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sports-on-sundays · 4 months

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lucky strike / CL16

Summary: Charles x American!female!reader - F1 comes to Sin City and you unexpectedly run into a certain someone.

Warnings: gambling, alcohol, cussing, use of pet names (A LOT), flirting, one moment of implied jealousy

Requested?: Sort of! Thank you to everyone who voted for Charles in the poll!

Author's Note: Charles won out in the poll, so here you go, everybody! (Of course I HAD to use The Charles Vegas Podium Picture). Also, I listened to Lucky Strike by Maroon 5 while writing.

one in a million ; my lucky strike

Well, you thought the whole F1 thing was absolutely ridiculous. You couldn't care an ounce less about Formula 1, so you certainly weren't happy about all the complications of it coming to your city.

You would call yourself an all American girl, and you're proud of it. If any racing, NASCAR. Football is the sport with the brown ball you throw- NFL, not the white and black ball you kick. That's soccer. You have the greatest food, the greatest mix of cultures, the greatest weather. If you didn't know better, you'd say you have the greatest country, too.

You watched a Formula 1 race when you realized the whole Las Vegas Grand Prix thing was actual, and when you saw that (firstly) it was honestly pretty boring, and (secondly) the only American driver is basically the most sucky one, you decided it would be pretty hard to get into it.

You're a Vegas girl, and you're proud of it. You're actually from Los Angeles, California, but you moved to Vegas to chase your dreams and live the life you dreamed of a year ago with your boyfriend, and it was so worth it.

Now you identify yourself with Vegas even more than you do with the Los Angeles Rams, despite the fact that your boyfriend broke up with you seven months ago and left to go be a prodigal son in New York City.

You decided Vegas was perfect enough for your clever hand, and you'd continue to be a prodigal daughter right where you're at.

But now the Grand Prix is the newest thing, and you don't like it at all. All these people flooding in, like as if there's not already enough people. Just to watch some cars drive around in circles, closing up main roads? No, you're not into it.

Your girl friends all seem to think this is just the best thing, and you discuss it across the table with two of them. One says, "Honestly, the McLaren duo are the hottest."

"No way- Ferrari! Have you seen Charles Leclerc?" your other friend disagrees.

You snort in disbelief and say sarcastically, "How about neither? So you guys only care about this because the racers are hot? Give me a break."

"Well," one of your friends starts, crossing her arms across her chest, "They are hot. At first, I wasn't so sure, but, I mean, come on! Maybe we could get glimpses of them when they're in Vegas!"

"Or meet them!" your other friend pipes in.

You scoff. "Good luck with that. Aren't these guys self-focused millionaires with too much money for their own good? Probably all greedy idiots who hook up with every half-sexy girl who comes along. So if you're into that, sure, waste your time trying to meet some hot plutocrats, with the one percent chance you might get f*cked like crazy for a night before they forget about you and move back to their mansions across the world! F*ck, is race car driving even a real sport? It's f*cking driving cars. I could do that!"

Your friends don't really argue with you, because you're right. And clearly, they do only care about the hot racers, because you figure any real fan of the sport would argue with you.

Two days before the Strip is supposed to be closed up for the Grand Prix, you find yourself submerged in the vibrant energy of Wynn Las Vegas, the dazzling lights and sounds of the casino floor swirling around you. The scent of alcohol lingers in the air, a reminder of the drinks you've indulged in throughout the night.

You slip between two people to reach the roulette wheel, holding your newly bought chips, with money you've earned earlier in the night.

Bets are placed around the table over and over, as you earn more and more chips. You feel someone nudge your shoulder, and a cocky male voice comments next to you, "You're having a good night, huh?"

"Every night is a good night," you remark back, not even glancing up at the man talking with you. He seems to have some sort of accent that you can't place. Perhaps French?

Which means he's probably from Louisiana. Possibly Quebec.

Probably some rich idiot F1 fan who can afford to travel half way across the country for the Grand Prix.

You don't plan to even give him the light of day.

"Until it's not," he says as you watch the roulette wheel spin once more.

You smirk and feel his eyes on you as you collect more chips.

The game goes on, and you think he's gotten the message that you don't care to converse with him, because does shut up.

But now it's the last bet of the game. You take a sip from your glass and feel a stupid, risky streak in you.

Some idiot part of you that's drunk and wants to push her luck way too far.

You place a straight-up bet, all your chips on the number sixteen.

You can feel eyes on you, and the same man next to you from earlier says, "Are you stupid?"

You chuckle. "Possibly."

"You're going to lose all your-"

"No, I won't." You straighten your back, staring at the wheel. It's true, you've earned a lot of money throughout this game.

And honest, it is true that you're stupid.

But it's also true that for some reason, you're confident.

"So you're overconfident and risky? I like that," comments the guy next to you. "But you're going to lose all your money. All that good luck for nothing..."

"You'll see," you breathe, ignoring his little flirt. "It's going to land on sixteen."

"Sixteen, huh?" This man's hazel eyes sparkle, and something in you tells you that you've seen this guy's brown locks, bright dimples, and perfect stubble before.

You've seen him somewhere. Recently. Like some guy you could haven't been drunk with, but the memory is fuzzy.

But you weren't drunk with him.

Despite being sure you've seen this guy before, you're also sure you've never met him before, either.

"Yeah," you nod, looking away, staring as the roulette wheel begins spinning. "It's my lucky number."

You're not looking at him, but you can feel him grin next to you. "Your lucky number, huh? Just so happens, it's mine, too."

You snort, rolling your eyes. "Is that some lame attempt of a flirt?"

"No. It really is my lucky number." By his tone, you can tell that grin has downgraded to a smirk. "But if you'd like to see a lame attempt of a flirt, that's an option, too..." His voice lowers as you feel his arm snake around you, and his hand land on your waist.

You gently shove it off as the wheel begins to slow. You hold your breath, watching, this stupid French boy no longer even a fraction of your concerns. All focus is on your slight potential lucky strike.

And then the world stops as the wheel stops, too.

On sixteen.

And then it all comes flooding back. "Oh my God!" you squeal stupidly, covering your mouth as there's rounds of, "You've got to be kidding me," "No way," "It's impossible!" and "How lucky is this girl?"

You feel surges of shock and pride as you collect all your money. Once you've received it, after such luck, and earning a fortune, you decide you're going to have a drink. Or more than just one.

But when you turn, there's that guy again.

"What's up?" you ask, the grin on your face impossible to wipe off.

"How did you know it was going to stop on sixteen?" he questions, and he looks a little more handsome than he did before as this time he succeeds in taking your waist.

"Are you trying to pick my pocket?" you question warily, though, shoving his hand away.

"Not at all," he chuckles, "But you're a smart girl, aren't you? And I think I might be a lucky boy. Come on- I'll buy you a drink."

You snort. "No way, pretty boy! I can buy my own drink, after what just happened! How cocky are you?"

"Call me cocky, or call me rich, but either way, you're too sexy to have to pay for your own drink."

You scoff at this, but figure that you can't really let down an offer of free stuff. You'll be the first to admit you're greedy. Once of the biggest reasons why you gamble is because you want money- duh- and as much of it as you can get.

So soon, you're sitting at a table with this random guy, looking into his eyes, holding your drink in your hand. After barely a moment of hesitation, your curiosity finally gets to you, and you ask, "Who are you, anyway? I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere recently."

He gets a smug look on his face, which you don't like, before he says, "You really don't know?"

Your nose crinkles up in confusion, and for a second you feel ultra worried. Is this someone that I've met, that I should remember? Am I a terrible person for not knowing who this is...?

But then he says simply, "My first name is Charles. Charles Leclerc."

You stare at the taller individual, knowing you've heard that name, trying desperately to wrack your brain of it.

And then, suddenly, it hits you.

Loudly, in your head, in your friend's voice, in the exact tone she said it, 'No way- Ferrari! Have you seen Charles Leclerc?'

"Wait-!" you say in shock. You can see the satisfaction on the man's face, Charles, as you realize. "So, you're one of those F1 racers? Like, you race for the Ferrari team?"

He snorts and nods. "I'm surprised you didn't recognize me right away. Do you live here in Vegas?"

"Yeah," you say simply, taking a sip of your drink.

"So I take it you hate Formula 1, then? Because how else are you living in Vegas right now and don't know my name, or recognize my face?"

"You sound awfully prideful."

Suddenly, he smirks, and drags his finger across your jawline, pulling your face to look up at him in the process. "Maybe so. But clearly you're not so much better yourself, Miss Bet It All On Sixteen."

You cock an eyebrow at him and return his smirk with a challenging grin. "Sure, but I was right. I won what I wanted."

"Hmm... Well, what if I'm about to win what I want?"

"Oh, yeah? And what is it that you want?"

He leans in closer, so you can feel his hot breath tickle your ear as he utters simply, "You, baby."

You smirk. "We just met, buddy. I'm not that stupid."

"I think you're just playing hard to get."

"Or maybe it's just hard for you to get me," you counter.

"Well, I like your spunk. And your good luck. I think I might need a little bit more of that." He leans away a bit, and comments, "And I think I foresee a little bit more of luck in your future."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," he smirks, leaning in closer. In barely any second, his lips meet yours, and though you know you should, there's no way you're pulling away now. He wraps his arm around you, urging you to lean into the kiss. You melt, letting him.

You don't know what it is.

But in this moment, you gently let your lips part, inviting his tongue to slip in between your lips, allowing yourself to, yes, make out with basically a stranger.

It wouldn't be the first time, but it also isn't something you do for fun whenever you feel.

When you finally force yourself to pull away, the first thing you breathe is, "How did you do that?"

He grins, and is clearly red in the face. But there's a look of shock on his face, too. As if his flirty cover was just confidence, and not because he gets tons of girls like this...?

Or maybe you're just reading too much into his expression.

Either way, he responds with, stroking your cheek, "No idea. Maybe I just have a way with you?"

You roll your eyes as you check your purse. No, he didn't pickpocket. He meant to kiss you. You stand up and say simply, "Well, I better get going n-"

"Sorry, what?" he suddenly snatches your arm back, pulling you back down to sit again with a surprised chuckle. "You just met a famous millionaire race car driver who bought you a drink after you won big money in roulette, let him make out with you, loved it, and now you're just going to casually walk off?"

You grin. "What? Do you think I was impressed by you? Think again, honey. Just because you drive cars fast and make ridiculous amounts of stupid money for it, and that you're insanely handsome- none of that means I'm any more impressed with you than I am with any other guys I meet on my night outs."

"Hm," he raises an eyebrow, and says, "What if you could get more from me, missy? Clearly, you're out for yourself and will do anything for a good deal. And you're f*cking sexy about it, too. So what if I had something else to offer you?"

You let yourself sit down at this, looking at him expectantly.

He smirks, clearly loving that he's 'won you over,' before saying simply, "Would like a free pass to the whole weekend, and a pass for the paddock?"

Your eyebrows scrunch together, and your eyes widen. "I- what?"

His smirk grows even bigger. "You heard me."

You inhale sharply, but cross your arms across your chest and come out sharply saying, "Unfortunately for you, I couldn't care less about Formula 1. In fact, I'm starting to dislike it a lot. But thanks for the offer."

His jaw drops, and his eyes practically pops out of his head, which gets a chuckle from you. For a moment, he's actually speechless, before he finally gets out, "Are you aware of the offer you just refused?"

You raise an eyebrow, not able to keep the cheeky grin off your face. "Probably not, but that's okay. Why, anyways, would you give a stranger such an opportunity in the first place? You probably have ulterior motives, and I think I can pretty much guess what they are, mister. You don't even know my name yet."

"Oh, God, you're right," he laughs, taking another sip of his drink. "Well, what's your name, princess?"

You roll your eyes, and tell him.

He grins. "It's been wonderful meeting you." He digs in the pocket of his light blue jeans, and pulls out a pen and a restaurant receipt. "I know you think you'll be able to forget me so easily, princess," he starts, scribbling something on the receipt, "but trust me- you'll be wanting this." He takes your hand and presses the receipt into it, before standing up just like that, and saying with a wave as he turns to walk off, "I'll talk to you later, angel."

You look down at the receipt to see a phone number scribbled on it in chicken scratch. But the numbers are clear. And though you walk out that night rolling your eyes at this Charles's boldness and cockiness, with an abundance of money you've earned that's a lot more worth the stupid grease-stained receipt, the moment you get back to your apartment, the first thing you intend to is putting that stupid number into your phone.

"This is stupid," you comment as you slide into the backseat, next to Charles.

He just rolls his eyes. "You won't be saying that by the end of this experience. Besides, you were the one who decided to text me, like I said you would. You were just playing hard to get."

You scoff. "Oh, shut up."

"You look lovely, by the way," he comments in a lower voice. "I like that skirt." You look down at yourself. You're wearing a matching crop top shirt and short skirt, your sunglasses holding your hair back away from your face, and brown sandals.

"Thanks," you snort, crossing your arms and looking out the window, turning your gaze away from the Monégasque driver. (Yes, you did, despite yourself, look him up last night, just to know who the heck this guy even is.)

(You also were sure to look up his salary.)

(Ridiculous.)

(But also intriguing.)

Soon enough, before you know it, you're walking alongside him, about to enter the 'paddock.'

Makes it sound like a bunch of horses racing.

But when you're there, surrounded by it, in the moment, you don't think rude comments like that.

You stop, taking in the high life atmosphere. The revving car noises, the lights of The Strip on the 'racetrack,' the crowds, the music, the richness, and the challenge.

Your breathing falters, and your heart beat quickens as your hand involuntarily finds Charles's wrist and grips it as you gasp, "It's... extraordinary."

You glance to Charles's face to see him softly grinning. His hand slips down to hold yours as he comments, "You seemed like the type of girl to love it."

Your smile widens. "I've been here so many times. On The Strip. But... it's not the same. How did they do it?"

He begins walking, pulling you along by your hand as you look around. "That's just Formula 1 for you. There's nothing in the world quite like it, Y/n."

He leads you by the hand toward the Ferrari garage. Once you're there, he says, "Want to meet my teammate, Carlos?"

"Don't know who Carlos is, but sure..." you say vaguely, taking in the large piece of machinery- the Formula 1 car- in front of you.

He chuckles. "You're f*cking adorable," he murmurs, before leading you away to see Carlos.

He's a well-built man with fluffy dark hair, tan skin, big brown cow eyes, and stubble. Pretty much looks like exactly how you'd imagine a Formula 1 driver to look.

He nods respectfully. "Hey, Charles," he says, and shakes your hand with a friendly wink. "This your new girlfriend?"

You look up to see Charles smirk. "Not yet."

One of Carlos's thick, dark eyebrows cocks up, and the suggestion of an amused smirk travels on his lips for a second. "Ah, I see."

"Charles!" you snap, your eyebrows scrunches together. "Not ever."

"Well, we'll see about that. So far, I've been the right one, now, princess, haven't I?"

"Pfft. I was right about sixteen, wasn't I?"

He rolls his eyes as Carlos says with a chuckle, "Well, it will sure be interesting to see how this plays out," before moving on with his life.

Charles takes the time to show you around, and halfway through the tour, you blurt suddenly, "So, this is all the Italian team and stuff. Isn't there an American team?"

"Hmmm," Charles snorts as his eyebrows travel farther up and he fights off a seemingly somewhat mocking smirk. "There is."

"Why don't you show me them? Don't they have an American driver? Like, Carlos is Italian, right? Isn't it protocol or somethin'? Anyway, isn't it called Williams, the American team, or something? Some guy named Logan something that's an American racer on there-"

At this, Charles can't seem to hold it together anymore, and doubles over laughing, essentially, at you.

"What?!" you demand indignantly.

"You really are clueless!"

"I-"

"Alright, alright, Y/n. Haas is the American team. They don't have an American driver- German and Danish. No, Carlos is not Italian; he's from Spain. Williams is British, and yes, Logan Sargeant races for Williams, and he is American. About the only thing you got right."

You roll your eyes with a shrug. "I told you I don't give a damn about this stupid sport."

"Whatever you say, Miss Starry Eyes."

So, first Charles takes you to Haas, where you learn, surprisingly, that not all the racers are young hotshots like Charles and Carlos at least seem to be. They're friendly enough there, but really don't care much to give you any of their time, so then Charles suggests to go to the Williams garage and see if there's Logan to bother. You agree to that, so soon, you're entering Williams.

As soon as you see Logan, you know he's the American. You can see it in his stance. You can see it in his golden blond slightly sweeped hair, gray blue eyes, and strong jawline. "That's Logan, isn't it?"

"How'd you know?"

You shrug, breaking off from Charles to Logan. "Hey! You're the only American 'round here?!" you ask with a friendly grin.

"Huh?" he asks, looking up, in the most United States of America way. "Oh, hi," he says in what you perceive as dumbly, with a friendly smile. Ah, that's more like it. None of these posh Monacan boys and hot Spanish men- this guy is just like home sweet home!

You can practically hear the eagles cawing over the Rocky Mountains!

"You're Logan Sargeant?"

He nods. "I am. And you are...?"

"Just some Vegas girl dragged here by Charles."

"Ah... so you know him?"

"Well, now, unfortunately, yes."

His eyebrows furrow, but he chuckles at the same time. Though this guy isn't nearly as handsome or charming as Charles, there's something about him you like a bit more-

Suddenly, a hand is on your waist, and hot breath says in your ear, "Got to be getting back to Ferrari now. Come on with me?"

You blush and nod. "Right, Charles."

You have no idea what to think of him.

"Podium?! Uh- is a podium good?!" you ask, eyes wide as Charles brings it home in second.

"Yeah, yeah, it's good!" some guy you don't know wearing red near you says.

"Oh- Alright, well- That's good, I suppose!" you respond a little manically.

As soon as Charles as the chance, he finds you. He still has champagne on his race suit and his face is glistening with sweat, and there's no way you can deny it- he's sexy. When he reaches you, he wraps his arms around you, and his stunning eyes seem to burn into you. He can't fight the grin off his face as he says lowly, "Get why my lucky number is sixteen, baby girl?"

"Ah, stop with that," you snap, your voice cracking. You don't know, but this seems- all this seems-

Way too important.

You reach up to touch the number sixteen on his hat, before taking it off his head and slipping it on your own, backwards, on impulse.

He grins. "You can keep it. Not like you'll need a keepsake. You won't forget me."

You bite your lip, giving a quick nod, still studying his handsome face. Your eyes linger on his light pink lips, which arch into a perfect cupid's bow, as you murmur absently, "You seem pretty confident about that, huh?"

"Of course I do. Looks like you might be my little good luck charm, hm? Can't be letting you run away from me, can I?"

"Hm. Well, we'll see about that."

"Still playing hard to get?"

"Not playing. I just am hard to get."

"Whatever you say, darling," he comments with a shrug, walking off.

The French accent is pretty sexy.

Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you see are the big earnest eyes of Charles Leclerc, staring back into your eyes. "Morning sunsh-"

Your immediate reaction is to scream and promptly slap him across his pretty face.

He grunts as his hand flies to his cheek to cover it up, and he says, "Hey, hey, calm down!"

But your eyes scan the room. It's clearly a hotel room. There's only one bed: the one you and Charles are laying in right at this moment. You're wearing a large black T-shirt and big blue gym shorts very tightly tied to fit your waist. Charles is dressed in a grey hoodie and jeans with a white T-shirt underneath, his regular jewelry, and white sneakers. So clearly, he's already showered and gotten dressed. He smells like his rich cologne, and his hair is all washed and fluffy and clean. If you weren't in a slight panic right now, you'd have wondered if you could touch his hair and feel how soft it is.

But!

As you're about to gasp out questions, Charles sits up and gently sets his hand on top of yours. You become aware of the pounding in your head as you bite your lip nervously. Charles looks at you earnestly, and says calmly, "Hey, you don't have to worry. It's okay."

"What happened?" you exhale.

