred to him that if anyone did happen to be watching, he'd look pretty silly smacking himself and muttering under his breath like he was.

• Mike turned and eyed the nearest security cam with suspicion, until a soft scraping noise drew his attention on stage. Had Bonnie always been looking this direction?

• Feeling the same level of nervousness and guilt, now accompanied by fear and paranoia, Mike retreated back to the safety of his office. There, he faced the same problems as before, a spike of excitement running through him as his foot brushed your bag under the desk. Maybe he'd take a quick peek at your things?

• No. He couldn't. He shouldn't. It wouldn't be right.

• Still... what else could he do tonight? Mike glanced at the digital clock on the edge of his desk, the flashing red numbers seeming to taunt him as he realized he still had five more hours left in his shift.

• Fuck. With a grunt, he slammed his head down on the desk and covered it with his arms. Just because he couldn't sleep through work tonight didn't mean he had to do his job. No, Mike had decided the very first night that he wasn't paid enough for this bullshit. So he simply worked as little as possible.

• He wasn't going to watch the monitors. And he certainty wasn't going to think about you. Nope. He was simply going to sit here and do nothing. Think about nothing.

Think about nothing.

Think about nothing.

Think about nothing.

• His strategy seemed to work for all of two minutes, repeating the same phrase in his head over and over until he couldn't stand it any longer. Images of you kept popping into his mind. Your smile, your eyes, and that sweet expression of pure warmth you gave him whenever he came home from work. Like you were genuinely happy to see him.

• Nobody else had ever treated him as well as you did. That's why he had to keep these feelings buried, stomp the embers into ash and blow those ashes into the wind. He couldn't afford to lose you.

• Still, Mike couldn't help but wonder. What if the feeling was mutual? Something in his chest stirred, and suddenly all he could imagine was seeing that warm smile of yours underneath him in bed. Would you still be able to run that cute mouth if he pinned you down to the mattress, legs thrown over his shoulders? Or would you find a way to tease him, like usual?

• Shit. Was it getting hot in here? Mike sat up to remove his jacket, then stupidly started for the duffel back to put it away. Right. Not his.

• Mike closed his eyes and suddenly, the piece of clothing in his hand wasn't his at all, but yours. Your underwear. Mike was considering removing his jeans too, as they were rapidly becoming too tight.

• Breathe, Schmidt. Mike took a few deep breaths, but nothing was helping. His blood grew hotter, his pants tighter, and his mind more muddled.

• This was usually the point where Mike would pop on his headphones, listen to the familiar sounds of his tape recorder, stare at a poster, and think "Nebraska" thoughts.

• Unfortunately, without his equipment... this wasn't going to work. He couldn't make it through another ten minutes without some kind of relief, much less an entire shift. Mike dropped the jacket and his hands went to his belt, undoing his pants and immediately dropping those to the floor as well.

• Yeah... maybe a little "stress relief" was all he needed. A distraction. Something to take his mind off you.

• Mike couldn't help but let out a chuckle at that thought. Take his mind off you? As he was palming his hardening cock through his boxers? As if.

• If anything, this would only make him crave you more. But, as he freed himself from the (slightly sticky...) confines of his underwear, he decided that would be a problem for future Mike. Currently, he just wanted to cum. Preferably in you, but all over himself while thinking about you would have to do for now.

• He tried to start slow, he really did. But in a matter of minutes, he was fucking fervently into his hand, hips bucking up off the chair slightly. He kicked off one shoe and wiggled a foot free of his discarded jeans, spreading his legs for stability as he sank back into the seat.

• Precum dribbled down his cock, coating his length and providing some much needed slick. Mike held his breath without realizing it, growing closer to the edge but still not quite there. Damnit.

• After what felt like an eternity of effort, Mike pulled his hand away with a rather pathetic whine. Panting, he scowled down at his still-twitching cock. This was exactly why he didn't often... well, take matters into his own hands.

• It wasn't enough. It wouldn't ever be enough. Not without your warm body wrapped around his. Hand, mouth, anything. Mike would take absolutely anything you were be willing to give. Especially in his current state.

• But he wasn't going to get that, was he? Not now, and probably not ever, if he was honest with himself.

• Mike's heart and cock ached in tandem, frustration bubbling to the surface and drowning out all other thoughts. How could he have been so stupid? Now he'd have to sit here half-naked and even more worked up then when he'd started. Mike bit his lip at the realization that he'd just checked himself into the next circle of hell.

• No, no. He could finish the job. He had to. There was no way he could endure this all shift. Even if he managed, what then? Go home to you and try to muster up an apology while on the verge of creaming his pants? Absolutely not.

• Mike worked his cock again, faster this time. His eyes scanned the room, subconsciously searching for something, anything to help. He was aching. The pressure built and built inside him, his stomach muscles clenching and unclenching in soft ripples as he threatened to spill. It didn't come. He didn't come.

• Finally, his gaze landed on something that made him shudder in excitement. Thinking with his dick and not his brain, he reached for the duffle back under the desk. He just needed a little something to help fuel his imagination. A nudge, that was all. Just a minute. He could return it back to it's spot in your bag after, and you'd never even have to know.

• Shaking, he brought your underwear to his nose with his free hand. The other was gripped tightly around the base of his cock, his mind and senses too overwhelmed by frenzied lust to do anything more than inhale deeply.

• Fuuuuck. It smelled like you. Well, that much was obvious, but never in his wildest wet dreams had he expected you to smell so completely delicious. His mouth watered almost as much as his poor weeping cock as he gave it a few languid strokes.

• In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to put his face between your legs and feast. Lick and suck and fuck you with his tongue, swallowing every drop of your cum until you had nothing more to give.

• His tongue peeked out to lick at the cotton-y fabric of your underwear, imagining the damp spot was from your arousal and not his own mouth. That small taste of you is what finally sent him hurdling over the edge, inhaling sharply and getting one last whiff of your scent before frantically cumming into the closest piece of cloth... your underwear.

• Rope after rope of pearly white release soaked the fabric, again and again until he'd emptied his balls... and then some. Mike fucked into his hand until it hurt.

