#apologies for the repost. this seems to be the only damn thing that works

[niningtori]

mastermind | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: you should be used to your relationships failing by now, but after finding out your boyfriend, yeonjun, cheated on you, you're devastated yet again. and beomgyu, your best friend, is there to pick up the pieces, just like always. but isn't it a little odd that things just never seem to work out?

genre: romance, angst, smut (MDNI), yandere

warnings: YANDERE!GYU, manipulation, gaslighting, SMUT (MDNI!) creampie, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, degradation, if i missed anything pls lmk!

word count: 5.1k

notes: ... hi. i'm reposting this with major edits but i hope you all still like it!

｡o.ﾟ｡*･♡♡･*｡ﾟo｡ ｡o.ﾟ｡*･♡♡･*｡ﾟo｡

do you love your boyfriend? of course. do you trust him? of course. so are you surprised to see a photo of him very clearly making out with another woman? well, of course.

your friends, your family, and even passersby would simply tell you you shouldn’t be, though. yeonjun used to be very well known for his sexual escapades, so when you announced he was your boyfriend, nobody was particularly happy for you. especially not your best friend in the whole world, beomgyu. 

“he’s just gonna hurt you, just like the last one!” 

you remember flinching at this. you remember how hurt and indignant you felt at the time. you also remember the silent treatment you gave him, and the cold war that began shortly thereafter. he apologized afterwards, of course, but you had asked him what was so bad about you that he couldn’t just believe that yeonjun had changed for you. he was silent at this, which only made you even angrier. it was all pointless in the end, you suppose.

as you sit on beomgyu’s couch, your phone rings again. you have a special ringtone for yeonjun, so you don’t even bother to check the caller id before you silence it. he’s been calling you incessantly since you texted him that you saw the picture and were done with him. your face is downcast and if you weren't so consumed by your sadness, you'd notice the faint look of delight in beomgyu’s eyes. 

“i think you should just block him,” he says as nonchalantly as he can muster. maybe in another state of mind, you'd register the satisfaction in his tone, but right now? all you can sense is his urgency, which can easily be explained away by selfless and sincere concern. just how he likes it.

“you’re right,” you sigh. “i guess i just don’t understand. things were going so well, and then he goes and does this to me. i don’t know what i did wrong,” you say while burying your face in your hands. he almost can’t control the way his lips want to curl up at this, but he’s become nothing if not a master of containing his true emotions. he’s kept them from your prying eyes for years, after all.

“aww, baby. it’s not you, it’s him. he’s just not the right guy for you,” he coos, but for some reason, you can’t help but be annoyed at his kindness. 

“i know you want to say i told you so, so say it,” you snap, pulling your face from your hands and scowling at him.

“i don’t want —” 

“if you wanted me to learn my lesson, i’ve learned it, alright? i don't need to be taught again,” you say with a huff. you know you’re being unreasonable. you know you’re being a bitch, but you just can’t help it. who told beomgyu to be right about your potential partners all the damn time? fuck his crazy-accurate intuition.

he looks genuinely hurt by your harsh words, though, so you can’t help but feel a wave of regret wash over you. you’re drowning in it, even, as you watch his puppy eyes gloss over.

“beomie, baby, i’m so sorry,” you say, gently grabbing his face with one hand and pushing his long hair behind his ear with the other. “i know i’m being awful to you when you’re just trying to help.”

“it’s okay,” he says solemnly, looking like a kicked puppy. “as long as you’re sorry.” somehow, his easy acceptance of your apology makes you feel even worse. you pull him in for a hug and he buries his face in your neck to a) soak up your scent and b) hide his growing smirk. but you’re too caught up in your feelings to notice.

“it’s really okay,” he assures once you part.

“no, it isn’t. i’m being a shitty friend. how about you stay over tonight? we can watch a movie and i’ll order something for us to eat,” you suggest. he graciously accepts your peace offering and the night is spent with giggles and an overt amount of cuddling.

as you’re drifting off to sleep, you feel beomgyu plant a kiss on your forehead. to anyone else, this might come across as oddly intimate, but you know better. people have said that you two would make a good couple, but you two do nothing but laugh it off every time. they just don’t understand your dynamic. he’s a man like any other, you guess, but seeing him as anything other than a friend is simply laughable. you know he feels the same exact way about you, too, which is why you are unfazed by his next words. 

“i love you. it’s just — i just love you so much, you know?” he whispers.

“aww, beomie. you know i love you, too. you’re my best friend in the whole world,” you murmur as sleep finally overcomes you.

if the lights were on, you’d see how his face falls and contorts into something like a grimace.

-

yeonjun has been spamming you like crazy, so you listen to beomgyu and block his number as well as his social media accounts. you think this whole chapter of your life is over, but, as always, you are wrong.

a week or so after your messy breakup, a sudden knock at your door pulls your attention away from mindless scrolling on your phone. you don't think much of it — it’s probably just beomgyu with some takeout, or something. however, when you look through the peephole, you realize that yeonjun is not finished bothering you just yet. 

“baby, please. i know you’re there. please, just open up. i’ll explain everything!” he pleads. you’re not particularly known for your callousness of heart, so it doesn’t take much more begging for you to feel guilty and let him in. you open your door with a sigh. 

“thank you!” yeonjun says with a look of pure relief as he hurriedly enters your apartment. he takes a seat on your couch (unprompted, you might add) and takes a shaky breath. you cautiously seat yourself on the other end of the couch and prepare to listen to whatever bullshit he has conjured up for your viewing pleasure before you decide that it’s best just to cut to the chase. ripping the band-aid off, and all that.

“look, i don’t care that you’re sorry. there’s nothing you can say to make me change my —” 

“it was beomgyu!” he exclaims before you can get another word out.

“... what?” you ask confusedly. where the hell is he going with this?

“the girl, the picture, fucking everything was all his fucking fault. he did it,” he rants. oh. he must think you’re fucking stupid.

“yeonjun, please don’t waste my time,” you sigh. “i think you should leave,” you add, getting up from your seat.

“wait!” he pleads, reaching for your hand and gently pulling you back down. “remember how i always told you that i had a weird feeling about him? like how something always felt… off?” oh well. if he wants to continue putting on a show, then so be it. besides, it’ll be a funny story to tell beomgyu later on.

you nod.

“well, he always looked at me weirdly. like, whenever i’d walk into the room, there was always this… this tension and i never knew why, but i understood it as soon as we made things official. it’s because he likes you.” you’re silent for a moment and yeonjun actually thinks he’s getting through to you before you burst into near-maniacal laughter. his face falls.

“beomgyu? beomgyu likes me?” you say between giggles. beomgyu loves you like a sister. no way in hell does he harbor a shred of romantic love for you. 

“you’re not listening,” he grunts, slightly tugging at his own hair in frustration. “he’s always been weird, and the other night at the bar, he introduced me to that girl you saw me ‘kissing’. they kept giving me drinks until i could barely fucking see straight. then she kept coming onto me, but i said no. i finally told her to kick rocks, but the next thing i knew was that she was kissing me. i know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me.” you want to dismiss everything he’s saying, but his utter sincerity seems to strike a chord within you. you can’t say you believe him, but he continues before you can properly digest his words.

“think about it. why the hell would i cheat in such a public place where all of our friends hang out? don't you think i would be smarter than that? and even if i wasn't, you know me. you know i would never cheat on you.” he seems desperate now, but it’s still hard to believe that beomgyu orchestrated this entire thing instead of the very real possibility that yeonjun just got drunk and acted recklessly.

“alright, this isn’t funny anymore. you need to stop,” you warn, not liking how much he’s making sense.

“think,” he repeats with conviction.

so you do. you think back to all of the tumultuous relationships you’ve had until now. they've all ended in different ways, yes, but they all had one common denominator: beomgyu. oh, beomgyu saw your boyfriend getting cozy with his ex. you’re having an argument with your boyfriend? beomgyu thinks he’s a piece of shit because of how he treats you, you obviously deserve better! wait, your boyfriend keeps taking too long to text you back? he’s just losing interest! it’s clearly better to break it off now rather than getting too invested when you’re inevitably going to break up, anyway. and all the other greatest hits. your face twists from focused to horrified as the realization sinks into your bones. it's beomgyu. it’s always been beomgyu. 

you look to yeonjun with pure shock in your eyes and he meets your gaze with a look of sympathy. you finally get it. 

“junie, i’m so sorry,” you say, tears springing into your eyes. “i’m so sorry i doubted you.” 

“it’s okay,” he replies with a melancholy smile. “he manipulated you.” 

“does… does that mean we’re back together now?” you ask, voice tinged with hope. his smile falters at your question, and you feel a sense of dread.

“i need some time,” he says after a pause, dropping his hand from yours. “you really hurt me. i understand that beomgyu manipulated you, but it really hurts that you didn't trust me, you know?” 

“i understand,” you quietly reply. you’d be hurt if the tables were turned — it’s only natural. you just hope to god above that you haven’t let beomgyu ruin another good thing for you.

-

beomgyu is confused as to why you’ve been ignoring him for the better part of a week. you don’t respond when he texts or calls, and his intuition is telling him that it has something to do with yeonjun. maybe you’re just shutting down because of the breakup? it was particularly brutal this time around, after all. he’s lucky that yeonjun has such a lascivious sexual history, or else you might not have bought his little charade, even with the proof presented directly in front of you. that’s how much you love(d) yeonjun. the thought causes jealousy to rear its ugly head in his stomach, but whatever. there’s no way you’re going back to him after the way the scandal has made its way through your social life. even if you do want to get back together with him, there's no way your pride will let you. your pride has been a particularly nasty sort of obstacle in beomgyu’s pursuit of you, but it’s absolutely delicious to be able to use it against you like this. serves you fucking right.

still, it’s his job as your dutiful best friend to cheer you up. with this in mind, he picks up your favorite takeout and heads to your place. he smiles when he imagines the way you’ll gratefully embrace him once you realize that he’s here for you. maybe this time you’ll understand that he’s always been the one who’s there for you when someone hurts you. maybe this time will be his big break, finally freeing him from the purgatory he has been in for god knows how long.

he knocks on your door with a hopeful smile on his face. surprisingly, you’re swinging the door open mere seconds later with your eyes similarly lit up with hope.

“yeon— oh. it’s you,” you say, deflating immediately. there’s a certain sense of resentment in your tone that he catches onto, but he chalks it up to disappointment. his face falls. goddamn it. damn it all to hell.

“i brought you some food to cheer you up,” he says while shaking the plastic takeout bag, completely ignoring the slip of another man’s name. 

he invites himself in, slipping off his shoes and sitting down on the couch as he usually does. 

he waits for you to join him, but when he looks up at you, all he sees is you staring at him, arms crossed and face contorted in anger. surely you can’t be that upset that he’s not yeonjun, right? now that he thinks about it, why would you be expecting yeonjun, anyway? hadn’t you effectively cut him off? did you talk to him and take him back after all that (you think) he’s done? that can’t be right. unless… unless you actually let him talk to you. oh god, please tell him that’s not what happened.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, face devoid of anything deeper than curiosity and worry. 

you’re silent for a moment before you carefully choose your next words.

“i talked to yeonjun,” you reply, and his heart sinks to his stomach. “he told me some… interesting things.”

beomgyu hopes you don’t notice how hard he gulps. you do not.

“what did he say?” he asks, face tense but still showing no clear signs of guilt. 

“he told me what happened that night. he told me how you got him drunk and basically forced that girl onto him. he also said that you’re the reason none of my relationships work out,” you declare, opting to stop beating around the bush and just get some answers. you study his face for a crack of some sort, but there is none.

“and what do you think?” he asks quietly.

“i think… i think he might be telling the truth,” is what you say, but you’re sounding increasingly unsure with every word because beomgyu looks more hurt than you’ve ever seen him.

“you believe him over me?” he asks, voice cracking and lips trembling with his brown eyes glossed over in what you can only describe as devastation. god, either beomgyu’s a really good actor, yeonjun’s a really good actor, or you’re just fucking stupid.

“i… i don’t know what to think, beomgyu,” you whisper after a pause. all he does is nod before his next words pierce your heart.

“is that why you’ve been ignoring me?”

jesus christ. you were so sure that yeonjun was telling the truth when he told you about beomgyu, so ignoring him only seemed natural under the circumstances, but he looks every bit like the victim in light of your accusations. his trembling lips and wounded gaze make you want to strangle yourself for ever doubting him. as you feel yourself being consumed with remorse, though, you remember the sincerity and desperation in yeonjun’s words. maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding? maybe they’re both convinced that they’re right? 

“y-yes. i’m sorry. i was just confused. maybe he just misunderstood?” you babble. he likes your hesitancy, but it’s still wearing on his patience. as much as he wants to say he can’t believe that you’d question him because of some guy you dated, he can believe it when it comes to you. you always, always, always hurt him like this, and he’s had just about enough.

“and what if it’s true?” he asks, pathetic facade wiped clean off of his face while something more somber replaces it entirely. your eyes lock with his and you’re stunned silly. 

“what?” is all you can manage to reply with. 

“what if i pushed that girl onto yeonjun? what if i ruined all of your relationships? what would you do?” 

“so it’s true?!” is all you can say, guilt flaring into sheer rage and hurt. 

“so what if it is?” he asks, as if he doesn’t comprehend how twisted this is.

“so… so how could you do that to me?!” 

“i was only doing what’s best for you,” he impatiently replies. “they were only gonna hurt you, can’t you see that? even before i did anything, there were still all those men who cheated on you, lied to you, used you. what’s wrong with wanting to protect you from people like them? i just couldn’t stand to see you living like that!” he argues, clearly believing he’s completely justified in all of this.

sure, you’ve been hurt before even without his intervention, but that doesn’t mean he can just play puppeteer in your love life to “protect” you from anything similar happening ever again. you trusted him and he manipulated you. he acted like a knight in shining armor this entire time while knowingly sabotaging any potentially good thing that could come your way. and he did it all because he wants to protect you? bullshit. 

“you know, i thought that even if everyone other man in the world could hurt me, you never would,” you say shakily, either from sadness or anger. maybe both. “i guess i was wrong.”

“hurt you?! hurt is watching the person you love fuck other people over and over and over again! hurt is watching you laugh me off and never even fucking considering me as an option, goddamn it!” he yells while slamming his hand on your coffee table. 

“so your solution was to fuck up every relationship i have just to have me to yourself?! do you not realize how fucked up that is?!” you yell back, trying to appear unfazed by his increasingly enraged behavior. he seems to falter at this, genuinely at a loss for words at your unforgiving pinpointing of his erratic actions. the desperate, eager-to-please beomgyu you know all too well is finally back and you feel your confidence surge because of it.

“i only did that because —”

“why? because you love me? or think you do?” you mock with a hollow laugh. “you don’t purposely ruin the life of someone you love.” he looks genuinely wounded by your words. 

“but i —”

“i don’t care. get out,” you say mercilessly. you’re absolutely through with listening to his fucked up ideations about love and what his twisted moral compass deems as justified because of it. you’re so preoccupied with preaching on your soapbox, you don’t even realize his attitude has once again shifted from the compliant beomgyu to the one you don’t recognize at all. 

“... no,” he says flatly. 

“did you not fucking hear me? i said get out,” you repeat through clenched teeth. normally, your raised hackles would be enough to scare him off, so you figure he’ll tuck his tail and leave right about now. oh, how wrong you are.

“are you deaf?” he asks with a sneer. “i said no.”

“what do you mean, no?” you ask. somewhere in the depths of your mind, alarm bells begin ringing, but it’s far too late to heed them. plus, you’re still under the impression that he’ll bend to your will. 

“oh, so you’re not deaf. just stupid,” he snorts. your jaw is agape at his audacity. beomgyu has caught an attitude and gotten fresh with you before, sure, but nothing like this. to say you’re dumbstruck would be to put things in the mildest of terms. you can barely get out your next sentence.

“w-what do you mean?” 

“i’m not leaving this apartment,” he says firmly, and before you can even ask him to explain, he’s dragging you away with a painful grip.

“ow! beomgyu, you’re hurting m—” 

“shut up. i told you what real hurt is, but you're not fucking listening. i don't want to hear another word come out of your mouth,” he says in a monotone voice. if the alarm bells were ringing in the depths of your mind before, they’re absolutely blaring at the forefront of your brain right now. 

“what are y-you —”

“i thought i told you to shut up,” he snaps before roughly grabbing your face and planting his lips on yours. the kiss is crude. it’s absolutely vulgar with the way it’s all tongue and teeth and saliva, but after a few seconds of uncertainty, you find yourself melting into it. this is wrong. you two are the best of friends, almost like brother and sister. and more than that, you love yeonjun, right? you’re supposed to be working on getting back together with him, aren’t you? but your reason starts to be sucked away as you feel his hands caress your body, leaving nothing but fire in their wake.

you don’t know how you got here, almost completely naked as you lay on your back while beomgyu continues attacking your lips. it’s blazing hot and you can’t help but feel your underwear becoming wet with every moan that escapes his mouth and consequently reverberates onto your tongue. as if he already knows the intricacies of your internal battle, one of his hands finds its way to your now soaking wet pussy and he uses his index and middle fingers to spread the slickness around. he swirls his fingers around your hole and just barely pushes one of them into the entrance. you gasp at the shallow intrusion and you can feel his notorious shit-eating grin pressed across your lips as he feels how tight you are. you’re ridiculously turned on and he knows it. he pauses his actions only to unzip his pants and yank them down to his knees. your eyes widen at what you can only describe as his huge appendage, all reddened and already leaking. you feel your cunt throbbing with even more need at the sight, but your last shred of reason still makes you hesitate.

“beomgyu, we can't… we're friends, and yeonjun is —”

“can’t you just let me make you feel good? god, you’re making this so difficult, but what the fuck else is new,” he growls. 

he's right. you are making things difficult. there's no way of salvaging your friendship after this, so what's the point in holding back now? you realize that while he may be absolutely unhinged, his feelings for you are real. do you reciprocate them? you don’t know yet, but the thought of him doting on another person the same way he dotes on you makes you feel uneasy. as for yeonjun? well, he deserves better than the cesspool of turbulent emotions that you currently find yourself in. 

“you still sure you don’t want me?” he asks cockily. you, with all of your pride, can only muster up a feeble shake of your head. he knew the answer before you gave it to him, but his condescending gaze shows you that your words have scratched a certain itch of his.

he rubs his hardened length against your folds and it’s all you can do to resist locking your ankles around his waist and pulling him into you, but something stops you. protection. you don’t even have to say it, because he knows you too well for your own good.

“let me fuck you raw,” he says breathily, just barely poking his length into your tight hole. “i know you need it, baby. just let me take care of you.” you’re silent for a moment before pinching out your next words.

“p-pull out?” he won’t because he knows you’ll be begging him for his cum when he’s done with you, and you already know he won’t, even when he nods and promises he will. you don't know why you even asked. 

the ache you feel to have him buried inside you is quickly replaced by the ache you feel once he begins to stretch you out. it’s a stinging, burning sort of pain, but that’s nothing in comparison to the pure pleasure you feel as his flared tip drags along your walls. he begins with thrusting shallowly, fucking you open like you’re a virgin, and you’re so tight while he’s so big, you might as well be. 

painfully slowly, he pushes each and every inch of himself into your gummy hole. he reaches places you didn’t even know existed and stretches you open so good all you have the brainpower to call the sensation is fullness. overwhelming fullness. when he finally sheathes himself in you completely, a strangled cry leaves both of your throats as you feel him throbbing inside of you and he, in turn, feels you pulsating around him. 

after you adjust, you expect him to start drilling into you with reckless abandon, but he does nothing of the sort. just watches you with a strange look on his face. 

“b-beomie? what are you doing?” you ask pathetically, head raising up from its place on the pillows to meet his wanton gaze.

“beg me for it.”

“beg for w—” your question is interrupted by a sharp smack on your sensitive pussy. 

“beg me for it. beg me to fuck you like a whore. i won’t tell you again,” he says menacingly. your bleary eyes are so confused, so stupid, and so, so cute, but he’s determined to use the last of his self-control to get you to feel even a fraction of the desperation he’s felt for years. well, even if you don’t, he’ll spend the whole night fucking you dumb until you do. but you’re so hungry for his dick, you don’t even realize that he’s bluffing.

finally, you understand what he’s asking of you, and you waste no time to comply. 

“n-need your cock, beomie. need you to make me f-feel good,” you say, trying to retain even a semblance of your dignity. this brings a mean smirk to his face, but he’s not done with you, yet.

“surely you can do better than that?” he taunts, rocking his hips ever so slightly so you can feel every inch of his length and girth teasingly hitting your cervix, but providing no relief. fuck your dignity. you need him.

“please! please, i need you! need your cock to fill me up!” you whine.

“mhmm, and?”

“need you to fuck me! need you to fill me up with your cum!” well, there goes your resolve to have him pull out. this seems to satisfy his sadistic desires.

“oh, my love. all you had to do was ask,” he says with a grin. and that’s when he starts. 

his hips meet yours in the most punishing way, and that’s what this is: a punishment for the way you’ve treated him all these years. you can feel it in the way that his fingernails dig into your skin and in the way that he mercilessly presses down on your tummy until all you can feel is pressure building up to something unknown.

“who else can fuck you like this? who else can split you open like this?” he asks as lewd squelches reverberate throughout the room. 

“n-nobody! only you, beomie!” you cry.

“that’s my good girl, such a good girl. baby just needs me to use her like a fucktoy, right?” and all you can do is whine and clench in carnal need as the poor springs of your bed squeak with every unforgiving thrust.

“oh, you like that, don’t you?” he snickers. “you like being my little whore. you’re just a toy for me, alright? free to use whenever i feel like it.” you nod in agreement and he lets out a chuckle as he pounds into you at an unimaginable speed, balls slapping your ass with every fiery thrust. each time he pumps into you, your pussy’s clamping down on him and sucking him in like that’s where he’s meant to be. and maybe it is. 

“god, i’m close,” he groans after pumping into you for what feels like hours, and you whimper like a bitch in heat. “honey, don’t worry,” he tuts. “i’ll fuck you every day, i’ll fill you with my cum so you can’t leave. not that you’ll want to after this. you’re made for me, made to be my cumdump whenever i want.” 