"Nothing," he soothes. "We went out. You got more drunk than any of us though you should. I didn't know where you lived, so I took you to my hotel room. Gave you clothes to change into, and we went to sleep. Nothing more."

You swallow an anxious lump in your throat. "How do I know I can trust you? Please, just be honest with me. I won't be mad. You didn't know any bet-"

"I didn't do anything. We didn't do anything. Okay?" he leans in closer, and reaches to cup your cheeks in his hands. "'Kay? Can you just trust me?"

You bite your lip, but slowly nod. "I suppose that's the only thing I can do."

Over six months later, you stand on the boat, staring out at the Mediterranean Sea, smelling the salty breeze in the air, feeling content, wearing a loose button down, light blue jean shorts with a brown belt, your slew of bracelets, white sneakers, and a headband holding back your hair.

Suddenly, Charles is up next to you. "Hey, princess." For months, you've had what you stubbornly call a 'situationship,' whilst Charles calls you his girlfriend.

Because you love Vegas more than you love Charles (or at least that's what you like to say), you refused to leave when Charles did. You like taking risks. Just not the 'travelling halfway across the world for a hot guy' kind of risks.

But you stayed in touch. Charles made sure of that.

Well, he meant it when he said he'd make sure you'll never forget him.

But then Formula 1 came back to the States, to Miami, and you knew you'd have to make the trip. The flirty comments and romantic tension thick enough to cut ensued as soon as you and Charles set eyes upon each other, like as if it hadn't been six months or so since you'd last seen each other last.

It just felt like-

Somehow fate is involved.

Well, when Charles invited you to the Monaco Grand Prix, that was an offer you felt you couldn't let down.

And, boy, was that the best descision of your life.

To see Charles win his home race like that, and to be there? Just thinking about it now gives you goosebumps. Charles had wrapped his arms around you after the race, his eyes a little damp, and you felt something more.

Like he really cared.

If you didn't know better, you'd say it was like he really loved.

Loved you.

But, no. Of course not. That can't be.

Can it?

Well, all night you partied. You were in on the fun. You also made sure to pay a visit to the Monte Carlo casino, as you obviously must.

You had amazing luck, once again.

On this thought, as you feel Charles approaching from behind you, you comment into the wind, "You know, I'm starting to think you're my lucky charm, honey."

He chuckles, coming up next to you. "Oh, yeah? That's what I said six months ago when I first met you, you know. I've been starting to think the same thing about you."

You snort. "Maybe so, Monaco race winner."

He smirks, and you can feel the pure joy radiating off him. He slips his hand into yours as he murmurs, "I was so lucky to meet you."

I smirk. "I am pretty awesome."

He rolls his eyes, but squeezes your hand. "So, do you like it here in Monaco?"

You nod vigorously. "Gosh, Charles, it's amazing."

"Better than Vegas?"

"Well- I don't know if anything is better than Vegas..."

He leans in closer and speaks lower. "Well, would Monaco be better if your good luck charm just so happens to reside here?"

"Hm..." you smirk, flushing a bit. "I'd have to think about that, prince."

"Yeah," he nod, his tone softer. "Why don't you."

There's some silence, as you watch the sun begin to set, reflecting off the sparkling water.

Charles leans even closer to you, his hands gliding around your waist, pulling you towards him. He leans down, gazing deeply into your eyes. Then that stupid flirty grin appears on his face again. "F*cking gorgeous you are, one in a million. I struck lucky with you. My lucky strike."

He closes the distance between you, his soft lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The heat of his body against yours sends shivers down your spine, igniting a spark between you as your tongues dance together in a sensual embrace. Connected.

Maybe it's not fate.

But it is most certainly luck.

And in this moment, with the lips of the winner of Monaco sucking on yours, you feel like the one who struck it lucky.

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ash5monster01 · 10 months

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Well the results are in!

I honestly thought Steve was going to win and he was in the lead for majority of the time but you all have surprised me. Rafe stole it in the last half and I am more than happy to oblige.

So please allow me to introduce my newest series. Or at least a small little sneak peek of what you’re getting yourself into.

Learning to Love

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x FemReader!PlusSize

Warnings: 18+, langauge, angst, fluff, mentions of bullying, body image issues, fat shaming, fake relationship, eventual smut, minor enemies to lovers trope.

Summary: It's not uncommon for you to be shamed for your size, it is however uncommon to be told that no one would ever date you because of it. Rafe on the other hand is used to being called a jerk, that is until he is accused of seeing people for only what's on the surface. It's purely coicidental you two meet right after these accusations are thrown your way. So even though you two don't know each other, and probably never would've looked the others way before this, now you're both going to prove a point. It's simple really, prove others wrong and don't fall in love. Easier said than done.

I’m hoping by tonight I can have the first chapter out but if not you will see it by the end of the week. I also haven’t written for Rafe in a very long time, let alone a series, so please bear with me. I also haven’t written something that takes place in this decade in a while either so this will be fun.

If anyone wants to be added to the tag list please let me know! I’m so excited to go on this journey with you all <3

I hope the 42.3% of you that voted for Rafe indulge in this story and thank you to everyone who voted!

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woncon · 11 months

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Flufftober Day 11

Sweet Tooth

🍁 jongho x gn!reader

🍁 thanks to @wonsheep for helping me fix my grammar mistakes and for giving me advice how to convert a whole story into another language precisely ❣

🍁 flufftober masterlist | main masterlist

✁- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"What flavor is this one? Strawberry?" Your mouth is stuffed with red sauce, sponge cake and whipped cream as you inquire about the bit of dessert.

"No, raspberry." Jongho sticks his fork back into the slice so he can taste it as well.

"The sponge cake is a little drier than the lemon one, I can't taste the soft creaminess, and this syrupy raspberry is too concentrated for me. Other than that, it's delicious." You flash an interested, gentle smile as you form the criticism. "What do you think?"

Your boyfriend shakes his head, deflecting the question.

“It'll be your birthday. What matters is what you think. So which one do you vote on?"

There are four cake slices on the table awaiting judgement: a so-called zebra cake similar to a coconut roll, a lemon sweet, the raspberry test subject and some cheesecake drizzled with caramel.

You give them all a stern look.

"I can't decide between the zebra and the caramel," you report, perplexed.

"I can help." The boy dips his finger into the batter and then smears it on your nose. You blink in surprise. "The zebra is very messy." He grins as he watches you interpret the sudden events.

Jongho thought the caramel one was the best, so it's no wonder he argued against the other. You want to hit back.

"The caramel also leaves a stain," you repeat your boyfriend's action, except that the fingertip touches his cheek "look at you!"

You chuckle merrily as, after the revenge, he gently pulls you by the back of your neck to kiss you, taking care not to smear you with his creamy limbs. You similarly keep your sticky body parts away from your lover's skin, hair and clothes.

Your tongues gently intertwine, and you realize that you're a more favored treat than caramel cake to the guy who's been indulging in your lips.

"Hey, here's an idea." You duck away, enlightened, partly by the idea, partly to wipe Jongho's cheeks with a napkin before the honey-brown frosting solidifies. "What if half the cake is zebra and the other half is caramel? That way everyone could taste both, there would be a choice. Well?"

"That wouldn't be bad." After a nod of agreement, you remove the sauce so that there is no sticky residue at all.

Then, without a word, you continue kissing where you left off, nuzzling the boy's chest and enjoying the mingled flavors in your mouth.

flufftober taglist (send an ask! <3)

@jaeheekangslover

@haechansbbg

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nerdieforpedro · 9 months

Text

Weekend Update - 12/24/2023 Christmas Eve

Hey Nerdie! You’ve got some bags there.

I do both under my eyes and Din finally let me look through the ones he’s been using. It’s….Mandalorians are wild.

I feel like they’re not Nerdie, at least not how you’re thinking. Should we even ask?

Has to do with what I’ve written this week:

Weddings 101 with Dieter - chapter 3 came out this week. There was a fight that I still giggle about. There will be more, I’m loving the beef between Dieter and Oscar. There had to be some type of fight in the rom-com. 🤭 There was also cloud smut? I don’t know how else to put it. Ya’ll read it and tell me what it was.

Sard’ika Sessions - In Session Four Din put together something in the reader’s house. They may use it again. Liberties are taken with the Creed and Mandalorian culture though not too crazy. (That might be for an epilogue.) I’d like to thank everyone who’s been reading since Session one (we’ve come so far from thigh-riding) and are now on the latter end where our Session partners are exploring each other but communication as well. It was really sweet to read people’s comments and see that they picked up on how well they communicate with each other while indulging in their sexual appetites. I’d like to think it’s come across how I planned it originally when I scribbled all of this in my notebook at 4am when I couldn’t sleep in November after Thanksgiving of all things. We’ll see how things continue to progress.

I have a poll up for “Weddings 101 with Dieter” to determine what might go into chapter four. I’m enjoying everyone’s comments and options on what should happen with both Dieter/Maya and Dieter vs. Oscar. Click the link above to vote and have your suggestions added. I’ll announce the results and the most voted will be put in. I’ll likely add some of the other suggestions because I like them so much. ☺️

Remember Frankie~ (I read something new and caught up on a few things. Some of which weren’t even related to our favorite pilot. My mind went deep into smut. As a warning, don’t read while multi-tasking! Though I take it as a point of pride to have someone forget their name while on a call. 😉) They knew who they are. 😎 Love ya! ❤️

Nerdie’s Bedtime Stories (Might be a new series for weirdness I think up and might read to someone. This was a Christmas Carol featuring some of the Pedro boys. A Feral Carol as @maggiemayhemnj called it.) @undercoverpena and @morallyinept encouraged me. 🤣

You put a lot of thought into what you write. We really thought it was only the non-smut stuff you thought hard on. You’ve indicated you have trouble with that before.

It’s not so much I have trouble with it. I’m used to doing one-shots and exclusivity writing smut before I joined back up on Tumblr. I’m branching out and trying all sorts of smut and actual storylines (when I can make it coherent to anyone but myself) in my writing now. Even comedy with Dieter though I like to put little jokes in most of my writing.

Ah, so you’re learning as you go on as we all do. Fair. Any current WIPs you’re trying to finish up before 2023 is out?

Well, I have a Pickled Peña to finish. Everyone’s welcome to join in and write about our favorite DEA agent Javier Peña. Everyone who’s participating will post on January 1st and tag their work with the “pickled peña” tag.

I’m also participating in the PMAMC 2024 which is in mid-January. I decided to challenge myself with not only writing about pegging but also writing with a character I’ve only written for once and in his historical setting, because past Nerdie who accepted this was feeling ambitious. 😗 Present Nerdie wonders what was she thinking. 🧐 She also has to review her notes on what may have been used to facilitate pegging during the time period, there’s a long note I have on it. It should be mostly historically accurate, I guess, because that’s what matters. 👀 In pegging - the historical aspect. 😒

I have two Robbie Reyes asks to work on as well as one smut piece I wanted to do for him and one actual story.

There are three Joel pieces that I wanted to write, one will be tabled until next Christmas. I don’t think I’ll finish it by tomorrow. The second was a post outbreak one, I’ve only written post outbreak once so I want to see if it will be a one short or series. The third one might be finished. I need to edit it.

Anything else will likely be tabled until 2024 because I either don’t have ideas for it or I want to wait until I feel good about writing it. 😊

Any last remarks?

I’d like to thank any and all of my beta readers: @avastrasposts @musings-of-a-rose @frenchiereading @theywhowriteandknowthings @megamindsecretlair @pedrodascal @iamasaddie @fhatbhabie and @morallyinept @legendary-pink-dot

Ya’ll saw all the typos, swapped countries and off beat plot points. 😗

Also @linzels-blog don’t worry The Creed is fine. Mostly I believe. Like it will all work out. 😉

I usually add fics I’ve read this week but I’m going to organize them and put them in another fic rec post because I have them saved there already. 😎

The above wallpaper was made by @xxhypersomnia who did two sets of awesome retro Javier Peña edits on her page. 🥰 She even tagged me in the second one which I have to look at later when I’m home.

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 6 months

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Request: your hcs for how comics Pyro and show Morph get along because I think it would epic (and involve a lot of hilarious Shaw impressions)

I am rubbing my hands together with glee, thank you for this ask! I'm assuming this is a Krakoa-type situation where everyone is just sort of hanging out and technically on the same "team."

I think initially, they would not get along. Pyro would find Morph annoying and obnoxious; Morph, whose only experience as a "bad guy" was under severely traumatic brain-washing, would be put off by Pyro being a gleeful and mostly unrepentant murderer.

Then they get drunk together, and that's really all it would take. Pyro can be very personable and chatty, Morph does hilarious impressions, they bond over whichever mutant they hate the most. I'll say Sebastian, because I think Morph would hate Shaw just as much as Pyro, and because it's what we both want to see.

Shinobi starts paying Morph to perform regular Sebastian impressions, it's good for his mental health. Morph is like, "I kind of feel like a court jester here, but what the hell, you are paying me thousands of dollars and also fuck that guy."

Sebastian would offer to pay Morph to sit in on unimportant Council meetings wearing his shape, but realizes that Morph would be an absolute troll, vote against Sebastian's interests and find ways to humiliate him. He pays Copycat instead.

Pyro asking Morph ALL the questions about shapeshifting that he always wanted to ask Mystique but was too intimidated because Mystique has no patience for that kind of thing. In return, Pyro does cool fire tricks for Morph.

They absolutely do karaoke together. Pyro can sing, Morph can sound like whoever they want to.

They both have zero good decision making skills while drunk (and Pyro's decision making skills aren't great while sober either) so there are some epic shenanigans. I think Morph is slightly more responsible about not committing crimes and will draw the line at hurting people. They would, however, help Pyro rescue abused animals from shitty owners.

Morph also uses shapeshifting to walk right into Shaw's properties as Sebastian and help Pyro steal things. Sebastian is almost impressed, this is more planning and subtlety than Pyro usually displays.

This is reeeeaaally self-indulgent headcanon now, but I can picture Morph and Pyro both talking about gender roles and feeling "trapped" by everything that is expected of masculinity. You've got a nonbinary shape-shifter (who mostly presents in a "masculine" way) and a (gay) male romance novelist who likes to dress fancy, I think they would both be a bit frustrated by all the unspoken social rules about how a man is "supposed" to act. It takes a LOT of alcohol to get them to that point of vulnerability, though, so the conversation is near incoherent. I think they are also both able to have this kind of conversation because they don't have much of a connection besides drinking buddies, so they don't actually care that much what the other person thinks of them.

Morph is kind of envious to realize that Pyro and Avalanche are a couple, like "Why can't my ambiguously homoerotic best buddy also be my boyfriend?"

They might actually bang? I don't know, this might just be me shipping Pyro with every male or "male-presenting" character. But X-Men 97 has heavily implied that Morph has a thing for Wolverine, and is therefore attracted to men. I don't know if they are a one-night stand kind of person, but eh. Let Morph get laid, because we all know Wolverine will never actually sleep with them on the show.

Wolverine is all "Morph, stay away from that guy, he's a sleazebag and a bad influence, and Pyro if you hurt them I will be popping a claw through your skull."

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just-some-guy-joust · 1 year

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Tell us about Eden *holds up microphone to you*

Thank you all for indulging me I am going to yell about her so fucking hard <3 Same as my Amedeo rant, this one's LONG babey YIPPEE! This ended up being 34 fucking paragraphs!!!!

All art is by me, all links on character names lead to their toyhouse profiles

Content warnings: Unreality, toxic relationships, bad mental health

This is Eden! She/her, 20-22 years old (22 at time of Doomed By The Narrative), 5'1, a college student who's also in the college's gaming club! She's the best friend/sister of Aiden, another member of the club who's like super rich and inherited a fuckoff big manor from their parents (which I am mentioning exclusively for the context to explain the fact that the story is called In A Manor Of Speaking)

Eden is very very sweet and kind and energetic and fun. She's good vibes all around and she's friends with Everyone so hard. If you're familiar with my other OC I've shoved into one of my tournaments though, Amedeo, you... might know where this is going a little bit.

For a basic plot summary up until Eden has anything to do with anything, Aiden comes home one day with a demon, Viorel, who is VERY lost and confused and has no memory of how he got to the human world. They all pretty quickly discover Viorel is not the only demon coming through to the human world though. Vivian and Engel are hunting him down and don't believe him when he says he has no clue who they are. They send another demon after him to kill him, though it doesn't work well since he just befriends it and now it is also living in the manor having a good time. Afterwards, Amedeo, a member of the gamer club, starts acting... odd. He invites Aiden to hang out, and then they get kidnapped, Viorel having to go save them. It was only the first incident of many with Amedeo, and he slowly got worse, making everyone really uncomfortable and staying away from him.

Eden didn't want to sit by and watch this happen to her friend, so she tried asking it what was going on. It responded by attacking her, sending her on a trip to the hospital.

It was fine. It was ok. That was her fault, really. She should've known.

Amedeo was kicked out of the gamer club (she hadn't wanted that but she wasn't there to vote on it). Apparently he never went back to his apartment. Some time after his disappearance, Aiden died. She wasn't there when it happened. Viorel said it was Amedeo.

It was... it was fine. It was ok. It was awful. It hurt so much. Awful things kept happening to the people around her and she couldn't do anything about it. Her sibling was dead, it was getting so hard to breathe anymore.

It was fine. It was ok. Aiden... "survived" in a way. They came back as a ghost days later. Stuck in a computer, yeah, but they could still talk. They were still here. It wasn't fair of Eden to stay upset for long, not when Aiden was having the WORST time coping with their new form. So she puts on a smile and acts just like she did before. Everything's going to be alright. Even if she has to be the only one acting like it is.

More time passes. One day, she stares at the back window and finds... Amedeo. He's a mess. He looks like he's been hit with a truck, or like he's been sleeping under a bush the last several days. Frantically, Eden runs outside, chasing him down when he tries to run from her, and pulling him in for a hug. It was alright. It was going to be ok, she promised. How long has it been since you've eaten, do you need water, you can take a nap in one of the fancy beds, I promise I won't let Viorel hurt you I know you're worried, I missed you, I was worried about you, please come inside.

As time passed, things became comfortable again. Amedeo had really changed for the better and was trying so hard to make things right. Viorel built Aiden a new robotic body for them to haunt, and they were getting used to it well. The gamer club was getting back together. Eden, Viorel, and Aiden took a trip to the monster realm to learn more about Viorel's past after his sister showed up looking for him. Eden didn't... really understand what happened. Viorel was pretty upset, but she didn't know why. Just as always, she felt like she was missing something everyone else understood. This wasn't her story, after all. She was just there to smile and remind everyone it was going to be ok. She was a bright spot for them. She knew that. They returned to the human world, some new friends in tow, and things were back on track for a while.

It was fine. It was ok.

In the almost 2 years since all of this began, Reverie was the first person to ever ask her that.

Eden and Reverie begin hanging out a lot after that. Not just for the shoulder to cry on, they really do enjoy each others company. They got close, closer than Eden had ever felt with anyone. It felt... odd. She was having a really hard time naming her feelings for them. She cared about them but something was off. It was really hard to know what was nagging the back of her head. They kept bringing up weird existential ideas, never enough for a full conversation, but they really did have strange ideas about how the world functioned. She kind of liked it though. It was fun to consider the possibility. That maybe none of it was real. What a relief that could be...

"Hey. I want to show you something" Reverie told her one day. They guided her to a private room, making doubly sure no one was around. Confidently, they held out their hand. Above it, floating and glowing softly, was... a menu.

Save, load, quit, settings. A video game menu. Above their head, "player 2".

None of it was real.

Reverie is player 2 of the video game known as "In A Manor Of Speaking". They've played this game hundreds of times. Player 1... Viorel, had left them a long time ago, and has no memory of the nature of the world. So Reverie alone had been restarting the game over and over, trying to find a path that would let them finally beat the final boss and escape the game. If they could just win, they'd finally be able to leave and reenter the real world. 100% maxing out Eden's friendship level was one thing they still hadn't done, until now. They had a good feeling about this one. They were sure of it.