• When he eventually re-gained enough of his mental capacities to realize his mistake, he let out a groan. Gingerly, he peeled the sticky fabric from his softening cock, whining at how his sensitive damp skin was now exposed to the cool air.

• As he peered at the ruined garment in front of him, Mike came to the conclusion that his situation was not salvageable. He was completely and utterly fucked. In more ways than one.

• He gently tucked himself back into his boxers with a shudder, still reeling in the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. Okay, step one, get dressed. Step two, skip town and never look back. No way in hell he could face you after this, even if he could miraculously get the cum-stains from your clothing.

• But... he had to, didn't he? He couldn't abandon Abby. Or his home. Or you, even, as much as he wanted to crawl into a hole and die right now.

• So, Mike spent the rest of his shift using an ancient bathroom sink and hand soap trying to scrub the evidence away. Maybe... maybe he could salvage this after all.

Or maybe when he looked at you from now on, he'd only be able to see a sick, twisted fantasy, and the shameful result of his indulgence.

Probably the 2nd one. oh well.

*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°*°♡°

Author's note:

Hi!! Hi!! Hi hi hi hi hi!!! 😁 I'm so happy to finally be able to post something again!! 🥰

It's been almost a year now since I posted a fic, I hope this was a decent comeback!! This one's dedicated to all you peeps who love this pathetic, tired little man as much as I do <3 (Also, I've made a side-blog where I will be reposting all my fics. If you're only here for fanfic and not my shitposting, I completely understand! Or if you just want to follow me on both but only turn on notifications for fanfic, that works too! The account is @stop-talking-vtwo )

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Part One

Hello, it's me, back at it again with another Steddie AU.

Anyway, if I were tagging this AU, these would be the most important ones: Deaf Steve Harrington; Tooth-rotting Fluff; Getting Together

If you wanna be tagged in future parts, just let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Steve has blown through three pairs of hearing aids in the past year. The first pair had lasted a few years and needed replacement because of normal wear and tear. The second pair was sacrificed during that fight with Jonathan. He hadn't been wearing them, but they'd been in Steve's pocket, and he'd landed at just the right angle to feel them shatter. The third pair was taken by the Russians because, despite Robin's shouting and cursing at them for being dumbasses (and this was before she actually knew what they were for), they accused him of recording their kidnapping and torture.

Honestly, he wouldn't recommend fighting Russians and Billy and Mind Flayers and driving while nearly totally deaf.

The funniest part of it all, though, is that Steve doesn't even use hearing aids regularly. He normally only wears them at home. The pair lost to Jonathan were present because, well, that whole day had been a lot for Steve, and he needed the comfort of knowing he could stop reading lips the moment it became too exhausting for him. The pair lost to the Russians was because he'd been getting ready to tell Robin about being deaf. She'd already clocked the weird things he does (well, weird to her, normal to Steve), and he figured letting her in on the big secret would bring them a little closer.

Of course, that didn't go the way he expected. Robin thought he was confessing love and decided to beat him to the punch. That's how he learned Robin is a lesbian, and Steve couldn't let her be the only one admitting to something like that, so he told her about being bi and his long-standing, hopeless crush. And being deaf. But the bi with a crush thing seemed more important in the moment. She took it in stride, it brought them closer, and then Robin asked if Steve could teach her sign language.

Which meant that Steve had to learn sign language because he never had. Between not wanting to feel even more different than he already did and trying to convince his parents that, really, everything was fine and he didn't need to go to a special school for deaf and hard-of-hearing kids, he'd never learned. Learning it had somehow felt like an admission of weakness, and that was the last thing he wanted. But he learned for Robin, and they stumbled through sign language together, creating new signs only they knew.

But that's all in the past now, and Steve is working his ass off at Family Video to afford a new pair because he refuses to ask his parents for money. If he asks them, they'll come back, and that's the last thing he wants. They don't need to have all their worries confirmed that Steve is helpless, and he doesn't want them anywhere near Hawkins "Hellscape" Indiana.

So. Working his ass off, taking extra shifts, and babysitting the kids as much as he can to make up for the whole Friends and Family Discount he gives their parents. He's exhausted, but he gets to recharge somewhat during his lunch break.

About a ten-minute walk from the Family Video is a record store, which Steve has started visiting daily to just breathe. The lone worker in the store is usually too busy listening to her own music to pay Steve any attention, letting him wander and try to determine which records will best serve him.

Steve drifts over to the rock and heavy metal section, hoping to find a new album but unsurprised when he doesn't. He browses through them anyway, moving past Metallica and Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. He already has all of these albums on his shelf at home. He has the cassette tapes for them, too.

But he really wants something new. He likes the novelty of experiencing unfamiliar vibrations through the speaker, letting them thrum through his fingertips and into his bones. It's fun and relaxing, and after all the bullshit he's been through lately, he probably deserves something relaxing.

After glancing over a few more familiar albums, Steve sighs and glances at the counter by the door. The lone worker is standing there, headphones over her ears, and idly flipping through a magazine. She's chewing gum, and Steve braces himself for the sheer hell of trying to read her lips without making it obvious he's reading her lips while she's got something in her mouth to disrupt the normal shape of words and sounds.

But he has to try. Steve takes one more deep breath before walking over, shoving his hands into his pockets when he comes to a stop at the counter. The girl raises a hand, motioning for him to wait, so he stays quiet as she finishes reading her page. She flips to the next one before looking up, not making any move to pull her headphones off.

"Hi. Do you have any new rock or metal albums coming in soon," Steve asks, feeling the vibrations of speech in his throat and hoping his words aren't too loud.

They don't seem to be. The girl doesn't flinch or pull back. She just looks him up and down, taking in the polo shirt and the nice khakis and the Family Video vest he forgot to take off before leaving. Finally, her neck and shoulders jerk slightly, and Steve knows she's huffed in annoyance. "No," she says, the word clear enough in the shape of her lips for Steve to know it immediately.