“y-yes!” you shriek, somehow liking the idea of being full of his cum forever and ever. 

“that’s my girl. baby just wants me to fuck her good. that’s all you needed, right? that’s why you’ve been such a brat. you just needed me to show you what it’s like to be fucked right,” he says, rolling your clit for good measure, which is enough to make you reach your high as it comes crashing down around you. beomgyu wasn’t lying when he said he was close, so when he feels you clenching around his big cock as if you’re milking him for all that he’s worth, you feel it twitching before hot bursts of cum paint your inner walls until you’re leaking white and seeing stars. he continues with slow, lazy pumps until he softens. you stay like that for an indeterminable amount of time, breathing raggedly while your bodies are overcome with thrums of delight. 

when he finally pulls out and lays down beside you, bodies slick with sheens of sweat, he pushes your hair back behind your ear and plants a kiss on your temple. shakily, he takes his hand and rubs it along your distended tummy, full of his cum. he lovingly strokes it with an awed smile on his face.

“such a good girl for me,” he repeats. “i can’t wait until you’re pregnant. you’ll have as many babies as i can give you, right?” and all you can do is nod deliriously. he smiles in satisfaction as you eagerly agree to his every nasty, perverted thought. “god, i love you so much. and you love me too, right? say it. say you love me.”

“i love you.” and you realize that you do.  this man is deranged, but he’s yours, and for better or for worse, you're his. especially now that you might very well be carrying his children. and even if you aren’t, you know he’ll make good on his promises to keep fucking you until you are. should you be glad that he effectively ruined every potential relationship for you? you were unsure before, but you realize that nobody has or ever will love you as much as he does, even if he has a demented way of showing it. well, it is what it is. there’s no way out after this.

notes pt. 2: i hope this goes over better after the editing!

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[lustjunkiie]

oh, father! where art thou?

part one.

highschool au, long lost lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, grumpy and sunshine-esque dynamics, simon riley & fem!reader.

cw) angst, use of 2nd person, allusions/vague depictions to intimacy eventually, drinking eventually, breakdowns, motherhood, simon riley is father, un-canon lore! all of it eventually

also! credits to the artists of the drawings and rendering used in the banner. they were reposted when i found them without credit, but i want to acknowledge them nonetheless. :(

also! to the one who started this all. @girl-lostconnection , everything i do , i do for you! entire thing inspired by this lovely person! :)

Simon Riley and committal didn’t exist in the same sentence. Not when he was a young lad — too underfed and too damn lanky with too many rough edges. Simon had never craved a permanent presence. As sad (and maybe a bit horrible) as it sounds, Simon wanted no one.

Even as his mother’s last wish was to meet her first daughter-in-law, and to meet her only son’s children.

I’m sorry, Tommy. She’d love you if she could bring herself to remember.

Even as he heard his mother’s last wish, he knew it was just another thing he couldn’t follow through with. Another thing he’d have chipping into his shoulder. I mean, Jesus, who’d want to marry and reproduce with the fucking freak that he is? Jesus.

So, at the ripe age of eighteen, after he’d buried his brother, and lost his father to the bottom of the bottle — like they’d never even fucking existed — he buried his mother.

Eleanor Riley. Gone too soon. Loving wife and mother.

Simon stared blankly as her body was lowered; the fact that he was the only one in attendance besides that fucking priest who will not stop talking burns like pure acid down Simon’s throat. Did she love no one? Was she loved by none, except this poor malnourished teenager, too stoic for his circumstances? Fuck.

Simon miraculously makes his way out of the cemetery, bile rising in his throat. His father was not home when he got there. Unsurprising.

Simon was unsure how to feel. But it seemed most logical to just . . . keep going?

And that, he did. He awoke to a silent home the next morning, all items untouched. His mother’s lipstick still on her wine glass in the sink. His father’s half empty bottle of scotch tipped over onto fabric, staining the couch. His brother’s room, unshaken by the sands of time. Toys strewn on the floor, action figures on the window sill, and comic books haphazardly strewn on the desk.

Let bygones be bygones, Simon.

Simon waited for the bus like normal. Well, like he usually would at this time of day. He didn’t even remember getting dressed.

When he got on the bus, he got nauseous again. Why was everyone looking like they knew? Like they were there, to see her blood dripping from the porcelain? Like they saw how Simon’s ribs were way too obvious to be normal? Like they knew where his father was? Fuck. There is suffering too terrible to name.

But he gets off the bus, and he’s aimlessly roaming the halls — trying to conjure where his first lesson was. Or, any lesson really.

And there you are, walking to orchestra. Dorky, round glasses perched on your nose and your violin clasped tightly in his hand. Buried in your own thoughts, just as Simon was, you two collide.

Your glasses fall onto the ground, clattering around somewhere and you clutch your violin case to yourself in the midst of the fall. Simon is almost unmoved by the collision, save for the backpack strap gone awry.

Apologize, Simon, you need to focus where you’re going. This wasn’t her fault, you were walking too fast and you need to apologize, hand her her glasses, Simon, do something. He thinks frantically.

“Seems like your glasses don’t work too well,” Simon snarks. No, not that something. He scolds himself for not apologizing or even handing you your glasses, and he doesn’t eat lunch that day to punish himself. Weeping over his own fucking lap in the bathroom. Grief is a fickle mistress.

But you are there. He saw your eyes when you stared up at him. Big, glossy and so beautifully colored. He couldn’t even describe it. And your cheeks. So pink, so full of embarrassment. And your legs as you leaned against the wall, trying to compose yourself. You are the sweetest girl in Year 11, and Simon has made a damn fool of himself.

Somehow, perhaps divine intervention, you find yourself at his lunch table a week later. And emphasis on his, because who would ever share a space with this man? You observe him, unabashedly, and ignore your friends as they give you strange looks because again, why are you sitting with him?

His eyes are sunken in, and he’s deathly pale. His arms are stick thin, and it’s a soul-crushing sight within itself. You roll him an apple. Why does he look so angry? You slide a granola bar across the table. His expression softens, but he is still apprehensive.

“Eat,” you order him. And disregarding what you’ve just said, he is sure you’ve spoken gospel with how soft your voice is. He shakes his head, however. Simon doesn’t take orders. He rolls the apple back to you, noticing your lack of any other food.

“Says you.” He says. But his voice is too gruff, and too weak for itself. He’s made a fool of himself again. You roll your eyes and roll the apple back.

“I’m fine. Eat.” You order again, but the bell for third lesson has rung and he’s gone. Leaving the fucking apple and the granola bar.

How will you ever get through to him?

You seem to answer your own question when you get to school thirty minutes earlier than usual, and you catch Simon smoking outside of the orchestra building. What the Hell?

You walk up to him, way too riled up for this early in the morning, and shove the granola bar against his chest.

“Look, I excused you runnin’ in’a me ‘cause maybe you were just zoned out. ‘N’ I excused your l’ttle snarky fucking comment ‘cause I felt bad for you, but don’t reject my food, mate. Bit disrespectful, innit?” You’re nearly as fucking British and Manchurian as he is.

Simon is almost bewildered. He takes the granola bar and shoves it into his pocket after a few beats of silence. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he chuffs, stomping his cigarette beneath his ratty shoe. “I’ll go ‘n’ eat the blasted thing, yeah?” He says before walking off.

Unbelievable.

next part

[genericpuff]

oh boy rachel's telling on herself a little-

so we noticed that her Twitter name recently changed again, now featuring her bluesky social in her username to obviously advertise to people that she has a Blue Sky.

She's had BlueSky for a while, but it obviously doesn't have as massive of a following because 1.) Blue Sky is still a much smaller platform than Twitter (undoubtedly because it still requires invite codes to join), and 2.) it's really, REALLY hard to move the entirety of your fanbase from one platform to another as many followers are bound to be "dead" (i.e. not active on the platform anymore) and others will naturally fall off because they may have followed ages ago but never bothered to keep up or unfollow from a page that was just on their backburner.

But interestingly enough, this change is very recent and when you check her BlueSky, which she would only post to every once in a while, it's now seeming to be a lot more active with multiple posts over the past couple days. So I think it's very clear at this point that she's trying to actively commit to the migration from Twitter to BlueSky.

BUT HOOO BOY. SOME OF HER POSTS Y'ALL. SHE'S PRACTICALLY DOUBLING DOWN LMAO

You've all seen me dissect the SHIT out of Rachel's art process and y'all can verify it yourself through those posts that never once has she shown herself drawing this way. Never in the process reels, or the time lapse videos, or the single sketch posts she's made. So her claiming that she "likes doing this as well" is just flatout false because she doesn't do this. So I literally don't know who she's trying to fool with this (aside from her own fanbase) but she ain't fooling me LMAO

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rachel Smythe (@usedbandaid)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rachel Smythe (@usedbandaid)

But that's not even the best thing she's shared, oh no. Because this isn't even the full kit of clown makeup.

Nope, that goes to this repost-

No hate to the person who posted this, I'm sure they're chill and cool, I just think the fact that Rachel of all people reposted this to her BlueSky which she's trying to replace her Twitter with is very telling. We all know this isn't just Rachel sharing something funny for the gag, we know exactly what Rachel likes and portrays in her work that she could see herself in through this post.

And what's even more telling (and hilarious) is that this may as well have been her running away to BlueSky after the "Never apologize for being Sicilian" tweet became the top result when you search "Lore Olympus" on Twitter LMAOOO

I'm not saying that's exactly what's going on here, but the thought of Rachel deciding to fully commit to moving to BlueSky out of sheer embarrassment over this one out-of-context panel from years ago that went viral overnight - and staying at the top of the search result feed because no one's engaging with good faith LO posts anymore - is hilarious, and if it takes this dumbass panel of Hades telling Persephone she should never apologize for being Sicilian to get people talking about how stupid and hilarious LO is, then I say it's about damn time.

[thyandrawrites]

20 questions for fic writers

this is very late but thank you @sualne for tagging me! it was a lot of fun

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

currently 48!

2) what's your total ao3 word count?

381,539 spread out across nearly a decade tho

3) what are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Butterfly effect 2. You can't trap the sky in a bottle 3. Things change, things stay the same 4. Lingering 5. Red-tailed hawks mate for life All bnha fanfics! mostly dbhwks except for two

4) what fandoms do you write for?

eh, currently none since I haven't yet found a new hyperfixation. But in the past I've mostly written for bnha and tokyo ghoul (on ao3)

5) do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I try my best to answer, yes! I'm terrible at doing so in a timely manner tho (this just reminded me I have some I have yet to reply to, damn). as for why, well, not that long ago I was a reader who was self-conscious about my english and always apologized for it when I found the courage to comment, so... I guess that stuck with me and I want to show my appreciation to the people who find that courage too

6) what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

it has to be my MCD hidekane fic ("How to save a life". I know, I know, misleading title). I don't really do MCD or tragic endings so that fic is an outlier

7) what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I... actually have no idea! Pretty much all my fics except the one above have hopeful endings cause I don't like writing stories about pure despair with no resolution. But idk if anything I wrote classifies as a happy ending, per se. I'll have to turn this question back to my readers and let them decide!

8) do you get hate on fics?

thankfully not. I only did once on a tokyo ghoul fanfic but it was clear that person hadn't read a single word and just wanted to hate on the pairing I was writing for. I deleted it without giving it any weight. I got plenty of hate mail for my meta tho if that counts lol

9) do you write smut?

nope. I never felt any interest in it, tho I know it can be a fun way to explore a character or a dynamic, much like any other genre

10) do you write crossovers?

nope

11) have you ever had a fic stolen?

yes. It was a gaara songfic of all things. It wasn't even one of my best stories so idk why someone decided to repost it. Thankfully the mods took it down in a timely manner

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

yeah! I wish they'd given me links so I could link back to their translations, but I have been asked permission to before and it was a huge honor for me! and I know this wasn't part of the question but I have translated fanfics too :') proud to spread the love

13) have you ever cowritten a fic before?

yep! With my cousin, back in our naruto days. It was a crackfic based on real events that we found absurd enough to put our favorite blorbos through for the lolz. It was fun because the concept itself was stupid and I got along well with the other writer, but I found that co-writing isn't really for me. I prefer the creative freedom of working alone better, if that makes sense

14) what's your all time favorite ship?

Good question. I think I have to answer dabihawks here purely because it had a chokehold on me for so long (seven years, jeez. my fixations usually last two). But truth be told, it hasn't had that same pull on me since I don't feel compelled about Hawks anymore. But through these characters I explored so many themes and things about myself that I still feel a bit attached to it. Tho all that's left now is a mix of nostalgia and disappointment for all the loose ends I wish the series had addressed about their respective arcs that make me click on fic updates occasionally

15) what's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I currently have no wips! The well of my writing creativity has been dry for years now, and I miss it. Painfully so. But idk if it's coming back to me anytime soon. It seems hard right now, what with having no active fandoms I want to read fanfic for, let alone write it, but I guess never say never?

16) what are your writing strengths?

mmh, I wanna say introspections cause that's what draws me to writing in the first place, but idk if other people would agree that's my strength. I have the most fun with that, though. Dissecting the way a character thinks / experiences the world and their relationships is my favorite part of writing so it takes up a big portion of my stories

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions. I know I suck at them, and I know I don't include them as much as I should, but I just. hhhhh. I subconsciously zone out when I read them so I guess I tend to avoid them as a writer by extension. I did collabs with artists in the past and one thing that came up frequently was that I didn't describe the setting in a lot of detail, or that I didn't focus on stuff like clothing / appearance. Which can be okay if the scene is static and focuses on emotions, I guess, but it was a problem whenever I had to write fight scenes. I want to get better at it at some point!

18) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

technically I already have since english is not my first language, haha. but as a language nerd I think that could be fun. It's never come up before tho since I haven't written any multiethnic or bilingual character yet

19) first fandom you wrote for?

Technically my very first was Card captor Sakura when I was a middle schooler, lmao. First fic posted, though? Naruto

20) favourite fic you've ever written?

I had to really ponder this because I have recency bias, but I admit my favorite is actually Stitches. It's not my most popular work by a long shot, but it's the one that comes closest to what my original writing style was like! When I shifted to english and ao3, my style changed a lot. It used to be a lot more introspective and full of purple prose, haha. I think I managed to tone down the latter over the years and refine my skill at writing dialogue, and I think Stitches is the work that best shows that growth while still staying true to my beginning :') Other than that, I'm attached to it because of the themes I explored in it, as well as the Touya and Rei dynamic, which is dear to me!

tagging: no pressure to do this! @misssleepless12 if you see this and some of my old writing buddies @linkspooky @starship--phoenix @draphrawrites to wish you all well on your current projects :') Feel free to ignore the tag if you've done it before

[naitfall]

character headcanon generator — 10 headcanons ! Generate 10 headcanons and share whether they're true or not. Repost, don't reblog.

Levi is not good with social cues. – False. If there’s something Levi’s brilliant with, it’s reading people. I remembered this quote a mutual tagged me in: ‘They call me observant. That’s not particularly true. People are so easy to read - we bleed emotions even in the way we drink our coffee. No one seems to notice though. They’re all too busy drinking their own damn coffee.’ The behavior of people, the slightest change in the way they carry themselves, every tiny detail— he’s aware, for he pays attention to everyone. He understands human behavior no matter how complex, as if it’s nothing. Not understanding Erwin, an exception, led him to follow him, and to their co-dependent bond.

Levi doesn't know how to say they're sorry. – False. There’s no doubt he’s a man who doesn’t let his emotions show. He chooses his words wisely, which means he won’t be ‘wasting’ words associated with deeper meaning (‘Sorry’, ‘Thank you’, ‘Please’ etc.) when the occasion doesn’t really call for it. But he will apologize, he will feel sorry, and he will be open about it, if the timing is right. A time I can clearly recall where he has apologized, was when he apologized to Hange for getting their soldiers killed during his first battle with Kenny. And even if he doesn’t say he’s sorry, he will apologize in his own way. For example, after beating Eren in court at the beginning of the story, when he approached him asking if he hated him.

Levi forgets to eat sometimes. – False. Despite his sickly appearance, and the fact he may be considered underweight (he’s all muscle, there’s almost no fat in his body), Levi won’t skip meals or avoid eating. He takes good care of his body and values his health. As much as it is important to exercise and stay in shape, it’s important to eat, and to eat well (as much as soldiers in the Survey Corps can). He doesn’t have a special relationship with food, nor does he have an extreme appetite, but there’s no excuse for him not to eat.

Levi can't handle criticism. – False. Just because most don’t dare to criticize him, it doesn’t mean he isn’t receptive to criticism. Levi’s well aware of his flaws, of all the things he could be criticized for. Does he work on improving himself? Depends. There are parts of himself he can’t change. Parts he wouldn’t rather change, survival tactics that help him deal with reality. He will accept criticism, if there’s something needed to be pointed out, or if there’s frustration needed to be released. But not if the intent is to insult him. When younger though, it is true he wouldn’t take criticism from anyone.

Levi is great with kids. – True. Children love him. It’s grown-ups who fear him. Children often have natural instincts to understand the essence of a person, right? This is why despite his unfriendly attitude, children actually really like him— adore him, better say, for they can see past his armor. I think it is also stated in a semi-canon story that children in the underground followed him because they liked him. And in return, he’s very kind and attentive to any child. A real caring parent figure. 

Levi is the gay cousin. – True. If only he had a family. If Mikasa is considered the cousin (even though technically, she’s the aunt). If by gay, we mean the absence of all sexual attraction, not knowing what romantic attraction is but yearning for being close to certain people of the same (or the opposite) gender. In some crack setting though, he’s definitely the gay cousin. 

Levi's favourite subject in school was Science. – False. First of all, Levi didn’t attend school (except from my headcanon/semi-canon he spent some days sneaking into a class in the short time he escaped from the underground). But if did attend school, even though I believe he’d be excellent in science and relevant studies in general, his favorite subject would either be history or literature. Both stories, of real and fictional people. He doesn’t keep an eye on everyone around him for no reason. He’s interested in humanity, rather than the universe. And this is also the reason, I have a modern universe for him where he’s a literature professor. 

If someone they knew committed a crime, Levi would cover for them. – True. Ahem. Look at him. He’s a war hero, a soldier, but also a former thug in the underground. A man who once led his life by stealing. And a man who actually murdered others. Not out of self-defense, not to survive. He did kill people for personal reasons (see when he killed those who messed with Isabel in the no regrets manga). Even though he may not be that man anymore, he remains a man who sticks to a moral code of his own. And don’t forget, he remains a man who may still commit other crimes. If one he knew committed a crime, he’d help them take care of the consequences before he searched for any justifications, simply because, he will care for those close to him, no matter what they’ve done. He’s the perfect person to look for, when something’s gone incredibly wrong. 

Levi has not showered in two and a half weeks. – False. An insult. How dare. This obsessive clean freak? Levi showers at least once a day, sometimes more than once if it’s summer, or if he’s been training, or doing any physical activity, unless they’re on an expedition beyond the walls. 

Levi believes in Santa. – False. Santa as a myth doesn’t even exist in the time he lives in. Plus, even if he did, he would have grown out of it when very young (he didn’t have a childhood). BUT! He’s Santa. If you force him to dress as Santa to entertain the kids. He will. He will complain. The kids will wonder why Santa is so short. But he will come, bearing presents. 

Tagged by: @hisinfinities (thank you so much, I really wanted to do this!!) Tagging: @vonbirden / lausticzt , @gyofukuki , @songcurse , @tvsglow , @dutyworn , @viitlumi , @ofcrossroads , @childoflegend @somairle @eatenword and anyone who will see this, tag me!

[teh-kittykat]

Ficlet - Blink

I don't think this is floating around Tumblr anymore, but I found it in my stuff when I was moving computers. It's ten years old, but what the hell, I'ma repost it.

It started with a gif and a note about how there was a lack of stuff about Sam and Rinzler getting along, and, well...

Blink

The first time it happened, Sam was pretty sure his life was over.

The transition was subtle—one moment Tron was following him while he laid out some plan or another for the Grid, making little polite I’m-listening noises that somehow still managed to sound sarcastic, and the next there was a thready rumble behind him, and Tron’s epic bitchface was replaced with Rinzler’s featureless helmet. And okay, maybe Sam freaked just a little, words cutting off mid-syllable as he froze.

Rinzler just tilted his head—and it was Rinzler, circuits glowing vibrant orange—and then tilted the helmet around like he was looking for something. The really bizarre thing was that after a moment he just stopped, flinching back and hunching, tensed, until he had somehow managed to make himself shorter than Sam.

All right. So maybe instead of doing anything intelligent Sam just stood there and gaped for a good few minutes. Rinzler still didn’t go for his disks—and it was disks, since for whatever reason he’d had to sync in two of the damn things when they dragged Tron’s ass out of the Sea. If anything, the program seemed to shrink on himself further, helmet locked on in what Sam had to assume was a stare. Just when Sam was about to open his mouth to actually try and say something, Rinzler’s circuits winked out and re-lit blue-white, and then Tron was asking why Sam looked like he’d seen a data-ghost.

The second time it happened, things were a little more tense.

Gridbugs were a fact of life in a system under construction, Sam found out, and apparently even using legacy hardware for the Grid’s new physical home wasn’t going to change that fact anytime soon. It was pretty fun learning he could just blast through the damn things like something out of an anime—and so what if he grew up staying up way too late to watch bad dubs on Cartoon Network?—and it felt pretty good to stand back-to-back with Tron while they fought the nest of them. Only… when Sam turned around to check on Tron, it was Rinzler at his back instead, tearing through bugs with an acrobatic eagerness that was actually pretty amazing to watch if you weren’t the target of it. Rinzler didn’t blink out, either, when the bugs were done for, but rather he did the same flinch-and-hunch as before. It reminded Sam of catching Roy’s niece playing with his old action figures once.

“Hey… good job back there,” Sam said, feeling like an idiot because this was just inviting undivided killbot attention, but instead of the obvious attack, Rinzler actually stood up a little straighter and nodded, his rumble going deeper for a moment before Tron was back and asking for a status update.