An NPC. That's all she was.

It made sense. She'd always felt that way. She wasn't even important to the plot. She knew it. Of course it'd take them this long to try maxing out her friendship, she was always just a background character. None of it was real. None of it mattered. She was doing such a good job of playing her role, wasn't she? A perfect side piece in a story that isn't hers.

She went along with it. Her odd feelings about Reverie made sense now, that wasn't fully her... she was programmed to feel that way. But she still cared about them. She still wanted to help. Shoving down all the thoughts, it felt so. Easy. To dedicate herself to their goal. She loved them, she cared about them, she hated them, she looked up to them. Something about them was magnetizing and she didn't want to leave. Of course. Of course she'd help. She knew now, that's what she was supposed to do. What a relief. None of it had ever mattered. It was a kind thought to her.

Now she was able to see the save points, the HP bars above peoples heads, sometimes she caught glimpses of dialogue boxes as Reverie spoke to people. They introduced her to someone very special that only the two of them could seem to see. Elysium. She was an AI made for the game to keep it running properly, and to rewrite bits of code, to expand the world they lived in. The game was always evolving because of her. Elysium acted rather cold and grumpy a lot of the time, but there was an undeniable warmth to her that Eden admired.

Knowing about the game was terrifying, but the time she spent with Elysium and Reverie... It was wonderful. She finally felt like she was somewhere she belonged. She never felt so special than when she was with them. It was fun, to be part of the game. It was the happiest she felt in a long time.

...Right?

She still didn't smile much anymore. Reverie dismissed her various concerns often, saying it was fine, she was an NPC, she wouldn't get it. There was always this look in their eye that gave her chills. Reverie would tell her to fight that monster, it's for the EXP. When she protested, they'd tell her, what's the problem? None of this is real. I'll probably have to reload anyways, so none of this will matter in the end. Reverie would get themself in dangerous situations over and over. When Eden was worried about them, Reverie never understood. If they died, they just come back, it wasn't a big deal.

They never really did look at her, or Elysium. Every movement they made felt scripted. Every word, carefully planned. None of it mattered, to them. If Eden was uncomfortable, what did it matter? She wasn't real. She wasn't real. She knew she wasn't real.

But it was fine. It was ok.

Months passed in a blur. Eden hadn't spent much time with her other friends the entire time. She wasn't even sure what they were up to. It didn't matter. They wouldn't have changed their actions if she tried. That was never her choice. But it didn't matter. It was time. Just her and Reverie, and the final boss.

As Reverie rambled about the plan, Eden silently stared down at her palms, as always. She was so... afraid. Worried. She wished she could just give herself some reassurance. ...And the game's menu silently popped up in her hands. It held Reverie's save. ...It wouldn't hurt, she thought. She pressed the save button. It gave her a little comfort.

It was so hard to focus she hardly noticed they were in the battle with Engel now. When had they...? It didn't matter. Reverie was shouting at her, and she snapped back into reality and joined the battle, sword in hand. Engel's blank eyes stared right past her, entirely focused on Reverie. Eden, took a step, and found herself behind them. Time seemed to slow. She didn't remember getting this close to them so quickly. But it was her chance. It was her time. She raised the sword, and brought it down.

Engel's head rolled to the floor, their body collapsing next to it. Reverie and Eden froze. Neither of them dared to breathe. Eden couldn't see anything but the blood on her sword. She nearly dropped it with how heavy it suddenly felt. But quickly Reverie's arms were around her. They picked her up, yelling in excitement, looking more happy than she had ever seen them. They smiled at her so genuinely, and everything melted away. That was all she wanted. She laughed too, the image of Engel's headless corpse disappearing from her mind, losing herself in the relief. It was all over.

The area around them faded to black and white, "THE END" appearing a few feet in front of Reverie. They dropped Eden, and ran towards it, reaching for the "quit" button. And then it was gone. The quit button disappeared right before they could hit it. Leaving only "Restart" and "Reload" beside where it had been.

Eden couldn't see Reverie's face from where she was, but she could feel the chill radiating from them. They were frozen place, the room silent. Then they laughed, something hollow and empty. Then louder, crazed and desperate. They collapsed to the floor, their laughs and sobs intermingling so well Eden couldn't tell the difference between them. She tried to reach out to them, but before she could reach them, she heard them speak.

"If I can't leave, then this world might as well rot."

A folder icon flashed above their now outstretched palm and they reached into it, crushing the code within. Eden immediately felt dizzy. The world began to crumble around them, glitching out in bright colors, awful noises emanating from the edges where nothing but void lay beyond. Eden could see flashes of other places, other people. The world was collapsing in on itself as Reverie laughed. It was so hard to think. It was so hard to be. Eden reached for her sword. It didn't want to stay in her grasp, but her resolve solidifying, she forced it in her hand.

Reverie turned toward her just in time for the blade to pierce their chest. They stopped, in shock, for a struggling heartbeat.

They laughed. They grabbed Eden's hands and pulled, plunging the sword farther through their back, and putting Eden's face closer to theirs. "Do you think this matters?" they taunted through wheezing breaths. "I'll just come back! I always have. I always will! This means NOTHING Eden!"

They stood there for what felt like eternity. Eden didn't know what to say and could barely even see them through the tears in her eyes. But slowly, slowly, Reverie's laugh trailed off. And their face betrayed a sudden hint of fear.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened as their breath hitched again and their legs gave out, dropping them to the floor. Nothing happened as they coughed up blood weakly. Nothing happened. Their HP had already dropped to 0. It never took this long. Nothing happened. Frantically they opened the menu.

It was Eden's save. No, it was Reverie's. No... the names switched back and forth, never settling in place for long. "WHat did yoU DO?" they tried their best to shift their position despite the unbearable pain, looking for Eden. They spotted her in front of the "THE END" screen, processing what she was doing moments too late. She reloaded, and everything went black.

Through a painful haze of noise and color, Eden could hear Elysium's voice. "Do you see what you've done, Reverie?" "pl...ease..." "How the hell am I supposed to fix this?! Look around you Reverie! Look what you've DONE!" "ple.....please...pl... please" "I can only think of one way to fix this. I'm going to delete you. I hope you had fun in the time you were here."

"NO!" Eden screamed out. She didn't want this. But it was all she could do as she finally slipped into what could only be compared to unconsciousness.

She awoke who knows when on a couch in Elysium's room. After making sure she was ok, Elysium explained. She explained everything. Eden trying to reload a save she made when she wasn't even a player freaked out the game so bad, on top of the code Reverie had destroyed... it was a mess. Elysium had stabilized it. Reverie was... well, not really alive, but not really dead either. They were stuck somewhere in between, in the moment they would have died if they hadn't been a player who's supposed to reload if their save wasn't corrupted. But Elysium could fix it, she was sure she could.

Eden asked if this was how this was supposed to go. Elysium sighed, and said yes.

Eden's route in the game wasn't always like this. But Reverie had become so fixated on finding their exit and treating the world around them like nothing but a toy. Elysium hadn't known what else to do. So she rewrote the code, the story, she rearranged the narrative, so Eden would be learn about the game. So she would start to glitch out the system. So she could be invisible to Engel's eyes because she was glitching out so badly, so she could finally be the one to end the game. So Reverie would finally see there was nothing else. This world was all their was.

It was never about Eden.

None of it had ever had anything to do with her.

The narrative had been rewritten just for her. The months of pain. The horrible state Eden had found herself in, agreeing to Reverie's views of the world. That she was worthless. That she was nothing. That this world was a prison. All the sweet moments, all the comfort Eden had felt in those fleeting scenes. It was all for her. None of it was for her. It was always about Reverie. She was one more piece in this awful play.

Eden bid Elysium farewell, and went home.

#asks #doomed by the narrative showdown

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sweetestpopcorn · 2 years

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Because of this show now asoiaf's fan art is ruined. It's very rare to find new ones that respect the books. Now everyone draws from the series. That's a shame. The characters in the books are much more better and handsome than the actors in this show. I've even seen them with Daenaera so she's not even in the show. Although I have every confidence in this show to slaughter his character as well. They're going to pass her off as a depressed child. (1/2)

I'm going to say what I always say and yes this is a mini lecture so apologies in advance.

People are free to like and produce what they want just as we are free to choose what you want to consume. Yes, I understand the frustration, better than most believe me that I do, but we can't force people to share our views or like what we like so this is it, and next time I will just refer people here for similar asks.

Instead of wasting our energy being angry let's be a driving force for change and to give a platform to things we like. Let's create something - fanfic, fanart, edit, gifs - and if we don't want to create let's share + like + reblog + promote content that we do like and that does follow/adapt what we like -> in this case the books.

I see a lot of complains but I don't see a lot of doing something or promoting book-accurate content. I don't see a lot of action that is meaningful and that will fill the tags with content that we do like or want to see more of.

Example, you say that asoiaf art is now ruined, well a few weeks ago @lovelyonism did this absolutely amazing art of Rhaenyra and Alicent which is based on the novels not the show. It has 87 notes so far despite how amazing it is and how much work she put into it. Instead of complaining, why don't we share it? Why send me an ask complaining and maybe not an ask to her saying thank you, and encouraging her to do more? Sending a nice word? Same for other artists out there who do gifs/edits that are not redacted related. Send them love.

We vote with our money in the real world. In fandom we vote with likes, with what we give a platform to, with what we help get visibility.

Let's be positive not negative (I fail at times yes, but I try to get better). Let's be active. Let's do something that actually brings change instead of just complaining (yes I also indulge in complaining at times). Let's be the change we want to see and take an active approach.

Send a message of thank you to creators. Leave them a comment. Share old and new content that you like. We are so quick to be vocal about what we dislike and so quiet about what we like.

All the best to you!

#the rogue prince #the princess and the queen #fire and blood #pre asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #popcorn answers

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sc0tters · 9 months

Text

Little Love | Jack Hughes

summary: the story of how jack realised that he was in love with you too.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, use of y/n + oc (kiara is readers sister!)

word count: 4.01k

authors note: welcome to what was meant to be the final fic of 2023! I know I'm late but these this was honeslty a self indulgent fic for me to cure the feelings I felt of all of the Laurie and Amy edits on tiktok. Thank you alll for voting but yes Jack won so he got this fic! I wrote it over a couple of days so this might not be the most cohesive fic but 2024 had to start somewhere... right?

You swore the universe hated you.

Growing up as a kid your older sister Kiara was everything you wanted to be. Only twelve months older than you it meant that you two were constantly compared to each other. But as she was a cheerleader with perfect vision, straight teeth and clear skin. Those comparisons cute deep as you preferred theatre, had braces and acne until junior year and only learnt how to substitute your glasses for contacts the summer before college. The point was that she was always the hot sister and you were always the one who dipped out on those genes, most guys befriended you because it meant they could get closer to her.

In 2010 your family moved to Michigan and with that the purchase of a lake house came with it. The place was right next door to the Hughes’ and with that and your close ages to Jack and Luke, it was no surprise that your families became friends.

From the moment you saw Jack it was practically no surprise that you fell for him. From the way he made your heart pound out of your chest to the way, you felt just a little bit better about yourself when you were the cause of his smiles.

Kiara didn't want Jack, she made it clear that she was always into older guys. She also knew about the crush you had on the boy as he was always the one you were excited to see the middle Hughes boy. Unfortunately for you, Jack never really noticed it, to him you were Luke's friend and Kiara's younger sister. You just so happened to have the room that looked into his but the tree that sat between your two rooms was barely used.

Jack liked you as a person but as you would quietly sit and watch the group together, it meant you often fell to the corners of his mind. Like a fly on a wall, Jack often made the mistake of forgetting to pull you back into the group. You never held that against him though, hell you could never blame him for anything. Your silence was actually how you found Luke.

After embarrassment flooded through your body when you realized that Jack had been in the house when you confessed to Ellen that you liked Jack. You swore you were never going to step foot in that house again it took Luke and some ice cream to swear that Jack hadn't heard what you said. Now nobody would bring you back into the misery you felt in that moment. But that didn't mean that Jack didn't forget your words, truly he had never heard someone talk so highly of him.

"He's just so perfect and his smile makes me feel soft inside."

Even after all of these years of knowing him, it was amazing how only the last few years caused so much change for you and Jack.

summer of 2021

The boys had been playing football in the yard when they heard your car pull up “c’mon we gonna finish this game or not?” Trevor complained as everyone shook their heads opting to instead go help your parents in the hopes of talking to Kiara “you guys are disgusting.” Luke grumbled as he was the only one who just wanted to see you. Kiara had always been a hot commodity at the lake house because she was either tanning in the yard or in her room, never on the boat.

But as the boys came around the wall to finally see the front of the house they didn’t know what was more shocking. The fact that a boy had his hand wrapped around her waist or the fact that there was a girl who was arguably just as pretty stood alone next to them “Luke!” You called out with a squeal as you ran over to the boy not hesitating to wrap your arms around him as he spun you around.

Jack and Trevor both wore the same shocked expressions as they realised it was you. You had grown and finally let your hair grown out of the cut that you seemed to be attached to since you were a kid. Jack didn’t mean to stare but as you sent the boys a toothy grin as you were placed back on the ground he couldn’t help but notice that your breasts had grown larger too, by two or three cup sizes since the last time he had seen you. You raked your fingers through your hair not noticing that they were indeed checking your out as you were in shorts and your bikini top with a baseball jersey covering your shoulders “hey.” You smiled looking up at Jack.

Even after all of these years he could still make your cheeks grow warm just by looking at you “hey.” He matched your quiet expression as he opted for the usual side hug “when did that happen?” The moment the question left Jack’s lips and he saw how it was a bubble of disappointment burst over your head he regretted it.

All of the light that came in your confidence now disappeared as his desire for your sister hit you like an awful taste in the back of your throat "she met him on her trip to Thailand." Right after she turned Jack down Kiara went on a trip with her friends and of course she just had to go ahead and meet the man of her dreams "six months strong." It made Jack wince as he thought about how that was only a month after Jack let it slip that he thought she was hot.

Trevor had still been watching you as he finally cleared his throat "you got anyone special in your life sweets?" The Ducks player brought his hand to his jaw as he saw how the red fabric of your bikini top complimented your breasts as they were pushed together "ain't got no one Z." You shook your head as you brushed your tongue over your teeth flashing him a grin.

It didn't do too much for your confidence as the boy flirted with every girl that he could "think we need to change that then." Trevor sent you a wink that was only responded with a gag from Luke "ew." He grumbled throwing his arm around your shoulders as he pulled you in the direction of the house citing that his mom would probably want to see you.

Jack didn't take long to reach up to hit his friend "ow!" Trevor groaned as his hand massaged the sore part of his head "what the hell was that for?" He complained sending the younger boy a glare "you're disgusting." Jack's scrunched his nose as he shook his head.

The Ducks player smirked as he shook his head "you mad I realized she got hot or that I acted on it before you?" Trevor shot back as he rolled his eyes leaving the middle Hughes boy speechless "she is y/n that's all." Jack explained pushing past Trevor as he shook his head thinking about all the ways you had grown up.

He knew it was stupid but something was different about you this time. No longer did Jack see you as Kiara's sister, you were now y/n an entirely separate entity.

summer of 2022

It was a warm Michigan summer you had now gotten found yourself sat in your bed room as you got ready for your date. It wasn’t often that you found yourself in this position. Ethan convinced you to join him down at the country club for a round of golf as he had come along with Luke to the lake house for the summer.

You had felt good as you curled the ends of your hair letting the sounds of Avril Lavigne echo through your speaker as you’d occasionally turn your curling wand into a microphone “Jesus Christ!” You groaned almost dropping the hot tool on your carpet when you saw Jack sat on the tree by your window.

Physically it was possible for him to stay there was the previous owners of your two homes opted for a treehouse between your rooms. It hadn’t been used in years so you were honestly surprised that it still worked “what are you doing here?” You groaned opening your window so he could come into your room.

Jack felt bile travel his his throat as he saw the pastel mini skirt you wore with your blue polo “don’t go on that date.” Jack blurted out as he didn’t know how much time he would have to convince you to ditch the Canadian boy.

It made you curse yourself as part of you was genuinely actually considering doing what he asked "why Jack?" Your arms crossed unintentionally pushing your breasts up "because I think you can do better than him!" Jack argued shutting your window as the sounds of Trevor and Quinn bickering about something traveled up the walls of the house.

The obvious roll of your eyes was your version of being in full disbelief "you wanna show them to me?" You motioned to the floor in front of you giving him the space to show you "I'm right in front of you!" Jack shot back with an accusatory tone as he pointed to himself.

Part of you thought you were dreaming but the way he offered himself up had you recoiling from disappointment "you're being mean." You shook your head as you turned your attention back to your closet as you looked for your socks "how am I being mean?" Jack shook his head honestly regretting even coming over to you.

The socks stopped your hand from letting your nails dig into your palms "why can't you just be happy for me?" Your voice was soft as you stared at him through your mirror as you waited for his answer "I think you deserve more." He repeated his words as you scoffed.

Your hand raked through your hair as you sucked at your teeth "you don't get to decide things for me Jack!" Your throat felt raw as you mentally told yourself that you couldn't let yourself cry "not when I have spent my entire life loving you!" You had turned angry and almost a little hurt by his timing.

Jack's eyes widened at your outburst "shouldn't be surprised you didn't know with how you were so far shoved up Kiara's ass." An unamused laugh left your lips as you shook your head "you should go Jack." When there was a knock on the door downstairs you knew it was Ethan.

The middle Hughes boy frowned as he shook his head "don't do this-" his voice was softer when his hand reached out to yours. As you heard the door once more "I'm coming!" You yelled as you opened the window "go home Jack." You knocked your head down to the side.

You sucked your cheek as you frowned "wait Jack." Your words stopped him giving him what felt like the light at the end of the tunnel that he so desperately wanted "yeah?" He smiled as he looked down at you not realizing how close you were to him "do I look okay?"

The question felt like a punch to his gut "you look beautiful, you are beautiful." He brought his hand up to cup your cheek but you were quick to push it away "you should go." You sounded as though you were trying to convince yourself that it was the best option "bye y/n." Jack nodded going back to your window to let himself out the same way he got in.

As he listened climbing back to his room you contemplated again if that was even the right choice. But as he didn't dare to look back as thoughts ran through Jack's mind at a million miles a minute, he never knew he hurt you like that and he didn't know how to feel about it.

summer of 2023

It surprised Jack when your parents rolled up to their lake house without you in sight. Kiara and her boyfriend Max were there but you were still missing. Jack didn’t think he would notice it at first, sure your laughter could usually be heard from down the road, and the campfire kept on going until the early hours of the next morning when you finally decided that the stores you were making were not enough to keep you awake. He almost felt out of place as he would sit on the front porch each day patiently waiting for your Mini Cooper to show up.

Honestly, Jack was getting to the point where he was even ready to accept Ethan in that car with you, but the lack of your presence was beginning to drive him mad. Luke only began to notice last week when Jack kept your seat on the bench outside clear “she isn’t coming this year.” Luke figured that it was only right that he finally took Jack out of his misery.

But Jack didn’t feel better as his fingers gripped the arms of his chair "she decided to go to Miami with her friends for a girl's trip." Luke again decided to further put his brother out of his thoughts as he answered all of the questions about you "but what about him?” During all of the previous breaks you weren’t shy to post about your relationship with Ethan.

Every trip to Michigan dump that you seemed to take whenever you could leave Boston had Jack over analysing each individual detail that came from the inevitable picture of your date nights and on top of that you being at the Yost “y/n broke up with him just before finals.” Jack swore he could have hit Luke for not revealing this news to him earlier “something about the distance.” Luke mumbled on not noticing that Jack had gotten up as he made his way back inside.

Jack didn’t bother responding to the calls about where he was going as he ran up the stairs desperate to get his phone from his bedside table. The hockey player almost collided into his bed as he found your contact comfortably sat on an untouched message after you congratulated him on making the playoffs. He wasn’t an ass who left you on read, he just called you instead.