He frowns slightly, his fingernails digging into his palms. Steve wouldn't mind just leaving now, but something keeps him there. He just...he really wants new music. He needs something new. "Are there gonna be any shows nearby?" he asks.

The girl rolls her eyes and says something, her mouth distorted by gum-chewing. Steve can barely make out the words "you" and "check" from her response. Thankfully, it's accompanied by a vague gesture at something behind him. Steve looks over his shoulder to see a bulletin board with flyers plastered across it.

"Right. Thanks," he says, nodding to her before walking over. The flyers are all different colors with various fonts that scream for Steve's attention. Some of them are for bands, some are advertisements of garage sales or instruments in need of a new home, and others are just business flyers from stores nearby.

He's seen the bulletin board before, but he's never actually paid attention to it. Steve has always been laser-focused on browsing the records. But now, Steve carefully reviews each flyer advertising shows. Some are for comedy shows, which he immediately dismisses. One seems promising, but then he sees how far it is, and Steve definitely can't do an overnight trip like that.

Finally, Steve sees a flyer advertising a show at the Hideout later that week. It's close enough that he won't be out overnight. The place is kind of seedy, but Steve figures he can find some corner near the stage to hide. Or he can bring Robin and let her help him navigate any potential social situations. He tugs the flyer off the board, gaze lingering on the "Corroded Coffin" emblazoned across the top.

He knows the band. Of course, he knows the band. He's extremely familiar with their singer. From a distance. Honestly, Eddie Munson probably doesn't have the best impression of him, but Steve's heart never really cared about that. Because Eddie is like everything Steve wants to be: he's loud and unafraid of being so, he doesn't care about his image and how others perceive him, and he looks like his laugh sounds beautiful. Steve wouldn't know if he's actually right about that last point, but Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, eyes crinkled and hand over his stomach like his muscles ache.

His mouth suddenly feels dry, but he's also filled with unprecedented courage. Steve has graduated (barely), and that means a significantly lower chance of running into Eddie during the day if watching the show somehow goes wrong.

Steve folds the flyer into quarters and stuffs it into his back pocket. He'll be overly aware of it being there until Robin starts her shift and he can show it to her, but that's okay. He throws a quick thanks over his shoulder as he leaves the shop, glancing up at the bell he can't hear that signals the door's opening. He vaguely remembers what bells are supposed to sound like (he'd heard a few before losing the ability to hear them), but he doesn't let himself dwell on it.

Instead, he focuses on the trip back to Family Video, keeping an eye on the road to watch for any cars he wouldn't notice otherwise.

----

When the final bell rings, Eddie Munson can't get out of class fast enough. He'd been packed for the last five minutes, and he slid out of his seat the moment that first peal rang out. He has a gig to prepare for, and every second counts. At least, each second counts until he notices something (or someone) that could prove entertaining for a while.

He spots Dustin alone near one of the exits, and Eddie decides to relieve the kid of his isolation. He waits until he's behind Dustin to shout, "Henderson!" and throw his arm over the kid's shoulders, ignoring the way he jumps like he'd been expecting an attack.

"Holy shit!" Dustin shrieks, jerking back to look up at Eddie. "Don't do that, man, you're gonna give me a heart attack."

Eddie snorts, waving away Dustin's concern as he continues toward the exit. The general flow of students trying to get out helps him along, and Dustin doesn't seem to realize they're actually moving until they've gotten into direct sunlight. "You're fine," Eddie says, "Anyway, whatcha doing all alone, Henderson? Lose your way?"

"No, I have...stuff to do today," Dustin says, shrugging as he blinks to acclimate to the sunlight.

Oh, yeah, way too cryptic for Eddie to not dig for more. "Stuff? What kinda stuff? Got a hot date? Going shopping with your mom?" he asks, and then he gasps dramatically and moves to stand in Dustin's way. He puts both hands on his shoulders and very seriously says, "Be honest, Henderson, you're seeing another DM, aren't you?"

Dustin stares at him for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and shrugging his hands off. "Who else in this town DMs?" he asks, "Other than Will, I guess, but he's still working on a campaign."

"Fair," Eddie concedes, "so, whatcha really doing?"

After a few seconds of getting nudged by the students around them, Dustin sighs and says, "I have chores, okay? But that doesn't sound cool to say, does it?"

Fair. Eddie nods in agreement and moves out of Dustin's way, continuing to follow him. "So, what, your mom picking you up today?" he asks.

"No, Steve."

"Oh, the famous Steve."

Dustin nods, looking over the parking lot before pointing to one end. "Yeah, he's awesome," Dustin says as Eddie follows the direction of his finger.

And standing there, leaning against the hood of his car and looking to the side where a group of trees is swaying in the breeze, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. The worst thing, Eddie thinks, is that Steve looks good. His hair is still perfect, of course, and his stupid little striped shirt is pulling against his biceps and riding up just enough for Eddie to see a tiny sliver of tanned skin above his jeans. He looks a little tense, but Eddie chalks that up to him being back on the campus after already graduating.

"Harrington? You've been talking about Steve Harrington this whole time?" Eddie asks, his voice a little strained, "How the fuck do you know Steve Harrington?"

"He's my babysitter," Dustin says, his voice implying that much should have been obvious, but Eddie wants to grab his shoulders and shake until his head rolls off.

Steve Harrington doesn't babysit. He doesn't know nerds that talk about D&D. He doesn't drive nerds around. At least, he never did in high school. Granted, Eddie never actually talked to Steve, but everybody knew that Steve Harrington was too cool for, well, anything that wasn't the typical jock and popular guy shit.

As he's thinking about the last time he saw Steve Harrington (in the halls, while the guy had bruises and looked worse for wear), they get within shouting distance. And Eddie has zero impulse control when Wayne isn't around, so he doesn't think before shouting, "Hey, Harrington!"

Next to him, Dustin whips his head to glare at Eddie. And Steve Harrington doesn't fucking react. He just keeps staring at that group of trees like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "Dude," Dustin says, grabbing Eddie's arm and yanking harshly, "don't shout like that."