It went like that, as Sam did the painstaking work of trying to heal what his dad and Clu had managed to break. Every once in a while Tron would just blink away and Rinzler would appear to fight bugs or peer suspiciously at Sam’s work or sometimes just to hang from the ceiling. The last even started to stop being freaky after Rinzler did it and scared the shit out of Shaddox.

Sam never said he was mature.

He tried to bring it up with Tron. The monitor had apologized profusely and practically shoved his disks in Sam’s hands and demanded to be bug-checked right there, something haunted and worried in his eyes. No amount of reassurance that it was okay, that Rinzler wasn’t hurting anyone, stopped the insistence until Sam actually did check the relevant code with Tron as a worried audience.

The funny thing? There was nothing out of the ordinary there.

No convenient color-coded section that said hey, here’s Rinzler. No remnants of Clu’s control coding, which felt like a personal victory because cleaning up the mess of agonizing restrictions had been a bitch and a half and it was probably a miracle Tron still talked to him with as much trial-and-error as it took. Not even a check from the outside, with Alan’s archival copy of Tron’s code to look from, showed any real deviation from his core command set aside from the evolution and customization that, as an AI project, Tron should have after twenty goddamn years.

Honestly, armchair psychology was a bit out of Sam’s area, and he really doubted that he could drag Tron to a therapist to figure out why Rinzler kept manifesting at odd moments.

When the transition came this time, Sam had sprawled across Tron’s lap because the program was repairing damage and insisting he was fine with a big crack in his torso. Sam glanced up from the reports he was skimming to see Rinzler—thankfully whole—peering down at him.

“Hey, Rinzler. Stay still a bit longer. Your alter ego did a number on you. Big-ass worm. You shoulda seen it,” Sam said, absently patting Rinzler’s knee as he went back to the datapad. For a while they just sat together in silence, Sam’s attention drifting back into the intricacies of power flows and information routing. Warm hands settled on Sam’s back, and a few moments later he heard an unearthly humming. It took a moment to realize it was Rinzler, whose utter contentment was flowing through the circuit-contact along Sam’s back.

Sam smiled to himself and scrolled the report. This was something he could live with.

[bewitched-bullet]

Hi Bullet, I apologize for the misunderstanding. I assumed you were familiar with what happened right before the split, so my writing was vague. Also English is not my first language. First, I agree with Dump's recounting of the events. I follow her so I saw all her interactions with characters. She joined the rp just a fews days before the split, at the end of February. She wasn't there in January.

The Sherlock she talks about was consult-sherlockholmes. The part I quoted was that she tried to coordinate behind the scenes a little bit but Sherlock was always in character, never talked as mod. And that's true for me too that Sherlock only talks in character.

I meant that for this group, I don't think their communication was adequate if there's little mod to mod communication. Please delete my ask with her link. I'd feel guilty if I cause any conflicts between you two. Please let me know if you need me to further clarify what happened in her post regarding the last few days before the split.

Damn, I thought I got the one without the link, I went and deleted that immediately. Thank you so much for pointing that out. With all these asks, notifications, and working, I'm bound to stumble.

I only have a loose timeline of when things have happened and the like because I just simply haven't been able to gather what I have into an organized graph with being at work, protecting my personal time, and staying present with my irl folks.

I've noticed that everyone only seemed to only speak in character whether in a blog post or in pm, except for the John blog. Which I find interesting.

I'll repost the ask you had without the link

[lazuli-writes]

What if Joffrey Waters was a hero?

summary: A extremely brief look on turning one of the most hated brats into someone decent.

pairing: none

genre: rabbit hole rambles

estimated word count:

a/n: Apologies, this is ancient as heck and as such almost all of my former information that made up the rest of this au is a tad bit gone and nonexistent. I hope y’all can enjoy what little I have to offer. Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

©little-lazuli. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

Okie dokie, today’s topic of discussion follows this small tiny idea I had. What if Joffrey was a hero and lemme get y’all into it. This is gonna be a lot of gray areas and ooc-ness. But anyways, let’s start.

So I have three fixed aspects that changes the course of Joffrey’s story: 1) Joffrey discovers the truth of his heritage, 2) Joffrey lives on the isle of faces for a time and 3) Joffrey changes his name. And let me explain why I picked these three. Joffrey needs something horribly drastic in my opinion to make his head spin, what other way to do that then for him to discover his dad is his mom’s brother. That’s rough buddy. The isle of faces was a place I always wanted to explore. And Joffrey’s name change was a move I thought would be perfectly symbolic of him taking on a new life and also, the name “Joffrey” makes me gag every time I say out loud. So now let’s go on.

Boom Joffrey walks into a room and sees Cersei and Jaime doing the “utu bang bang” (islander term for sexc times) and his mind cannot handle the mental fallout. At first he’s filled with rage. He thinks his uncle is assaulting his mom. Trying and failing to attack his uncle who holds him still. Cersei tries and fails to comfort her son. He’s disgusted at the revelation that Jaime is his father. And does the only thing he can think of. He runs.

Fleeing a castle, then a city and then an entire territory under the control of one’s “parents” is a hard thing Joffrey comes to discover. Hiding in the red keep for a couple days to be alone with his thoughts is something that aids in helping Joffrey with digesting the news. Escaping kings landing in an effort to separate himself further was another hard feat. He wasn’t just trying to escape his mother so that she could try to feed him more lies. Cause turns out, his entire existence was a lie. He was a bastard born of incest. His father wasn’t his father. His mother and uncle were living it up. And it was clear that Joffrey’s life could never be the same again now that he was inadvertently enlightened to this whole damn conspiracy. Everything went out of whack real quick, too quick for Joffrey to properly process and accept. So instead of competing with his true parents in trying to maintain a secret, he instead decided “why not run instead?”

So he ran and ran and ran some more. Life on the road was EYE OPENING for the former prince. He didn’t know peasants really lived in such… poverty. It was disgusting at first. But soon when Joffrey discovered what it felt to be truly hungry in the same sense as some of the smallfolk did, cleanliness seemed liked the last thing on his mind. Bridlewood was a quaint village that Joffrey had found himself in eventually. The food he stole was really good there and he sold the last of the jewels he had for a night in an inn. But of course that lasted like five seconds before he had to go on running once again from his mother’s men.

Whitewalls or at least the ruined lands of whitewalls was not so much of a nice place. Though the land was salted in the distant past, some tough weeds seemed to grow anew. The castle’s foundations were decrepit and broken, but just enough to provide a stable place for Joffrey to nap. Right on the edge of the gods eyes, smallfolk were always passing by, whether they were camping on the grounds, sailing up and down the god’s eye or just traveling through. Obtaining food and water became less of a hassle with his stay there. By this point it has been months since he took flight from kings landing. Joffrey’s biggest concern was always being dragged back to face his mother who Joffrey genuinely believed to be sick in the head.

That was another fear Joffrey had come to realize eventually. Was he sick like his mother? He did not find any of his family members attractive. Then again no one caught Joffrey’s eye. He knew deep down he thought some were enough to give another look to, but the idea of being a romantic relationship with anyone was weird and uncomfy for Joffrey to consider. It wasn’t long before Joffrey’s temporary haven at Whitewalls were interrupted by the coming Lannister and Baratheon search parties that have become almost routine throughout much of the kingdoms, all searching for the lost prince.

So what did Joffrey do, run. Again. Well, not so much run but instead stole a raft and rowed himself across the gods eye. It was nighttime when the soldiers came so when he finally reached shore the first thing Joffrey did was pass out, exhausted from the manual labor he still had not become accustomed to due to his pampered origins. And it was these same pampered origins that made him freak out when he woke up in a cell of sorts. He thought that his mom had finally caught him and for a split second believed that she was gonna kill him to keep the secret. But no, turns out it was the green men of the isle of faces who had captured him.

For the sake of this large tangent of a what if, imma summarize Joffrey’s time in the isle of faces. So going off of the aging of the show, Joffrey was born in 282 AC, when he is twelve (294 AC) he leaves and spends months on the run before winding up on the isle of faces. Here he lives as a smallfolk amongst the green men. He learns how magic exists in the world and how everyone has a role to play in the war to come. Joffrey at the behest of the green men decides to take on a new identity, a new name for the new man he is to become so he takes on the name Jason (yes how unoriginal but that’s not the point). Now known as Jason, Jason learns the basic survival skills of any person lingering in the wilderness in Westeros. He learns how to start a fire and hunt using a bow and arrow. He learns how to fish and even skin game to make him clothes. And it’s through these strenuous acts that Jason learns to humble himself. Jason still has his issues, mostly mommy and daddy issues and how he lacks the ability to maintain trust in those he lacks a relationship with. Only few of the green men people are able to maintain a friendship with the new Jason because of his trust issues.

After spending three years on the isle of faces, Jason has become almost a man grown in the eyes of Westeros. He had learned to take of care himself and have even witnessed the inner magics of the Green Men. His greatest experience is when he was given a prophecy by one of the green seers on the islands;

“You will be the salvation of many animals in the forest young one. A lion, a wolf, a falcon and a trout. All of whom you will save. All of whom will betray you in the end”

The prophecy is something that shakes him to the core though he’d never… and now my train of thought is completely gone because I started this four years ago and found it again only now. Apologies, I truly didn’t want to end it here but I’m literally drawing ten thousand blanks on continuing this au so for now this will have to suffice. Please share any thoughts on how this au should play out cause I do remember that the people he saved was Jaime, Sansa, Sweetrobin and Edmure Tully. Some other prophecies I had pertaining to this au included :

Green men prophecies:

“You will be the salvation of many animals in the forest. A lion, a wolf, a falcon and a trout. All of whom, will betray you in the end”

“Four gold lions will dance with a dragon, one lion will flee as green flames fly, another will dance until the dragon dies, one will wear a golden crown and the last will crumble to the ground”

“Your gold crown is muddled with truths you will never have assured”

“You will always find refuge in the lands of the emerald crown”

Ghost of High Heart Prophecy:

“I see an ocean of broken fires is where the pride is waiting. A pride with a roar so powerful, even the dragons will calm at it’s sight, but only barely. Only waters can claim the pride, and with that pride, the waters will swallow up the last dragon in the world and see to the end of a kingdom”

Old Crone of Valyria Prophecy:

“If one wishes to go east, they must go west, only there will the waters see forth the future it desires. But be warned, yellow flames, red flames and green flames will come, waiting to swallow a man whole”

Joffrey’s Prophetic Dreams

“I saw a frail little falcon, and it was singing to the forest… trying to at least. But another bird, smaller but visibly stronger sang the same song as the little falcon. The other bird would sing so loud that the falcon could not be heard”

“A herd of horses are abusing a small wolf until a lion comes to slaughter all of the horses”

Do with that as you will, thank you for reading and again feel free to share any thoughts and possibilities of the au, thank you and bye!

[nyan-ryder]

Hi, I’m Nyan, and my Showdown Bandit hyperfixation is making tumblr hate me

[ponkwan]

⌗ ⸰ ₊⠀ WHEN I’M WITH YOU !

the one where wonwoo asks you to move in with him.

pairing: wonwoo x reader

word count: 1.4k

rating: pg-15

content: fluff, established relationship au, very domestic; ft. medical student!wonwoo

warning/s: light profanity

p.s. this is a repost from another previous blog of mine !

A smile graces his face the second he sees you.

It has become a reflex at this point, especially after a busy and inevitably tiring week; the sight of you standing there outside his door, a gorgeous grin plastered on your mouth, holding what seemed like a rather large lunchbox containing what he assumes are dishes of your cooking, is what Wonwoo can only define as heaven itself.

He immediately grabs your wrist and pulls you in the apartment, closing the door behind you before grabbing the handle of the bag to momentarily place it on the floor so he can do the one thing he’s been thinking about all week.

Hold you damn tight.

“This is nice,” you hum with a teasing tone, embracing him right back as he buries his face against your neck.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

You smile. “Ah, really? From the way you haven’t been answering any of my messages, it doesn’t seem like it.”

He pulls back, an already apologetic expression on his features, though before he can utter an apology out, you place a palm on his cheek and pull his face down for a quick kiss.

“I’m kidding. I know you’re busy because of your exams. That’s why I’m here.” You start picking up your bag.

Wonwoo beats you to it however, getting it himself and gesturing for you to freely walk further inside his apartment.

Your friends and acquaintances always tease you about the fact you’re dating a medical student. They reckon that being in a relationship with one is already a lost case to begin with—you are bound to always compete with his jam-packed schedules as he studies and works hard to become a future medical practitioner.

And though you do understand that what they are claiming are entirely and quite painfully true, that still isn’t a good enough reason for you to love your boyfriend any less, considering that you can also see Wonwoo trying to make time for you and give effort in the relationship despite his tight timetable.

“Sorry for not cleaning up,” he says with a chuckle once you arrive in the kitchen, paper bags and disposable utensils scattered around the counter beside the sink. “I didn’t know you were coming, so I’m a little bit over the place.”

You glance at him and notice how tired his face appears. He’s still handsome nonetheless—even in just his normal home attire that includes a plain shirt and jogging pants, he still ridiculously exerts extreme attractiveness—though at this instance, there are dark circles under his eyes and his complexion seems… seems a little dull, lifeless maybe, and from the looks of his tired stance as well, it’s like he’s been cooped inside his room all day long, doing nothing but reading and writing notes.

“Wonwoo,” you frown, “what did I say when it comes to busy weeks?”

He sighs, aware where the conversation is heading. “I can skip your messages but I can’t skip taking care of myself.”

You manage to smile a little because of how childish it always sounds whenever he says it. “Then have you been doing that? Because honestly, you don’t look like it.”

“I… I’ve been trying,” he sheepishly says.

“Okay.” You unzip the lunch bag as he walks closer to where you are. “That’s progress, at least. I just hope you’re not eating ramyeon every single day because you know how unhealthy that is too.”

“But I love ramyeon. It’s my comfort food.”

“It’s not good for you, babe.”

“I don’t eat it every day,” he defends, stopping behind you and hugging your waist while you continue to unpack what you brought for him, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Just every other night. Seungkwan sometimes stops by to give me home cooked meals, you know.”

“I know. I’m glad he does.”

The both of you don’t speak for a few seconds. Wonwoo just carries on hugging you, slightly swaying you from side to side with perhaps half of his weight on yours.

Eventually, you’re moving from one spot to another inside the kitchen—heating up some rice, heating the food that already went a little cold alongside it, and preparing the plate he’s going to eat on as well—all of that happening with your boyfriend still clinging on you like a koala (which to be frank, you’re not exactly annoyed at).

“Babe,” he abruptly says and you glance at him, pausing in putting some kimchi on a small bowl, “what do you think about moving in with me?”

You raise your eyebrows at the question, your hands freezing. “What?”

“I promise not to be that much of a burden,” he tells you straight off the bat. “I mean, I know I can’t cook for shit, but I can clean. I can wash the dishes and do the laundry and stuff you can’t do when you’re the one who’s busy.”

“Wonwoo—”

“I can still shoulder rent and utility bills too. Or maybe you’d want to chip in, but I wouldn’t mind if—”

“—hey, hey.” You chuckle and place the chopsticks down in order to detach yourself from Wonwoo’s embrace, facing him instead to talk about the topic better. “Are you serious right now? Do you know what you’re asking me?”

“I do,” he replies. “I… I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s not just an impulsive thought, I swear.”

“You’ve been thinking about it?”

“Yeah. I just—I just thought it would be better for us. We’d get to see each other more often. Besides, your company building isn’t that far from here too. Even if it was, it wouldn’t matter—I’d drive and fetch you there myself every time if it meant I’d be with you here.”

You’re speechless. Wonwoo’s not really the type to be overly affectionate, honestly speaking, though he isn’t that cold and distant either. He usually knows what the right words to say to get you blushing and your heart to feel full; he likes to buy you meaningful tokens of appreciation at times he feels like it and would agree to do something for you if you asked, regardless of how it might clash with his original plans.

However, you still find yourself being surprised to hear him say those words out loud. It might be because you haven’t been receiving that kind of attention from him in a considerably long time, and so to get them now, it’s like your system is slowly trying to restart and get used to it all over again.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he says when you fail to answer for the last 10 seconds or so. “I just wanted to suggest it. I think I’m starting to hate being alone in this apartment.”

You snort at his last statement. “You don’t hate being alone, Wonwoo,” you reckon, soon encircling your own arms around his torso, “you just don’t like it when I’m not with you.”

He grins and leans down when you begin reaching for his lips, pressing his mouth on yours for the kiss you’ve been trying to get. “Yeah, you’re right. I absolutely despise not being with you.”

Wonwoo steals a bunch of long kisses for a while, and once the two of you break free to breathe, you give him a final peck before speaking. “Okay. I’ll check my lease and start talking to my landlord about it. Then I’ll move in with you.”

“Wait, seriously? You’re agreeing just like that?”

“Seriously.” You kiss him again, letting go of him afterwards. “Well, we still have to talk about it more, but for the meantime, how about we eat and you tell me what you think about the dishes I cooked for you so that I’ll be more convinced to move in with you instead. What do you think?”

A contagious and warm grin spreads on his face again. “God, why don’t I just propose right now too while we’re at it?”

“Hey,” you slap him on the chest, laughing, “let’s take it slow. We have to get you that medical degree first.”

He mutters a soft, “If you say so,” and pinches your cheek in fondness, maneuvering around you then to get his plate and try some of what you prepared.

Even before the first bite though, he’s sure that it’s going to be delicious. After all, if it’s something to do with you—he’s positive that it’s automatically considered as amazing in his book.

thank you for reading ! feedback is always appreciated ☻

⌗ ⸰ ₊⠀ all rights reserved. no part of my work is to be reposted / translated / used in any kind of platform without my permission. i only use this account to post fics.

[spir1tfar3r]

twisted wonderland boys confessing to you <3

sort of a part two to this

© spir1tfar3r 2022– plagiarism, reposts, or anything related or copying isn’t allowed.

Your relationship with them is.. a bit confusing. Everyone that saw you together would assume that the two of you were dating by how you both treated and acted around each other. Hell even the two of you kind of assumed the relationship was past being only friends at this point. At some point, you gathered the courage to ask and confirm what you were to each other and they seemed so relieved that you took the initiative. Sheepishly, they admitted their feelings for you and wanted to actually be your partner but they weren’t sure how to bring it up when you both were already actually like a couple.

— Kalim Al-Asim, Silver, Ruggie Bucchi

You were absolutely not supposed to find out before they were ready. But they weren’t necessarily expecting to run into you while they were asking for advice on how to ask you out. The two of you stood in awkward silence as their friend excused themself to let you two talk (and also tell others what happened). Eventually, they finally worked up the courage to speak and confessed, apologizing in the middle because it wasn’t as romantic as they were wanting to make it.

— Deuce Spade, Epel Felmier, Idia Shroud

They deadass just ask you out the next time they see you. Maybe they’ll have a gift for you, maybe they won’t, they sure as hell don’t know yet. They had absolutely no plan with this and regretted not planning it as they were confessing.

— Sebek Zigvolt, Ace Trappola, Jack Howl, maybe malleus and lilia

Has the most thought out plan and it is so god damn sweet. They’ll disguise this as a regular hangout, even though that came with the risk of you being busy or something (Grim) would get in the way. Luckily enough, you were completely free and you could come over the day they planned. The set up isn’t as grand as something Vil could’ve done but it was still impressive and they made sure to have your favorite things. As the hangout concluded, they confessed their feelings, and seeing them get a bit nervous when it was quite obvious that you liked them back was worth paying Ace and Deuce to keep grim busy.

— Trey Clover, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper, Malleus Draconia

Much like the ones before, they also had their confessions planned and ready to go. The difference between the two groups? This shit was going to be perfect. They had your favorite things, made you dinner and it was candle lit!!! They were so completely ready for this moment but of course, something just had to go wrong and derail the entire thing. Even though they didn’t confess the moment they originally planned, they bit the bullet and expressed their feelings for you at your door after walking you home.

— Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Cater Diamond

Listen, this was not how they planned on confessing to you. They weren’t exactly sure how they were going to do but getting into a petty argument after you humored someone flirting with you was not the ideal plan. At some point in the argument you had asked why it mattered so much to them and that finally set them off and they angrily admitted that they were upset because they had feelings for you. Definitely avoided you for a few days after but eventually they ask if the two of you can sit down to properly talk about it and they may confess again.

— Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto

Ok so technically, they asked if you’d be their date to an event before they actually confessed to you. They had planned on confessing sooner but when they heard about the event, they saw it as the perfect opportunity and wanted to use it. Oh wait, did i say they asked you to be their date? My bad. They accidentally forgot to ask you to come as their date and made it sound like you two were only attending as friends. They were worried of overstepping any of your boundaries the entire time and you took notice on how off they seemed during the night. They do, however, confess whenever they take you home and even apologize for not asking sooner (or confirming that they wanted this to be a date in the first place)

— Riddle Roseheart, Lilia Vanrouge, Floyd Leech

taglist: @astro-pioneer <3

[sheisjoeschateau]

“You’re there. You were always there.”

A MULTI-PART FANFICTION SERIES, INSPIRED BY STRANGER THINGS, WRITTEN BY MISHA ST. JAMES.

Steve Harrington x fem!character. Childhood friends to lovers.

Slow burn. Angst. Romance. Smut with plot. Spin-off of pre-existing character.

A note from the writer:

—

Hello there darlings. What started off as a rough one-shot concept inspired by my rewatching Stranger Things season one for the billionth time evolved into my new favorite fan fiction series that I have written and created. This truly has become my baby. I said it in my original post when leaving a sneak preview of this work of mine…but I’ll say it again. This piece really has become my baby.

I overthink everything. I like to dive deep beneath the surface of things and overthink things into magnificent new realities. A seemingly random (almost forgettable) character in this show ended up making my mind spiral. As a writer, I believe that all characters in books and cinema have purpose. So naturally, my mind wanted to make something of a character that only appears at random yet crucial parts of the show’s story.

Nicole only appeared in season one and she was assumed to be a friend of Steve’s. To us, she was no one. Yet the Duffers introduced us to her as if she was an already established character in the series. Steve seemed almost too comfortable with her, like there was history between them. But we never explored that past the first season. That really started to bug me during this last binge-watch I had. So being the over dramatic writer that I am, I decided to make something of it myself. And damn, did it just…flow. I had no plans of making this such a big series but yeah, here we fucking are.