Jacky Hughes 😎: how’s Miami?

The notification made you smile “yeah I’ll be out in a sec!” You called out instantly swiping up as you sat on the couch ignoring how you still had a crush on him.

Y/n 😝: it’s been good

Y/n 😝: is that really what you wanted to ask me about?

Jack rolled his eyes as he smiled, you knew him too well.

Jacky Hughes 😎: heard about Ethan 😕

Even with that you felt foolish for thinking that there was something else that spurred his decisions to contact you. Ethan had helped you be okay with the idea of just being friends with Jack. But becoming a single woman again you found that idea fall apart.

Y/n 😝: just wasn’t meant to be 🤷🏻‍♀️

Jacky Hughes 😎: missing ya here

It made you squeal as you placed your hand on your mouth seeing him say that “be cool, y/n be cool.” You spoke to yourself as you chewed at your lip.

Y/n 😝: thought I’d be getting a message like that from Z

Jacky Hughes 😎: he’s still mad you for dating Ethan

A laugh left your lips as it was an ongoing joke that you both started after Trevor admitted to him that he was surprised that you were dating the college boy.

Y/n 😝: booo

Jacky Hughes 😎: you coming to any games next season?

Y/n 😝: I don't have a devs jersey here

You weren't lying, you only had Jack's devs jersey and you weren't going to bring something like that to Boston with you as you went to college.

Jacky Hughes 😎: could make some things happen

Jack threw the bait out and just waited for you to say what he wanted to see. He couldn't help but feel his hands grow a bit shaky as he watched the three little speech bubbles appear as you typed the message

Y/n 😝: always liked watching boston play

A scoff left his lips as he shook his head knowing that you were simply screwing with him "since when is she dangerous." he shook his head as he thought out his next message.

Jacky Hughes 😎: will make it worth your while

Y/n 😝: will you now?

Jacky Hughes 😎: you have my word squirt

You groaned seeing your childhood nickname that Quinn came up with "that dick." You grumbled going to type anther message as the front dooor to the air bnb opened "y/n c'mon!" One of your friends groaned seeing you still sat on the couch.

Jack frowned seeing no response from you opting for his next move.

Jacky Hughes 😎: i'm sorry I made you feel unnoticed

As you got up you noticed the message and you couldn't help but smile quickly opting for a response before you followed your friends out.

Y/n 😝: wasn't your fault

winter of 2023

Jack had learned how simple it was to make an effort with you all of a sudden as after that morning he made sure to keep in contact with you. The change was something you welcomed as you were reminded of all of the little things that had you falling for him.

Now he stood at the door of your apartment feeling nauseous with the Hughes jersey in his hand and the message from his mom reminding him to not fuck this up as she attached your address to it. A collective fear was held by everyone, not because they thought that Jack would fuck up, but because they knew your delicate heart truly wouldn't have survived if he didn't protect it.

Three steady knocks hit your door "coming!" You called out as there was now nothing more that Jack could do as he also couldn't run "hi." Your eyes went wide as you looked up at him "cute hair." Jack smirked as he saw the pink rollers that were in your hair.

It made you blush as you opened your door letting him in "what are you doing here?" You furrowed your eyebrows as you saw the jersey in his hands "thought you would need this tonight." A smile formed on his lips as he handed it to you. You weren't stupid, you knew that it was laced with his cologne and you were horrible at hiding the smirk on your face when his familiar scent captured your nostrils "Interesting smell." You teased running your fingers over the A badge that sat on the upper chest "had to make sure those Boston boys weren't gonna try anything." His point was true as he felt his face turn to a scowl at the thought.

A sigh left your lips as you placed the jersey on your counter "you didn't have to bring it to me." The point was something he knew as he also did agree with you, he didn't have to do it but he wanted to. Jack nodded as he reached out to grab your hand "but I wanted to." The boy argued back as his reasons for being there were selfish, Jack wanted to see you.

He could sense your hesitancy as you glared at him "Jack you have never done anything just because you wanted to." You reminded him about the fact that you knew him oftentimes better than he knew himself "okay I wanted to see you!" It wasn't often that Jack got you to shut up but in this moment he wanted you to be anything but silent.

You chewed at your lip before you let out a laugh "don't say things you don't mean." The response came off sharp as Jack never actively wanted to see you, if that had been the case this wouldn't have been the first time that he showed up at your apartment.

Jack frowned deciding to choose his words wisely "why do you find it so crazy to believe that I might actually be in love with you!" His fingers tugged through his hair as the color drained from your face feeling your ears begin to ring "I can't give you what you want." Kiara had always been the wild child within your family who lived for travel, you wanted to become successful and then become and wife and a mother. Those were two freakishly different dreams for life.

The boy smiled "you want someone who you can hide behind when you watch the saw movies because even if they scare you because you love to say you've watched them all." You had a strange obsession with the collection but you hadn't made it through more than half of the games mentioned within them.

He stepped closer as you sat on the counter in response to his movements "you want someone who is going to not only drive you to dairy queen at three a.m. but will also be the one to say lets go there." His words made you laugh as there had been multiple occasions where Jack would end up calling you when he realised that you were missing only to learn that you walking to the Dairy Queen up the road.

His hands cupped your cheeks “you want someone who isn’t only your partner but your friend and your confidant.” Your heart throbbed as you nodded “and you deserve someone who reaches for the stars just to give them to you.” What finally came to your realisation was that Jack always cared for you, but whilst he saw you as just Luke’s friend he couldn’t let himself fall in love with you. But whether you wanted to admit that it was you growing up or him no longer being enamoured by Kiara, Jack didn’t just like you. He loved you, but better yet he was in love with you.

It made your mouth go dry as you stared at him almost in awe of the fact that this wasn’t a dream, it was your reality “you’d really be a dick if you weren’t being serious right now.” You mumbled letting your fingers grip at his shirt as he smiled “I’m as serious as a heart attack squirt.” His nickname that he came up with for you when you were seven and deathly afraid of water guns (you didn’t trust the boys on where that water had been). You were brought back to the time Jack hid with you behind a table as you got caught up in the Hughes boy water gun fight.

A grin formed on your lips as his thumb soothed the redness that formed on your cheeks “give me a chance and I promise I won’t fuck this up.” Jack was being honest as he hoped you would see it that way “okay.” You nodded watching his eyes sparkle much like yours did in that moment.

It was strange how you could both see your futures flash in front of you, from rings to babies, and make ups to make outs. The highs came with the lows but he was in all of them “can I kiss you or is that-” you cut Jack off from the start of his panic when you kissed him.

His hands softened on your cheeks as his tongue swiped across your lips picking up the taste of your cherry lip oil “was that too much?” The point came when you needed air as you pulled away from the boy who tugged your hair through his finger tips.

Jack's laugh echoed through your ears as he brought his lips down to yours once more “it was perfect, you’re perfect.” He shook his head as there wasn’t a place he would rather been.

#jack hughes imagines #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #hockey oneshots #nhl oneshots #imagines #oneshots #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #amber writes fics

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starbuckie · 3 years

Text

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing(s): college!peter parker x reader, dark!steve rogers x reader, dark!sam wilson x reader, dark!bucky barnes x reader

words: 8.1k words

warnings: DARK!FIC, SMUT 18+ (unprotected sex, foursome turned fivesome, gangbang, non-con/dub-con, daddy kink, oral M and F-receiving, spit kink, degredation kink, praise kink, creampie), age-gap (reader is in her early 20s), cheating, angst, there’s like zero fluff

summary: peter should’ve made it back to the tower for date night on time, or maybe just before he found his girlfriend being fucked by three other superheroes.

a/n: eee my first dark fic! im so so happy with the way this turned out, and even though it was a pain in my ass for nearly three months, im so hapy to share it with y’all. this idea was brought up by an anon from @mypoisonedvine’s saturday sleepover a few months back, but i switched up tony and sam bc i didn’t like the tony and peter stuff. hopefully my smut has improved from the first time i wrote it in january, and just a reminder that in no way, shape, or form do i condone rape of any kind. there’s a large difference from the page and the real world. i try to put all tw’s in the tags and warnings, but if there was something i missed please tell me. thank you to my lovely bestie @mermaidxatxheart for beta-reading(i have no fucking clue what i’d do without your help). feel free to leave a comment or two and reblog, but don’t repost anywhere or i will hunt down your ass. thank you again and please please enjoy <3

main masterlist || mcu masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

Bucky wasn’t planning to fuck Y/N as soon as he saw her.

It started with a faint mention, something Tony had thrown around along the lines of, “Parker’s bringing his girl down here tomorrow, don’t be an asshole”. He didn’t give a damn what Tony said or how he acted around Peter’s girl. Years of being thrown between gruesome mind-wiping and being half-dead, asleep in a freezer would do that to a man.

So the next day when Peter brought his girlfriend in, he was scratching his ass like a fucking ape and downing a beer with a messy bun at the nape of his neck, until he actually saw her. Neat hair, even neater laces with a sweet smile but a body that could kill. Didn’t matter that she was bundled under Parker’s hoodie and a pair of jeans- he could always admire a pretty dame, but Bucky could see that she was beyond that. It was as if God had intentionally made the one being, the one ethereal creature beautiful and angelic enough to be a sin away from him, so that he couldn’t touch her. Because she was young, and in her twenties, and that shouldn’t have even been the first two things that popped up in his mind because she was also Peter’s girlfriend.

But then she had the audacity to stick her hand out, a shy grin and twinkle in her eyes as she gave her name. It sounded so pretty rolling off of her tongue, and he wondered what it would sound like while he groaned it into her cunt.

Y/N.

So, yeah, maybe Bucky wasn’t planning to fuck her as soon as he met her, but it was pretty damn close after.

Steve Rogers was one of very few men who said they had the pleasure of banging nearly every woman on the north side of Manhattan. Bucky indulged in the fact that the man who had once been too shy to do so much as meet a gal’s gaze was now “a dollar whore”, but he was more than happy to keep that title if it meant he could continue to get off in the nearest woman’s mouth everyday.

Every time he walked down the streets of New York with just a simple ball cap and jeans, he could feel stares on his back from what seemed like miles away, girls on every street corner just waiting for him to take her into the nearest public bathroom and fuck them dirty. CEOs, baristas, girls fresh out of getting master’s degrees with stars in their eyes and big dreams, until he shattered them by making them gag on his cock and scream his name into bedsheets. Or tile floors. He didn’t care as long as they were screaming. The girls of this century were just too delectable to turn down. He didn’t discriminate. His dick had been in women of every height, stature, hair color, and he had quite the variety throwing themselves at him as well.

And then Tony ruined it all and sat him down with a simple explanation that the image of Captain America was being tainted with disturbing stories of girls being fucked in the ass and thrown on their knees in dirty bathroom stalls. The blond was beyond pissed when the billionaire told him to stop dicking around, but he couldn’t do anything else if he wanted to keep his title and job. In a new century, even if he’d had a few years to adjust, he was still absolutely oblivious when it came to anything outside of aliens and sex. There was nothing left for him outside of being an Avenger, so reluctantly he agreed to keep his number of conquests to a minimum, and most definitely inside of the tower rather than out on the street.

However, inside of the tower seemed to be no problem at all when Peter brought his girlfriend over, all smiles and straight A’s, and that’s when Steve realized that he’d yet to fuck a bright, little college student. He could see himself stripping her from the innocence in her eyes, loosening up her pussy with his thick cock against the wall in his room.

Surely Tony couldn’t reprimand him for spending a little time trying to bond with Peter’s new girl, right?

Sam Wilson was a simple man. He had a job, a well-paid one at that, somewhere to live, a girlfriend, or a woman to keep him company, that’s for sure- but for once in his life he was seeking out something other than missions, something that would keep him busy when he was feeling bored, something like-

Pleasure, and he knew that he’d finally found what he was looking for the moment Peter brought his girlfriend through the elevator doors on the fifty-sixth level of the Avengers tower. She’d shaken his hand so daintily and spoke so politely that if he were to see her without any backstory, he’d think she was another innocent, dim-witted college student, breaking her bank account every Saturday morning and naively believing that her relationship would last longer than a few months. But by the things Parker had told him, she was much more than that.

Was it shitty of Peter to tell his teammates, the people he worked with, how Y/N was in bed? By the majority’s vote, probably, and by Sam’s strict conduct of his own morals, definitely, but when Peter’s girl looked like that and he was so incredibly bored with his routine?

Well, fuck, Sam had never been happier that the Spider-kid had told everyone how his girl gave head.

Peter brought his girlfriend in daily after that, and every one of her visits, she grew less shy and more friendly, and the Falcon saw each of his friends gape at her growing comfortability with a wolfish demeanor. It started with the water incident with Steve in the kitchen, where he so clearly spilled water on her already thin, white camisole with intention. Sam couldn’t say he was upset though, after all Steve had offered him and the rest of the Avengers quite a show when he tried to clean up her shirt, taking his sweet, sweet time to fondle her tits as subtly as he could, his eyes staring at her pebbled nipples poking through the material. He could see Bucky hiding his boner under his cereal bowl on the couch that day.

Then of course, he’d been no better than America’s sweetheart himself when he greeted Y/N with a hug that in hindsight, was a little too enthusiastic. His large hands squeezed into the pockets of her back pocket, and if the college student found anything weird with it, she didn’t say so, but Sam graciously palmed the round globes of her ass in his hands, feeling the muscle clench under his fingers. Oh, how he’d never hugged someone that tight ever before in his life. Maybe he would’ve gotten a bit further than squeezing her ass had it not been for his own girlfriend standing behind him, ready to introduce herself to Y/N.

Bucky, well, Sam could admit that Bucky had the most guts out of all of them. Though the super-soldier was normally well-reserved and polite, the dark glint in his eyes the day he met Y/N let him in on the secret that he had a much dirtier mind than most thought. It had been movie night that time, and he barely even tried to cover up how much he wanted the girl, his hands resting all over her as they watched Inception. Hardly a movie to get so riled up over, yet Bucky’s hand still inched its way up her thigh, his rough fingers gently carressing the flesh until they started to lightly trace the apex of her thighs.

If she noticed anything then, she didn’t comment on it, doe-like eyes just marvelling at the screen in great intrigue. It was only when Peter’s arms wrapped around her a bit tighter did she scooch away from Bucky’s touch, with a small apology and shy grin.

That only made his dick harder.

On the other side of Bucky, his super-soldier counterpart tapped his knee gently, forcing their blue eyes to meet each other. No words had to be said between the two, three men when they looked over to Sam, because they all recognized that look they saw in each other's eyes; predatory, dark, nearly voracious in the way they all wanted to be balls deep inside of Y/N.

And they would get there. No matter how long it took, they knew that the ultimate prize of tearing their prey apart would be more than worth the wait.

“Hey, babe, I’m gonna be a little late. Ned and I got stuck back in the lab, so we’re gonna need to stay until eight or nine. Can you make it to the tower by yourself alright?”

Peter’s concerned voice made Y/N smile gently as she trudged along the rainy streets of New York. He always loved to worry about her, especially when it was dark and gloomy out, but she could handle herself pretty okay. By pretty okay, of course meant she could kick ass like no other twenty-something year-old, but she wasn’t one to brag. Y/N readjusted the Kate Spade purse on her shoulder with her right hand, attempting to keep her umbrella over her head with the other. “I’ll be fine, Pete, just go finish up and get back to me. I’m gonna be waiting in your room at the tower before you go off on that mission this weekend.”

A small sigh came through the speaker, “Okay, I’ll try to get back to you soon. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Pete.”

“Oh,” she could hear the shy but no less mischievous smile that was taking over his face, “I left you a little present on the bed, make sure you open it before I get back.”

Y/N’s face heated at the implication. “Peter Parker, you dirty little-” He ended the call with a laugh, and she huffed out a small chuckle at his childish antics.

The walk to the Avengers tower would have been nice, had it not been for the downfall of rain, making everything mushy, socks being absolutely soaked through her sneakers by the time she arrived. The receptionist at the front desk, Jenny, if Y/N remembered correctly, stared at her a little oddly, probably not expecting to see the young college girl in such a state of disorder, but it didn’t affect her at all. She confidently strutted up to the elevator, pressing in the floor number where all the rooms were located. Y/N scrolled through her Twitter feed on her phone while classic rock blared through the elevator with the constant shuffling of people moving in and out. Seven minutes and thirty-two seconds later she was sprinting down the halls with soggy shoes and damp hair, her cold body screaming for warmth.

Peter’s room was the farthest down the hall, and the room was fairly empty. He rarely stayed at his room in the tower, preferring to stay with his Aunt May or keep Y/N company in Brooklyn. When she entered the room, she saw a plain white shirt and a pair of socks strewn upon the carpeted floor, but what really caught her eye was the red box wrapped in a pink bow on the bed. Deciding it would add more suspense if she opened it later, she quickly hopped in the shower, letting the hot water warm her freezing, rigid muscles under the spray.

Peter didn’t have all the products she’d usually use before she knew they were going to have sex, so she had to make do with the half-used bar of Irish Spring and his small travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner, promising the fresh, breezy smell of citrus and mint. It was a quick process; two squeezes of shampoo, shaving with the green soap as best as she could without cutting herself, one squeeze of conditioner. A fuzzy towel sat waiting for Y/N on the rack, with the Spiderman symbol as a prank gift from her to her lovely boyfriend, and without a second to let the heat leave her damp skin, she wrapped herself in it, quickly hopping out to the bedroom again.

The lingerie she set out on the bed was a deep set burgundy color, with lace decorating the delicate corset and the trim of the satin panties. The packaging really did not do it justice. Y/N grinned at the new set, one that she knew would happily be torn from her body later. A shiver ran through her as she let the cold air fall over her skin, carefully slipping the lingerie on. It was a damn shame, really; the set was quite nice, and she reminded herself to buy more of the nicely suiting color for their nights together.

Click.

Y/N’s heart thumped with anticipation as she heard the door open and she took a quick moment to ready herself. Hair in perfect style, legs stretched along the length of the bed to make herself look as seductive as possible, a small smirk thrown on her pouty lips.

But in the darkened room, it wasn’t Peter’s shadow that appeared. Three men, three tall, bulkier men’s shadows appeared at the foot of the bed, and horror washed over her as she realized who they were. “Goddamn, dolly, I’ve imagined what you would’ve looked like under those sweaters, but this is much sweeter than I expected.”

The sinister face of Bucky Barnes came into her view, just a sliver of moonlight lighting up his pale skin. His eyes raked over Y/N’s uncovered skin, and goosebumps appeared as she tried to cover herself up under his predatory gaze.

“W-what are you doing here?” She whispered worriedly. Sam and Steve flanked the bed on either side of her, plastered sickly sweet smiles on their faces, providing her with a false sense of security that made her heart scream in fear. Though she wasn't making any noise, her lungs felt like they were going to give out, her throat closing up like an allergic reaction.

Her head whipped every which way in robotic movement, her brain seeming to fail her as she scanned the room for an exit. Several moments of shortened breaths, cold air chilling her body, before she came out of her freezing shock to realization.

“Why are you here? Please, get out, just g-get out!”

A calloused hand pushed away Y/N’s left arm that covered her tits, and Steve groaned at the sight of her pebbled nipples. “God, baby, they’re as pretty as I thought they’d be. Been trying to feel them up all week, but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Saturday the week before at lunch when he’d spilled water over chest and tried to clean her up. Sam’s friendly hug that became a bit less friendly when his hands slipped into the back pockets of her jeans. The movie night on Monday when Bucky’s hand caressed her thigh a little too close to her core. All of their touches began to make more sense, and her eyes filled with tears at the realization.

“Please,” she begged, tears blocking her vision, “I promise I won’t tell anyone, not even Pete, but please just go.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Steve asked. He grasped her chin roughly, his face close enough to hers so that she could feel his fiery breath on her lips. “We’re not leaving, sweetheart. You’re gonna let all three of us play with your pretty little body, and you’re gonna make the prettiest sounds for us, alright?”