Eddie frowns, anger beginning to simmer in his stomach at the complete lack of acknowledgment. "Why are you upset with me?" he asks, gesturing at Steve as he continues, "I'm not the one being a douchebag here."

Dustin opens his mouth, about to say something, only to snap it shut once more. He frowns like he's just realized he can't say something, and huffs with frustration. "Just...just don't do that," he finally says, keeping a hand on Eddie's arm and dragging him across the parking lot. And, yeah, something is definitely weird here.

Instead of just walking up to Steve, they make a large arch until they're within Steve's line of sight.

Eddie watches as Steve notices them, seeing Dustin first and pushing off the car. He relaxes for a split second until he sees Eddie and his shoulders tense again.

Great.

Once they're close enough for Eddie to count the moles above the collar of Steve's shirt, Dustin grins and says, "Hey, Steve." But it's odd, because Eddie has never heard Dustin talk this slow or this carefully, like he's doing his best to enunciate his words.

Steve flashes a grin and ruffles Dustin's hair. "Hey, twerp, you're late," he says. He then glances at Eddie, his grin becoming a little smaller, and says, "Hey, Munson."

Wait. Steve Harrington knows Eddie's name? And he called him by it? He said Munson, not Freak. Eddie stares at Steve for a few seconds before nodding. "Harrington," he says, "how the fuck did you become a babysitter?"

Is he just imagining things, or is Steve looking at his mouth? Like, really intensely. He's definitely not, because Steve looks up after a few seconds with a raised eyebrow. "I needed some extra cash. Also, don't swear around Dustin. I'm the one who gets in trouble when he curses in front of his mom."

Something about the words makes Eddie grin. Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd be talking to Steve Harrington. And he would have laughed you into Mordor itself if you suggested their conversation would be about Dustin Henderson swearing in front of his mother. "What's his mom do when he swears?" he asks.

Because he can feel the conversation veering into something potentially embarrassing for him, Dustin lets go of Eddie and starts pushing Steve toward the driver's side of his car. "Okay, we gotta go. So many chores, so little time," he says, his voice back to that normal speed and enunciation.

Steve frowns slightly, looking down at Dustin and tilting his head just slightly. "What?" he asks. Instead of actually answering, Dustin just makes some vague gesture with his hand and looks at the car. "Oh, right. Go ahead and get in the car. And, uh, see you later, Munson."

"Is that a promise?" Eddie asks before he can think better of it.

Steve pauses, looking at Eddie's mouth with a slight scrunch to his nose. He seems to be considering something as Dustin scrambles into the passenger seat, watching them with narrowed eyes. Honestly, Eddie is surprised he's not blasting the horn to hurry Steve up. Finally, Steve comes to a decision and meets Eddie's eyes again. "Your band has a show tonight, right? At the Hideout? I was planning to go. So, yeah, I'll see you then, I guess."

And with that, like he hasn't just fucking rocked Eddie's world, Steve Harrington gets into his car. He makes sure Dustin is buckled before waving at Eddie and pulling out of the parking spot.

Eddie finds himself waving back, staring dumbly at the car as it pulls onto the street. It only hits him a few seconds later that Steve Harrington is coming to his show. At the Hideout. His metal show. A Corroded Coffin gig at the Hideout.

Holy. Shit.

[lovebugism]

can i request angst☹️☹️shy!reader barely ever talking and being soo hyperaware of everything and steve slowly breaks her out of her shell? then she overhears him saying she talks too much and she just feels bad and reverts into herself

Angst w happy endingn if possible please ily!!🫶🏼

ty for requesting!! — steve tells you he likes when you talk a lot (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1k)

Your smile is wide and unknowing. Steve thinks there’s something extra special about it because you don’t even realize it’s there. “—And since Eddie was working the register, he let me take one of the new tapes for free. You know, to try it or whatever, and he was all like, ‘flattery works with me,’ and I was like, Steve would keel over if he was here right now.”

A giggle spills from your mouth when your rambling ceases, lips curling and eyes crinkling.

Steve blinks at you with his own absentminded beam, too busy thinking about how pretty you are to react properly to your story. 

Your smile sobers slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures with the shake of his neatly styled head, rogue strands of chestnut hair draping his forehead. He shrugs and leans his elbows over the Family Video counter you stand across. “You’re just… You’re talking a lot. ’S nice.”

Your face heats. Your chest burns with a similar fire. Your eyes widen ‘cause you didn’t realize that you hadn’t shut up until now. “Oh… Sorry—”

“No, it’s good!” he tells you, laughing. “It’s a compliment.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah! I mean, I used to have to bribe you to get you to talk about your day. Remember that?”

Benny’s Burgers was your very best friend at the start of your relationship. Steve would always buy your dinner — not in exchange for you to talk exactly, but in the hopes that the additional time spent with you would help you open up. It did. Most of the time, anyway.

Your nose scrunches. “I thought you took me out because you liked me?”

“I took you out ‘cause I liked you and because the sugar rush from the milkshakes made you talk more.”

You nod once. “Right.”

The conversation ebbs. The store gets eerily silent without your voices to fill it. Steve, undeterred by the lapse in dialogue, flashes you a lopsided smile. “Wanna show me the tapes you bought?”

“Yeah,” you murmur and push off the counter. 

Steve watches you over his shoulder while you saunter down the hallway where your bag is kept. The breakroom door squeals open and shut again. A voice sounds suddenly from beside him. “Nice job, dingus,” Robin chides, gritty and montoned.

His head snaps to the other side, brows twisted with confusion. “What?”

“You hurt her feelings,” she answers like it’s obvious, dropping a stack of VHS tapes on the counter with a heavy thud.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You said she was talking a lot.”

“I said that I liked it!”

Robin rolls her ocean-blue eyes, huffing ‘cause he’s too oblivious to get the point. “Yeah, but if I said, Wow, you have a ton of gel in your hair— but it’s styled really nice today, it’d give you a whole complex. Wouldn’t it?”

The make-believe compliment is dreadfully backhanded. Steve’s face floods with a gentle horror, the realization of a fallacy he hadn’t realized he’d made. “Shit…”

“Exactly,” Robin deadpans. “Now go take care of your girlfriend, dingus.”