I gave her my last name because, well, *hair flip* I’m a narcissistic bitch like that when it comes to writing. ;) So in this series of mine, she is written Nicole St. James. I took some inspiration from The Breakfast Club because, ya know, Claire Standish? Molly Ringwald was an iconic redhead in the 80s film world, and that role in particular really seemed to fit how I wrote Nicole while fitting how she was presented in the show. I also did not want to give her a predictable personality either (because, again, as a writer I’m complex like that). So I did not take the typical “mean girl” route with her character because that honestly would just hit a wall. I wanted there to be a reason for her her in this show. I think the actress who played her did a good job with it, given there wasn’t much for her to work with.

I actually researched the actress a bit (Glenellen Anderson) and she’s actually very talented. She said something in one of her interviews about her role being small in ST but serving a crucial part in the first season of the series, given her being the reason that Steve finds out about Jonathan taking the pictures in his yard that night. Idk tbh I lowkey feel like a stalker who’s obsessing over an actor before they make it big so that one day I can be like YEAH I KNEW SHE WAS COOL WHEN SHE WAS STILL UNDERRATED. Lol ok moving on —

So I guess that’s it then. Time for me to shut up and just let the story I’ve created speak for itself. Thank you to some of my favorite writers on here and fellow Steve Harrington fanatics for inspiring me to release my own work into this universe. I’ve been very hesitant but I am glad to finally be doing it. I want to hear your thoughts and honest opinion while also asking kindly that you keep my emo heart in consideration when doing so 👉🏻👈🏻 If I forgot to tag you, I sincerely apologize. Please remind me in comments so that I can remember next time!

*disclaimer: this is based on pre-existing characters. in the show, nicole is portrayed by a redheaded white female actress so I based my writing around that. I do not discriminate against ANY race or preferred gender roles who choose to read and engage with my stories.

Enjoy and please leave feedback :)

x, MISHA

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY PLATFORMS WITHOUT PROPERLY CREDITING ME AS THE WRITER. I DO NOT GRANT PERMISSION FOR YOU TO CLAIM MY WRITING AND WORK AS YOUR OWN. YES, THIS IS A FAN FICTION BASED ON A PRE-EXISTING SHOW. HOWEVER THERE IS BASIC COURTESY TO BE EXPECTED IN THE WRITING COMMUNITY SO PLEASE RESPECT THAT. 🖤

Warnings: This is very much an 18+ written fan fiction series. Please read at your own risk. There is language, eventual mentions of blood and violence, drinking, sex, etc. There is also going to be mention of homophobia because the 80s were full of misogynistic men and women who were so unforgivingly dense (like fucking Tommy H. and Carol Perkins), so I want to address that as we eventually introduce Robin and Will into the series so that we can have our outstanding LGBTQ darlings welcomed and given the representation that they deserve.

—————

VOLUME I

“You’re there. You were always there.”

——————

Steve Harrington is six years old when he meets you: the girl who carries the other half of him with her. 

He first spotted her playing outside alone, in the yard right across from his. She has a big treehouse, and no one but herself to share it with. And even though you seem content — he doesn’t know why, but it makes him sad. Watching you alone, in your own great big world, and no one begging to share it with you. 

So after a week, he walks across the street to do something about it. He had watched you climb the little red ladder up to the top, making round trips with your backpack and various items. 

The door to your treehouse is made of wood, painted pastel yellow with tiny butterfly stickers adorning it in random places. He hears you, talking to yourself the way you would talk if you had company. Maybe it’s to an imaginary friend. Or maybe, you just like to talk to yourself. Regardless, he knocks, and your gibberish ceases. Eventually, he hears your feet padding closer and closer.  The door creaked open, revealing your curious grey eyes. Your red hair framed your small, heart shaped face, and the cream knit sweater that you wore looked almost as warm as you were.

“Hi,” Steve said. “I’m Steve. I live in that house over there.”

He pointed to the big house that loomed just across the street from you, and you briefly peeked out to look at it before looking back at him. Your full pink lips pressed into a shy smile.

“I’m Nicole,” you told him. “I’m six.”

“Me, too,” Steve tells you, proudly and with a dashing smile. But then he furrows his brow. “Why are you having a tea party by yourself?”

You look back into your little safe haven, following his gaze that stares at the eclectic assortment of tea cups and teapots set for multiple people when it was just you. 

“Oh, well I just like to be ready,” you tell him. “In case I make any friends.” 

Suddenly, you beam at him. Your usually shy demeanor dissolves as the gleam in your eye shines through. 

“Do you wanna be my friend?” you ask Steve, who raises his eyebrows in response.

“Umm, yeah,” he finally responds, nodding his head. He stuffs one hand into the pockets of his little Levi jeans, fastened with a belt and all, already a charmer with his polo sweater. His other hand goes to push back some of his floppy chestnut hair. “Yeah, let’s be friends.”

You smile brightly.  “Okay.”

And so you are, just like that.  Friends.  As you pour Steve a cup of chocolate milk, which you both confidently call hot tea without remark, you quietly hum to yourself.

Steve watches you, thinking you’re really pretty.  Whenever you go to pass him a teacup, he takes it and quickly looks around, pretending he wasn’t just staring at you.  He was in awe, really.  Fairy lights were strewn about, with potted flowers in the windowsills.  There was a table with lots of crayons, markers and gel pens, unfinished drawings scattered underneath them.  A few completed drawings were hung up on the walls.  

“Doesn’t it get scary up here all by yourself?” he asks you, genuinely curious.

As you set the little teapot back down, you shrugged your shoulders and shook your head. “Mm-mm,” you tell him. “I’m safe up here.”

You raise your teacup to your little pout to sip.  You seemed so content all by yourself, as if the word ‘lonely’ was completely foreign to you.

Steve is six years old when he sees the reflection of his better self in you.

_______

Steve is 7 years old when he calls you his best friend.

You’re both playing at recess, roped into a game of duck-duck-goose. A little girl named Carol is sitting next to you, and Steve watches her roll her eyes and huff throughout most of the game. You’ve been smiling and laughing this whole time, except when she gets mad that you don’t pick her when you’re circling the group of kids and selecting someone to chase you.

“Nicoooole,” she whines. 

You look at her as if you’re terribly afraid of what you could have done wrong. Carol crosses her arms, pouting.

“You’re supposed to pick me,” she complains.

“Oh,” you said, eyes wide.  “I-I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

You shuffled your feet, your loafers twisting in the grass.  Your ponytail blew in the breeze, along with the little flyaway baby hairs, and you looked a little embarrassed – almost ashamed – as the kid you had picked goes to sit in the assigned mush pot, since she couldn’t catch you.

“Well I do,” Carol said, matter of fact. 

Steve grimaces. He hated seeing you so uncomfortable, and he really hated the way this girl was talking to you.

“Those aren’t the rules,” Steve argued, defending you. 

You looked at Steve, a little relief becoming evident in your timid eyes.

“It’s not not in the rules,” Carol snarks back. Alright, now Steve is just plain bothered. This girl is annoying. And shamelessly entitled. 

Carol looks back at you, glaring. “Pick me next time.”

You slowly sit back down next to her, sinking into the grass with a frown. You look so timid, sad even. Steve wanted to drag you across the circle to sit next to him, but he didn’t because you were suddenly standing again, stuttering a little “Oh,” realizing it was still your turn. 

You cautiously made your way around the kids, placing your hand on top of everyone’s heads while saying “duck.”  You started to sweetly grin as you approached Steve, who grinned back. You plopped your hand on top of his head, definitely messing up his hair, but he didn’t mind. It was you, and that was okay. Anyone else, no. 

You fearfully dubbed Carol duck as you passed her, and her jaw clenched. She kept her arms tightly folded, watching you like a hawk. Steve narrowed his eyes at the snarky girl, already hating her. You patted his head again, “duck,” and Steve watched you curiously. Surely, you weren’t gonna pick her. Then again, he was afraid of what would happen if you didn’t. 

But sure enough, you did pick Carol. 

Goose. 

Carol smirked so fast before bolting upright to chase you around the playground. 

Steve was wildly chanting your name, along with the others.

“Go, Nicole!” he shouted, rooting you on. The others echoed his cheers. Your red hair flipped in the wind, ponytail bouncing behind you as you dashed back towards him in your school dress and loafers. 

Carol looked so convinced that she was gonna take you down, but you were faster. She chased you with a devilish smile, which began to quickly dissolve once she saw you getting closer to homebase.

Suddenly, you plopped down beside Steve, out of breath. He and the others hurrayed, and you smiled as you panted.

But Carol scoffed, finally making it over to you all in the circle. She buckled over her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“Ha-ha, Carol,” some boy sneered jokingly. 

“Yeah Carol, mush pot time,” Steve chimed in, a little too happily.

She scoffed again, louder this time. “No way, that’s not fair.”

Steve twitched incredulously. “W’you mean it’s not fair? She beat you.”

Carol’s jaw clenched again, and she stared daggers in your direction as she put her hands on her hips with a sour attitude. Steve cringed at the sight of just how nasty she looked, hating that it was being directed towards you. You shrunk back in your seated position on the grass, looking afraid. As Carol stalked over to sit in the middle of everyone, she kept staring at you with a look that could kill. You looked to the ground, and Steve kept his place next to you with a newfound wave of protection washing over him.

“Fine, well,” Carol sneered.  “I’m not your friend anymore.”

Carol’s words were nothing but laughable. To any mature adult — hell, any human not in kindergarten — her remark would have meant nothing. But to you? A seven year old with a heart of gold, and the desire to just make everyone feel included? Her words were detrimental. They meant you were a horrible person. You were to blame.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t —“ you stumble, voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to, Carol, I-I…”

Carol whipped her head around to not face you. Your eyes were really sad now, and Steve’s heart sank.  You brought your knees to your chest, and your grey eyes went a little glassy.

“I can switch w-with you,” you kept trying. “I’ll sit—”

“Shut up,” she barked. “I said you’re not my friend.”

“Yeah, well she’s my best friend.”

Steve’s words landed hard. 

Carol whipped her head around again, now facing him. Everyone in the circle stared at the perfect-haired boy, including you. Sweet, innocent you. Your grey eyes peered over at him nervously. But there was a glint of hope in them, too, and if you weren’t so shaken up and close to crying you would have smiled. 

Steve shot one last disgusted look in Carol’s direction, then rose to his feet.  He reached out a hand, taking one of yours from your knees.

“C’mon,” he told you.  “Let’s go play somewhere else.”

You blinked, but didn’t hesitate to follow his lead.  You looked at him, giving him a small smile before looking downwards again.  Steve wrapped his fingers around your hand so tightly, and your little heart fluttered.  He was so warm, and you felt so safe.

Carol huffed, appalled.  “Since when are you best friends with ugly redheads, Harrington?!”

Your heart sank even lower as you saw Steve’s eyes go fierce, his jaw clenched.  He whipped around to look at Carol.

“The only ugly redhead here is you,” he shot back at her, and her jaw dropped.  All the kids reacted, some laughing and some making amused remarks.  But Steve didn’t pay them any mind as he stalked off with you, hand in hand.

You kept up with him as best you could with your little legs, feeling his grip on your hand tighten.  He looked so mad, and you gulped.

“Steve?” you asked, voice quiet.

“Don’t listen to them,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  He was staring straight ahead, mind racing.  You could tell he was really upset, and it made you feel bad.  “Or her.  She’s a bitch.”

You gasped, eyes wide.  “Steve!”

“What?  She is.”

You were shocked to hear him curse.  A few moments passed as you kept walking beside him, completely taken aback.  But then, you felt a grin tucking your lips upwards.  You stifled a giggle, and Steve turned to look at you in surprise.  You glanced up at him shyly, really giggling now.  His hard expression turned soft, a smile of his own creeping on his lips.  Eventually, he laughed too.

The two of you made it over to the swingset, and Steve let go of your hand.  You already missed his touch, the warmth of it.  He walked to stand in front of the tire swing, nodding his head at you to join.  You walked in front of the tire, reaching up to grip the chains from which it hung.  Steve crossed over to stand behind you.

“Here,” he said, placing his hands on your small hips.  You felt yourself flush, heart fluttering again.  A whole flock of butterflies swarmed your stomach.  Steve was happy you couldn’t see his face, because he felt himself flush too.  He wasn’t sure why a surge of electricity shot through him as he lifted you up into the tire swing, but as you swung your legs into its open middle he could smell your lavender shampoo.  It made him melt, and his hands lingered just a little longer than needed on the hips of your jeans.  You were safely seated now – had been for a moment.  Maybe two or three moments.  

Steve cleared his throat, rounding the wheel to climb onto it and sit across from you.  He tossed his feet into the hole, hands wrapped around the chains.  You looked at him with that signature warm, slightly shy smile of yours, and he returned it.  His smile was definitely more confident, though.  Charming, even for a first grader.

Your feet dangled in the air, so Steve used his to touch the ground and help you both begin to swing.  For a little while, you both just listened to the breeze.  The leaves were beginning to turn brown, a sign that autumn was approaching.  Kids laughed in the distance, buzzing with energy.  You figured you both only had a little time left, before you would have to return to classes.  But spending the last bit of playtime alone together was more fun than with the bratty kids you’d been spending time with earlier.

“Am I ugly?”

Steve had been watching a butterfly swarming nearby when you spoke.  He almost hadn’t heard you, with the way you spoke so quietly.  You sounded so small, fragile.  You were staring at the ground, your loafers criss-crossed as the two of you swayed on the swing, looking so vulnerable.  It made his heart split in two, the fire inside him burning again.  

“No,” he said, a little too harshly.  Your eyes shot up at him, a little surprised at his tone.  But he continued with no filter, cause what 7-year-old boy has one of those?  “Carol’s a liar.  You’re not ugly.  At all.  You’re beautiful.  Way more than her.”

Your eyes shone, and Steve watched your cheeks go rosy pink.  A small but real smile found its way onto your little lips, and you looked at him so sweetly before you glanced back down at the ground.  You kicked at the air, thinking to yourself.  While you weren’t looking, Steve memorized each eyelash concealing your grey eyes and the curve of your eyebrows.  He noticed that you only had a small sprinkle of freckles on your nose, but nowhere else on your porcelain skin.  He felt his heart skip a beat, losing himself in you.  God, you were perfect.  How could anyone ever call you ugly?  

“Wanna come over for dinner?” Steve asked.

You looked up at him, snapped out of your own thoughts.  “Yeah.  I’ll have to ask my mom and dad if that’s okay.”

“I think my mom is ordering pizza,” Steve continued, mouth watering.  “Do you like pizza?”

“Yeah, but I like mushroom pizza.”

Steve scrunched his nose.  “Eww, why?”

You giggled, shrugging.  “They’re really good!”

“Bleck.”

“You should try them,” you insisted.  

Steve would normally say something along the lines of hell no, but to you?  That was impossible.  He pursed his lips, nose still scrunched and shivering at the thought of eating fungus on pizza.  But he relented, sighing.

“Alright, I guess,” he said, kicking to swing you both again.  “But if I don’t like it, you have to help me with the dishes.”

You smirked.  “Deal.”

You both swayed, listening to the trees rustle.  Steve watched the teacher approaching everyone from her perch, knowing she was about to whistle for everyone to make their way back for school.

“Hey Steve?”

He turned back to look at you.  ‘Hmm?”

You paused, contemplating your words.  But then you gave him the kindest smile in the world, and it rendered Steve speechless as you spoke with more certainty than you had all day.

“You’re my best friend, too.”

__________

As the next few years went by, you and Steve continued to become a permanent part of them for each other.  

Your parents had easily become friends with his parents, making it a regular thing to have each other over for holiday parties and gatherings, or even just casual dinners.  Both your parents and his were too wealthy for their own good, too caught up in their own worlds to really pay either of you any mind.  Sure, they knew that the two of you were friends.  Close even.  But they didn’t really know much beyond that.  Steve’s parents were just glad to know that their kid had something to do other than bother them every day after school and on weekends, and your parents were so used to you playing by yourself that they didn’t really notice much difference.  Your families both lived in a swanky neighborhood, so becoming acquainted with one another hadn’t been something that required much consideration on their part.  They ran in the same circles.  Timeshare mutuals, and plastic veneer smiles who shared travel itineraries for whatever bougie seminar was happening that month, or the next.

Until you came along, Steve had been a lonely kid destined for a life of abandonment.  Once Chet Harrington had been given a son by Paula, he stopped the bloodline there.  “Good,” he’d remarked.  “Someone to carry on the family name.”  As far as he was concerned, that’s all his kid’s purpose served.  Take over the family business, get a trophy wife and repeat the cycle.  Siblings?  Why bother?  One kid was enough to handle.  They cost money and time, and the Harringtons didn’t just hand those out like charity.  If it weren’t so heavily frowned upon, or a threat to their reputation, they wouldn’t have even bothered with hiring a babysitter.  It was mainly Paula Harrington who insisted on it.  After all, she did love her son.  She just wasn’t a nurturing mother, giving her care to her pearls and pristine walk-in closet maintenance far more than her little boy, so her love was never felt by her son.  As far as Chet was concerned, once Steve turned 10 years old, a babysitter was no longer a needed expense.  Because that’s all it was to him: an expense.  So come the double digits, and Steve would just be a kid left to fend for himself, all alone in his great big house with no parents.

But so were you.  You, Nicole St. James, were just as doomed as he was.  Your parents were more aloof than anything.  They weren’t quite as cold as the Harrington’s.  But they weren’t all that warm either.  Ken had impregnated his wife, Alison, on a spontaneous trip overseas.  You’d been the result of a heavy night of gin, blue curacao and dirty talk.  Filthy sex and silky sheets in a Five Seasons were the blissful combination the night that you were conceived.  It had been a surprise for both of them, when that little strip read positive with a pink stripe.  They’d made a fuss of it, planning a frivolous baby shower with tons of guests and a plethora of gifts for their baby girl on the way.  They had found out the gender as soon as they could, not wanting any more surprises.  Your arrival had been a very anticipated event, so when you had been actually brought into the world the excitement fizzled away.  It seemed more exciting to celebrate having you, rather than actually having you.  Granted, your parents loved you.  You were spoiled with toys, new clothes every week, and social outings.  Not that you ever asked for any of those things.  The only thing you ever sought out from them were hugs, which they half-heartedly returned with barely a fraction of the love that radiated through your tiny arms.  

You had your mother’s hair, though hers was more auburn while yours was pure fire.  And you had your father’s grey eyes.  But what you had that they didn’t, was your spirit.  They were boisterous, loud and shallow.  You were quiet, shy and soft.  You radiated only genuine kindness, oftentimes just observing your surroundings and being in your own little world.  Your parents were party animals, constantly busying themselves with events and planning vacations.  It’s why they busied you with the same types of things by default, assuming you to be just like them.  Constantly wanting company, people to distract you and noise to drown out the silence.  But you weren’t like them.  You loved the silence, the chirping of the birds and the whoosh of the breeze.  You loved books instead of toys, and gardening tools instead of dolls.  Not that they paid attention to that, though.  Instead, they just bought you whatever the flashiest new item was.  Or, if you just so happened to take a liking to something, the St. James’ bought it to appease you quickly and not bat an eye.  Screw sentimentality, if it made you happy then by all means you could have it.

The only reason they had a treehouse built for you, was because Ken St. James had discovered his daughter’s makeshift fort outside.  It consisted of amateruly constructed cardboard boxes, with random blankets propped up on sticks.  He and Alison had just gotten home from a business trip, and your aunt had shrugged her shoulders when they asked how her stay had been.  She told them you had spent the whole time outside, playing in your disastrously built utopia.  Your parents didn’t give much thought to it, hiring a few carpenters to come and build you a proper treehouse for your sixth birthday.  You had beamed, telling them thank you a thousand and one times.  They’d thought it was cute, at first.  Until one night, as they got ready for a gala, you had gone to hug your mother as she coated her lips with a red rouge.  She’d yelped, surprised at your sudden touch.   

“I love you, mommy,” you whispered to her.  

“Nicole, darling, what are you–” she stammered, one hand holding her lipstick and the other swatting at you.

“For my treehouse,” you continued.  “I love it.”

“Oh, psh, honey,” she scoffed wryly, slowly peeling your little arms off of her shoulders.  “Enough now, you’ve thanked us too many times to count.  It’s a little exhausting.”

She had chuckled humorlessly, resuming her pampering.  You had watched her reflection, and if she’d cared to look at yours instead of her own she would have seen the look of longing and saddened wonder that filled your eyes.  She would have seen the way your full lips parted, no more words being spoken.  And she would have seen you quietly pad your way back out her bedroom door, where you made your way back to your room.  

Instead of finding love through your parents, you found it in your treehouse.  You found it in the swaying of the trees, and the butterflies that swarmed your front yard.  You found it in yellow crayons, and glitter gel pens, and the weeds you insisted were flowers as you pulled them and placed them into little pots.  You found love in the changing of seasons, and the twinkle lights that glowed at night in your safe haven.  You found love within yourself, and you found love in Steve Harrington.

The bike rides down the neighborhood streets, and down to the convenient store to buy snacks with your little weekly allowances.  The swapping of ice cream cones on hot summer days — when Steve noticed the way you eyed his chocolate waffle cone, as he secretly wanted your strawberry sugar cone instead.  The afternoons into nights spent in your treehouse together, playing make believe and coloring.  The fairy wands and pirate swords, and the battle of neverland that you fought side by side in your tulle dress while Steve wore a green polo and birthday hat with a red feather crudely taped to the side of it.  The field trips and summer camps with your classmates, always sitting beside each other on the bus and whenever you all had to eat in between activities.  Lord knows, if you two were sat apart, one of you would complain until it was made right.  The innocent secrets you told each other, and the way you both laughed at the silliest of things until your sides split.  The countless hours that you spent at his house, no parents or nanny in sight, playing hide and seek.  One time, it took him so long to find you that he panicked.  He was pretty sure you had actually disappeared for good, and his breathing quickened.  It took him calling out your name several times, until eventually it sounded like he was blubbering.  You had made your way out of his closet, where you’d proudly buried yourself underneath all of his clothes.  Steve saw you crawling out with a worried look on your little face, saying his name in such an assuring tone.  He had run over to you and hugged you tight, sniffling.  But when he pulled back, he’d already roughly rubbed his eyes so that no tears spilled.  The two of you resumed playing like nothing had happened.  