Y/N shook her head violently, too afraid to make noise, but also bold enough to make one last attempt at freedom. The hand that held her chin quickly moved to slap her cheek, and she hated the way the sting made heat stir in her lower belly. She tried to shy away from their touch again, but Bucky’s face simply held the same smirk as he trailed his vibranium fingers up and down her leg.

“Oh, come on, Y/N, don’t act all shy now. Peter has been telling us how good you’ve been to him and don’t think he hasn’t told us about your little childhood crush on little ol’ me. Been wanting to fuck you ever since.” Bucky’s hand quickly left her body, instead moving to palm over the bulge in his pants. “Fuck, sweetheart, got me real hard just thinking ‘bout your pussy swallowing my cock. Bet you’re gonna be a sweet, obedient girl for me, right?”

Fire started to course through Y/N’s veins, and with all the power she tried to dampen it down with, it seemed to push through her body that much more dangerously. She despised the fact that she could feel herself growing wet for the three older men, but God, she had never felt the need to be filled up as badly as she did in that moment.

“You’re a bit of a slut, don’t you think?” Sam mocked. He kneeled on her right, his eyes fixated on her panty-clad pussy, a wet patch already forming on the soft satin. It really didn’t help that three of her teen celebrity crushes were eyeing her nearly naked body like a piece of meat. “I mean, look at you, already growing wet and needy for three cocks. Is that what you want, honey? Parker not treating you good enough?”

She hesitated. Goosebumps rose across her skin at the sinister tone of his voice, like he already knew it was true. And it was true and she hated that Sam was right, but as amazing as Peter was a boyfriend, it was clear from the vibrator hiding in his apartment’s bathroom that he was not amazing in the sheets. Every time, she held hope that it would be better, that she would finally get to stop faking an orgasm before he rolled out of the bed with a filled up condom, but she knew deep down inside of her that it wasn’t happening anytime soon. Y/N forced herself to nod weakly at Sam’s questions, and Bucky chuckled. “Oh, you poor dolly, we’re gonna have so much fun with you. Treat you better than that little boy ever could.”

All it took was a whimper, a nearly audible, deadly silent whimper that managed to squeak its way past Y/N’s throat, and the three men took it as permission to ravage her body however they pleased.

Steve made quick work of his pants as Sam lifted her chin to kiss him, his tongue hot and heavy against her mouth, coaxing her lips open. The sound of belt buckles hitting the floor shamefully turned on Y/N even more. Panic coursed through her senses, her mind wanting to scream for them to stop, but her body knew her too well as she felt a wave of slick run down her thighs. Cold metal digits slipped under the waistband of her panties, moving to her wet folds, and she whimpered into Sam’s mouth at the touch.

“You look so nice, baby, so pretty all laid out for us like this.” Bucky’s hands pulled down her panties as Steve pinched her peaked nipple through the lace, laying lavish, open-mouthed kisses down her torso. The cool air hit her pussy when Bucky’s hands pulled her legs wide open, fully exposed to the three men ready to use her against her will. “Knew you’d be so wet for us, sweetheart, just look at you. Dripping all for your daddies,” Steve murmured against her skin.

Hot breath fanned over her cunt before they rolled her over on her stomach, someone’s hands forcing her up onto her knees with her face smashed into the cotton pillows. She could feel two rough human hands pulling her ass cheeks apart, spreading her ever wider for their view. “Would you look at that, boys, look how fucking hot she is for us.”

Sam’s thick finger ran through her folds, the calloused pad of his finger just teasing her clit before landing a harsh smack to the inside of her thigh. Her moan was muffled through the mattress and she prayed they wouldn’t hear how being treated like whore made her wet like nothing else.

Hot slick dripped down her thighs, a pool of it staining the pristine sheets by each knee. It was quite a sight, Steve, kneeled by the bed as his face hovered next to her ear, whispering filthy things into her ear as Bucky stroked his hard, leaking cock right next to him. Sam’s lips were making their way up the inside of her right thigh, cracked skin gliding across her sticky flesh. “Oh, baby,” he purred, “you smell so good. Bet you taste even better, don’t you, little girl?”

His tongue reached the apex of her thighs, finally licking a stipe up her center with no warning. Y/N sobbed into the comforter below her, mascara stained tears marking up her face. Two fingers edged their way between the bed and her face, forcing her head upwards and arching her back. Steve’s face was caught in a dirty smirk above hers, lip pulled taut between his teeth, until he saw the tears trailing down her face. “Oh, sweetheart, you look so desperate like this.” His fingers traced her smeared lip gloss around her lips, before opening her lips harshly. “Open up, you dumb baby.”

Y/N forced her jaw open wider, just enough to watch a string of Steve’s saliva drip into her mouth. The thick spit pooled on her tongue and she tried hard not to grimace in front of him, in hopes that he wouldn’t make her-

“Swallow it, sweetheart.” He saw the hesitation in her eyes, how her lower lip trembled at his words, but he just laughed at her. “Now.”

The warm saliva slid down her tongue and more black tears ran down her face as she obliged his orders, finally gulping it and cringing at the taste. Steve loved the way her face screwed up in displeasure, how she still had the audacity to pretend she hated what they were doing though she was moaning and whimpering with Sam’s tongue attacking her entrance.

“What do you want, sweetheart? We might give it to you as long as you use your words.” Bucky taunted lightly.

Y/N stared up at the brunette, staring menacingly down at her with his cock in hand. “Please,” she whimpered.

The three found it woeful, the way she could barely get a full sentence out as Sam went to town with his skilled tongue, but even with that onslaught, a simple please wasn’t enough for them.

“Please what, honey,” Sam moaned from between her legs, “you gotta use your big words or we’ll never know what you want from us.”

Steve and Bucky nodded in fake-agreement even though they all knew exactly what she wanted and where.

“I don’t-” her widened eyes glanced into Steve’s, blown-out and teary. “I don’t want anything, not from you.” She lied through her teeth harshly.

Sam removed his head from between her thighs and Y/N immediately whined at the loss of contact almost hilariously. “You don’t want anything, little girl?”

The air felt static, every hair on her neck rising in the pressured silence. The angel and the devil clawed at her heart, each trying to show her what was right. And she wanted to sin, God knew that she would love nothing more than to let that little greedy part of her take over, but she’d already cheated on Peter and that damn good part of her conscience stole the wheels of her brain.

Slowly and shamefully, she shook her head, though the downright dirty monster inside of her wanted the men to ignore her words and keep assaulting her body.

“That’s a shame, baby, I thought we were having fun.” Sam sighed. He met Bucky’s gaze on the side, and though they seemed to be in resignation with her wishes, their eyes twinkled devilishly. He positioned his body over Y/N’s kneeled over form, his bare chest glued to her sweating back as his hands ran up the sides of her ribcage and to her front, just barely grazing over her sensitive nipples. “You mean, you don’t want me to touch you here?”

He pinched the darkened buds and she had to use every ounce of self-restraint to not collapse at the sensation. His calloused hands moved back even further, tracing down to the stretch of skin just above her mound, swiping a finger across the skin delicately. “How about here? Or even,” he brought three fingers around her body, over her ass, and into her glistening cunt again, just rubbing along her entrance, not daring to go further in. Y/N couldn’t hold in her reaction to his prodding anymore, his teasing chipping away all of her dignity and pride in a few simple touches.

“Yes, please, please, use your fingers,” she blurted against her will. Where shame should have washed over her, there was only lust, raging red and coursing through her body so forcefully that she felt braindead. “Put your fingers in me, daddy, please.”

The pet name rolled off of her tongue so easily and she was barely ashamed of how it made her feel. The name especially shocked the three men, who smiled even wider with their cocks harder than before at the little slip up. “That was all you had to say, dolly, gonna have your daddies make you feel real good,” Bucky laughed.

Sam finally plunged his thick fingers knuckle-deep into her cunt as Steve’s mouth captured hers, effectively swallowing her scream with ferocity. The long digits scissored and swirled inside of her, pressing against new unexplored areas that she’d never even gotten to with her own fingers. White dots danced along the front line of her vision as teeth clashed against hers and though it’d been mere minutes she already knew she was close and the men did as well.

“I can feel you clamping around my fingers, honey,” Sam taunted. His lips were moving sinfully around her ass, planting sloppy kisses and drooling all over her skin while he fingered her deep. “Are you gonna come soon, baby?”

“Yes, daddy, I’m so- fuck,” Y/N panted into Steve’s mouth, “m’ so c-close.” The blond bit her tongue hard enough for her to taste blood and she yelped as she heard Sam and Bucky laugh.

“Watch your language, dolly,” Bucky sneered from the side of the bed. His hand was rapidly moving around his cock, corkscrew motions edging him towards the brink of pleasure.

“Little girls like you don’t get to use big swear words,” Sam’s face was still buried between her legs, his soaked fingers pulling out of her cunt only to rub at her little pearl of nerves in circles. His tongue still lapped at her dripping entrance and he could feel her tight hole start to pulse as her breathing picked up. “Oh, baby, you’re getting close, aren’t you?”

Y/N was hesitant to answer at first, the sweat on her body seeming to cool immediately in fear of what would happen if she messed up. But after five seconds Steve stopped kissing her, gripping her chin and staring into her eyes deeply. He looked as debauched as she felt, with his rosy lips swollen with spit and cheeks tinged with pink. “Are you gonna answer daddy, sweetheart?”

That knocked her into shape real fast.

“Yes, daddy, I’m so close. P-please let me come,” she whimpered. The whine in her voice pleased the two men, and Steve went back to exploring her mouth before she felt something poking against her asshole.

“Gonna let daddy put his cock in you, little girl?” Sam asked gently. His words had panic coursing through her system, a chilling realization like water being poured on her head and she began to wiggle around, trying to free Sam’s hand from her hip. Her arms weakly pushed at Steve’s chest, trying to push him as far away as he could, but the men only laughed at her flailing limbs. Y/N wanted to scream no to them, and despite her contrasting love-hate relationship with Sam’s fingers inside her cunt she knew it was time to go. It was laughable how much she would continue to say that to herself for the rest of the night.

But Sam managed to sense her panic, knowing exactly what the issue was before harshly spanking her and effectively stopping her struggle. “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t come inside of you. I’m not risking knocking up a whore with my kids, I’ve got more dignity than that.”

He led the leaking tip of his dick down her crack, rubbing it along her slick entrance before pushing in with a groan. “Oh my fucking God, that is so hot.” Bucky admonished from the side. “Gotta get in on that soon.”

Steve chuckled against Y/N’s lips, pulling away with a strand of saliva connecting them. He adjusted himself up so his dick was centimeters from her face, a knee propped up on the bed for balance. “Gotta wait your turn, Buck, we all want a piece of her.” He noticed the way Y/N’s eyes were transfixed on his cock, the red mushroom head smeared with precome along the slit, nearly purplish veins standing out prominently on his shaft. Yeah, he couldn’t even deny that he was big because he already knew how many girls had dropped down on their knees for him. “Go ahead, sweetheart, open up those pretty lips for me.”

Almost too excitedly, she dropped her jaw, allowing him to slide his cock into the silky warmth of her mouth. As his hips started to thrust into her mouth, Sam’s started to do the same into her cunt. Both men moaned in tandem with their movements as Y/N’s worries faded away to the back of her mind as they stuffed her to the brim.

“You can come now, baby,” Sam nearly ordered, “go and cream on daddy’s cock- fuck, I know you’ve been waiting.”

It was a harsh bump of his head against her G-spot that sent her over the edge, walls clamping down with ferocity and milking him for all she was worth. Y/N reeled in the sunlight infested warmth that coursed through her body as she finally let go, whining around Steve’s dick as he continued to abuse her throat with long, deep thrusts.

Bucky was still holding his orgasm off, fondling with his tight, heavy sac while his dick remained a painfully hard mess, glistening with precome. “I’m so glad I got to see you come, dolly, look so fucking pretty when you do.”

She couldn’t deny the little skip of her heart at the praise, just a few simple words that made her feel like a good little girl. But no, God-fucking no, she wasn’t supposed to let them make her feel this way. Guilt washed away that warmth in her chest just as quickly, knowing that her boyfriend was just waiting to come back to see her, finishing up his studies so that they could live their lives out together after college while she was getting her pussy and mouth absolutely wrecked by his co-workers.

As soon as Y/N got her brain thinking straight again, Sam started moving inside of her again and she garbled out a strangled cry. “If you thought we were done here, baby,” Sam laughed, “you’ve got a lot left ahead of you.”

“We’re not leaving until all of us have come, brat.” Steve’s palm gripped the back of her skull roughly, pushing her head so far down on his dick that her nose was squished against his abdomen. “Greedy little bitch.”

Both men started to thrust into her again, and just like that she was back to being absolutely lost in desire and lust like the bitch in heat she was until there was a sudden shift in the air. So much that the sweat on her body began to cool her skin, Sam’s hands still gripping her hips so tightly she knew they’d leave marks that she would have to hide when she wore her favorite low-cut shorts.

Bucky’s eyes seemed to drift from her tits moving with each movement of her hips, checking behind the door as if there were something lurking there, but she was too afraid to see for herself. If she stopped she would get spanked, and they’d probably prolong her second orgasm even further, and her pussy couldn’t handle any more subtle teasing.

“Hey there, Parker, why don’t come on out here?”

But that, that was what made the hairs on Y/N’s neck rose, dread filling her to the fullest as she realized the implications of Sam’s words.

Peter had seen everything. Peter, her boyfriend, had seen three of his co-workers, three men who she barely knew, fuck her deep into his mattress. Peter, her boyfriend, had watched her get fucked into his mattress, without trying to stop them whatsoever.

She couldn’t tell if it was the guilt of cheating on her boyfriend or the freezing realization that he hadn’t done anything to stop the three men that hurt more.

Yet Peter still walked from behind the door, dressed in a NYU hoodie and a pair of khakis slung low on his hips, just drawing attention to the sizable bulge that stretched out his zipper. His umber eyes, normally full of so much joy and love, were possessed by the same lust and darkness as the three men, as much as he tried to hide it behind a shyer facade.

His eyes were trained on the tightness of how Y/N’s pussy was gripping Sam, her lips glossed over with come and spit wrapped around Steve’s dick. The girl stopped in her movements, her eyes no longer full of tears for just being gagged, but as soon as her mouth came to a halt around the base of his cock, the blond slapped her across the face. A sharp crack echoed around the room and though she couldn’t see him, she heard Bucky’s feral growl of pleasure at the whorish treatment she was receiving.

“Didn’t say you could fucking stop, sweetheart, keep working on daddy’s cock.” No more words needed to be said as Steve gripped her hair once more, forcing himself farther back into her throat to the point where she couldn’t breathe. Sam’s thrusts were quickening, closer and closer to release as the sounds of the girl struggling to breath made his balls tighten.

“Fucking shit, baby, you feel yourself squeezing my dick? I bet you like teasing daddy like that, don’t you?” One of his hands were brought down on her ass in a quick smack that resonated with Bucky, who was staving off his orgasm for something much sweeter than his hand. She was moaning raucously around the dick stuffed in her mouth, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up every nerve in Steve’s body as he came with the tip of his dick nearly being swallowed by Y/N’s throat. There was barely any time for her to fully down the thick come in her mouth before Sam was threatening to orgasm. “I’m gonna come so soon but you better fucking not, little girl, you hear me? Gotta let your daddy come before you, you ungrateful little bitch- oh.”

It was a really fucking close call, Sam’s dick pulling out of her with one quick movement before spilling pearly ropes of come onto Y/N’s spine. A high whine escaped her mouth, clit throbbing as she was so, so close to coming, and she was too far into her crazed pleasure to realize that she was letting three older men, men who fought to defend the universe from evil, use her as an over-glorified fleshlight.

She couldn’t really blame them for calling her a cockdrunk whore.

Bucky sauntered over to the bed, eyes trained on the pool of come centered around the base of her spine before flipping her over onto her back with his large hands and shoving three vibranium fingers back into her hole. She gasped and held onto his forearm as he continued to fingerfuck her to her second orgasm, eyes screwed shut in a delirious haze of contentment for being filled with at least something again.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, please-” Steve slapped her along the face, correcting her words immediately. “Daddy, daddy, please let me come.”

Bucky chuckled, tweaking one of her nipples with his flesh hand as he hovered over her face. “I don’t know, dolly, you’ve been a little naughty, callin’ me the wrong name, not listening to Stevie’s orders- don’t think you deserve to get what you want.”

A muffled whimper escaped her swollen lips, and he sighed in surrender. “Okay, dollface, go ahead and come on my fingers. Let me see how you wet ‘em up real good.”

Y/N’s hips bucked into his metal digits with finality, come leaking out of her cunt and soaking the sheets below her. Her sweat-glazed skin shone even against the darkening sky, and all Bucky could do was chuckle at how her chest rose quickly as she tried to catch her breath. He thought about teasing her clit again, just circling around the little bud of nerves to get a rise out of her, but he decided against it. Sam probably had better plans for her anyway.

On the other hand, Y/N’s orgasm was starting to wear off as she noticed the hardened stare from the edge of the room. Her boyfriend.

“Peter, I…” Y/N made eye contact with him, suddenly noticing how mousy he looked in his own bedroom.

“I nearly forgot you were here, Parker,” Sam smirked darkly. “Why don’t you come over here and fuck your little whore. I’m feeling a little generous today.”

Steve and Bucky nodded with the same infuriating smugness as Sam. The brunette boy opened his mouth to object to the degrading statement, but when he met his girlfriend’s eyes nothing needed to be said. There was no escaping this. Nothing he said mattered to the three older men, because really they had already gotten everything they wanted right in front of their disgusting, perverted eyes.

He unbuckled his belt, letting the weight of it drop his khakis to the floor. Maybe if he’d known he would be forced into join a fivesome later that night he’d have picked any other boxers but the Ducktales one, but no one seemed to say a word about them, rather focusing on what they were failing to conceal.

Peter’s cock had always been admirable to Y/N by its length and God, definitely its thickness. Curved upwards towards his abdomen with a vein running along the left side up to the bulbous head, it was definitely more than average. It was really just a shame he didn’t know how to use it well enough.

His shirt was pulled over his head just as quickly, and if Y/N knew any better she would say that he was excited to get to fuck her in front of the three men. He placed himself in between Y/N’s parted legs, standing in the same position as he had so many times before.

But when Y/N cried out in pain and pleasure as he slid into her, Peter knew that this time, it was different. This time three men, men that he used to trust with his life, stood on either side of him and his girlfriend and jerked their hands up and down their cocks as they watched her get fucked relentlessly. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t romantic, but he couldn’t really think when his thick cock was stuffed inside of her stimulated pussy, juices and come leaking out of her abused sex.

“Go faster, Parker,” Steve instructed, his face contorted in pure pleasure. The pace of Peter’s thrusts sped up, and he threw Y/N’s ankles over his shoulders, hitting deeper inside of her, with the sound of her sobs only turning them all on more. “Oh, right there, shit, shit, shit-”

Steve came first, a low groan escaping his lips as streams of come landed on her tits, still bouncing with every movement of Peter’s hips.

“Open up,” Sam gritted through his teeth, and Y/N obediently opened her mouth to let his bitter come coat the inside of her throat, some of it landing on her face and neck. The string of curses he let out made Peter thrust even faster into her, and he hated, absolutely despised the way it turned him on to see the three men use his girlfriend to their pleasure. But soon enough a hand pushed against his chest away from Y/N and he reluctantly pulled out.

“Move aside, kid,” Bucky instructed, “Wanna come inside of her.”

As he lined his gigantic cock up with her entrance, her eyes widened with fear. “No, please, I didn’t take my pills, I can’t- I won’t, please not inside-”

“Shut the fuck up, you slut.” Bucky’s fingers came to slap her clit harshly, and she cried out in pain. “You’re gonna be quiet and let me come wherever I damn want, right?”