He finds you in the breakroom, idling in place. You’ve got the cassettes in your hands, and you fidget with them between anxious fingers — like you were planning to come out sometime, but not quite yet. 

You tense when the door creaks open, relaxing again when Steve enters.

“Whatcha doing?” he wonders with a crooked, pink smile.

“Getting the tapes,” you answer in a mousy voice, waving the pieces of plastic in your hand.

The door clicks shut behind him. He inches towards you, fond and terribly soft with it. “I missed you,” he confesses in a faint murmur. His wide palms settle on your sides. You warm instantly under his touch.

“I was gone for two seconds,” you respond with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah. And I felt like I was dying.”

You meet his pout with a small smile, blinking up at him with sparkling doe eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I just love being around you, alright? Sue me,” he argues, squeezing softly at your hips. With a quieter smile, he confesses, “And when I said you were talking a lot— I didn’t mean anything by it, you know?”

You’d disappeared back here because you thought it was something silly to be so upset over. He’d told you it was a compliment, but it didn’t really feel like one. Your brain refused to be anything other than hurt by his well-intentioned remarks. The ache in your chest became unignorable, and you shrunk inside yourself accordingly.

“I know,” you murmur.

“I love hearing you talk,” he tells you, shy smirk widening to a lopsided beam. “It’s my favorite thing in the whole world, actually.”

Your lips purse to the side. Your anxious hands fidget with the plastic cassettes in your palms, aching to hold him. It takes you a moment or more to find the courage to speak. “I’m just… I’m normally super aware of… when I’m talking too much, you know? I was just… Excited, I guess.”

“You were. And it was really fuckin’ cute.” A laugh sputters from his lips. He wears all the love he has for you in the deep honey of his eyes, rich and swimming with warmth. “I love seeing you happy.”

“Well, you make me happy…” you whisper, gaze averted. “So, it fits…”

“Yeah, it does,” he murmurs in response, ducking down to kiss you. It’s chaste and terribly fleeting — lips locking together one moment and then smacking in protest when they separate the next. 

It takes your eyes a second too long to flutter open again after he’s pulled back from you. You find Steve already grinning as he nods to the tapes in your hands. “Wanna pop those into the radio? So we can listen to ‘em while I work?”

Your brows pinch with a distant worry. “Won’t Keith get mad?” 

“Probably,” Steve answers with an uncaring shrug. “You don’t have to worry about him, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

You melt.

[lapin-noire]

Time sensitive:

PLEASE help me get my former coworker finally discharged from a greedy hospital.

Previously, C was supposed to be discharged from the hospital over two days ago but the accounting keeps surprising her with hidden charges and refuse to promptly give her an itemized bill until she has settled everything.

As her proxy, I am also at my wit's end with the hospital and the source of payment, since I don't get paid in 2 more days and I am unable to financially support her until then.

The previous post lost traction after I've made a new update regarding the extra charges.

Read the full story here, in parts:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Translation in alt text, just tap on "ALT" on the lower left corner of the images to read.

In my timezone right now, it is Saturday evening, August 3. If we're to meet her goal by Monday, August 5, the amount will be $267 (₱15,500), since there will be an additional $26 (₱1,500) added for every day C extends her stay at the hospital when she's unable to cover all the expenses.

$0/267

(₱0/15,500)

Pp 🔗

She doesn't have a P*yp*l account, so I use my account from my more active days as an artist and act as her proxy. Everything here will be sent to her ASAP.

Please do not tag this as d*nations or the like.

Please share when you see this!

[babydoll372]

could you please do natasha romanoff x reader smut that's overall pretty sweet and domestic? That's all i really want, you can add anything that you would like <3 thank you for writing just in general even if you don't do this one <3

Stand By Me

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 1984

Warnings: smut, fluff, fingering, squirting, plz pretend gay marriages existed in 1990’s, mentions of children, overstimulation

A/N: the text makes a lot more sense if you listen to the music with it (It’s a really good song too) Also set in 1990’s because I think it’s cute so picture the early black widow Ohio home without the redroom :) (also ik I said I’d write longer fics now but I really thought this would be long and it wasn’t somehow)

Natasha rolled her shoulders against her hands tiredly after shutting the door behind her. She could only hope that the small three-year-old was able to sleep the night alone this time, not to further enhance the dark bags under the redhead’s eyes. A yawn left her lips, and she stumbled into the kitchen, setting the baby monitor down on the counter quietly as you sent her a quick smile, your hands wiping dry the last dish with a small rag.

“All kids are officially in bed. Lena threw a small tantrum, Peter was exhausted, so he was quite easy, and Alexandria required only two books tonight. I would say it was a success.” You offered a light chuckle to your wife’s humorous entreaty, raising your hand as she gave a weak high five in response. You switched bedtimes every night so that one of you could get chores around the house done, and the other could get a few extra minutes with each child before sending them off to a slumber. After six years of having children, you have both been able to form efficient habits and rules that made different parts of your lives much easier - this being one of them.

“I’m very proud of you, baby.” You moved closer to her, your hands now taking place on her hips. “So bed early tonight or late wine discussions?” She raised a brow as if the answer was obvious, and you quickly raced to the secret wine cooler you both hid in your basement. When doing so, with a large bottle in hand, your eyes stopped on the box sitting perfectly in front of you, as if calling your name. The basement was full of many items held in the same cardboard material that you had to get rid of someday, which is why you both decided on hiding the cooler downstairs, where the children had no interest in going. The contrasted black sharpie read, “Wedding Day” with a crappy drawing of two rings tied together next to it - Natasha drew that. You smiled at the fond memory, setting down the bottle carefully and opening the dust-ridden box. Tears streamed the ringing of your eyes as you slowly viewed each item, your hands falling on the cassette tape that held your wedding song. The date was labeled on it along with the name, and when you heard your wife calling you from upstairs, you knew you couldn’t leave it behind.