Most days were spent in your treehouse, except when a thunderstorm was coming.  That’s when the two of you would throw a bunch of blankets and pillows together in his or your room, making a fort.  A shelter, if you will.  The thunder rolled as the lightning streaked across the sky.  One night, you had both curled up with a big bowl of popcorn, boxes of cereal, pop tarts, sodas and candy, no trace of actual substance in sight.  You had flashlights and cards, playing Go Fish and War.  At some point, Steve had asked if you believed in ghosts.  You shuddered, nodding your head yes.  His eyes had gone wide, clutching the blanket tighter around his shoulders.  You pulled the pillow in your arms closer to your chest, your grey eyes just as wide as his.

“Do you think…” Steve had started, his voice soft.  He gulped, a thought crossing his mind.  “D’you think we’ll ever have to fight monsters?  You know, like aliens or something?”

You gulped, too.  “I dunno,” you started, voice soft like his.  “I think that monsters in books and movies are really scary.  I don’t wanna fight them in real life.”

Steve nodded, thinking.  “Well, if we ever do… I’ll protect you.  Promise.”

You hugged your pillow tighter, your worried eyes shining and a shy smile meeting your lips.  “You will?”

“Yeah,” Steve assured you, with absolute certainty.  Because he meant it with all of his heart.  No monster would ever hurt you.  No ghost would haunt you.  And nothing would ever take you away.  “I always will.”

CRACK.  That’s when lightning struck the electricity box, and all the power in Steve’s house went out.  You screamed, and Steve gasped.  He grabbed one of the flashlights, shuffling his way over to you.  He wrapped the blanket around both of you, as the two of you huddled closer together underneath the pillow fort you both built together.

“S’okay, I’m right here,” he soothed you, feeling you shiver against him.  Your little arms were wound around his torso, your grip fierce.  He clung to him with so much trust, melting into him, even though you were scared.  He melted right back into you, holding you close.  “I got you.”

The winds howled outside, thunder still rolling and lightning flashing around you both in the quiet, still room outside of the walls of blankets enveloping you both.  

“Do you think there’s a monster out there?” you asked him, your frightened voice the cutest whisper in the world.

“Nah,” Steve said, but even he wasn’t so sure.  He couldn’t be scared, though.  He had to make you feel safe.  “But if there is, it won’t get you.  I won’t let it.”  He rested his chin on top of your head.  “Not ever.”

Even at nine years old, Steve knew he would never break a promise that he made you.  You did, too.

And right now, as you turned ten years old, you were surrounded by a bunch of faces.  Most of them, you didn’t really know.  Some were kids from school, and others were their parents.  Lots of random adults, buzzed with champagne and spirits.  But as you sat in a chair behind your pink birthday cake, all aglow with ten gold candles, there was one face you recognized and loved.  Steve’s.

He grinned at you, his smile growing more charming each day.  His hair was still iconic, always styled just right.  He wore a preppy polo with a collar, and khaki slacks with nice shoes.  His brown doe eyes shone in the candlelight – and even though the others spoke loudly over each other, he spoke so that only you could hear him.

“Make a wish, Nic,” he said, seated right next to you.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY GIRL!” your mom squealed, the inebriation evident in her voice.

“Wait, honey, wait,” your father chuckled, gripping his whisky.  “We gotta sing first.”

“Damn,” Mr. Harrington remarked, also laughing.  “These women just don’t have any patience, do they?”

The two men snickered, and Mrs. Harrington playfully scoffed and swatted at them before wrapping an arm around your mother.  She, too, was a bit tipsy.  

“Alright,” she purred, a smirk on her lips as she raised her glass.  “All together now.”

And so the song began.  Happy Birthday rang all throughout the house, echoing off the dining room walls of your childhood home.  Kids sang with enthusiasm, while adults sang in a million different pitches.  Some voices were happy, others were bored, and a few were drunk.  But the only voice you listened to was your best friend’s, who sat by your side with one arm resting on the table and the other perched on the back of your chair.  You beamed at him, and he beamed at you.

Steve swore in that very moment, that you were perfect.  The way your little baby hairs still escaped your hair that was pulled into a little half-up do.  You were wearing the simplest, most feminine pastel yellow dress.  The sleeves had tiny ruffles on it, your shoulders peeking out and arms bare.  Your face was clean of any makeup, aside from the white face painted butterfly wings around your grey eyes.  It was so whimsical, making you look even more like a princess than you already were.  Steve watched you look around the room, enchanted by your enchantment.  And as your gaze circled back to meet his own, he smiled bigger.  Your smile grew, too, and the crowd of people in the room ceased to exist.  You’d both forgotten them, until they started to cheer wildly as your birthday song ended.

“Nicky!” your mother squealed.  

God, you hated when she called you that.  You broke your gaze from Steve, looking at her.

“Come on, baby, make a wish!”

You looked back down at your candles, scrunching your eyes shut and thinking.  Steve’s eyes never left you, entranced with the way you looked in the orange glow of the birthday candles.  Selfishly, he made a wish too.  It wasn't his birthday, but it didn’t have to be.  Steve wished for all your wishes and dreams to come true.  He wished for this to be the best year yet, for you and for him.  He wished for you to never move away, to always be his best friend across the road.  He wished for you to never outgrow him, or want to be better friends with somebody else.  He wished it would always be like this, that no matter what changes came he would always have you.  He wished that he knew what you were wishing for, and he wished for you to be wishing for him.

Little did he know, he was your only wish.  It was already true, and as you blew out the candles, you wished for it to always be true.

________________

Steve was twelve when you saw him cry for the first time.

His parents had gotten his report card, appalled at the C and D despite all other A’s.  Paula Harrington was disappointed and embarrassed, but Chet Harrington?  Well, he was furious.  

“I didn’t raise someone stupid,” he spat at Steve, who leaned against the kitchen counter with his head down, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.  They had been arguing over this for at least thirty minutes.

Steve swallowed.  “I’m not stupid, dad,” he murmered, voice defeated.

“Sorry, what was that?” his father egged him on, voice bitter.  There was zero trace of kindness or understanding, and Steve’s mother could only watch them from the dining table with a pathetic pout.

Chet stepped closer to his son, sneering.  “Speak up, son.  Couldn’t hear you.”

“...said I’m not stupid,” Steve tried again, hating the way his voice still shook despite talking a little louder.

“Stop being a little bitch and look at me,” his dad spat, the air escaping his lips and onto Steve’s face.

“Chet, please –” his mother tried, pathetically. 

Steve felt the hurt inside of him bubbling into anger, unable to control himself.  

“I said I’m not stupid!”  He shouted back, having taken enough of his father’s bullying for the past thirty minutes.  The past month.  Several months.  Years.

But he was only rewarded with a slap to the face, so sharp it felt like a knife.  If it weren’t for the ringing in his ears, he would have heard his mother gasp.  The impact had made him turn a full 180 degrees, and he was stunned into silence as tears sprang to his eyes from the harsh blow.  Slowly, he turned back towards them.  He first made eye contact with his mother, whose hands were clasped over her mouth.  Eventually, he made eye contact with his father, who seethed and showed no sign of remorse.

“Your report card says otherwise,” he slithered.  He slowly backed up towards the kitchen table, taking his seat again.  He took a sip of his brandy, clicking his tongue at the taste.  “Raise your voice at me again, and you’ll see stars next time.”

Steve could hear his own breathing, could feel the anguish that spread throughout his mind, body and soul.  His heart ached, and he longed for comfort.  But the two people who sat in front of him wouldn’t offer him that.  Nobody would.

Except you.

So he bolted his stairs, seeking privacy so that the unshed tears threatening to spill over wouldn’t show his weakness any further.  He held them at bay, biting his lip so hard he was pretty sure it would bleed soon.  He ran into his room, throwing open his drawers as he breathed hard.  Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his only thoughts consisting of getting a change of clothes and heading over to you.  He threw a backpack over his shoulder, locking his bedroom door and sneaking out his window.

He knew the route all too well by now, having done it since he was six.  He crawled down the side of the house, walking towards the house next to his and the one after that.  Then, he made his way across the street, where he walked behind one house, then two, and then made it to yours.  This way, his parents wouldn’t see him heading to your house out their window.  

Once he was there, he climbed up the side of your home where your window was dimly lit by the glow of your bedside lamp.  Good, he thought.  You were home.  His heavy heart swelled with relief, and he mounted the side of the house and up onto the roof the way he always did when sneaking into your room at night.

Your window was cracked open, always ready for him.  The curtains were drawn, and he saw you sitting on your bed, reading a book.  Your brows were closely knitted together, your eyes intensely focused on whatever you were reading.  One leg was crossed over the other, glasses perched on your nose and hair tucked back into a messy topknot.  

Steve swallowed back the large lump in his throat and tapped the windowpane, just enough for you to hear him.  Your head snapped up, pulled out of your bookworm trance.  Grey eyes met brown, and you went to smile until you saw the distress in his features.  You set your book down and removed your glasses, padding over to him, quietly but quickly.  A large t-shirt hung to your thighs, landing just above your knees and accentuating your slim legs.  You pulled the window all the way open, looking at him with the most concerned expression.

“Steve?” you asked, voice gentle.

The dam broke.  Steve couldn’t hold it in any longer, any plans of trying to do so completely demolished as a choked sob left his lips.  His shoulders heaved forward, and you felt your heart break at the sight.  This was new.  This was very new.  You’d never seen him like this.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him tightly.  He gripped you back like a lifeline, crying into your shoulder.  You stayed there for a moment, before pulling back to bring him inside.  He clung to you, not wanting to let go, but when he realized that he was still in the window frame he allowed you to move away from him and followed you inside to stand behind you.  You quickly closed the window, turning to face him again.  

He was a good several inches taller than you, so you looked up at him.  Your expression was so soft, so full of empathy it only made him break down more.  You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his chest.  He buried his face into your shoulder again, weeping until the sleeve of your shirt was soaked through.  He shook in your embrace, the sound of his cries the saddest sound you had ever heard.  You stroked the nape of his neck, fingers playing with his hair.  His arms around you were so tightly wound, you thought he might never let go.  And you didn’t want him to, so neither of you made a move to do so.  You just stood there, holding one another, letting Steve cry until he couldn’t any more.

After a while, you slowly pulled back to look up at him.  Steve’s brown eyes were bloodshot, his stylish hair ruffled and messy – yet somehow, still perfect.  Even when he was sad, he was still so pretty.  

He rubbed at his snot sodden nose with his elbow, fruitlessly trying to wipe it away.  He sniffed roughly, not used to being the one who needed comforting.  But as you reached up to thumb away a few of his tears, he didn’t pull away.  Anyone else, he wouldn’t have let seen him like this, let alone touch him.  But you were the exception to every rule, and he wouldn’t dare pull away from you.  Not when you were so understanding, not casting any judgment towards him.  Any walls he had built around himself in front of others, he let come down in front of you.  Because when he was with you, he didn’t have to be strong, or brave, or cool.  He could just be Steve, a boy with big hair and an even bigger heart.

You smiled at him gently, waiting for him to speak.  He sighed.

“My dad said I was stupid,” he started, voice shaky.  “He said I – he said…”

Your small smile faded, your eyes boring into his.  He looked shown, shuddering a breath.  You took his hands in yours, guiding him to the bed.  You both sat down, your hands still intertwined.  You sat facing him, your legs crossed in Indian-style.  He mirrored you, matching your position and staring down at your dainty fingers in his.  You wore a few rings, minimal sterling silver bands.  Steve always loved how they made your piano fingers look even longer, delicate.  He twiddled in thumbs around yours, absentmindedly tracing shapes as he spoke.

“They saw my report card,” he continued, sniffling.  “I got a C in math.  And a D, i-in science.”

You furrowed your brows, still listening.  You wanted to say so much already, but you will yourself to stay quiet and let him finish.  He needed to let it out.

“It didn’t matter about the other grades.  Dad, h-he just cared about the bad ones.  Like no matter what, I’m j-just a failure.”

You shook your head, not having any of it.  “Steve,” you started, voice firm but kind.  “You’re not stupid.  And you’re not a failure.  You’re smart, and you study just as hard as anyone else does.”

He sniffled again, eyes still downcast.  “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.  “S’not enough.”

“You’re enough.”

That made him look up at you, his sad glassy eyes meeting your fierce ones.  The love that poured from your grey irises shot straight into his brown ones, and he knew you were being as honest as they come.

“He hit me, Nic,” he murmured, tasting bile as he admitted it. 

You felt a wave of emotions hit you all at once.  Anger.  Heartbreak.  Anguish.  Rage.  Pain.  And love.  So, so much love for this beautiful boy, who you got to call your best friend.  The thought of his dad hitting him – anyone hitting him – made you see red.  He didn’t deserve this.  Any of this.  And as you noted a slightly red mark on his cheek, you felt your soul split open.  Tears of your own sprang to your eyes, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” you whispered.  

His face crumpled, and you pulled him in close as he started to cry again.  You silently cried too, grateful that he couldn’t see you.  He kept one hand in yours still, resting on your laps.  The other wound around your waist, the hand you had placed on his cheek now draped around his neck.  You lightly swayed, allowing the silence and Steve’s breathy cries to wash over you both.  

Eventually, Steve’s tense shoulders sagged and his cries subdued.  He relaxed into you, and you could tell that sleep was finding him.

“Hey,” you murmured into his neck.  “Let’s get some sleep.”

Steve slowly pulled back, watching you pull the covers down.  Normally, it would be weird.  A boy, watching his female friend offer to sleep in the same bed without their parents knowing.  But you’d both fallen asleep together so many times over the years.  In your treehouse, on his bedroom floor, on the couch while watching a movie.  Even in the same bed, when studying or doing homework. Now was no different, as far as you both were concerned.

So as you nestled yourself underneath the covers, gesturing for him to follow, Steve didn’t hesitate to crawl in next to you.  He pulled the covers over the two of you as you turned out your light, only the moonlight illuminating your face in the dark room.  You both laid on your sides, facing each other.  You placed a hand on the mattress, in the small space between you both, palm up. He placed his hand on top of yours, wrapping his fingers around yours.  He sighed deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“You can stay here anytime you want,” you whispered beside him, your eyelids drooping but still watching him.  

Steve squeezed your hand tightly.  He felt an overwhelming sense of relief, his heart swelling with love for you.  He peeled his eyes back open, taking in your beautiful face.  If there was an angel watching over him, it had to be you.  God couldn’t have possibly given him a better one, because you were it.

“I don’t wanna go back,” he whispered back, timid.  “Unless you’re there.”

You sighed, nuzzling into your pillow with a little nod.  “Okay, then you won’t.”

Both your voices were tired, but the words you shared with one another held so much truth and conviction. Because you meant what you had said. Steve never had to spend a single night alone in his great big house, whether or not his parents were there.  You stayed there, or he’d stay with you.  It became an unspoken routine, refuge.

No matter what pain life threw his way, or yours, you both knew that so long as you had each other, it would be okay.

____________

But one morning, several months later, Steve’s mom found you in his bed.  

The two of you were sound asleep, her son starfished across the mattress and you curled up into a little ball.  At first, Mrs. Harrington just froze.  How long had this been happening?  That’s the question that sprang her into action.  Her motherly instincts decided to actually make an appearance, storming over to the bed to jostle you awake.  

“Nicole St. James, what in blazes are you doing here?!”

Your eyes shot open, finding Mrs. Harrington’s frantic eyes.  She had a firm grip on your arm, and you shrunk deeper into the mattress.  

“Steven,” she said through gritted teeth.  “Wake up.”

Steve stirred, not really waking up.  Such a boy.  A tornado can’t wake boys when they’re not even thirteen yet.

You, on the other hand, were wide awake.  Groggy, but alert.  You felt your cheeks flush crimson, knowing this looked bad.  Sure, at twelve years old you’re not fully aware of just how bad this actually looked.  But a boy and a girl, sharing a bed, behind their parents’ backs?  That had trouble written all over it.  As far as any adult was concerned, that screamed bad news.  And nine times out of ten, it was often a result of youthful scandal.  

But for you and Steve?  It was simply comfort.  Safety.  Codependency.

That’s not how his mother saw it, though.

“Steven!”

He bolted awake, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.  When he looked over to find you staring at him, your grey eyes terrified and lean arm in his mother’s manicured grip, he began to come to.  The reality set in, and Steve felt his chest clench.  You both had been caught.

His mother’s eyes held a fire that he had never seen before.  Even in all her beauty – loosely curled blonde hair, wispy bangs and silky white blouse to match her high waist trousers – she looked intimidating.  Steve realized at that moment, he had never truly felt intimidated by his mother until right now.  She looked absolutely furious, appalled even.  Her lips were pursed together into a tight, thin line, and by the looks of her clenched jaw he could tell she had gritted her teeth.

Steve swallowed, feeling the panic seep in.  “Wait, mom –”

“Not a word,” she cut him off.  “I didn’t raise you like this.”

You didn’t raise him at all, you thought to yourself.  If it weren’t for the fear you held, you would have had to really fight to stay quiet.  But as Mrs. Harrington kept going, you couldn’t have found your own voice if you tried.

“Bringing girls up to your room to sleep with them?  What filthy movies have you been watching?  Did you… Oh my god, did you find one of your father’s?!”

Steve’s eyes went wide with horror.  “What?!  No!  Mom, please –”

“I don’t know what vile things you’ve had put in your head, Steven.  By your friends, your father, porn or whatever the hell you kids are doing these days.  But this.  Ends.  Now.”

Your terror-stricken eyes expression became all the more terrified, and as Steve’s mother wrenched you off the bed you let out the most heartbreaking little yelp.  Steve felt his heart jump into his throat.

“MOM, PLEASE, DON’T –”

“And you,” she turned to face you, dragging you beside her out of his bedroom.  “You’re a young lady.  You should know better.”

You felt absolutely sick to your stomach.  Hearing Steve’s mom accuse you of being capable of doing something so grimey – of being a slut – made you feel so small.  And Steve’s panicked shouts weren’t helping.

“But I–I,” you stuttered, your voice so shaky and low it was almost inaudible.  How could she think you and Steve would do such a thing together?  It wasn’t like that.  He was your best friend.  Your safe haven.  Your favorite person in existence.

Mrs. Harrington slammed Steve’s bedroom door shut, trapping his shouts.  She was dragging you down the stairs as you heard him fling the door back open and barrel after you.  She whipped around, waving a finger up at him.

“You stay right there,” she ordered him, voice fierce and booming.  Then, as she kept going, she told you, “I’m taking you straight home to talk to your parents.  This friendship is over.”

The way that Steve wailed ‘no,’ had to have been the most excruciatingly painful sound you had ever heard.  Tears sprang to your own eyes, and you didn’t even try to conceal the whimpers that fell from your lips.  Mrs. Harrington couldn’t have cared less, ripping her car keys off the wall next to the front door.

“Mom, wait, just wait!” Steve’s voice was strained, but desperate.  

You tried to look back at him, only catching glimpses as you were being hauled away by his mother.  You could see the petrified anguish etching Steve’s features, his tired eyes practically popping out of their sockets.  His hair in complete disarray, his sweatpants hung low and his t-shirt all twisted.  He was the most beautiful mess, and you were being taken away from him.

“Not another step, Steven Harrington!” his mother barked, voice shrill.  

Steve came to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk, and even though he was a good distance away now you could see his shoulders shaking and bottom lip trembling.  Your heart thudded in your chest, and you felt like throwing up.  

Paula Harrington was now standing next to her car, opening the passenger side door.  No way in hell was she going to march you over to your house, directly across the street, just so that all of your neighbors could watch and stare from inside their respective homes.  She ushered you in quickly, giving you no choice but to obey.  You crawled into the front seat, pulling your knees to your chest, crying into them.  You felt so ashamed and embarrassed – and for what?  Falling asleep next to your best friend?  Yeah, that’s exactly what you had done that caused this twisted guilt to stir up inside you.  

“I’m taking you straight home,” she told you, cold and fierce.  “And you’re not to step foot over here again.  Do you understand?”

You bit into your knees, clenching your eyes shut in shame.    Mrs. Harrington slammed the door shut, making you jump.  The sound, along with her words, rang in your ears.

This friendship is over.

Your mind was reeling, stomach churning.  You clutched your legs, tugging them impossibly closer to your chest and you rocked in the front seat of Paula’s car.  You looked out the window, watching Steve run towards you.  His mom held out a hand, and you could hear their entire conversation through the thin glass window as you sniffled.

“Mom, nothing happened,” Steven insisted, voice broken.

“You expect me to believe that?!” Mrs. Harrington shot back at him with zero sympathy.  “How many times has this happened, Steven?”

Steve raked his fingers through his chestnut hair, distressed and breathing hard.  “You don’t understand, we just fell asleep –”

“How many?”

“Whenever I can’t sleep!” Steve screamed at her, and his mother visibly pulled back.  “Because y-you –”  Steve gasped for air.  “D-dad, it’s just –”  Steve pressed his lips together, words failing him, so painfully frustrated with himself and this entire situation.  “God, it’s nothing, Mom.  Nic comes over here, and s-sometimes I go there –”

“You sleep at her house?” his mother interrupted, shocked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Steve cries.  His mother is now frozen, taken aback by the hysteria in his voice.  As her son stares back at her, tears threatening to spill over and lips parted, she finally shakes her head.

“You’re almost thirteen years old, Steven,” she says, voice low and bitter.  “You’re too damn old to be having little sleepovers with girls.  You know how this looks.  I know what you were doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Steve shook his head, violently.

“Yes.  I do.”

“NO, YOU DON’T.”  Steve wailed, completely falling apart.  “You don’t know anything.  And I don't care that you don’t, because Nicole knows and that’s all I care about.”

His mother gawked at him, and Nicole could tell that his words stung her a bit.  Still, Paula stood her ground.

“Well whatever you two are doing, it’s over,” she said, coolly.  