He punctuated his last word as he thrust inside her, filling her up to the hilt with his girth. She was too drunk on the feeling of her cunt being filled up to argue again. It was painful, extremely so, even though two different cocks had been inside her overstimulated pussy already and Bucky stretched her out wide, his cock thicker with veins to hit every pleasure point. With her legs tossed around his tapered torso, he slid out until his very tip was left in her, then slammed back in with a small moan. The head of his cock relentlessly pounded into her cervix in a nearly soundless tempo and all Y/N could hear were her own gasps of pleasure, jaw-dropping moans that made drool slide back down her throat in her laid down position.

She turned her head to the side, and though her vision was bleary through the tears, she could see Sam and Steve watching Bucky fuck her while Peter, her boyfriend, her sweet, sweet boyfriend, was caught up fucking his hand to the sound of Bucky’s balls slapping against her ass.

“Fuck, ‘m not gonna last much longer, dollface.” Bucky gasped. “You gonna come soon? You’re gonna come for daddy one more time. I think you’ve got a third one in you, you little fucking slut.”

“Shit, shit, daddy, please ‘m almost there,” Y/N wailed absentmindedly. A thumb came down to circle her clit quickly and she felt the coil in her stomach grow tighter and tighter, until she finally let out a high whine, finding her release as Bucky’s cock pulsed inside of her, ready to come just as easily as her. Her pussy clenched around his cock as she rode out her orgasm, fingers grasping at the sheets in order to find some sort of grounding. His come painted her walls white, and Bucky could’ve sworn there was no better feeling than feeling his blood warm in every vein as he finally let go. With stunted groans, his hips slowed its rhythm, lost in watching how his cock disappear into Y/N’s pussy, her slick juices coating his dick each time he pulled out.

“Ah, fuck, dolly, you did so good for me. Pussy tight as a fuckin’ vice.” Bucky hugged her limp body close to his sweaty chest, letting his dick soften inside of her for a good few moments before pulling out. He tossed Y/N back onto the bed below him, barely even caring to clean the come dripping down her ribcage and out of her cunt before grabbing his boxers from the cabinet next to the bed.

Steve was already buttoning his jeans up, checking the notifications on his phone before shoving it back into his pocket. The blond seemed to have better things to do so soon after, rushing his way to the door before pausing where Y/N laid to watch come drip out of her pussy. One more time he pushed Bucky’s come inside of her abused entrance, watching as it oozed out from behind his digits. “Look at you, fucking full of of his come. Such a goddamn whore,” he muttered under his breath.

Those were the last words he said to her before patting Bucky on the shoulder and leading him out of the opened door.

Maybe Sam was a bit more kind, or affectionate at least. He was already dressed but visibly hard again beneath the thick denim of his pants, and he made sure Y/N knew it, taking her left hand and placing it over his dick. “You still got that effect on me, honey, even when you’re all fucked out like this.” He dragged his fingers through the thick ribbons of come that coated her chest, bringing them up to her mouth so she could taste. Even though she was more than exhausted, she wrapped her tongue around the two fingers that were pushed past her swollen lips, sucking them clean with a tired vengeance. Satisfied with her work, he kissed her chin one more time before leaving without so much as another word, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Click.

It ended exactly the way it started, the lock jostling into the doorknob just as easily as the high of Y/N’s final orgasm slipped away.

Stifling silence suffocated the room around them. Peter refused to meet her eyes, just as much as hers did his. She laid motionless on the bed with him standing at the foot, his dick soft and if she narrowed her bleary eyes just a bit, she could see how his knees were shaking. Neither of them were able to say anything, losing the ability to converse as soon as the three men left the room.

“Peter,” her voice was throaty after the rough fucking she took, “C-can you please get me a drink?”

The brown-haired boy looked down to meet her face, and she could finally see the reason that he had hid it from her. His eyes were red and bloodshot, snot running from his nose with tears running down his cheeks. She’d been so caught up in the after haze of the sex that she didn’t even notice how his bare chest was heaving so deeply, nearing hyperventalation.

But still, he grabbed his boxers, pulling them over his weakened legs clumsily. “Y-yeah, what kind do you want, Mr. Stark has a ton-”

“I don’t care.” She cut him off firmly, a sharp tone in her voice as she rolled over on her side. Y/N tucked her knees to her chin, fingers running over the side of her neck which was marked with bruises and scratches. “I don’t fucking care.”

Without another word Peter slipped out of the room quietly, knowing better than to try to talk to her about what they had been forced to participate in. It wasn’t as if there was much to say anyways.

Rain pattered against the window. It was only six o’clock in the evening. Cars honked and beeped and Natasha’s Igor Stavinsky record played for its fiftieth round of the day, and to anyone else in the tower it was a normal night. Normal, just like the ones spent sitting on the couch with Bucky’s hand creeping up her leg or Sam’s hands groping her ass, but this time they’d made a move.

The silence was far too much to handle, the unspoken truth of what she’d done with Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Peter finally hitting her, knocking the air out of her lungs as she suddenly struggled to breathe. Gripping her face, clawing at it like a goddamn wolf, Y/N began to cry. Silently at first, gradually growing into heartbroken sobs, she let her trodden pride carry her voice wherever it wanted to go.

The men’s whispered words haunted her mere moments after they’d left the room, but most audibly she could hear a faint husk of a voice, Sam’s low moan in her ear looming in the dreadful silence of the room:

Thanks for sharing with us, baby.

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years

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@butterfly-mochi Rewrote this freaking thing thrice because it keeps getting deleted wth tumblr agjvahkfajkvk- I enjoyed writing it a lot tho and since I’m too weak to the characters I ended up writing for all of them (except for Sucrose, im sorry bb huhu, I ran out of brain power). This is my first time writing for so many of them in one go so please excuse me for any mistakes or blandness ywy thank you for letting me write for my baby Ganyu too hhhhh

Universe Reversal 2

Genshin Impact Character Reader and Modern Players with Zhongli, Childe & Ganyu (how they simp for you) (event masterlist / Part 1 / Part 3)

Zhongli the F2P

The most relatable out of the bunch because this man is still broke and can only rely on the primogems he can farm. And he had a LOT. The one thing he doesn’t have a lot on, however, is his luck.

So how did he manage to pull you?: Well after exhausting all his primogem on your banner with nothing but weapons and other characters, he has lost his resolve. But by some weird luck, there was a character bug that was fixed and in his email was the almighty consolation primogem. Enough for ONE pull. And by the Gods he FINALLY got you.

He’d nonchalantly post his screenshot of pulling you using a single acquaint fate in his friend group without any words and everyone else just loses their shit. “You got them in one pull?!” “Yeah” A riot.

This was partnered with the fact that not only is Zhongli an F2P player, but also barely has any five star characters.

He looks calm and apathetic over the news, but behind the screen he’s exhausted and relieved, silently livid.

He has no primogems left to squeeze for a constellation so you’re instead pampered with the best weapon suitable for you (because that’s all he keeps getting).

Zhongles spends most of his time farming for materials to quickly level you up, unlocking all your stories and voiceline, but he fucked up on your build (his artifacts are messy).

He follows communities, forums and videos regarding your character to know all the things he needs to perfect your build. You can barely make a dent against normal mobs, so he knew he was doing something VERY wrong.

Is the type of person to keep refreshing the page for new content, very updated.

Ask him a question about your character and he’s gonna bring you the word vomit that is his research. He’s not gonna stop- probably accidentally developed a copypasta for you.

Also follows your VA in both Tiktok and Twitter to indulge in every bit of content. He also has that screenshot of his pull saved and locked.

On his birthday, a friend of his gifted him a chibi plushie of you and he has treasured it ever since, treating and handling it like its a figurine.

“It is merely pure luck and grace from the gacha gods that I got this character, and I will make sure that they know I am very grateful for this fortune.”

Favorite Voiceline: Birthday Message

Childe The Whaler

This lucky wealthy bastard with no remorse for his money whales for EVERY character. He’s making a collection, which is to get all the characters, especially the five stars. So when your banner finally popped up, he’s gonna square up and trigger a whole ass meteor shower.

How he pulled you: Money. His luck with this games are actually not the best so he always compensates with money, he got you halfway through the first failed pity, almost giving him a heart attack that he might actually break the bank just to get you.

And then he pulls more to raise your constellation lol.

The first thing he does is look over your character info and read through it all; constellation infos, your base stats, artifact compatibility.

At the end when he’s maximized everything, he would then focus on playing around with your character *coughs climbing noises coughs*

He thought you’d just be another part of his collection but playing with your character was very enjoyable and in-line with his playstyle- oops 100 screenshots with the Kamera-

Any and all merchandise that he fancies would be his, and he’s definitely flexing it to the other sweetie nerds who call themselves simps. He’s fighting for the simping title, and he’s currently neck and neck with this fanartist in Pixiv.

Speaking of that fanartist, he definitely commissioned an expensive and detailed portrait of you, full rights and everything. No one else was allowed to use it but him.

Was also the first one with the audacity to call out your VA to create an account on Tiktok to create more content with your voice. He was successful.

His obssession also comes in the form of self-indulgent contents, and had been keeping track of the ship wars happening. During conventions, he cosplays as the character shipped with you the most (or the character he thinks should end up with you).

Silently scrutinizing those who cosplay you, only ever taking pictures with/of the best looking one, sorry haha

Definitely flaunts that you are his waifu/husbando and will fight for best girl/best boy during debates or polls. Has mobilized the community to vote for you once. He’s very persuasive.

“Hm? Why I’m just the best collector in the game, and I am more than happy to let everyone know that I am their number one fan haha, everyone who claims otherwise is definitely wrong!”

Favorite Voiceline: More About (Y/N) I-IV, (Y/N)’s Hobbies...

Ganyu the Employed

Ganyu, our dearest overworker, is one of the players in the older stage who actually has a job but still plays Genshin for their past times. The gorgeous sceneries and the music is her main focus in playing the game, not much of a try-hard but still decent in the combat mechanics.

How she pulled you: You came home within 50 pulls! And you appeared again after another 10 pull! Ganyu was so SHOOKT and so distressed because oh goodness, what does she do? She doesn’t know anything much about you!

Will rewatch your three trailers to try and understand your skills better, ended up saving the soundtracks from them because that was such a nice trailer music! Tnbee gains a new follower!

Ganyu will take a while before she can properly play or build you up because she’s so busy with work, she only ever plays when she feels fully done with her work.

During her break she plays with your character while multi-tasking on eating, earphones plugged in and sight on the phone as she farms materials and artifacts for you.

The moment she gets more help from her player friends tho, holy shit, you just ended up being so OP. She had so many good artifacts and weapons for you because she didn’t know what they were for before.

She loves how you’re so easy to use and can easily solo the enemies and even the boss fights. A huge breather, because now Ganyu can cheese the battles that takes a while, to give her more time to focus on the storyline and lores.

Since Ganyu plays for the story and aesthetic, she’ll find you almost always in her team. Still very proud of her pull, she makes the best screenshots of your fights or in the best angle through exploration.

Treasures you so much she starts talking to her phone- “Ah, no, please don’t fall.” “There’s violetgrass up there, let’s try and get it”

Blushes everytime you produce a sound when climbing, doesn’t change you anyways tho

Hums to your trailer music while working, and if permitted, would have the song on repeat while she buries herself in work. She finds it really refreshing and the time she spends in work miraculously flies by fast when she gets lost in the sound.

At one point, when she was given a day-off or if the convention was on her free time, she attends to look for cosplayers of you and take a picture. No one rejects her because she’s so adorable and cute when asking shyly.

Had brought a decent amount of merchandise, preferably the functional/practical ones like a phone cover, mug or keychain. Also has an earphones clamp with your little chibi self as the holder.

When asked, she would shyly announce that she likes your character the most.

“Their character theme and music really soothes me during work, it feels nice to have them, and I have not once regretted ever pulling for them. They are the best.”

Favorite Voicelines: Good Night/Afternoon..., About Us, Something To Share..., Interesting Things...

so enjoyable...

@moaa @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #ganyu x reader #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact childe #genshin impact ganyu #exile.circlet #exile.flower #sojourner specials #reeeeeeeeee #gender neutral

1K notes · View notes

earlgreytea68 · 3 years

Text

“Okay, okay, okay,” Pete says. “But do you see this?”

They’re in a Borders, and Patrick feels curiously like no time has passed at all since that fateful night he stood in a Borders and interrupted Joe’s conversation. Like, sure, he’s got a band so successful they basically can’t play in public anymore without causing riots and they’re in the middle of writing an album for a major label and oh, yeah, they’re in California. But also it feels like, well, he’s right back in a Borders, where it all began, as if none of it ever happened and he just dreamed it all.

Except there’s Pete Wentz next to him, in his skinny jeans and a hoodie up over his head, just because he’s in a hide-from-the-world mood, and Patrick thinks of telling his past Borders self, Yo, someday you’ll be in one of these stores with Pete Wentz, and almost snorts laughter.

They’re supposed to be Christmas shopping. Well, Patrick is supposed to be Christmas shopping. Pete claims to be done with all of his Christmas shopping. Patrick doesn’t know whether he’s telling the truth or not. Pete can be a weirdly wonderful gift-giver. “Weirdly” because Pete can give the impression of being an absolute self-centered mess who never cares about anyone else, but Pete’s usually the best friend out of all of them, staunchly loyal and always buying gifts “just because.” Pete probably has picked out a perfect Christmas gift for all of them and everyone in his family and everyone in Patrick’s family, too, because that’s just how Pete is. Meanwhile, Patrick will probably buy his mom socks and his mom will be like, How nice, Rick, thank you, did you see the perfect bottle of perfume Pete bought me?

This makes Patrick think. “Have you bought a gift for my mom?”

“Huh?” Pete looks up from whatever’s caught his attention. “What?”

“For Christmas. Remember how it’s almost Christmas?” Patrick gestures around. The store is full of snowflakes. The sound system is playing Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.

“Of course I bought your mom a Christmas gift, what the fuck,” Pete answers incredulously, like Patrick has just asked the world’s most ridiculous question.

“What is it?” Patrick asks hopefully.

“No way, dude, I’m not telling you so you can copy my gift.”

“You’re a terrible best friend,” Patrick grumbles. “You can’t show me up on gifts to my own mom.”

“Been doing it for years, Trickalicious,” Pete says without remorse. “Listen, Christmas gifts aren’t hard, just think of what would make your mom smile. And pay attention to me, this is more important.”

“Yeah, you think you’re more important because you’ve already bought everyone’s Christmas gifts,” Patrick says, but indulgently looks over at whatever Pete has in his hand. “What’s that?”

“Rolling Stone,” Pete says, showing Patrick the cover.

“The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time,” reads Patrick, and raises his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, they’re definitely going to fuck up that list.”

“We’re going to be on this,” Pete says confidently, flipping through it.

“Yeah? ‘Where Is Your Boy’ got a lot of votes, huh?”

“I didn’t say we were on it now. I said we’re going to be.”

“When?”

“In the future.”

“What, they’re doing one every year?”

Pete scowls at him. “No, but obviously they’re not going to only do this once. Like, songs keep getting made. It’s not like the 500 greatest songs of all time have all already been written.”

“I think they have, and they are all there in that magazine.”

“You know what I mean. We’re working on an album right now. We could be writing one of the 500 greatest songs of all time right now.”

“Sure,” Patrick agrees, and goes back to his more pressing problem of fucking Christmas fucking shopping.

“I promise you,” Pete says. “We are writing a song for this list. That should be our goal, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” A thought occurs to Patrick. “Hey, for Christmas, how about I write you one of the 500 greatest songs of all time?”

Pete gives him an unimpressed look. “You really don’t know what to get me for Christmas? I’m like the easiest person of all time to buy for.”

“Do you want the Lego Star Wars cantina?”

“That would be awesome.”

***

The text from Patrick just reads Merry Christmas. And it’s September. And for a moment Pete worries about Patrick’s state of mind. For a moment Pete worries about his own state of mind.

But only for a moment, because then it comes to him: standing in that Borders at Christmas seventeen years ago, flipping through a magazine and making promises to Patrick.

Pete smiles and texts back. Dude you totally still owe me the lego star wars cantina you fucking loser.

Patrick’s reply is, How about for Christmas I write you one of the 100 greatest songs of all time?

#long post #fall out boy #fob #bandom

87 notes · View notes

cryinginthebackseat · 3 years

Text

the trick is to keep breathing

AO3

Fandom: Silent Hill

Pairing: James Sunderland x OC, James Sunderland x Mary Shepherd-Sunderland

Words: 9.132

Summary: They're both lonely and miserable creatures. Maybe that creates a bond. (Pre-Silent Hill 2)

Warnings: Swearings, smut, adultery, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Author’s note: this fic is purely self indulgent that i've been working on since december.

again, i would have to thank my sister/best friend @mortifying-macaroni for introducing me to the world of silent hill, especially silent hill 2 because that game... boy, what a masterclass in writing.

the fic takes before silent hill 2. also i didn't plan for the story to be this long, but here we are, i guess.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When we are strongest— who draws back?

Most merry— who falls down laughing?

When we are very bad— what can they do to us?

- Arthur Rimbaud

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Einstein once predicted, in his theory of general relativity, that when two neutron stars collide, they would create a ripple in the fabric of spacetime known as gravitational waves.

On one Sunday afternoon, James Sunderland walks alone inside a cafe, shaking off the rain from his jacket.

He bumps into Mauve Shepherd-Graves.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"God, I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?" Mauve asks him later after they squeeze into a booth in the corner.

James is eyeing the coffee-stained table and gives her a tight-faced closed-mouth smile. It's been a while since someone asked him that.

“I'm fine," is what he can come up with as an answer. He doesn't know what else to offer her. He feels like he doesn’t know much these days.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

To start from the beginning, you would have to go back to Ashfield.

It was a long time ago, long before his whole life fell apart. A house party being held by one of Mary’s great-uncles and Mary had begged for James to come with her.

Of course, he said yes.

This was the role he meant to play for the night: James was supposed to be rubbing elbows with several members of her family— notably her father; making a good first impression, securing the vote as they say, if there was any political aspect to this, but what did he know about fucking politics, right? Except everyone has a role in everything.

That, and coupled that with the fact that he is never too good at any of this: socializing. There’s no safety net in talking. Anything could go impossibly wrong, anything could collapse. And James almost did, that night. He was smothered with questions and curious glances by the rest of her family. He felt pinned. He was being observed, processed and assessed like he was taking a shit at the Guggenheim.

He needed to get out of here.

"I'm going outside for a smoke," James whispered to Mary, almost in a hurry. She nodded, but her voice was drowned out by the boisterous, overlapping conversations around them.

Alone, James headed out from the house into a chilly and blustery February night. He buried his nose in his coat— it was fucking freezing, but he found it he could breathe easier here. There's no need for masks out here.

He reached for a cigarette pack from his pocket only to remember he’d left his lighter in Mary's bag.

"Here." Said someone cheerily from his left. James tilted his head to the side to find a young woman in an oversized overcoat offering her lighter to him.

"Thank you," he said as he handed it back to her, a plume of smoke coming out of his mouth. "How did you know?"

"Smoker's instinct, I guess.”

James chuckled. "Well, that’s quite the instinct you have. I appreciate it, though," he told her, kind. A beat, then: "I'm James, by the way. I came with Mar—”

"I know who you are, Mr Man of the Hour,” she interrupted, lifting her cigarette to her mouth. “Seriously, there wasn’t a conversation I participated in where the aunts or the uncles didn’t mention your name. You’re like, I don’t know, an astronomical phenomenon or something.”

Something dour settled over James’ face before he chuckled again. This time sounding dry and forced. “Yes, I guess I am,” he said. “Are you family or…?”

“Mary’s dad and my mom are sibs.” She shrugged. “So yeah, I guess that makes me family."

Recognition quickly settled over him. “You must be Mauve.” The Mauve in question nodded, grinning when she did. Like the rest of the world had the habit of forgetting she even exists in the first place. The idea rang impossibly absurd in his head. “Mary might have mentioned you once or twice.”