“Look what I stumbled upon,” Natasha turned to eye the small item in your hand, squinting ever so slightly to get a better look.

“Hey, that’s- that’s our wedding song. I thought we took all our wedding stuff out of the basement already…” She gently took the cassette from you and brushed it off, eyeing it carefully. “Wow, ‘May 23rd, 1986 - Stand By Me.’ That feels like just yesterday, somehow.” She then set it down on the countertop next to the wine you carried up. When you met her eyes, they were full of adoration and love, and her hands went around your waist to hold you closely and bring you in for a gentle kiss. One that still gave you butterflies over a decade later.

“Shall we play it?”

“We shall.” Natasha’s hand reached for yours as the beat began to softly roll out of the machine, low enough to not wake the children. She gave you a quick spin, and you giggled as a result. Her hands then found their way to your hips as they swayed in rhythm.

“When the night, has come…and the land is dark,”

“And the moon, is the only night we’ll see.” You continued for her, cupping her cheeks as you did many years ago. “No, I won’t be afraid- oh, I won’t be afraid.” Natasha smiled in return, one hand coming to interlace with yours and be kept in the air as her forehead made contact with yours in a resting position.

“Just as long…as you stand, stand by me.” She finished. As the chorus echoed through the background, you both hummed in a low tone, your voices just above whispers. And as the second verse began, you could feel Natasha’s soft sigh of relief as she heard your voice once again.

“If the sky…that we look upon, should tumble and fall,”

“Or the mountains…should crumble to the sea. I won’t cry-“

“I won’t cry. No, I won’t shed a tear…just as long, as you stand…stand by me.” And this time, your voice was the last to be heard. Her lips came to rest against the back of your palm, which she still held in the air, repeating the act a few times as the look in her eyes resembled one from many years ago. Complete silence began to fill around the two of you as the echoes faded. The music came to an end, and there was nothing but comforting emptiness.

Her mouth then found yours, her hand softly cupping your cheek as she let out a gentle moan of desperation. Your body tilted backwards at just below of a right angle, and her tongue traced over your entrance as it parted, granting her access. Your feet found themselves shuffling back a few steps until your butt hit the edge of the dining room table. You both pulled apart, trying to grasp any bit of air you could so you could quickly return. Natasha moved the chair beside you that was pushed into the table, hoisting you up onto the furniture. You both shared a quiet giggle, your noses touching as she hummed in contentment before slowly dropping to her knees, her eyes remaining on you the entire time. Your pants came off in a slow tease, yet the whimper describing your need caused her to quicken.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’m so lucky to have married you.” She kissed your thighs between sentences, causing your cheeks to darken. One hand then held them apart as the other rested on your waist, her thumb stroking gently on your skin. There was a comforting silence between you two as her lips pressed gentle pecks to the fabric covering the one place she needed to see.

“Natasha…” Brought your low voice in a raspy whisper, your fingers treading through her hair like gentle waves. She eased your panties aside and licked her lips, feeling a lustful moisture surround her inner cheeks. She quickly shared a glance with you before pressing her tongue against your clit. You shuddered with a craving, and she repeated herself multiple times before trailing down to your hole, where she collected your sinful drops. Her eyes closed shut as she hummed in satisfaction, feeling your body's reaction, even if it was nearly unnoticeable at times. She finally pulled away for a split moment, grasping the back of your neck in her hand and pulling you forward with little force.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Her lips then met yours as she sighed with gratitude, two of her fingers coming to replace her tongue’s previous position. “I always do.” Her knees lifted themselves as she stood over you, her eyes boring into yours before she rested your head on her chest. She shushed you quietly, almost like a mother consoling her young, crying baby, as her digits eased into your awaiting entrance.

“It’s okay, big stretch…there we go. You’re okay.” She whispered, beginning a slow rocking motion with her fingers and trailing her gaze to where they met your cunt. “Fuck- you’re still so tight, and I fucking love it.” Her crude words sent a shiver down your spine and caused a moan to escape your lips. It was loud, but it was gladly muffled by her shirt. She then chuckled, creating a stronger and faster pace.

“Don’t wake the kids up, alright? As much as I love hearing how desperate this pussy is for me, I don’t need them seeing their Mommy like this.” You nodded, stuffing your hand over your mouth as the sounds of your squelching juices now outshone your octaves.

“Nat, I- I think-”

“I know, I know. Whenever you’re ready, you just let it out for me, this is on your own accord.” She assured, feeling you practically pulse around her two digits. Her cock was much larger, and she adored the way you handled her despite your struggle with such smaller amounts. She had been conditioning it since she first met you and saw your shocked face when she revealed her length, but now you were well-adjusted to accepting everything she gave you.

Your eyes squeezed shut when you came around her, and you expected her fingers to slow to a halt but they didn’t. You whimpered quite loudly, your hooded eyes coming to meet hers as your body continued to spasm, your thighs shaking.

“I can’t…” You shook your head, gulping down the need to comply and say yes, to beg for what she’s giving you.

“Yes, you can. Don’t even think about it, just hold onto me and let me do all the thinking for you.” A tear streamed down your cheek while she added a third finger, allowing you time to accept the addition and wiping your tear with her free hand. Her thumb felt the wetness seep onto its skin while she cupped your chin, allowing you to kiss her passionately and in turn silence your moans. Your legs wrapped around her and pulled her even closer as she began to slowly thrust in and out of you, creating a steady rhythm that just wasn’t the same as before. You pulled away from her plump lips for a moment, your breath shaky.

“Faster- please, Nat, I need you to- to go faster.” A sly smirk found its way to her lips as she nodded before returning her mouth to yours, her fingers gliding against your walls quickly. There was a hidden force to it, one that caused your back to simultaneously arch into her as the rest of your body developed goosebumps. There was something about her in specific that made you this way, and while you never experienced this with anyone else, you knew no one would ever compare. When you began dating, she was only a few months older than you, and had been with two other women sexually, but you had been with zero, regardless of the gender. She worried that marrying you would someday make you wish you could’ve explored your options more, that you would’ve felt closed off from only ever having intercourse with her. But it was the opposite. You never once questioned what another human being could offer because you knew you had everything you’d ever need in front of you. And she had never felt so comfortable with another person, and even she knew she could never offer what she gives to you to anyone else.