Steve’s face crumpled.  “No, please –”

“You’ve got plenty of guys you can hang out with, Steven,” Mrs. Harrington said, tongue sharp.  “They can sleep over whenever you want.  Go call them.”

Steve flung his arms up in the air, running his hands through his hair again as he whirled around in a full 360 before facing her again.

“I don’t care about them –”

“Start caring,” she said simply, turning to walk towards the car again.  She was approaching the driver’s side to open her door.

“Mom, no, NO!”  Steve lurched forward, trying to grab her car keys.  His mother jumped back, reacting just in time.  Her reflexes served her justice as she whipped the keys out of his reach.  

“What is the matter with you?!”  Paula looked absolutely stunned now.  

But Steve wouldn't listen, still trying to wrench the keys from her hands.  They rustled, arms and limbs tangled as they both struggled to overpower the other.  Paula stuttered verbal protests, while Steve whimpered and grunted.  You couldn’t help but feel your heart swell, despite how utterly broken you felt.  Because Steve wasn’t letting you slip away that easily – and while you were too timid to speak up for yourself, he wasn’t.  He was always the brave one.  At school.  Whenever you fell off your bike, or slipped on the playground.  Nobody could pick on you, so long as Steve was there.  Not even his parents could, apparently.  

Eventually, Mrs. Harrington got the upper hand.  No doubt due to the fact that Steve wouldn’t actually be physically aggressive towards his own mother.  She tugged hard, causing Steve to lose his footing and stumble back onto the ground.  He collapsed, landing on his side and barely catching himself.  Paula gasped, watching him make a harsh impact with the concrete sidewalk.

“Steve, baby –” she breathed, noting the bad scrape on his arm.

Steve began to convulse with ugly sobs, curling in on himself.  He gritted his teeth, lips stretched thin.  Mrs. Harrington stared in horror for only a moment before kneeling beside him to assess the damage.  She might not have been a warm person, but she wasn’t a violent one either.  That was all his father.  She didn’t believe in putting a hand on her kid.  She just didn’t do anything to stop it when Mr. Harrington did.

“Give me your arm,” she said, her voice shaking now.

“Please, mom, please,” Steve bawled, pulling away from her and cowering back.  Paula noted the way her son wouldn’t look at her now, and she hated it.  It reminded her of the way he was around his father.  And she was not his father.  She was hardly a mother, but more importantly she was not his father.  She swallowed hard, pride overcoming any deeply buried traces of warmth and love within her.

“Listen to me,” she tried again, voice still shaking.  “Give me your arm.”

But Steve just unabashedly wailed, now feebly sitting up.  Tears streamed down his cheeks, drops of blood forming on his freshly scraped arm.  The guttural cries escaping his lips were so agnonized, Paula couldn’t understand it.  She had never seen him like this.  He just kept murmuring unintelligible things that sounded like don’t, don’t, don’t, and please, no, and pathetically trying to get the keys from her.  His efforts were futile, but he wouldn’t back down.

“Steven,” she said, incredulously.  “Stop.”

“Mom, she’s the only friend I have.”  

Steve’s tortured words landed hard, on both you and Paula.  They hit you like a freight train, piercing your heart.  

Steve cried and cried, finally looking at his mother again as he admitted this treacherously painful confession in a wrecked voice.  Paula couldn’t believe it.  There was no way that Steve didn’t have friends.  She had seen him.  At his games, and social gatherings.  He got along with everybody.  She didn’t have to be at school with him to know he was popular.  All the girls had a crush on him, and all the guys wanted to be around him.  No way were you the only friend he had. No way was he as lonely as he was saying that he was.  He wasn’t, he just wasn’t… Was he?

But then Paula realized it wasn’t a matter of him not having friends.  It was only a matter of you.  You, his other limb since he was the age of six.  You, who spent every birthday and holiday with him.  You, who sat with him on the bus, and at lunch, and any party you both went to together or with your families.  You, who somehow seemed to be everywhere, in every memory.  She’d never really thought much of it, assuming it was just some childhood crush or next door neighbor that you would both eventually outgrow.  And when she had found you in his bed, naturally, she assumed the worst.  You and Steve were both in middle school.  This was prime time for puberty, and exploring sexuality.  It was the pre-high school danger zone.  No way around it.  But come to think of it, she’d never seen you act as anything other than friends.  Not that that mattered.  Friends liked each other, too.  It all had to start somewhere.

Paula glanced up at the passenger window of her car, spotting you.  You still had your knees to your chest, fresh tears of your own spilling down your cheeks.  She would never admit it, but the sight of you looking so hurt – thanks to her – made her heart ache.  She knew you were a good girl.  If anything, you were obnoxiously good.  Sometimes she wondered if you had a single mean bone in your body.  It was infuriating, really.

She turned back to her son, who was still weeping uncontrollably and waiting for her to respond.  That really drove the knife deeper into her heart, and she could feel herself cracking.  The brutal truth of it all was landing, the realization dawning on her.

You were Steve’s home.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington would never be that for their son.  Nor would their great big house.  No social status, or money, or upper class school would give him refuge.  But you?  You did that.  Have been doing that for the past six years.  

Steve didn’t lack friends.  He lacked family.  And you were far closer to family than his actual family was.

Mrs. Harrington took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose, keeping her emotions at bay.  She pushed her bangs out of her face, slowly rising to stand.  She closed her eyes briefly, mustering up whatever strength was left in her.  Then, she made her way towards you with a collected yet somber expression etching her feminine features.

All you could do was watch her, unable to breathe as you anxiously waited to see what she was about to do.  To your surprise, she reached for the handle…and opened your door.  You sat there, frozen in place.  Mrs. Harrington didn’t hurry you back out of her car, seeing how visibly afraid you were.  Instead, she just tilted her head slightly, and you knew that was your cue.  Newfound relief surged through you, and you felt the ice pick that was lodged in your chest finally melt.  Cautiously, you made your way out of the passenger’s seat, your bare feet touching the grass.  You looked up at her timidly, finding her expression to be blank.  

Then you turned to Steve.  Beautiful, sweet Steve.  He was still on the ground, his cries steadying.  When he saw you step out of the car, he stumbled to his feet, hiccuping.  You kept your head low, shoulders slumped as you made your way towards him.  You crashed into his chest, feeling the weight of the world lifted off your shoulders as Steve’s arms wrapped around you.

Steve’s entire world had ended just a few minutes ago, and now it had begun again.  The second you were back in his arms, everything was alright.  He still hiccupped and whimpered, but you did too.  You just held each other, crying softly.  

All Paula could do was watch.  Something about the way her son held you – so protectively and so full of love – made something inside her stir.  A sour taste filled her mouth, wanting to feel touched by it but too bitter at her own miserable reality to let it do so.  Because her son resonated more love than her husband ever could.  The way that Steve clung to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he swayed you both side to side, was the truest form of love that Paula had ever seen.  Her friends had never held her like that, when she was a little girl.  Even all grown up, Chet had never held her like that.  Not even close.  Not even at their happiest, years ago.  Maybe she had assumed that their son would naturally be the same way.  

God, was she wrong.  Because as you fiddled your fingers in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, whispering how sorry you were, causing Steve to just shake his head against your shoulder and tell you not to be, Paula Harrington saw the epitome of true love shine through her son.  And, by extension, you. 

She hung her head, unable to look any more.  It upset her too much.  So she quietly made her way back inside, refusing to speak of this ever again.  Not with Steve, or with you.  Your parents would never know, and Chet Harrington would never know either.  

As Steve held you close to him, refusing to let you go, somehow you both knew that you would never have to worry about this again.  You weren’t going to be pulled apart, or stop being there for each other.  Because even if you had been driven away from him today, Steve would have persisted.  You would have done the same.  Tethered souls cannot be untethered.

Steve was twelve years old when he found that out.

___________

It was Steve’s fifteenth birthday when he kissed you for the very first time.

His parents were out at some party that night, having brought yours along too.  So the house was his for the night, until they drunkenly stumbled home.  All of his friends were elated.  Big house, no parents.  That’s the way Carol Perkins always puts it.  Steve Harrington’s house was the coolest on the block.  Huge pool with a deck.  Two stories, plus a man cave basement with a fully stocked mini bar that felt like an underground speakeasy.  And best of all, no parental supervision.  

Steve had become quite the hit, come freshman year.  He was captain on the swim team, and his body showed it.  His charm was as enticing as ever, winning every heart of every girl at school.  His boyishly handsome features blossomed day by day, growing cuter by the second.  His hair had become his statement piece, coining his nickname, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.  He had it goin’ on, and everyone knew it.  Including you.

You, too, were a catch.  Your hair was longer, and you’d trimmed layers into your long red locks so that you had little side swept curtain bangs that all the girls wanted.  You were a cheerleader, but you really loved photography.  So you took that up, too.  You also had a great house for parties, which your mom was always too willing to host for you and your cheer squad girlfriends.  You never really planned those, so much as she did. And sure, you shared the same circle of friends as Steve.  But you still had that introverted loner streak in you, liking to do your own thing.  Steve was the social butterfly, his posse of admirers increasing more and more.  You were popular, given that you were the freshman heartthrob’s best friend.  ‘Steve’s girl.’  

Except you weren’t his girl, though.  Not really.  Yeah, you two were inseparable as ever.  That hasn’t changed.  But you weren’t technically his.  At least, not romantically…

“C’mon, big boy!  Chug the rest’a that beer so we can play some spin the bottle!”

Tommy H.  Somehow, that rowdy kid had gotten into your circle.  You weren’t really sure how.  He played basketball, but he was mostly on the bench.  His daddy was rich, too, but he was a drunk and a slob.  His step-mom was somewhere in her twenties, probably leaning more towards the younger end.  No one really knew much about his actual mom, but the mommy issues definitely showed.  Not that this had stopped Carol from being all over him.  Those two had their tongues down each other’s throats all the time, ever since she hit on him at one of the games.  They had snuck behind the bleachers to make out.  Probably more.  They bickered, sometimes being downright cruel to each other.  But it seemed to be their thing.

Oh yeah, and about Carol.  She was pretty much the same as she was in kindergarten.  Bratty.  Obnoxious.  Loud.  But when she had noticed you and Steve were still friends, and Tommy H. had made it clear to her that that wasn’t changing anytime soon, she’d retired her days of picking on you.  She pretty much had since that day at recess, but especially after seeing you were this untouchable princess in Steve’s world.  She didn’t get it, but she didn’t care to try.  She merely accepted it, and so you let it be.  You were stronger than you had been back then, having more of a voice.  But you were still a good girl at heart, soft spoken and a little too forgiving. 

“Oh Jesus,” Steve muttered, chuckling as he swiped at his perfect hair.  

Tommy H. has an arm slung around him, getting everyone to cheer him on.  You sat on the couch next to Stacy and Liz, your Paps Blue Ribbon in hand, grinning.  Chug, chug, chug, everyone chanted.  Soon enough, Steve’s bottle was empty and a circle was forming on the floor.  You settled on the ground across from him, shooting him a cute smirk.  He winked — and it didn’t matter how long you’d known him, it always made you blush.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up to find Christopher Cazaway standing above you, a soft smile on his lips.  You returned it, patting the empty space beside you.

“Be my guest.”

He obliged, not hesitating to take you up on the offer.  Christopher was a sophomore.  Blonde, handsome, 6’5” and a basketball superstar.  He was bound to get a scholarship somewhere great, no doubt in anyone's mind.  He was every coach’s dream, along with every girl at the school.  But as far as his personality goes, he wasn’t the jock type.  He was sort of a gentle giant, with a heartwarming smile and hearty laugh.  He could dribble and shoot hoops like no other, and he was drop dead handsome, but there wasn’t a vain bone in his body.  Christopher was surprisingly soft spoken, almost shy.  He was mature, sometimes seeming a little wise beyond his years.  He seemed to talk better with adults than teens in ways.  Still, everyone adored him.  He got invited to every party, hosting a few of his own but rarely.  

Secretly introverted kids like you noticed other like minded souls when you spotted them.  But little did you know, it was Christopher who had noticed you first.  Sure, he liked your vibrant red hair and ocean grey eyes.  Yeah, he noticed the lean build of your legs and slim curve of your neck and jawline.  Absolutely, he thought you were beautiful.  He liked the thin little rings you wore on your fingers, and he thought your laugh was adorable.  More than anything though, Christopher liked the way you carried and presented yourself.  He liked that you were so aware, observant.  You weren’t aloof, or like all the other girls that flung themselves at him.  You were real.  And he liked that.  A lot.  He kept liking more things about you, the more you both sat together in chemistry class or saw each other at basketball practice, since that’s where you had cheer meets.

“Man,” he said, crossing his legs.  “Haven’t played spin the bottle since middle school.”

You hummed a light chuckle, setting down your drink.  “Well if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never played period.”

He cocked an eyebrow, grinning at you.  “Is that right?”

You smiled sheepishly.  “I don’t get out much.”

He had to chuckle at that, knowing you were half kidding.  But he didn’t doubt that you’d never played before.  Not because you seemed awkward or uncomfortable, but because you weren’t like the other girls.  Or anyone here, for that matter.  You weren’t the typical snobby rich girl, from her snobby rich family.  You were different.

From across the room, Steve watched you two talk.  He found it interesting that Christopher and you talked with such ease, never having realized you two might be friends.  But Stacy and Liz chimed into your conversation eventually, and Tommy H. was back to hollering again.

“Everybody, shut up!” he shouted, silencing people for the most part.  He clapped his hands together, grinning like an idiot.  “Let’s fuck some lips.”

Girls made faces and sounds of disgust, while most of the dudes snickered in agreement.   You kept a straight face, not really phased by his antics.  Christopher found the kid gross, but knew he was just an ignorant freshman who thought he was hot shit.  So he didn’t really let it irk him much.  

“Wait,” Carol interjected, cracking open a peach schnapp.  “What if, like, a guy lands on a guy?”

Tommy H. snorted.  “Then you roll again.  No one’s gay up in here.  This isn’t a faggot party.”

Steve’s nose scrunched at that.  “Tommy, c’mon, man.  Don’t say that.”

You squirmed, adding softly, “that’s really not nice.”

“What?!  It’s true.”  Tommy H. took a swig of his beer, shrugging.

“Okay, then what about girls?” Carol pressed.  Her boyfriend smiled devilishly.

“Nah, that shit’s hot,” he sneered.  

“Ugh, that’s not fair!” Carol whined, but her grin contradicted her complaint.  You internally rolled your eyes.  Oh sweet misogyny, you thought to yourself.  The selective homophobia of an insecure male asshole was enough to make you wanna puke.

“Okay, can we just — play?” Someone interjected.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, waving his hands.  He placed his empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle, looking up to wriggle his eyebrows at everyone.  “Who’s first?”

“You are, big guy,” Tommy H. said, clapping him in the back.  “Birthday boy always kicks us off.”

Some of the teens oooh’d and giggled, dramatically.  All the girls were just itching for it to be them that the bottle landed on, so that they could smooch the hot new heartthrob of Hawkins High.  Their very own small town Prince Charming.

Steve shrugged, reaching to give the bottle a spin.  

As you watched the bottle turn and turn, you couldn’t help but feel the anxious butterflies dance in your stomach.  You weren’t sure why you hoped it landed on you.  Then again, you were.  In fact, you totally were.  You’d loved Steve for as long as you could remember.  It was inevitable, given your history.  You knew he loved you, too.  It just probably wasn’t like that.  Still, you wondered if maybe he wanted the bottle to land on you too.

But it didn’t land on you.  It landed on Becky, who couldn’t help but gasp.  She looked absolutely ecstatic, giggling like a school girl.  Steve look at her with a grin and raised an eyebrow, somehow looking both shy and confident.

Oh shit.  Were you about to watch him kiss another girl?  You hadn’t had to see that before.  Sure, you knew he’d kissed another girl before.  A few, actually.  Steve’s first kiss had been Elsie Fitzgerald.  8th grade, behind the P.E. building.  You knew that, because Steve had told you first thing.  He’d nudged you in line at the cafeteria, telling you in a low voice as he plopped a milk carton on his tray.  And you’d listened, pretending that it didn’t make your heart break.  He was pretty happy about it, more so for himself than he was actually lit up about having kissed Elsie specifically.  She had passed him a note in class, asking to be his Valentine.  Your heart really sank after hearing that, wishing it had been you.  After that, Steve had a few kisses with girls under his belt — none of which were with you.

You were still waiting on your first kiss.  

And as that reminder floated around in your head, you watched Becky crawl across the floor to lean in and kiss your best friend on the lips.  He sat still, kissing her with ease.  You wondered what it felt like.  The touch of his lips, which you always thought looked so soft.  Becky lingered a little while, and eventually Steve pulled away with a charming smile.  She squealed, flitting back to her seat and flipping her hair.  The butterflies in your stomach felt blue, but you kept a light smile on your face to mask it. 

Now, Tommy spun the bottle. One by one, teens kissed.  Some girls even kissed, making you flush.  You watched Steve kiss a couple other girls, all of them doing a horrible job at concealing their giggling fits.  At some point, it was your turn to spin — and it landed right between Steve and Tommy H. 

Now you really felt butterflies in your stomach. Their dance was a little angry this time, though.  Your anxiety spiked, dreading the thought of kissing Tommy but nerves wrecked as you thought about getting to kiss Steve.

Your eyes glanced up at your best friend by default, finding that he was already looking back at you shyly.  Tommy barked a laugh, clapping his hands.

“Look, I don’t wanna make any calls here,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.  “But uhhh, I’ll let the birthday boy take this one.  As much as I’d love to rock your world, princess.”

Your eyes narrowed at him.  “That’s one way to put it.”

“C’mon, birthday boy,” Carol snickered.  “Kiss your best friend.”

Steve felt himself blush, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.  God, he had wondered what it felt like to kiss you for so long without even realizing that he had until this very moment.  The way you were looking at him right now, looking so calm and content, he never would have known that you were so completely in love with him.  He was pretty sure that he was a party of one, in that department.  

Tommy kept making gross kissy noises.  Steve cleared his throat, feigning lighthearted cockiness as he looked wryly at Tommy.  

“Knock it off, man,” he mumbled, turning back to face you.  

You watched him eye you with curiosity, as if he was silently asking you if this was okay.  But you just smiled warmly, welcoming the contact.  So Steve got on his knees and crawled over to you, meeting you halfway.  As he got closer to you, he could see those tiny sun kissed freckles that lightly dusted your nose, and the smooth surface of your porcelain cheek.  He could see the light whisk of mascara on your eyelashes, and the very neutral shade of lipstick on your full lips.  He felt himself swallow, his usual bravado failing him.  You looked so gentle, sweet as ever.  He wondered if your tongue tasted as sweet as you were…

You sat back on your knees and heels, hands placed in your lap as you looked at him, patient and a little sheepish.  Steve was so close to you now, basking in the scent of your soft perfume.  It smelled like the ocean, with faint traces of coconut and vanilla.  He wanted to kiss you.  He really did.  

“Oh my god, kiss already!” Carol screeched.  

But neither of you flinched, even as the others echoed their sentiments.  You breathed a tiny laugh, making Steve grin.  Without thinking, he found himself placing a hand to the curve of your jaw.  Oh.  He hasn’t done that with the other girls.  His breath lightly hitched at the contact, realizing he’d never actually been this close to you.  Which made no sense, given you’d fallen asleep in the same bed for how many years now?  But this was different.  This type of intimacy wasn’t the same.

You subtly leaned into his touch, eyes never leaving his.  His thumb stroked your cheek, the corner of his lip tugging upwards.  Your noses touched, the sharp tip of his against the little perky end of yours.  His breath was warm against your skin, feeling like a blanket wrapping itself around your face.  You both kept leaning in, slowly.  Ever so slowly.

Finally, his bottom lip grazed yours.  And those butterflies in your stomach were doing a full blown ballet now.  Steve felt his heart skip a beat.  Maybe several beats.  

Damn, he thought.  Since when did kissing feel like this?

It was the way your lips moved against his, so graceful and supple.  The way your fair skin felt like satin beneath his finger tips.  Steve felt a rush of euphoria overcome him, reveling in the feeling of your mouth against his.  Becky didn’t kiss like that.  Elsie didn’t, or any of the other girls.  People always said that kissing is an art.  Steve did have a reputation for being a good kisser, even at just fifteen years old.  He just didn’t really think much of it until he was enchanted by your kiss.  

Part of him thought that there was no way you hadn’t kissed somebody before.  Not with how incredible you felt brushing your lips with his.  Then again — maybe it was because you had never been kissed before that it was so magical.  That innocent bliss of being ‘untouched,’ not yet tainted by anyone or anything.

Meanwhile, you reveled in the rhapsody of Steve’s kiss.  It was everything you ever could have dreamed it would be, and more.  His lips were soft, cloud-like to the touch.  He was gentle in the ways you thought he might be rough, and tame in the ways you thought might be wild.  He didn’t rush anything, taking his time with even the most microscopic of movements.  The light yet firm grasp of his hand on your jaw was slightly edging down towards your neck, and it was all you could do not to hum with lovesick satisfaction.

Yeah, no, everyone thought.  He definitely hadn’t been this tender when kissing the other girls here.

It made those other girls watch you with envy, guys cocking an eyebrow and making immature, snide remarks under their breath.  It was so obvious, the magnetic pull between the two of you.  Anyone could see it.  Even the two of you did, but neither of you would ever admit that.  At least not anytime soon.

And as the kiss ended all too soon — well, too soon for you guys, not necessarily the others — Steve’s pillow soft lips parted from yours as he ever so slightly pulled back to look at you.  Your angelic face was still just an inch or so away from his, your eyelashes fluttering open to reveal your grey irises, exposing a new tint of lovesick blue.  They sparkled, dancing as you looked into his brown eyes that now looked more like the color honey.  You bit your lip, a timid smile finding your freshly kissed pout.  

God, Steve thought.  He would've kissed you again, right then and there.

But as Tommy H. hooted and hollered, snapping your two out of your gaze, reality sunk in again.  This was a party, and it was just a game.  It wasn’t a real kiss.  It was prompted by a bottle and reckless youth.  Nothing more.

Right?

“Well alrighty then, lovebirds,” some guy chided with a dark laugh.