“And Mary might have mentioned you once or twice.”

James smirked, feeling a new taste in his mouth. It wasn’t awful, for once. “I’m terribly sorry, I should have recognized you.”

Mauve shrugged again. “No harm done. It’s not like we’d met before,” she responded glibly. “Tell me something, though, shouldn’t you be inside, trying to win over the old dinosaur cull that is my uncle and the rest of the family’s blessings instead of being out here?” Her mouth twisted slowly, equal parts shit-eating and knowing. “I mean, you can’t be hiding from my family, can you?”

James stared at her with vague apprehension. He didn’t know what to make of her yet; Aegean sea-eyed and windswept dark hair. A relative of Mary’s or not, she was a stranger to him and he didn’t trust her enough to have this conversation with her.

“I… I don’t know what you're talking about."

Her smile grew into something less easily identifiable. The bright light from the lamp post they stood under made her feature glow translucent and otherworldly.

“Sure you do," she said, then dropped her cigarette onto the ground, stomped it into ash and went back inside.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Naturally, James told Mary about his encounter with Mauve once they’d got back to her place.

To his utmost surprise, she only laughed at him.

“Mauve is a wildcard. You never really know which side of her you’ll catch,” Mary started. She sat down at the vanity table and took off her earrings. “That, and she's always been too keen on giving her heart away and far more perceptive than we thought she was. In another life, she might have done well sitting next to Poirot or Dupin.”

James nodded absently. He had not taken off his jacket and tried his damndest not to stare at Mary's mauve-colored duvet.

Somewhere in the back of his head, James couldn’t help but classify Mauve Shepherd-Graves in the same category as landmines and Punji sticks.

He made a mental note to tread carefully around her.

“She didn’t always have this enigma about her, though,” Mary continued. “There was a time when she would wear her heart on her sleeve. I suppose it’s true when they say really knowing someone doesn’t mean anything. People change.”

Silence settled for a long moment, before he prompted, “What happened to her?”

“Her father happened.” And that was it. Mary never cared to elaborate and James didn’t know how to ask her without sounding like Sherlock Holmes being high as a kite on a fuckin opium, so he kept his mouth shut.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So, how’s our Lady Magdalene holding up these days?" Mauve asks now, slipping a finger inside her mug and licking the remains of the eggnog latte. James watches her over the rim of his glass, the conversation stalled.

He looks away sharply. "I don't know. I haven't seen Mary for more than a month."

Mauve frowns. "Why not?"

James peers out of the stained windows, rain tapped and dripped at the skylight. The cafe is a few degrees colder now. It’s late afternoon; rainy autumn, golden and damp and gray clouds cosset down the sleepy sky.

"The last time I went to visit her, she made it very clear she was not happy to see me," he utters, feeding himself on the knowledge.

"Oh. I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “Mary lashed out on me too, when I visited her. Told me I’m taking away everything from her, whatever that means.”

James snaps to attention. “She did?” he asks, trying to contain his disappointment for his bedridden wife, but failing.

She waves a hand. “It’s fine. Didn’t stop me from coming back.”

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. You're her cousin, not just some dummy she can verbally pummel on whenever she feels like it. That’s not fair.”

“True. But I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt and assume that it was the medications talking,” she says but James is already shaking his head. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He doesn’t think he has the capacity for it.

“I don't think it's the meds."

"What are you talking about?” she questions, confusion bleeding into her voice.

James pretended not to hear this. “So, how about you? How’s college?” he asks instead, pivoting the conversation.

Mauve catches that, keen-eyed as ever. “Fine.”

“That’s good,” he says, much to himself than her. This is good. He could use this kind of distraction. “You’re in your final year now, right? Have you chosen what topic you’d want to discuss for your Bachelor's thesis?”

“James, what are you doing?”

James releases an unexpected sigh. For a moment, he hates her. To hell with Mary and her thrice-damned family. “Look, can I…" he ducks his head. "can we not talk about her right now?”

He feels her face narrow into assessment, aimed at him and James lets it- he has no cards, no motives- while sipping on his cooling coffee and feels the strangeness of his life.

"Okay.” She pauses. "Okay," she repeats, her voice firm. “Whatever you want, James.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They fall into an amiable silence. Unsurprisingly, it does not last.

"Are you going to eat that?" James motions to the almond croissant he bought for her. He knows her enough to know she likes it, he's seen her eating it on several occasions.

Mauve has been picking at the pastry with the fork, pokes it, slices it with some effort, then abandons it altogether for the past few minutes.

She pushes the plate aside.

“I don’t eat gluten anymore,” Mauve drawls. “Jayden told me it’s bad for my health.”

James lifts an eyebrow. He once heard, over straggling one-way conversations at the dinner table over a plate of turkey that looked as if it had died long before the colonists had set foot on this land and someone roasted the mangled corpse in a wood-burning stove then thought that it was good enough to serve it for Thanksgiving, how one of the cousins had eloquently put it that: “Mauve’s diet depends on whatever the man she’s screwing tells her what’s bad for her and what’s not.”

And James can’t help but ask, "Who's Jayden?"

Mauve blinks in a way he understands she didn’t expect the question. "Just some guy I've been seeing,” she answers after a pause.

“I see.” It isn’t his business of knowing, yet he really can’t help himself. “Is it serious?”

Mauve pauses longer. Reconsidering her answer, she wants to see how he responds.

“I don’t know.” She adjusts her posture. She looks very guarded suddenly and uncharacteristically calculating. “Maybe it is, I guess. Why do you want to know?”

He regards her solemnly. James knows what it's like to pledge yourself to another in the eyes of god. In sickness and in health, he’d vowed, but words are complicated airflow. And frankly, he’d rather not have her plunge into something she’s not ready for, but he doesn’t say that.

“Nothing,” James breathes instead. “I’m happy for you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Another year, another one of Mary's many cousins threw a New Year's Eve party at her apartment; Mary dragged him to it.

There’s a recurring pattern here: James being thrust into an environment he was both familiar and unfamiliar with. Someone had cranked the heater all the way up, he had to take off his jacket. It was the kind of night where everything was too loud and too bright (and too warm, in his case) with too much booze and everyone was caught in crosstalk and soundbites.

Mary had circulated. Now, she was helping the hostess in the kitchen with some kind of artichoke dish thing going on. James had decided not to intervene. The further he got from the kitchen, the better he thought.

So, James made a beeline towards a vacant armchair by the bookshelves. He found Mauve wandering about with a drink in hand. Her eyes lighted up as she spotted him.

“Hey,” she greeted. “You doing okay?”

James slumped onto the armchair, sighing. “I’m fine. Just needed to stretch my legs.” He looked up at her standing beside him. “Are you having a nice time?”

"Nope." Was all Mauve offered as an answer and moved over to sit on the coffee table across from him.

“Tell me, is it me or is it hot in here?”

“It’s not just you. I think someone messed with the thermostat.”

A breath escaped her. Like the start of a laugh, though it sounded a lot like a scoff. “I knew it. It’s probably Bob. He’s also probably the one who let Alex replace the DJ halfway through the party. He wants us all to suffer,” she says and James laughed at that.

"Well, I've been around your family long enough now to know that it's probably his aim.”

“Yep. Just cousin Bob trying to suck us all inside a black hole of terribly hand-picked songs and fry us all to death on New Year’s Eve. No biggie," Mauve drawled, her own smile mirroring his. James laughed again. But now she was looking at him strangely, he thought. She must be slightly drunk- or at least veering into it.

A pause, then: "Can you keep a secret, James?”

James stilled. He didn’t know why he stilled, but he did. “Uhm, sure, what is it?”

Mauve looked over her shoulder, as if making sure no one was listening, then leaned in toward him. James swallowed. Fear lurched in his chest. What was this or where was it going, he had not the foggiest clue.

“I’m organizing a prison break,” she murmured in his ear. “Operation: Getting The Hell Out Of Here and I’m in a dire need of an accomplice. What do you say, partner? You in?”

James exhaled, like he’d been underwater and now came up for air.

“I’m in.” There was a tremble to his voice, but he was grinning. “Let me get my jacket and I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.”

"That's the spirit." Mauve giggled approvingly with a tipsy edge to it. Her cheeks flushed pink. James couldn’t look away.

“Oh, I haven’t asked,” Mauve said after coming down from her high. “How was Silent Hill? What’s the Sunderlands’ consensus to the foggy town?”

"It was beautiful. Mary wouldn’t let me check out of the hotel until I promised that I’d take her back there one day.” And Mauve smiled endearingly, chuckling a low “that’s our Mary, alright.” James continued, “Though I’d suggest you visit in the summer if you’re planning your next vacation there.”

“I'm good. I’d take foggy mornings over the sun trying to burn me into a crisp, thank you very much.”

James smiled. “Mary pretty much said the same thing. I have a feeling you’d love it there, too.”

“How about you, though? Did you like it there?”

The question itself was not a challenge. She was not mocking him. She was genuinely curious. Mauve wondered if he was as cagey as Mary had once claimed him to be. She had experience with men like him, she thought. She knew how to make them cough it up.

“It was nice,” he told her. He almost sounded like he meant it.

Mauve rolled her eyes. Of course, she could see through him. “Sure. And I’m Barbra Streisand.”

“You don’t believe me?”

"Call me crazy, but no."

Something was happening behind James' eyes, but she had no idea what. "Okay, I guess you're crazy."

Mauve arches a fine eyebrow. "Am I though?"

James leaned back in his chair, his chest expanding as he breathed deeply. Any other day, he would have swatted her question with his usual grim, self-evasive ease, but tonight, he leaned forward; faint amusement settled over his face, their nose merely inches from one other, and muttered,

“Can you keep a secret, Mauve?”

Something very odd crowded Mauve’s face before her mouth flexed into a wide, knowing smile. “Yeah?”

“Actually, I happened to find the place rather dull,” he said and it was like untying someone else’s thick scarf from his throat.

That's a new thing about him: courage. It wasn’t really in his nature to escalate, to take the bait, yet here he was.

Mauve was silent for a beat. The smile still lingered on her face as she leaned back, her eyes were huge, disbelieving- like he’d just woken up from a coma and sputtering nonsense in another language or something.

“My, my, James Sunderland…” she said, mouth still curling in a smug grin. “I knew you had it in you. I just knew it."

Later, in the car on his way home with Mary, she asked him what he and Mauve had been talking about.

“Oh, we were talking about Silent Hill,” James answered her. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but neither it was the truth and Jesus fuck, Mauve was right; he really had it in him. He really was that person and he didn’t know what to feel about that.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mauve follows him out of the cafe, hands shoved deep inside her pockets.

“When do you think you’ll be visiting her again?” she asks, eyes blinking up at his ridiculously tall frame.

James reaches for his umbrella from the umbrella stand, puts it up and offers to share it with her. She joins him wordlessly.

“I haven’t really thought about it. Soon, perhaps,” he answers as they walk along the sidewalk. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, I got here by bus."

He stops abruptly. "What? Can't you call your Jayden to pick you up or something?"

"No, Jay's out of the country. Just drop me off at the stop and you can go,” Mauve says, jerking her thumb towards the bus stop not far from where his old Pontiac is parked parallel to the curb. “I'll be fine, James. No one has ever pulled a Speed on every bus I rode in so far."

They start walking again, but he doesn't seem happy with her answer.

"Where are you heading?"

Mauve resists the urge to roll her eyes. “What, you’re offering to play chauffeur for the rest of the evening?”

“I won’t leave you out here in the rain, if that’s what you’re asking.”

"Technically, you wo-"

"Mauve, come on." James looks sidelong at her, a pleading note in his voice. "Let me do this for you. It's not like I have much to do at the moment, anyway."

She sighs. There's no talking her way around this, she thinks.

"Fine. There’s this bar a few blocks from here. You know, the one’s adjacent to the motel?”

They're stopping again. He glances at her in surprise.

"The Brightwater Inn?" James asks, chuckling when he does. Mauve nods, but she looks at him like there’s some inside joke she isn’t getting. “Sorry. I’m actually about to head there.”

“Seriously?” And James nods. “Well, what are the odds? It looks like you won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”

James smiles gently at her. “I couldn’t even if I tried.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They’re sitting side by side at the bar. He’s facing her while she glances up at the shelves— the bottles showcased like stones, reflecting in the low light.

He ordered them gin, straight over ice witha wedge of lime while she had to make a quick stop to the restroom.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she'd said as James flagged down the bartender and for lack of anything else, he did.

“Whoa. Holy shit. That’s- that’s really strong. And I’m pretty sure that’s only gin,” Mauve says now as she chokes down a sip. “You drink your gin like this?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty uncommon, I know, but trust me when I say it’s the best way to enjoy it.”

“Please, tell me you’re joking.”

He could laugh; instead, he grins, small, yet it tells her that he is humoring her. “I wish I were. I've been drinking it straight for as long as I can remember."

"I don't think I've ever met anyone who drinks gin straight," Mauve says out loud, kinda laughing. She takes another sip and winces. “Gah. This is awful, but I can’t stop drinking it.” Another sip. “Okay, never mind. I think it’s growing on me.”

James is watching her intently. His curiosity is ever-present. Years ago, he saw a double pendulum at a science center. The nonlinear motions fascinated him, which was unusual from any model of regular pendulums he’d seen before; the very appearance of chaos. The pendulum is here, today, embodying the very woman sitting next to him.

He chances one last look at Mauve, and then goes to throw back his drink in one chest-burning swallow. The inside of his bottom lip feels numb from the gin. He bites it down, hard, willing for the pain to the surface.

It never comes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning sun drenched his bedroom Tuscan gold. James woke up, hungover and miserable, to the sound of the telephone ringing on the bedside table.

He blindly reached for the handle and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello.”

“Son, hey. Did I wake you?”

James sat up in his bed.

“Dad?” he cleared his throat, voice hoarse and underused. “No. No, no, I was just, uhm…” he trailed off. He couldn’t handle hearing his dad’s voice. Not now.

“I called the office earlier, and they said you aren’t in?"

"Yes." Blurry eyes glanced at the alarm clock. 9:20 am. Fuck. "Yes, I'm taking PTO, dad." Fucking shit.

“I see.” A pause. “James, are you sure you're alright?”

“Dad, come on—"

“Well, forgive me for making a fuss out of this, but can you blame me? I haven’t seen you in weeks, let alone hear from you and now you sound distinctly hungover- from what I can tell, you don't seem okay."

His hand knotted tight in his hair, it was shaking. Fuck, he was going to lose it. He was going to have a breakdown on a call with his father on a Wednesday morning.

“I am okay, dad.” The words coming out of his mouth were not his. “I guess I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

He heard his dad sigh on the other end. “Son, I told you you don’t have to go through this alone,” Frank reminded him, almost rueful. “I’m here for you, but I can't help you if you keep shutting me out.”

"I know,” James said, mouth full of tears, but he would not shed them. His pride, shredded as it was, refused. “Thanks, dad. I appreciate it."

But what Frank Sunderland didn’t know is that it was too late; nobody had heard James, as he lay moaning, much too far out all his life and not waving, but drowning.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Another thing:

James now drops his glass noisily on the counter, he and Mauve are pleasantly drunk. The bar is packed now and they have continued to drink. It’s a classic recipe for disaster. If he was smart enough (and good enough, and fill-in-the-blank enough) he’d make a cease to this, walk out of the door, catch the cab and go home.

But he isn’t. James Sunderland wears many names and being good and smart aren’t one of them, unfortunately.

Maybe that’s why he first allows this to happen; Mauve, still holding the glass and still pretty much looking at him (she rotated her body to face him on her third glass, their knees almost touching), as she asks, “I don’t think you answered my question.”

James fixes her with a look, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “I… I didn’t?”

“At the cafe," Mauve elaborates, even-toned. "I asked you how you were and you didn’t answer.”

James’ mouth curls softly into a tortured smile only to grow corrosive. In all honesty, he’s been bracing himself for this, a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate whenever she feels like it.

He pulls the cigarette from his mouth. “I think I told you I was fine.”

“Which is a cop-out answer."

“I know.” His smile falls. James looks away coldly, firmly, but without malice. “What do you want me to say, Mauve?”

“The truth?” She shrugs, like it’s self-evident. “Or at least a sliver of it? I don’t know, isn't it exhausting keeping everything bottled up to yourself?”

“I’m fine.”

She snorts. “Right. You keep telling yourself that and you might as well patent it and turn it to a… I don’t know, a James Sunderland soundbite.”

“Shut up,” James snaps. He sounds like a child. He doesn’t quite know how to behave around her at the moment. He shuts his eyes at the look of hurt she’s sending him. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Mauve, don’t,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth.

“Why not? I’m trying to do you a favor here,” she argues, steely and unyielding.

James opens his eyes and lifts them back to her. Is she even serious?

“Mauve, I’m not going to use you as a…” he gesticulates. “As an emotional punching bag just because my life is falling apart. I’m not—” Mary, what he meant to say, but he’s not crazy enough for that. “I’m not that cruel.”

The brunette stares at him carefully. James wants to look away but he won’t let himself.

“Use me.”

He blinks stupidly slow, once, twice, thrice and he can’t think of anything besides the context juxtaposed to the words.

Shit. James thinks he might be a little drunker than he first realized. Which brings us back to the part where he should stop drinking and go home, but he’s not going to do that.

“What?”

“Use me,” she repeats, looking straight into his confused green eyes. "as your emotional punching bag. Talk to me. Heck, you can lash out at me if you want. Just lay it all on me.”

"No,” he spits the word out. “No, I refuse to do that."

"Why not?"

“Because that's not fair for you,” James counters. His mouth thins, his shoulders tensed, like he wants to run away. It’s all performance, though, considering he’s still here.

“James, when the fuck has life ever treated us fairly, honestly?”

James twitches his shoulder. She’s hit a nerve and he knows that she knows it. He can feel his resolve crumbling. Underneath it all, he misses it, talking, having someone to listen to him, to understand, so he starts to talk and it’s like word vomit, a book that’s been opened and its spine has been completely torn apart.

He tells Mauve everything; about his new routine, going to bed hungover and waking up drunk. It’s not pretty, but it’s enough to mute the pain for a few hours. Sometimes, he thinks he forgets how it feels to be James Sunderland, not simply an extension of Mary’s misery and he hates her for it. He’s not a good man, he’s well aware of that for so long, but he’s never really called it by name until now and he’s not sure what to do about that.

On one hand, James is miserable, exhausted and frustrated. He went to a bar last month intending to get jackhammered shit into the weekend. He nearly fucked a woman there. He didn’t really know what he was thinking except maybe, just maybe, he could hurt Mary like this. That there’s some sort of twisted bastardization he could subscribe to just to punish her except he backed off the minute he got into the bathroom with her. He couldn’t do it. Maybe there’s still hope for his morals, or maybe he wasn’t simply drunk enough to be able to sink this low, but it doesn’t matter. He's adrift now; a planet without its orbit and he’s going to collide into something absolutely destructive. He knows he will. It's only a matter of time.

"Jesus, James," Mauve manages after a while.

He returns to his drink. He thinks he very much wishes he could sink into the floor and cry his eyes out, but the thought disappears as soon as it comes.

"Do you know what Mary told me this time? The last time I visited her?" James finally says. Mauve doesn’t think she wants to know. "She told me she was not happy. And I thought who would be, when you’re chained to your bed 24/7 from a terminal disease? But then she clarified that she wasn’t happy with me. She doesn’t think my love is sincere, that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve sacrificed for her is only performance because I’ve nowhere else to go- and she wasn’t not even on her meds at the time.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it, James.” Mauve tries to change the mood, steering the conversation the way she only knows how.

James shakes his head briefly. He doesn’t believe her. He refuses to believe her.

“I don’t know, Mauve. It didn’t seem like it to me.”

“James,” Mauve says softly. Heartaches and misery is definitely not a look she’d want to see on him. “Come on. Don’t say that.”