And so as your tongues collided willingly, and her fingers continued at a steady pace, you allowed yourself to let go. You knew that even as she silenced your moans, your love for one another spoke in greater volumes. The woman only pulled back when oxygen became scarce, because she would kiss you even if she ran out, even if her last breath was spent doing so. She glanced down to her shirt splattered with your arousal and grinned.

“You must really like me, huh?” You rolled your eyes, panting quietly as you turned her body to the direction of the bathroom, knowing she would instantly sense what you were requesting. And as she came back with a towel, despite the cloth seeming to have no meaning to many, you smiled drowsily and kissed her cheek.

“I’m so glad I married you, Natasha Romanoff.” She returned your expression, taking your hand and kissing its back gently.

“And I am so glad I asked you to marry me, Y/N Romanoff.”

[starless-phantom]

Some posts back I drew stuff for a GunShow Redemption AU,, well here it is once more but officially! (More sketches under cut!)

can you tell i had a lot of fun with Puzzles’ new look i based it off of cassette tapes hehhehe

~~~~

I’ve also been seeing a lot of adorable gunshow fanchildren so I wanted to have my own take on it

This is Blair!

lil babieeee (info under cut)

~~~~

My take on a fankid was that since Puzzles isn’t genetically robotic, he was born human with his attachments added later in life, Blair would be born mostly human and wouldn’t inherit robotic traits from his side. Her robotic half is from WPNZ, who (in my hc) is indeed a manmade machine.

Either due to Puzzles’ immense physical trauma or the cross between man and machine in general, Blair is a very delicate child- a definite curve for WPNZ learning how to be gentle, but despite that they love her to pieces💜

✨Extra doodles!

[hellfirebarnes]

Slow-Burns - Part 4

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 5

@crowleythesexydemon

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.9K words

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Your doorframe almost didn’t survive.

Alexei came in first, balancing three boxes and a potted plant shaped like a bear. “Room feels too small for someone as mighty as you, but we will expand it with spirit!”

Bob followed, his arms overflowing with mystery bags. “I wasn’t sure what you needed so I brought—uh—snacks, a humidifier, extra chargers, three pairs of fuzzy socks, and a lava lamp. The good kind.”

John was behind them, dragging a flat-packed shelving unit like it personally offended him. “This thing has 87 parts. I’m betting 40 of them are pointless.”

Yelena appeared moments later, already opening drawers. “Okay, closet space is trash. We’re rearranging immediately.”

Ava hovered by the door, amused. “This is like watching raccoons redecorate.”

You stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. It felt like a hurricane of affection.

Through it all, Bucky stayed back. He helped carry your heavier boxes that morning before the chaos started, working in quiet rhythm beside you. But once the others arrived, he ghosted again, slipping away with a low “Just let me know if you need anything.”

You noticed the absence more than you should’ve.

The chaos died down eventually. Yelena left you with a handmade vision board. Bob had insisted you keep the lava lamp “for emotional ambiance.” John offered a high five and then complained about how your bathroom was better than his.

Now, it was just you. A quiet room. And a box labeled Memories sitting untouched by the window.

You were halfway through stringing up your fairy lights and Polaroids when you heard a soft knock.

“Yeah?”

The door creaked open, and Bucky stepped in, “You need any help?”

You smiled, surprised and grateful. “Yeah. Come in.”

He crossed the room slowly, taking it all in. The string lights. The mismatched throw pillows. The soft hum of music from a half-packed Bluetooth speaker.

You handed him a few photos.

“Where should I start?”

“Anywhere. It’s kind of a patchwork.”

You worked in silence for a while. He moved carefully, deliberately, asking before placing anything. You told him which corners to double-tape. You didn’t talk much, but the space between you felt easy. Warm.

He paused at one photo. “You and… her?”

You looked up. It was a Polaroid of you and a woman laughing in the rain, soaked through, hair tangled, city lights behind you.

“Jules,” you said softly. “We met in training. She was everything I wasn’t - loud, fearless, allergic to rules. I used to think she’d burn out first, but… she made it. She transferred to intel overseas. Still texts me weird memes at 3 a.m.”

He handed it back gently, like it mattered.

“This one?” he asked, pointing to another - a blurry but beautiful image of a sunset behind what looked like a battered pickup truck.

“Oh,” you chuckled. “I was hitchhiking through Colorado. This guy picked me up in that truck. Barely ran. But he had this old cassette tape playing Fleetwood Mac, and he gave me a cherry soda. We drove for five hours and didn’t talk once. Just the music and the wind. One of the best afternoons of my life.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but something in him eased. “You take these yourself?”

“Yeah. I like the way Polaroids freeze a moment. They don’t give you time to frame it perfectly. Just… click. You have to live with what you caught.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you.

“You always remember everything?”

You shrugged. “The things that matter.”

The next photo you held up was of a rooftop at night, string lights, and two glasses of wine on a small table.

“This one?” he asked, voice rougher now.

You hesitated. “That’s… from a night I let myself hope I wasn’t as alone as I thought.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. But he reached out. Gently took the photo. And pinned it beside the one of you in the canyon.

His hand brushed yours, lingering for a moment too long. Your breath caught. But you didn’t pull away. And neither did he.

You had just settled into a blissful evening of nothing: no alarms, no missions, no group chaos. You were wearing sweatpants and socks that didn’t match. A cup of tea steamed on your nightstand. Your lava lamp (Bob’s gift) bubbled quietly. Peace.

So naturally, that’s when it happened.

“SURPRISE!” came a chorus from behind your door, followed by what sounded like at least one confetti cannon misfiring.

You opened the door slowly. Mistake.

Yelena stood at the front like a party general, flanked by Bob (carrying a tray of jell-o shots), Ava (already sipping something suspiciously alcoholic), and John (wearing a “THIS IS MY FUN SHIRT” T-shirt). Alexei appeared behind them in a glittery party hat and a “Welcome Home, New Warrior!” sash he had clearly made himself.