You blushed, casting your eyes downwards.  You composed yourself, watching Steve do the same.  Yep, it was just a dream.

“Yeah, since when did this become a love making session?” Tommy H. jested.

Steve shot Tommy a scowl, before watching you scooch back to where you’d been sitting.  You gave him a shy smile, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.  Steve quickly scooted back to his place too, across from you in the circle.  He smiled back at you softly, before Tommy gave him a macho shove.  Steve shoved him back, but with half the strength.  He was still snapping out of it.  Soon, he cleared his throat, forcing his mental fantasies to the back of his brain again.

“Alright, next up,” Steve said, straightening his hair.  Fuck, did anyone else see how nervous he felt?  Apparently not, because everyone seemed to resume the game like nothing had ever happened.

Christopher clicked his tongue and slapped his hands on his knees.  “Welp,” he said, leaning forward.  “Guess it’s me.”

He gave the bottle a good spin.  

Lo and behold, it landed on you.

“Oh shit!” Tommy H. exclaimed, rolling over into a ridiculously unnecessary fit of laughter.  

Carol made obnoxiously loud remarks, too, along with lots of people in the circle.

Yeah.  Oh shit, indeed.

“Aww, little princess is getting all the kisses tonight,” she cooed condescendingly, her high pitched voice so fake and sugary sweet.

You felt your cheeks flush again, allowing yourself to tinker a laugh.  You turned to face Christopher, finding him rubbing his neck with a bashful smile on his face.  He looked at you with slightly timid eyes, chuckling nervously.  He was nervous?  Why would he be nervous, you wondered?

Oddly, you felt very at ease about the situation.  It was just Christopher.  He was always kind to you, and a good friend since you started high school.  If you’d had to kiss anybody else in the circle, you would prefer it be him than some guy you hardly knew.  And you certainly hoped it wouldn’t land on Tommy. 

You shrugged your shoulders, giving him a little grin.  He grinned back, brightly.  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and it was adorable really.  

Given that he was seated right next to you, no awkward crawling towards each other had to take place.  You just pivoted to face him, comfortably.  This kiss didn’t make you nervous.  You’d just gotten your first one out of the way, with the one guy you had been in love with your whole life.  So a second one with someone who was just a friend?  It seemed pretty easy.

Christopher had his eyes intently on you, which dropped down to look at your lips then back up to your eyes.  He leaned back on one hand, which he placed slightly behind you firmly into the carpet.  It gently brushed against your hip, his tone arm ghosting over the fabric of your dress.  He leaned in closer, slow and calculated, so that he was slightly looking up at you.  You still weren’t nervous, though, even as you looked into his dark blue eyes.  You just smiled, waiting.  His loods became hooded as he tilted his head just right, so that yours could tilt the opposite way whenever your lips made contact.  Sure enough, his lips found yours, and it was the most grounding kiss.  It was sweet, a little firmer than Steve’s.  He was soft, just a little more assertive.  Suddenly you felt his other hand cup the back of your neck, his touch tender and caring but secure.  It surprised you, but you didn’t pull away.  In fact, you instinctively placed a hand on his knee. 

If you hadn’t been busy locking lips with Christopher, you would have seen the melancholy expression on Steve’s face.  But you didn’t.  

Steve hopelessly watched you kiss the handsome sophomore, overcome with a sense of dread.  He hadn’t taken this into account when playing the game.  You know, that he’d actually have to watch you kiss another guy.  Maybe that wasn’t really the problem, though.  No, the problem was the way that Christopher kissed you.  Was still kissing you.  Steve could have sworn that he saw the blonde athlete move his lips against yours a second time, and envy creeped up his spine.  Christopher definitely hadn’t kissed Linda or Molly like that earlier in the game, when the bottle had landed on him during their turn.  Nah, this was just with you.  Why the hell was he kissing you like that?

…why the hell was he still kissing you like that?

Steve squirmed.  He felt as though he might laugh, or shout, or blurt something without being able to control himself, and he probably would have had it not been for you finally breaking contact with Christopher.  Oh thank Christ, Steve thought, as he let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding this whole time.

You simply gave Christopher a warm smile, but your eyes looked slightly dazed and confused.  Because you were.  It had caught you a little off guard, the way that he’d just kissed you.  It definitely lasted a little longer than needed.  Not that you minded it.  You didn’t really know what to think of it, actually.  One thing was for sure, his gaze on you was not one he’d given any of the other girls that night.  You knew that much.  You might’ve been uncharacteristically oblivious to Steve’s feelings for you, but you weren’t blind to someone else’s.  Before now, though, you never really thought that Christopher felt anything for you aside from friendship.  But now, it seemed that he did.  It seemed he very much did.

Huh, you thought.  Interesting.

You still hadn’t looked over to see Steve’s disheartened expression in the midst of all the immature teenagers in a circle, making a series of noises and comments following the kiss.  He hoped that no one was watching him.  Then again, would he even care if they did?  That didn’t matter, not when he cared way more about the fact that some other guy was looking at you like that.  It didn’t sit right.  It really didn’t sit right.  

But what was he gonna do about it?  Say, “Hey Christopher, it’s my birthday, so maybe back off my girl?”  No, because you weren’t technically his.  You were your own.

…but your heart was his.

…and his heart was yours.

Steve doesn’t really remember much after that.  He knew they hadn’t been playing for much longer, and that eventually everyone wanted to shotgun some more beers.  He knew that Linda and Becky had been saying something to him in the lavish living room, as they twirled their hair and batted their lashes.  He knew that Tommy H. had been daring everyone to jump in the pool, dragging Carol in with him.  Teens screeched and hollered, splashing and laughing while the Eagles blasted in the background from the Harrington’s flashy stereo inside the house.

Steve does remember when “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith had started to play.  He was leaning against his kitchen island, making small talk with some of the guys.  You were out by the pool, red solo cup in hand, and you had started to sway to yourself.  The skirt of your dress flicked at the corners, your toned legs sashaying you from side to side.  You turned a little, so that he could see your profile.  You were grinning ear to ear, in your own little world.  He loved when you did that.  You were so damn adorable when you did that.  You lifted a hand into the air – the one not holding your cup of booze – closing your eyes, and singing the words.

Sweet emotion…

Sweet emotion…

You talk about things that nobody cares

Wearing out things that nobody wears

You turn so that you’re now facing the open sliding glass door, opening your eyes as you fix your gaze on Steve.  Your eyes are a little hazy, but still glow.  You point your finger at Steve, serenading him in your buzzed stupor.  Your grin deepens as you sing the next words along with Steven Tyler.

You’re calling my name, but I gotta make clear

I can’t say, baby, where I’ll be in a year

Steve can feel himself smiling like an idiot, shaking his head as he lets out a throaty chuckle that’s drowned out by the music.  He bites his lip absentmindedly, watching you just exist.  You throw your head back, smiling at the sky, hips still swaying.  

Stacy makes her way over to you from the other side of the pool, definitely more drunk than you were.  She sings loudly, catching your attention.  You look down from the black night sky to look at her, and you laugh when you see her wanting to join you.  She grabs your hand, twirling you around and singing everything off key.

Some sweat hog mama with a face like a gent

Said my get up and go, must've got up and went

Well I got good news, she's a real good liar

'Cause the backstage boogie sets your pants on fire

As the guitar solo rips through the stereo speakers, your dancing intensifies.  Everyone in the pool seem to be getting rowdier, also singing Aerosmith at the top of their lungs.

Stacy’s footing betrays her and she stumbles, laughing drunkenly.  You catch her, making sure that she’s okay and stifling a laugh.  But once you see that she’s clearly fine, you laugh too.  Liz makes her way out of the pool to check on her, squatting down and clutching her hands and still singing while Stacy just keeps laughing.

Steve takes the opportunity to approach you as you stand alone again, sneaking up quickly to grab you and spin you around.  You squeal, feeling his chest pressed to your back as your legs dangle off the ground.  You hold onto his toned arms tightly, giggling uncontrollably.  When he sets you back down, you turn so that you’re looking directly at him.  

Sweet emotion…

Sweet emotion…

Your stomach does flip-flops, seeing his signature Steve Harrington smiled directed only at you.  His brown eyes hold a certain mischief in them, and you can’t help but feel a rush of love for this boy you’d known since you were just barely in kindergarten.  He lifts your hand to twirl you, and suddenly you’re six years old again, dancing in your treehouse with Steve.  The real world ceases to exist, and it’s just the two of you in your own fantasy world.  No matter what ups and downs, highs and lows, good days and bad days, heartache and joy, that reality throws both of your way – the one constant you both have had is each other.  Somehow, that’s never changed. 

You both sing to each other, hand in hand and hips in time with the music.

I pulled into town in a police car

Your daddy said I took it just a little too far

You're telling her things but your girlfriend lied

You can't catch me 'cause the rabbit done died

Yes it did

Now everyone around you is losing their mind, screaming the words and partying like animals as the song continues to blare.  It’s an 80’s rock-n-roll kind of vibe, full of teen angst, booze and sexual tension.  Guys shotgun more beer by the pool, couples make out in the deep end.  Girls hold each other with limp limbs and sloppy smiles, slurring the words and proclaiming their girl power love for each other.  They won’t remember it tomorrow, but for tonight it’s the glorious eternal truth.

As for you – Nicole St. James, the freshman mystery girl and princess in the making – you’ve only got eyes and moves for your best friend in the world.  Steve Harrington, Hawkins High’s soon-to-be very own King Steve.  Two best friends and lovers in denial, hopelessly devoted to one another, just without the title.  You both dance around the truth together on his posh pool deck.  The confident shake of his hips and thrusts of yours fool you blind from seeing that you are just as equally afraid as he is to make the wrong move.

Stand in the front just a shakin' your ass

I'll take you backstage, you can drink from my glass

I'll talk about something you can sure understand

'Cause a month on the road and I'll be eating from your hand

Steve knows that something’s gotta give.  He knows that it can’t go on like this forever.  But for him, this is safe.  This is forever.  What you two have guarantees that you’ll both make it.  That you’ll never go away.  You won’t abandon him, or lose interest in him.  If he keeps his distance, even tangled up in your arms when dancing in his backyard or falling asleep next to you, then he’ll always keep you close.  All the money in the world, but he could never afford to lose that.  Not ever.

And you don’t say anything to make him change his mind.  To make him ask you to be his.  To make a move beyond a kiss shared in a public game of spin-the-bottle.  To tell you that he doesn’t just love you – but that he is in love with you.  You don’t confess it either, no matter how fiercely you want to do exactly that.  Because as selfish as it was, you were content too.  You never minded being on your own, but a world without Steve stopped being fathomable in 1972 on that brisk afternoon in your treehouse.  The second he had knocked on your pastel yellow door, in his little sage green sweater, jeans and converse, your solitude had made room for a second person.  He was your other half, so it really wasn’t even surrendering solitude.  It was simply completing it.  Steve completed it.  Completed you.

_________________

To be continued…

VOLUME II next month 🖤

TAG LIST: @loveshotzz @creelhousesteve @t-lostinworlds @freezaz123 @zbeez-outlet @cutiecusp @unhealthyobservationsloves @sunioli

[neochan]

PAIRING | soft dom!yuta x reader, ceo!yuta x assistant!reader

WC | 3.058k

WARNINGS | daddy kink, size kink, thigh slapping, slight cock stepping, intimidating yuta

SONG | STAR - BROCKHAMPTON

A.N | repost of my older work

WRITTEN BY | sam <3

The thing about Nakamoto Yuta was that he intimidated everyone.

Whenever he walked into a room, the people ducked their heads and avoided their eyes, because the last thing they wanted to do, was meet his.

He had a sense of power. Rightfully so, as he was one of Seoul’s richest and most successful CEOs but climbing the ranks so easily at such a young age had it disadvantages.

His came in the form of solitude.

Spending all his time with his nose in his books and presence in business meetings, Mr. Nakamoto had no time for dating, no time for women. Despite this, women threw themselves at him. Even his own colleagues introduced their daughters in hope he might taking a liking to them, but it was useless. He turned each one down with a soft smile and an even softer apology. It was their fault; he simply had no interest.

Until he met you.

You had come into his firm fresh out of school, seeking an intern position, hoping the company saw potential in you and offered you a permanent position, but it wasn’t the company that did, it was Nakamoto Yuta himself.

The first time he laid eyes on you, you were huddled over your keyboard furiously typing away, hair falling into your eyes, and completely unaware of your surroundings.

When he cleared his throat to get your attention, you had looked up with incredulous eyes, perfect lips set in a pout, eyebrows quirked.

He watched you slowly realize who he was, and as you bowed in respect, his entire body seized in spikes of ice and fire.

The form fitting pencil skirt and too tight blouse hugged your body in ways he wished his hands did. It wasn’t right to think of you like this. You were his employee, and noticeably a few years younger than him, but that didn’t stop his mind from producing such filthy images of you bent over the desk for everyone to see.

So, it became a habit.

Every morning he would greet you at your desk, you would bow in return, and his mind would develop filthier and filthier fantasies.

Within a month you were offered a position, but not as a first-year associate like you were interning to be. Mr. Nakamoto wanted you to be his personal assistant.

You almost refused on the spot. You weren’t interning to run and get peoples coffee in the morning, and do their dry cleaning, you were there to become one of the best damn associates they’d ever seen, but the details were very convincing.

You would get paid almost triple an associate’s salary, they’d rent and pay for an apartment of your choice, provided it was in the same building as Mr. Nakamoto, and they’d buy you a car. You really had no choice but to graciously accept.

Plus, being that close to someone so handsome and powerful wasn’t half bad as you’d come to learn.

When Yuta got word that you had accepted the position, he had been slouched in his office chair, watching you through the glass.

How could someone so pretty be working a job like this? Slaving over paperwork day in and day out. Someone with curves like yours should be treated like a queen, a goddess to his god.

Extending his offer of employment was the only way he could get close to you, and as you accepted, it seemed you’d want the same thing.

First day on the job wasn’t too bad.

You mostly sat around filtering through paperwork and highlighting important text. It was busy work. Something to keep you occupied in the corner while Yuta sat at his desk sneaking glances at your uncovered thighs.

They looked so soft, so cute and innocent, so small compared to the size of his hand.

And your blouse, partly unbuttoned exposing the tops of your breasts when you leant down to highlight something.

It wasn’t fair how seeing only a little bit of your body made his suit pants tighten, restricting his growing bulge.

By the end of the first week, he was sending you home early, because he couldn’t stand you in his office for the whole day. It was too much.

At the end of the first month, he could have sworn you were teasing him with each flirtatious conversation.

It was obvious he wanted you. You could feel his gaze on you each day you went in. You purposefully undid your blouse and rolled your skirt up a little too far. You wanted him to want you.

And so, he did.

It was just before lunch when he was called into a meeting. He debated on sending you home now but tossed the idea away when he realized you needed to be there to take notes.

It was what you were hired to do, anyways.

You two seemed to be the last ones to enter the conference room, so you had no choice but to take the two chairs on the end facing each other.

Sitting down in a huff, you realize you were the only woman in the room.

Great.

Yuta didn’t particular like when all the men turned to see you both walk in. He wanted to be the only one that saw you. The only one to watch you.

Oh well.

As the meeting dragged on, yuta couldn’t keep focus. Instead, he took it upon himself to watch the way you wrote the notes so carefully.

His gaze traveled up from your hand, up your arm, and across your chest, exposed by the low cut of the blouse you were wearing. His eyes lingered a bit too long on your neck, mouth watering at the thought of pressing delicate kissing along the vein that stood out. He flicked his eyes up to your lips, mind wandering on how it would feel to bruise them with his own. When he was done savoring the image, he finally met your own eyes. He quirked an eyebrow, immediately making your cheeks grow hot.

You look at your paper, furiously scribbling. Anything to forget that Nakamoto Yuta was staring at you like he wanted to fuck you right then and there.

Perhaps it was instinct rather than actual common sense that took over you in the moment, but the next thing you know, you slip off one of your shoes. From underneath the table, you find his inner ankle and slowly drag your foot up his leg.

You find smug satisfaction when he jumps at your touch. A few of the men at the table looks his way but find nothing interesting and turn back to watch the presenter.

Thank god the table was solid wood and not glass like in his office.

When you reach his inner thigh, you look him in the eyes. His are filled with shock, mouth turned down in a small frown. You could tell he was holding his breath, waiting for your next move.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, like he did to you not to long ago, and gently press down on the crotch of his pants. He closes his eyes slowly, and you feel his hips move against you. He was too vulnerable in this position.

You keep your foot there for the rest of the meeting, only moving it when the presenter concludes.

The look on Yuta’s face is hardened. His lips were pressed into a thin line, eyebrows drawn down to accentuate his dark eyes.

Uh Oh.

The walk back to his office was held in silence, his hand rest on the small of your back, guiding the whole way. He had you slightly in front of him to conceal the bulge in his pants. You’d be smug about the whole situation, but his fingertips dug into your back.

He closed the office door behind him and immediately pulled the blinds down to hide you two from view. The only window left open was the one that looked out onto the city skyline.

No one could see you from there.

You sat timidly on the edge of his desk, waiting for him. It was his move now.

He walked up to you slowly, took both of his hands and placed them on your knees, pulling them apart so he could slot himself between your thighs.

“Did you think that was funny?” He asks, looking down at you.

Your eyes are downcast, gleaming at the floor when you respond, “Yeah, actually. Feeling you jump was pretty funny.” You snicker.

He curls his lip, “Darling I don’t think you understand what you got yourself into,” he grabs your jaw and tilts your head up to look at him, “Do you?”

“If you’re talking about fucking me, you haven’t been very subtle,” his grips tightens, “so yes, I’m very aware, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He crouches down so that he’s eye level with you, “You weren’t so subtle yourself Darling, “he smirks at you, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you unbuttoning your shirt and parting your legs so I’d stare.” You were beginning to squirm in his grasp, so he lets go, and instead rests his hands on your thighs, rubbing them, kneading them.

“I was not doing that for your attent-“ a thwack resonates through the room as a burst of pain intermingling with pleasure spreads over your inner thigh.

“No lying.”

Heat flood your core. Who knew you were into men being dominant and stern with you?

“Fine.” Your hands reach out and grab his tie, pulling him close to you so that your lips were inches away from his, “I wanted you to see me. I was practically begging for your attention. I can’t believe it took you this long to notice. “

God, he wanted to kiss you so badly, but he couldn’t yet. He hadn’t toyed with you long enough.

“Took me this long? I’ve thought about fucking you since the first day we met. It was a matter of timing since then, don’t you think?” his hands play with the hem of your skirt, “besides, you haven’t been a particularly good girl. I don’t think you even deserve it.”

His hulking frame towers over you as he straightens up. You were so small compared to him. So cute but acting so dirty.

He slips a hand under your skirt and drags a finger up your inner thigh, making your breath catch in your throat.

“I do deserve it.” You whine, pushing your hips out to gain friction.

He pushes your thighs further apart with one hand and cups your panties with his other, “a little impatient, are we?”

His touch felt like fire, flooding your stomach with heat, and alighting you with such passion. The guy you knew wasn’t only powerful and commanding in his professional life, but also in his personal and fuck it was hot. “I just want you “

Your hands, which were still holding on to his tie, reach for his belt, but he slaps them away, “Stop.”

“But I want to touch you.” You reach for his belt again, but he grabs your wrists and pins them back against the desk.

“I said stop. I don’t want head.” His shaggy blonde hair was falling against the top of his lashes, which were so long that each time he blinked, the bottom and top ones tangled together.

He grabs your sides and pulls you off the desk, “turn around.”

You comply, spinning around so that you were facing the window. Your hips hit the desks ledge, and Yuta pushes your back so that you were lying face down. His hands go under your skirt, and you feel his fingers curl around the top of your panties, pulling them down so that they sat around one ankle.

He flipped the bottom of your skirt up, so that you were completely bare to him. “You look so pretty like this,” He takes twos fingers and pushes them into you, eliciting a small whine from your lips, “And you’re already so fucking wet for me.” he breathily spoke, gently smoothing his fingers between your folds before pulling them out and easing them into his mouth. Sucking on them slowly, a hum emitting from his throat.

You weren’t sure what to do, the ache between your legs growing worse now that his fingers rested on your thigh, cool against the warm skin

You hear him unbuckle his belt behind you, and before you could say ‘please’ he’s pressing the head of his cock against your entrance.

“You’re so small, I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, rather to himself than you.

“Yuta, just fuck me, please.” You groan, pushing back against him so that you could feel him again.

“Don’t – don’t call me that.” He says, cheeks heating up, “reminds me too much of work.”

“What do you want me to call you?” you were growing impatient. Did it really matter what you called him?

“Call me daddy.” He voice is barely a whisper. This was obviously a kink he didn’t disclose often.

“Just fuck me, please Daddy.” You speak in the most innocent tone you could muster.

He groans behind you and situates his hand on the small of your back, the other guiding himself between your legs. It felt like heaven pushing into you, feeling your walls pulse against him.

He was big, but not uncomfortably so. Just big enough to reach your g spot almost immediately.

“Fuck – ah, hold on” Yuta waited a moment, his lips peppering light kisses over your shoulders as he moved his hips into you, pulling almost the whole way out, before pushing back in again. He stretched you out, his tip grazing the sensitive flesh of your walls as he slowly fucked you, his mouth parted, his eyes fluttering closed.

He's dreamt of this moment for months, and now that it was here, he be damned if he came too fast.

“You feel so good” you moan out, your head cloudy from the pleasure he was giving you.

His body caged you in, arms holding himself up on the desk while he thrusted in and out of you. He liked to watch his cock disappear between your thighs, because each time you let out the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

Your hands scratched at the ledge of the desk, hoping to gain some purchase, to grab onto something. His hips pick up in pace, the slapping sound of skin against skin mixing with his grunts and your whiny moans.

For a split second you wonder if anyone outside could hear you, but the thought is forgotten as soon as yuta grabs both your hips to help pound into you quicker.

“Ah slow down, please, shit” you arch your back, trying to adjust your self, but he pushes you back down against the desk.

A half-hearted spanking lands on your ass, “Don’t run from it baby, take it like the slut you are.” He switches up his pace, slowly sliding into you and then sharply thrusting at the end of his sentence. It almost knocks the wind out of you.