Someone told him, a long time ago, that love is a game you should play with all your cards, and all your dice and whatever else you have in your pockets. When you love, you have to give them everything you have. He did that with Mary— still does. He laid his entire life at her feet, but now… now old routines begin to feel more like an obligation than a cocoon.

How could this happen? He can still recall feeling so happy and content with her, not just the illusion of it and have they changed that much, and he’s only noticing it now? Do people really change that fast? Is she even capable of change, given her current state? He has so many questions.

"Sometimes, I can’t tell if the pain I’d have without having her with me, would be less than the pain I get from being with her. Yet I still love her. I don’t know how that is possible despite everything she’s done to me, but I do.” James lifts his eyes to Mauve. “Am I crazy for feeling this way?”

“No,” she says. Her voice almost overlaps his, passing on the word to him like an invocation. “Trust me, you’re not crazy.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So, you know why I drink, why do you?” he asks nearly half an hour later.

The bartender stops by to deposit their drinks on the counter and leave. Mauve reaches for her glass. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and sips, slow and considering.

“It’s the same as why any of us did it in the first place, I guess.” Mauve shrugs. “To take away the pain and all that.”

“Yeah.” His voice is small. James thinks with startling clarity despite the drink in his hand that maybe, just maybe, he and she are not so different. “I’m sorry you feel that way, though.”

“You too. Who knew life would turn out this way, huh?”

“Yeah,” James says again. He cranes his head to her when he hears her sigh. "You can tell me, you know? If you want." He adds, “Use— you can talk to me. I’m all ears.”

Mauve pulls a face. "Isn't it a little late on my part for another soul-baring confession for the night?"

He turns to fully face her again. "Well, in case you still haven't noticed, I've got all the time in the world.”

She frowns. James doesn't know what that's supposed to mean. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. She silently debates what to say. Mauve wasn’t planning on showing her cards to him, but he offers it like a dare, like his words are the only rope that would swing her to the other or she’ll tumble into the abyss if she said no.

“Has Mary ever told you anything about me?” she asks, breaking the quiet. “Anything at all?”

“Well.” James clears his throat. “She did once mention something about your father and I assume your relationship with him isn’t exactly…” he hesitates. “ Ideal?”

Mauve starts laughing.

“Ideal is an understatement of the century, but okay, sure, I’d take ideal,” she says. “I know you and yours are close, though.”

“Yeah. We get along just fine, I guess.” He shrugs a shoulder, thinking back of the conversation James had with Frank a few weeks ago. He wonders if he’s okay. If he’s hated him yet.

“I can tell he cares a lot about you.” And James doesn’t move. It’s awful that he knows that. “I remember seeing your old man going all misty-eyed and grinning like the proud father he is at your wedding. It’s really wholesome.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Rather, polishing off his third drink and contemplating a fourth. James decides he will check in on his dad in the morning.

“My old man, on the other hand,” she continues. “He’s a… I don’t even know what he is, really.”

“What’s he like?”

James watches her attempt to steel herself; the corners of her mouth grow slant. Mauve moves her glass to her left hand, her eyes unfocused and red-rimmed.

“He’s selfish, a bred-in-the-bone gambler who only cares about more about what he can spend than what he can earn,” she says, and she thinks, embarrassingly, Christ’s sake, of all the daddy issue cliches.

“When I was fifteen, he forced me to work a double shift to keep the dough rolling in the household. I had no idea that he gambled everything - everything I toiled and sweated for for his own pleasure. I confronted him about this and he hit me. He hit the only person who cares for him. I ran away since and have never returned.”

Sympathy slots inside of him. His jaw works; he utters, “I’m sorry, Mauve.”

“Yeah.” She’s crying now, her face flushed with something that makes James’ heart compress. “Sometimes I wish mom hadn’t died. I don’t know, I thought,” she says, then stops. “Shit, I guess it wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You don’t know that.”

"Maybe, but I don't know." She sighs shakily. "And you know what’s worse, though? That even after everything, I can’t deny him. Heck, I still care for him, even. He called last week, asking if he could borrow some money and I couldn’t say no,” Mauve confesses. She’s jittery, almost manic. “God, I’m so pathetic.”

James doesn’t know what to say, he truly doesn't. He has no clue with this Mauve when she’s drunk; all self-loathing and volatile. He didn’t know this side of her even exists in the first place, it honestly scares him.

“Mauve, hey.” But she’s raising her drink to her mouth again, gin sloshing out of the glass over her hand. “Mauve, look at me.” When Mauve doesn’t obey, James cups her face and tilts her to face him. “Stop this.” The alcohol leaves him angrier, there’s a force in his voice that finally commands her attention as Mauve looks at him, albeit dimly. “You’re not pathetic, okay? There’s nothing wrong in wanting to love those who’ve hurt us.”

“But that’s not right, isn’t it? They don’t deserve our love.”

James sighs a long-suffering sigh. “No, they don’t,” he says, running an idle thumb along her cheek. “We deserve more than this.”

“I… yeah." she sniffles loudly into his hand. People are watching now. They could give a rat’s ass about it, though. “Yeah, we do.”

“We don’t deserve any of this.” His face looms close to hers. Something rings on the back of his head, but he can’t tell what it is. His forehead pressed against hers and his hands drop from her face beneath the counter, gripping her smaller ones.

James can feel her breath on his face this close. She can feel his, too; warm and gin-stale against her mouth. They’re too close. Their hands still knotted together. He knows they’re going to do something entirely foolish but it’s too good, too much of a satisfying remedy to the misery they’ve been feeling. This feels wrong, this feels right and it never occurred to his inane, alcohol-induced, touch-starved self just exactly how much he misses this, something as mundane as body heat.

“You and I deserve more than this,” he says again as if it’s something sacred, straight out of a holy book or whispered by the gods themselves and Mauve pulls back. Something switched behind her eyes.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changes, goes taut and heavy. For a moment Mauve goes still and so does James, like they've just stepped on a landmine and are just waiting for the explosion.

For a minute, they just look at each other, and he finds his gaze dropping to her mouth, the spot right in the center that is wet from tears and gin, the white edge of a tooth. He wants so badly to smear her lipstick all over her lips, but he doesn't.

Instead he kisses her.

And she kisses him back. Eager, hot and not entirely coordinated. Kissing her is much worse and better than he imagined it would be and he’s not entirely sure what he wants, or what she wants at this point, but that hardly matters now.

The lines have been crossed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

James once heard a saying:

With every person we meet, we run the risk of taking a little piece of them with us.

Perhaps it’s inevitable— unfair, even, that others can use our skin to bury their stories in and there’s nothing we can do about it. And there is always that outcome, a question that does not take shape and it’s always far too late until it dawns on you that maybe, just maybe, life would have been easier if you never met them.

(He only tells himself this because he's hurting, but really, he’s only fooling himself at this point. He knows he's fucked)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

So, none of this is supposed to happen- that, he's certain— but it's happening none of the less.

And now, they’re in the back seat on his Pontiac. She’s on top of him, her lips against his jaw, his neck, smearing lipstick with every kiss and all James can do is dazedly stare up at the headliner.

His first line of defense is this: he has never thought of Mauve like this. Even as he holds her hips and gently rocks her against him; mind lost. He’s painfully hard. She bucks against him and she’s making these high-pitched, little whimpers against his skin that spurs him on.

He moves to her ass and squeezes hard, rough enough to bruise. Mauve yelps and she grips at the back of his neck to pull him for another kiss, filthy and rough just like how he handles her. How he ruts against her and yes, this is really happening. He’s really going down this road with her.

“Use me,” Mauve pants against, into, his mouth. He can taste the salt and alcohol in her mouth and all he thinks is the ocean. “Fuck me, James.”

And so, he does. His hands are clumsy, out of practice as they slide inside her short skirt, as he yanks her underwear down her hips, past her knee. His fingers skim up the flesh of her thighs as James bunches her skirt up.

It’s him who groans when he touches her, wet and warm against his fingers. He shuts his eyes. The flat of his palm grinds against her, the band of his wedding ring getting slick with her want (and she does want this. She bucks down onto his hand, desperate for some relief. She will table just how wrong and fucked up this is in the morning) before he slips his fingers inside her.

He feels her jerk against him. He opens his eyes and watches as she trembles, moans, clenches hard around his fingers. Her own ones in his hair, scratches and pulls and digs into his scalp and James grunts hard against the junction of her neck, fucks her harder, more deliberate with his fingers and pushes and pushes her so far onto the edge until—

"Fuck! ”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

If he closes his eyes, he wonders if it would be possible to imagine that it's his wife's head bobbing up and down on his shaft, that he hasn't broken any promises yet. But even his illusions can't save him from this. It's still Mauve's mouth sucking him off, her brunette strands he's twisting in his hand.

But his mind is too winder and slippery, gin numb, so he lets them escape.

“Mauve, Mauve, Mauve,” James babbles. His eyes opening and shutting, his brain stalls. His tongue burning up. He can’t remember if they have locked the car, if the windows are tinted enough to hide them. For a single breath, he imagines getting caught and a low moan catches in his throat.

“Mauve,” he manages again, his voice twisted low and pleading. “Shit. Come here.” He reaches down and tugs her by the hair. Her mouth disconnects from him with an audible pop. “Get back on my lap.”

She obeys wordlessly. James sheds his jacket and shirt, she frantically pulls her t-shirt over her head. He shoves her bra down her chest as she settles back atop him. His mouth closes around her breast and bites softly, his teeth dragging through the flesh, taking a nipple.

"Use me," Mauve begs and he's too broken and selfish to deny her.

She settles onto him slowly, he guides her until he's fully inside her.

"I'm doing it," he snarls against her sternum. She shouldn't feel this good, he thinks. Something that'll be bound to bury him shouldn't feel like this, yet he wants this, right? In fact, he initiated this. "I'm doi— I'm fucking you."

He kisses her as she starts moving. She bites and takes and lets her nails scratch red lines across his chest. They both have the same foreign concept of intimacy. They both are lonely. Her body arched back. He watches her throat work as she moans.

Without thinking, James raises his hand and wraps it around the warm skin of her throat.

She gasps, he feels the way her throat bobs as she swallows. He doesn’t move, gauging her reaction. Her face is lit by something he can’t recognize. She wants this as much as he does and his head is so intoxicated by her taste, her smell, her heat, but it's easy to blame it on the alcohol.

Mauve covers his hand around her throat and squeezes, just faintly.

“Fuck. James, please.” And his dick throbs inside her and holy shit, what more can he want from her?

Wordlessly, he gives in. He gives her what she wants— what they both want. James starts to choke her.

His fingers cruelly dig into her throat and he shows her, all the violence and darkness in him, what he’s capable of doing. Her mouth gapes open, her eyes black in the dark. Mauve’s making falling noises, desperate and encouraging. He chokes harder, revelling how power surges through him. She picks up the pace and his other hand grasps at her waist, trying to match her rhythm.

“James," she gasps out, her words barely audible. “Oh god, James.”

James groans a shapeless word against her jaw. “Keep moaning my name like that.”

At this rate, he fully expects her to swat his hand away, but Mauve bites through it. Her body spasms and she comes apart before him, pressing her lips to her ear, biting hard on his earlobe, whispering brokenly between choked breaths: “ James.”

And he follows her over the edge like that. He collapses like a dying star as James spills into her, moaning into her shoulder. His hand still presses around her throat before he lets go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Promise me that you’ll take care of me. You said ‘in sickness and in health.’ you said that. That was a promise, James,” Mary muttered.

It was years ago, it was yesterday, it was two weeks ago. The thing is, time behaves differently when you stop paying attention; your days and weeks and years bleed into the next.

For the first time in his life, the words rang more like a chain to the feet than an oath. James opened his mouth, only to stop himself. He dropped her gaze and held his mouth tight.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The horror, guilt and self-loathing is slow crawling before it hits him like a sucker-punch in the gut.

James remains frozen in the back seat of his car, fully aware of whose sleeping head rests on his shoulder. He keeps staring at the window he cracked open hours ago. The temperature in the car has dropped significantly now. He does absolutely shit nothing to resolve this issue.

He closes his eyes again.

James suffers in silence. It’s the realization of what he’s just done, that he chose to do this and… Oh, god, this is real and it’s permanent. He can’t take this back. James thinks that the worst of this all is that he wants to do it again. He really does. He thinks about taking her back to his apartment. Perhaps she’d let him take her against the kitchen counter. Perhaps he’d let her eat her out until her body won’t stop shaking. It’s easier than thinking about anything else.

Just then Mauve’s phone rings. He feels her stir next to him, but dozes back off.

“Mauve.” He shakes her once, and then again, harder. “Mauve, wake up.”

She does, her face scrunches up as she blinks owlishly at him. James can clearly see the still marks his hand left around her throat. He did that. He hurt her.

“Huh?” she croaks.

“Your phone,” he tells her, and she nods, struggling to rifle through her bag for her cellphone. The ringing stops when she finally finds the pitiful device.

Suddenly, he feels her tensing.

"Shit.” He can hear the panic in Mauve’s voice. She scrambles up, clad only in her coat and panties, staring at the small screen of her cellphone with half-shut eyes. “Shit. I have to return this call.”

"Oh. Sure." He hears himself say. “Do you want me to step outside for a bit?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

He shakes his head. Makes himself shrug. He needs some alone time to sort out whatever bullshit he finds himself in, anyway.

“Of course not.” James reaches for his shirt and jacket at his feet. Her eyes are on him as he gets dressed. She seems distant now. Closed off in a way he’s never seen her before. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure.” And he steps outside into the night. The last thing he hears before he closes the rear door is: “Jay? Hi, babe. Sorry, I didn’t answer earlier-” and James feels sick.

It’s not long before a rap on the window pulls him out his musings. James flicks away his cigarette, he shuffles back inside his car, finding Mauve already dressed back in her clothes.

"I have to go," she tells him, refusing to meet his eyes. Hands knotted together in her lap.

"Okay." He looks at her, wondering if he peers long enough he would see the accusation in her eyes, if she blames him for this. "I'll drive you back."

James doesn’t wait for her reply. He moves to the driver’s seat the way a man finds out he’s been sentenced to death and accepts his fate in acquiesce. He starts the car.

Mauve’s hand, shaking and cold, touches the pulse at her throat.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You have one new voicemail.

“Mauve, it’s Mary, I— Oh dear, I think I found something I wasn’t supposed to find. Hint: it’s round and has a diamond on it and it’s so beautiful, Mauve. I think it’s his mother’s but I’m not sure… counting your chickens before they hatch will make things worse, I know, but… God, I feel like cavorting around and squealing like crazy! [laughing] Please call me back as soon as you hear this. I desperately need your input. I will be waiting.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They barely say a word the whole ride to her hotel.

Mauve’s still in the back seat, silent, nursing a headache, watching out of the window like she’s about to cry. She doesn’t, though. Not until he pulls up in front of her building, at least.

Neither says anything. The elephant in the fucking car remains untouched. James tries to catch her eyes from the rear-view mirror. Eventually, they find his. Her face reflects his own: fear.

He chokes on the words that threaten to come out of his mouth— it's all my fault, I didn't mean for any of this to happen . The back of his head is vertiginous. Mary's words ricochet truer and louder than ever, maybe she's been right all along. That maybe his love for her is not real.

She's the one to give first. "We shouldn't have done that."

James drags a hand over his face. "I know."

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Mauve gasps again- chokes, really. “Oh god, what were we— James, what have we done? How could we do this to… to Mary?— and Jay, oh my god."

He strives so hard not to recoil in his seat. But it's impossible not to react when someone is pointing a gun at his face.

"I know." James closes his eyes. "And I didn't even use a—" He ducks his head low. Elbows on the steering wheel, his arms are thrown over his head, like he's trying to escape a collapsing house. "Mauve, please, please, tell me you're on the pill."

“I am. Believe me, that’s not going to be an issue.” Her voice is so quiet, there are tears in her eyes.

“Okay. Good.” Something like relief swarms him, but it’s short-lived. His heart still feels like it’s being spaghettified. He presses his palms against his closed lids. “God, I’m so sorry.”

A choking sob escapes him before he hides his face in his hands. He didn’t mean to have a meltdown— least, in front of her, but he’s so tired and lost and angry at himself. He’s broken too many promises and crossed too many lines. He is abject, a shining example of moral depravity. He hates himself.

He doesn’t hear her move until she does, shifts forward in her seat and rests her forehead against the back of the driver’s headrest.

“Me too,” she breathes, choking on her own tears. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it isn't.”

James ignores her. “I started this. I shouldn’t have…” he clenches his teeth and sighs. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I didn’t stop you.”

“You were drunk. I was still co—”

“And I didn’t do anything to stop you!” Mauve snaps and James keeps quiet. “I could have pushed you away, I could have told you to stop, but I didn’t. It’s on me, too— it’s on us.”

"I'm sorry, nonetheless. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just…” he trails off.

“I know.” She breathes the words more than she says it, like she understands— and James really knows she does.

Hesitantly, James sniffs and leans back into his seat.

“Listen, Mauve,” he mutters lowly. He knows she’s still behind him, he can hear her breaths from here. “We can’t… no one can know.”

She laughs darkly, like there’s anything funny about their situation. “Oh, trust me, I’ll take this to my grave,” she says. “And I think it’s better if we don’t see each other for a while.”

His heart breaks, but he nods anyway. "Okay."

A long time ago, none of this would have mattered, but they have ruined everything now. And James doesn't know what he would do the next time he sees her, knowing how her body feels against and inside him. It’s too much.

She starts to leave, but he’s faster than her. She hasn’t even made it to the door when his hand, clenched around her covered forearm, ceases her in her place. Mauve flinches.

“James?” she asks.

“Mauve, I…” James trails off. Then, his eyes glide to her face, as if trying to memorize it. The small gap between her front teeth, her too-bright eyes. He thinks he can never say what he wants to say, but it’s better this way. It’s easier to pretend the unsayable never exists, anyway; shoehorned somewhere on the margin of his mind, lost and hidden.

Mauve stares at him curiously. There is something on his face that makes her pay attention, that stops her. It's not his genial eyes that she always searches for during one of her family's gatherings or the way they openly seared hers, hours ago; primed and loaded with want underneath her. It’s something different. Something shriveled and defeated.

She opens her mouth, he assumes she’s going to say something, but she only kisses him. Their lips touch, briefly, for one last time and he shudders. Unbeknownst to either how this will become the final moment between Mauve and James before they find him, months later, after he drove the car they'd fucked in, filled with Mary's body, into Toluca Lake.

But for now, they have this.

“Promise me, you'll take care of yourself, okay?” she whispers against his mouth now.

"I will. I promise,” he says and before he can add anything else, she’s gone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mauve was to leave for college. Her plane left for Sea-Tac that evening.

Mary and some of her cousins had insisted on driving her to the airport, even though Mauve told them she would return every Christmas. For once, James found that he didn’t want to miss this moment.

“I suppose this is goodbye for now.”

James crossed the wide distance between them, his face was strangely contemplative. “Yeah. I really hope Seattle will treat you well, Mauve.”

“Thanks. Sure it’s a long way from home, but I’ll be fine,” she said, then added: “I think.”

“You’ll be fine. I know you will.”

A breath of nervous laughter from her, her mouth kinked upward and beautiful. “Says you.”

“You will. I believe in you— we all believe in you,” he told her, placing a hand onto her shoulder.

Something like melancholy stuck inside her, threatening to delude her. Mauve felt tears stinging her eyes, then before she could think it through, she propelled herself into James’ arms and even caught him off guard. His arms slowly snaked around her smaller form and she held onto him, tightly; eyes closed. His warm breath fanned the crown on her head, and then it was over.

When he pulled back, he smiled, wistful.

“Take care of yourself, Mauve,” he said.

“I will. I promise,” she said.

fin.

#silent hill 2 #silent hill #james sunderland #mary shepherd sunderland #james sunderland x oc #frank sunderland #silent hill fanfiction

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