“What is this?” You blinked.

“Housewarming party!” Bob beamed.

“You didn’t think we’d let your official move-in go uncelebrated, did you?” Yelena said, already pushing her way in.

“But I-” you protested.

“Too late,” Ava said. “There’s pizza coming and Alexei made a playlist called ‘Songs for Strong Daughters.’”

“It has Whitney Houston!” Alexei added proudly.

An hour later the common area had been overtaken. Balloons tied to chairs. String lights glowing extra bright. Bob had made a sign out of glitter and foam that said WELCOME SUNSHINE, OUR FAVORITE (DON’T TELL JOHN).

You floated through it all, overwhelmed in the best way. Yelena insisted you try all three versions of her spiked lemonade. Bob taught you a weird card game you immediately forgot the rules to. John kept complaining about the music but refused to leave.

You laughed more in two hours than you had all week.

And, through it all - Bucky. He stood near the edge of the room, sipping from a plain cup, eyes quietly tracking you. He hadn’t said much. But whenever you looked over, he was already watching you. Like he couldn’t help it.

Later you had your camera out, snapping Polaroids between sips of wine. Yelena making a face. Bob holding two beers like dumbbells. John caught mid-eye-roll.

You turned and raised the lens toward Bucky.

He started to shake his head.

“C’mon,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Just one.”

He hesitated. Then nodded.

You clicked the shutter—whirr-click—and the square popped out. It was slightly blurry, but the image was unmistakably him. Relaxed, for once. A tiny almost-smile that made your stomach turn over.

Before you could say anything, he surprised you.

“Your turn.”

“What?”

“You’re always the one behind the camera,” Bucky said, stepping forward slowly. “Let’s fix that.” He took the camera gently from your hands. Your fingers brushed.

You stood in place, watching him like you weren’t sure this was real.

Then—click. The photo slipped out. He caught it before it fell.

You reached for it, already smiling. “Let me see.”

But he didn’t hand it over. Instead, he held it just out of reach, expression unreadable. “I’m keeping this one,” he said, voice low. “For my wall.”

You blinked. Your chest did that soft, slow ache thing it always did when he let something honest slip through the cracks.

“Your wall, huh?”

He looked at the photo again, then at you. “Yeah. Seems like it’s missing something.”

Before you could reply, a loud, delighted gasp echoed across the room.

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Alexei bellowed, jolting everyone nearby.

He stomped over, pointing between you like he’d just discovered gravity. “You two! You’re the match! How did I not see it before?”

“Here we go,” Yelena muttered into her drink.

“I have been wasting time setting you up with strangers when my glorious friend Bucky has been brooding like tragic royalty over you for months!” Alexei continued. “Why didn’t I think of it before? I am an idiot!”

Bucky looked like he’d prefer to be anywhere else on Earth. You were covering your mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Alexei-” you started.

“No, no, do not try to talk me down. I am fixing this! You will have romantic training montages! Sparring sessions full of longing! One of you will get injured and confess feelings in a hospital bed-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” John cut in, dragging Alexei away by the sash. “You’re done.”

“I REGRET NOTHING!” Alexei yelled over his shoulder.

The room was in stitches. Bob handed you a shot. Yelena raised a toast “to inevitable love.” Ava laughed so hard she spilled her drink.

And through it all, Bucky stayed beside you. Quiet. Still holding that Polaroid.

You leaned in a little, voice barely above the music. “You’re really gonna keep it?”

He looked down at the photo, then back at you. “Yeah,” he said, softer than before. “I want to remember tonight.”

You didn’t say anything. But your smile said enough.

Val slapped a file down on the table, already mid-rant. “Simple infiltration. In and out. No surprises. Which means, naturally, something is going to go sideways.”

Yelena raised a hand. “Do we get to blow something up?”

“No.”

Alexei raised a hand. “What about someone?”

“Also no.” Val rolled her eyes and flicked a look toward you, who had just dropped into a seat between Ava and Bucky.

“You’re team lead on intel,” Val said. “They’ve been moving data through a shell company in Madrid. We need access. No blown covers, no trail.”

“Copy that,” you said, already scanning the file.

Bucky sat quiet beside you, jaw clenched, knuckles brushing the edge of the table every so often like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He hadn’t talked to you much since the party. Since he kept that photo.

Not that you minded. You hadn’t said anything either. But you'd smiled when he walked in this morning. Just for him. He was still trying to recover.

The team split: Yelena, John, and Ava created distraction on the street level while you and Bucky infiltrated the top-floor server room of a sleek, glass building downtown.

It should’ve been easy. And it was - until the door sealed behind you and the power cut out.

“Great,” you muttered, flicking on a small penlight. “Of course this happens when I’m the one with the file.” You bent to work on the manual override. The penlight trembled slightly in your hand.

“You good?” Bucky asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” you replied. But you weren't - not entirely.

You hated tight spaces. Not a full-blown phobia, just… a lingering thing. A relic from a mission gone wrong years ago. You didn’t usually talk about it.

Bucky noticed anyway. He didn’t say anything else, but he stepped beside you, close enough to cast his calm over you like a weighted blanket. You worked in tandem, your fingers on the lock, his flashlight on the wiring panel. Close enough that his arm brushed yours every few seconds.

You didn’t move away. Neither did he.

The moment the power returned and the door released, you were back to mission mode. The others regrouped at the extraction van.

“Smooth job,” John said, passing you each water bottles. “Except for the part where you two got ghosted by electricity.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was barely twenty minutes.”

“I would’ve chewed through the door,” Bob offered helpfully. “Just saying.”

Alexei grinned. “That’s why we didn’t put you in charge of intel.”

As the team bickered good-naturedly in the back of the van, Bucky sat beside you, hands resting on his knees, shoulder just grazing yours.

No one commented. But you noticed. When you turned slightly to look at him, he was already looking at you. Neither of you said anything.

But the silence between you felt less like distance now. More like something unspoken, steadily building.