You could only imagine what he looked like, as he had you in such a way you couldn’t turn to see. His blonde hair was probably matted to his forehead with sweat, shirt hanging off his shoulders, abs glistening. He probably had his eyes closed tightly, or maybe he was watching himself fuck you.

He grabs your hair and wrenches your head back, “call me daddy.”

“Please, Daddy, please fuck me.” Your sweat made the desk slippery, and with each thrust you were sliding.

“Say it again.” His hips slammed into yours sporadically, and you could tell he was getting close. His hands grasped at the flesh of your asscheeks, spreading them apart so he could watch himself sink into you, again and again.

“Daddy please. I promise I’ll take it like a good girl.” Your cheeks heat up. It was humiliating calling him that, but in the best way.

“Take it like my good girl,” his tongue darts out between his lips in focus.

Your surprised when you feel his hand snake underneath you to rub at your clit. You were even more surprised when he found it, rubbing harsh circle into the bundle of nerves while also maintaining his rhythm.

“Shit, please, daddy, please.” You couldn’t form a coherent though, only beg him in tiny whispers that he may or may have not heard. You couldn’t tell.

You felt the pit of your stomach tighten into a ball rather quickly, “you wanna cum?” He asks half out of breath.

“Yes daddy! Please!” all you could think about was releasing the knot in your stomach.

Fuck he was almost there. Almost. “Hold on a few more seconds darling, I know you can,“ He unthreads his fingers from your hair and instead, leans down so that his torso was flat against your back. He wanted to be as close as possible when he came inside of you. “Cum. Now. Cum with me."

Finally, the words you were waiting for, his permission. You whimpered between pouted lips, his consistent movements all too much. Your whole body shaking as an unfamiliar feeling burst in your stomach, strained mewls rolling from your tongue as you reached your high.

Yuta sunk his teeth into the skin of your shoulder while he finished, emptying ropes of milky white cum into you. His and your essence mixed together as he continued to pump himself slowly, overstimulating himself to a little too much.

Heavy pants filled the room as the both of you caught your breaths. He stayed inside of you for a bit longer trying to stop himself from cumming again. You felt too damn good.

“So am I still your personal assistant.” You couldn’t fathom him fucking you and then firing you, but you had to double check.

“How about my personal fuck toy?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Can’t I be both?”

[shittingtears]

Coffee and surprises

Yoru x reader

Basically what if the agents had a day off so they went to a local coffee shop where Yoru meets you, the sweetest barista he has ever come across. The next day they are introduced to a new agent. 'Isn't that...?'

fem reader

Reposted bcs I did some fixing, this is an older fic I started last year but never really finished til months ago

Apologies ahead for mistakes, I don't catch them all the time

It was rare that the agents ever got a break, whether it be half a day or just a few hours, the kind of work they did demanded their attention, not only in fighting, but in research and other things too, so it was a rare blessing that they actually had a day off.

"When was the last time we got a day off like this? Forever ago?" Jett said as she guided Raze, killjoy, Yoru and Phoenix to the coffee shop she had planned on bringing them to.

The team laughed as they entered the small building that was down the corner of the street.

The smell of freshly ground beans and pastries immediately surrounding them, orange-yellow lights making the atmosphere seem warmer during the winter weather.

Phoenix found a seat what would accommodate the five of them.

"Alright now who wants to go and order?" Raze pipped up. "Not me." She said right away before anyone else could say anything.

"Not me!"

"Not me, that's for damn sure."

"Not me of course."

Which left poor Yoru to go, and of course, not wanting to admit the defeat he sighs, "Don't think I lost, I'm just doing this because I know one of you would mess up the order, now tell me what you want."

"Sure sure, whatever you say." Killjoy chuckled.

-

He walked to the counter still reading the list of what he and his teammates wanted, and as soon as he looked up from it he swear his jaw almost dropped.

"Hello, what can I get for you today?" You had a sweet smile on your face as you got ready to put down the order.

Wow was he caught off guard.

Now, he isn't the type to be all flustered like this, not at all, not around anybody, not even himself. But you were just so stunningly beautiful, you likely— no, are the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

How could his heart not climb up his throat and punch his esophagus.

"Hello? Sir?" Your voice rung in his ears, snapping him out of his daze.

"Oh, yes, uh, I'll have..." He didn't know where to look, so he nervously glanced at the list and back at you as he read out the order, doing his best to collect himself, he was the Yoru after all.

"Will that be all? I'll call you when your drinks are ready." You were about to head back and tend to the order before quickly calling out for him.

"Oh, wait, excuse me Sir, I almost forgot! What's your name?"

"My name?" He could feel his heart rate jump and stomach do a barrel roll as he raised an eyebrow.

'Why does she want to know my name?'

"Yes, so I can call you over for your drinks." Your lips twitched up, a small smile as you held back a giggle.

"Oh, right, Yoru." The unintentional disappointment in his voice made it harder to hold back the smile from getting any wider.

"Alrighty, will be done asap." You say cheerfully as you got to work, coworker coming in to man the register.

He walked back to his seat, your voice still lingering in his head. He held back the embarrassing surge of heat that was crawling up his gut and face to avoid the teasing words his coworkers would mercilessly throw at him if they were to notice.

-

"How do you think the new recruit will do?" Phoenix asked asked as soon as Yoru took a seat.

"I don't care." Yoru replied, the members ignoring his attitude, they were used it it by now.

"I don't know but I hope they are willing to help me out with making new bots." Killjoy started to day dream of the possible creations she could think up when she gets back to the base.

"Count me in Killjoy, I can help tinker with you."

"No fair, you guys might blow them up before I can say hi!" Jett jokingly said to them.

It wasn't long after their drinks were ready. "Order for Yoru?"

The conversation the agents were having was put to a halt.

"I'll get em' for us." Phoenix got up to get the order.

Yoru watched as you handed down the orders to Phoenix.

He didn't care until he saw you smiling and chatting with him, Phoenix handing you a slip of paper.

He coughed and looked away, brows furrowed, heavy feeling in his chest.

-

The time they got home Yoru couldn't get you off his mind, and Phoenix handing you what he assumed to be his number didn't help.

Up until it was time to hit the hay.

-

The next day the agents were all called to the meeting room to discuss the new recruit and the upcoming mission.

"Now as you all were informed, you will be meeting the new agent today.

They all nodded their heads, Yoru slightly spaced out and not listening, he'll just get a review on the mission tasks later.

"Guys, this is the new agent Y/N, she's a very skilled and experienced radiant so I hope you all treat her with respect."

Yoru looked over to see who it was, his eyes going wide and heart slamming against his chest.

It was you.

"Hello everyone, I'm glad to be here." You smiled at everyone, Jett, Raze, Killjoy, and Phoenix waving their hands up in the air.

"Hey! You're the barista from the shop!" Jett waved.

You looked confused for a second before your face lit up, "Right! I saw you guys yesterday." You chuckle.

"Oh, and Phoenix, thanks for Brimstones number, if I didn't have it I think I'd be lost on my way here."

"Huh? How did you know to give her his number?" Yoru raised a brow, but the heavy feeling in his chest went away knowing it wasn't the fire boys number.

"I read the documents on the new agent, remember? We made a bet, whoever wins doesn't have to organize the files this week."

Yoru felt like an idiot, turning his head away.

Maybe he should have done the documents.

But that didn't matter, because right now the girl he was up all night thinking about was standing right before him.

-

After a briefing on the mission and some more introduction, the agents were getting ready to leave.

Yoru was just about to walk out the door when you came up to him.

"Yoru, right? I remember you." He stood silent as you smiled at him.

"You didn't pick up the drinks when they were ready, I wanted to hand you this."

You put your hand on his to pull it up, the touch sending electric shock throughout his body.

He could feel the heat on his cheeks.

You opened his palm and put in a piece of paper, closing it then slipping past him and out the door, intentionally letting the touch of your shoulder on his linger for longer than necessary.

"Cya around."

Too awestruck to say anything, he watched your back walk down the hallway and turn a corner.

And with that you were gone again.

He decided to open the paper later, heading over the the range to practice.

-

Tired from all the training, he took his jacket off, a paper falling out from one of the pockets.

He cleared his throat, the privacy of his room being a good place to read the paper.

This time his jaw actually dropped.

'Your accent is cute, wish I could hear it with my name'

With new found confidence, he placed the paper on his bedside table.

"What a flirt, two can play that game."

[jj-5656]

Balance

With; Frank Castle (The Punisher)

A/n: Here we go again! I would like to apologize for how fucking long this is but I clearly got carried away. I actually deleted this on accident after posting I’m so fucking mad but reposting again. I would really appreciate if y’all make sure to like and reblog bc ya girl lost those notes🥲

Warnings: A little angst and a lot of fluff. Long haired Frank (again) but make it ✨domestic✨

The television is muted, but the weather forecast predicting 8-12 inches of snow in your area has Frank almost excited. Of course there will be shoveling, warming up cars and ridding them of piles of snow. But it’ll be your son’s first significant snowfall, and one your middle child is finally old enough to enjoy. Somehow, whatever force in the universe that has made Frank Castles life a living hell, has managed to turn the tide and have him fall in love. It’s a miracle, he figures, you ever even gave him the time of day. Let alone marry him.

With that, his heel pushes into a stray Lego block. Not the damned miniature pieces, but the big ones they make that come in the 4+ box that’s around the room somewhere.

“Damn it.” He swears, getting shot doesn’t have any competition to a fucking Lego. The damned things were everywhere, and always managed to be just in his line of walking.

“Daddy said a bad word!” Your four year old Callie, braided hair and all 3 feet, five inches of her feet determined self looks up at her father. Hands on her hips and a tiny tapping foot, just as her mother would scold. Frank grins, hands raising in defense before poking at her sides.

“Didn’t I tell ya the Castiglione’s are no snitches?”

“Mommy said there are egg-sections to that rule.”

“Exceptions.” He corrects, pointing to the colorful blocks scattered around the carpet. “Before you pick out new toys, you gotta clean up these ones sweetheart.” She does as told, humming to herself as she goes on with the task. The middle of three children, Calliope is quite the character.

Frank figures she takes after you. Her curiosity grows every day, and she’s always had a sharp glare and quick-wit. Matthew, the youngest and your only boy. Named after his “Uncle” Murdock. Which took months of convincing on your part. Frank, stubborn as ever, eventually gave in when you argued he wasn’t the one carrying the baby for just under a year. Murdock was honored, of course, bastard always had a sweet spot for your kids and to have one named after him did him in. Him and his colleagues showed up to just about every family occasion, Frank would always pretend he didn’t want them there. But you know your husband more than he does, and couldn’t imagine having your best friends not celebrate every milestone with your children. Aleena, already 16, was your oldest. She was Frank’s soft spot, his first born and oldest daughter. Funnily enough, the girl was like her father from the start. Stubborn, passionate, and enough love and loyalty to withstand just about any obstacle thrown her way. All except her father, of course, the two were quite the match when it came to conflict. It was better to have them on opposing sides though. To be on the competing side of that team had you backing down from the argument before it even stated. They were quite the persuasive charmers when they worked together.

You eye your husband and daughter from the kitchen, preparing dinner as he keeps an eye on the younger ones. Aleena shadows you, tidying dishes you’re done using and helping you prepare ingredients before you even ask. She wants something

“Leena.”

“Hmm?”

“Is there something you wanted to ask me?” The teen ceases her playing with her younger brother. Sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor with him and a coloring book as company.

“What d’ya mean?”

“I mean, the Aleena I know would probably be in her room at the moment. On her phone or doing homework. You tend to need alone time after school.”

“Seems like there’s gonna be a snow day tomorrow. Figured I’d get used to family-time considering it’s gonna be a long weekend of tolerating you people

You chuckle, amused with her humor despite your shaking head. “Seems like you’re kissing up, but I could be wrong.”

You always have to read me like that?”

“Call it mother’s intuition.”

“Creepy, is a better word.” Your brows raise expectantly, and she raises from her spot on the floor before continuing. Chewing on her lip to suppress the hopeful smirk that attempts to etch onto her features.

“I was talking with Brooke today.”

“There it is.”

“And she said Ryan invited her out with a friend…” She studies you, sighing when you only busy yourself with cooking and await her continuation. “A friend that is another boy. And they want me to come so the four of us can all go out together. As like, you know, a friendly get together sort of thing.”

“Or maybe a double date?” You muse, containing the excitement that’s risen within you as she bashfully covers her face

“Maybe? I don’t know, seems like maybe Ryan and Brooke both like each other and they’re trying to set me and this boy up too.”

“And do you know this boy?”

I know of him. He’s on the lacrosse team. And he’s cute mom, really cute. So I would really love to go.” You nod, complimented she feels so comfortable in confiding with you.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I mean, I never really went on dates until I was older. But I don’t see why not.” You shrug, searching through the spice cabinet to find the right seasonings

“No way. I’ve seen your high school year book mom. You were gorgeous. It’s a miracle dad managed to pull you in college.”

Nice touch, kiss-ass. But your dad and I only met in college. He didn’t ask me out til years later, when we somehow crossed paths as adults.”

“And they lived happily ever after, so why this is such a good idea?”

“Just don’t get your hopes up. I still have to think about it, and then there’s your father.”

“Which is why I came to you. You can work your magic and talk to dad about it.”

“We can both talk to dad about it, I’m not playing telephone.” You laugh with a shake of you head, shushing Matthew who fusses on your hip

“Talk to dad about what?” Frank places a kiss to your temple when he reaches for a sliced pepper. Taking the raven-haired toddler from your arms and lifting him into the air as he squeals. He hold the baby on his hip as you did, leaning against the counter expectant of your answer. You glance over at Aleena, chewing on a pepper like her father, avoiding the answer.

“Girl stuff.”

“Are we still calling periods girl stuff? What d’you need, me to pick something up?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Your husband raises his brows at your opposing answers, you figure if he wasn’t holding a babbling Matt, grabbing at his beard he’d have his arms crossed by now.

“Leena…” You warn your oldest, her nose scrunching in discomfort, a habit she’s got from her father. Frank makes it a point to thank hod every day your children look like you. But their mannerisms, attitudes, unbreakable will, that’s all their father.

“Dad,” she muses in that sweet voice of hers, something she’s learned from you you’re sure.

“Oh boy, what’d you do.”

“Well, technically I haven’t done anything yet. Your loving, very helpful, daughter is asking permission first. Which you should keep in mind when considering your answer.”

Frank only hums, looking over to you with an unspoken ‘what’s she up to’ in his eyes. You busy yourself chopping vegetables.

“To the point, sweetheart.”

“Right. So there’s this boy-“

“Absolutely not.” Franks quick to push off the counter, exiting the kitchen as quick as he’d came in.

“But dad! You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Don’t need to, answer’s no.”

“Baby, hear her out first.” Frank’s tense muscles relax at your voice, he sets Matt down in the living room to begin setting the dinner table. His sister makes her way over to him, offering him one of the cars she’s amusing herself with. Aleena grabs the utensils as Frank gathers the plates, he places them down as she follows and adds a folded napkin to the side of each one. You smirk at their unknowing sync, swearing you’re living with three carbon copies of your husband sometimes.

“Brooke will be there too! She knows his friend Ryan from English class, he’s really nice. We were all gonna go bowling and get dinner. Just four friends hanging out! You know, avoiding drinking and drugs and bad things I could be doing had I not been such an angel.”

“Such a pain in my ass, actually. What’s this boy’s name anyway?”

“Leo.”

“Oh hell no.”

“What, you’ve made your decision off his name?”

“Yep. No boy named Leo’s got good intentions.”

“Dad-“

“Last name?”

“It’s He-“ she pauses, cogs turning in her head, “wait, you’re gonna try and look into him! That’s like, every type of invasive and totally weird!”

“What makes you think I was gonna do that?”

“Oh please, the second I left the room you were gonna text Mr. Lieberman! I’m not stupid.”

Frank glances over at you at the sound of your laugh, putting Matthew in his high chair as he speaks.

“And what’d your mom say about this?” You bring over the plate of pasta and bowl of salad. Handing Callie a small basket of bread to add to the table.

“That we’d talk about it.” You answer for yourself, everyone settling down at the table as the conversation goes on.

“Then we can, after dinner.” Frank shoots your oldest a warning look. She only huffs, knowing not to push it any further if there’s any chance he’ll say yes.

“Leah has a prince! Just like in my book mommy!” Callie’s ecstatic at the realization, using her nickname for her older sister as she can’t pronounce ‘Aleena’ just yet.

“If dad’ll ease up.” Aleena mutters defeated, smiling sweetly when Frank cocks his brow at her across the table.

“Mommy.”

“Yes, baby.”

“Leah says princesses don’t only have to like princes, s’that true?”

“Sure, honey. Some princesses like other princesses instead. And sometimes, princesses are actually princes. They just don’t know it yet. But it’s important we’re nice to everybody, cause it doesn’t really matter who you like.

“You think so too, daddy?”

“I don’t give a crap what you wanna be or who you wanna love. Long as they treat you right, we’re good.”

“Unless, of course, it regards the beauty of teenage love.”

“Aleena, last warning.”

“Kidding!”

“So, Matt’s a prince. Like Uncle Matt. But if one day he wanted to be a princess, he could?” You nod, heart warming at her inquiry for knowledge.

“Your Uncle Matt can be a princess sometimes, that’s for sure.” Frank grunts when you kick him under the table. He studies your oldest, who moves her food around with a pout. He tries to ignore the piece of him that makes his heart wrench at the sight.

“What made you ask mom first?” Aleena takes a bite of her food, debating a response. She’s taken aback, surprised he’s brought the topic back up.

“Because mama’s the boss.” Callie chimes simply, struggling to get a piece of pasta onto her kiddie fork.

Frank let’s out an amused huff, stopping the forkful of food that’s about to go into his mouth at Aleena’s knowing smile.

“What, you agree Leena?”

“Let’s be real dad, mom has you whipped. She wears the pants.”

“What’s that? Whipped?” Frank looks to you in confusion at her terminology. “Are all you under the impression your mother is the boss ‘round here?”

“I’d like to agree with the counsel.” You raise your finger, amused by your husbands astonished demeanor.

“Me and Mathew might be outnumbered, but I’d like to think the men in the house still have a say.”

“When I allow it.” You muse from the seat beside him, smirk growing at the giggles that ensue across from you. Matt can’t understand, but mimics his sisters regardless. Pushing a piece of food off his tray for the pitbull below to catch.

“Hilarious. You’re a comedian baby, really.” Frank jokes beside you, rising from his seat to collect your plate and his own. The girls follow along, finished with their meal and following his lead.

“So what’s the verdict then, can I go?” Aleena presses despite her fathers growing irritation.

“Didn’t we say we had to talk about it?”

“I don’t see what you have to talk about, really.” The tension grows in each of their voices, Callie climbs into your lap as she watches them.

“You’re pushing your luck, Leena.”

“It seems like you’ve already made up your mind, so what’s the point of even trying?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Once you make up your mind we all might as well give up!”

“You got that right. If there was any chance I was gonna say yes, it’s gone now.”

“That’s such bullshit!” Her skin runs hot with anger as you stand, setting down Callie who hides behind your legs.

“Aleena Castiglione!” You don’t mean to shout, but the sheer shock of her outburst hits you before logic can. Frank crosses his arms, practically seething. He stares her down, and in true Castiglione fashion, she only puts her hand on her hips and stares right back at him.

“Room. Now.” It’s almost a whisper. And coming from Frank, it’s much more intimidating than any shouting ever could be.

“Whatever.” Tears prick at her eyes, but she’s too stubborn to let them fall. The teen spins on her heel, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door before you can even let out a breath. Matthew jumps at the noise, startling him into a sob. You sigh, placing a reassuring kiss to Callie’s head before taking Matt in your arms. Swaying and shushing to soothe him. Callie stays at your legs, verging on tears as she holds onto you.

“C’mere, Calliope. Come help dad in the garage.” Frank crouches down to her level, smiling when her pigtailed-form goes over to him. Falling into a fit of giggles when he tickles her sides before grabbing her and standing to his full height.

“Where are you going?”

“Like I said, garage. That lopsided shelf needs to be fixed.” Your eyes narrow at his dry tone, finally able to calm the toddler in your arms down well enough to hear him.

“So we’re not gonna talk about it?”

“Seems like you were with her before I got involved.” Frank distracts the little girl in hand as he speaks, not wanting her to sense the tension between you.

“Oh, so we’re doing that now? Even though I waited for you to be involved before making any decisions?” He wasn’t being fair, he knew it. But the anger was still coursing through him at the previous argument and it was falsely directed at you.

“I need to think. We’ll be in the garage.”

“Her bedtimes in a little over an hour-“

“Yeah.” And with that, the garage door closes as soon as it opens. Your eyes burn into the door, pissed that he’s taken all this out on you.

******

You hold Matt in his rocking chair, the quiet of the dimly lit room is filled with the sound of your soft humming. It’s the only way he manages to fall asleep, milk-drunk off the half empty bottle slipping out of his mouth. You let out a sigh, relieved he’s finally fallen asleep as you set him in his crib. You take a minute, to watch the soft rise and fall of his chest as he falls into a heavy slumber. Truthfully, you could sit there and watch him til dawn, taking in all his soft features you’ve come to love so much. It hurts, sometimes, how much you love them.

With a soft knock on her door, you creep into Aleena’s room. Her bedside lamp illuminating her sleeping form as an opened book is splayed over her chest. ‘Moby Dick’ her fathers recommendation, is now highlighted and filled with annotated post-it notes. You smile, placing the text on her dresser before covering her frame with her comforter. Not letting her rosy, tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes go unnoticed. She’s likely full of regret and even anger. It’s impossible sometimes, being in such a young body with such fierce emotions. With a kiss to her hair, you turn off the lights and gently close her door.

Your mind wanders as you put away the dishes from the drying rack, cleaning up the kitchen before it becomes a disaster yet again from tomorrow’s breakfast.

“Mommy!” A small, but nonetheless panicked voice approaches you with speedy footsteps. Callie is flushed from running, eyes wide and worried.

“What’s wrong baby?” You get down to her level, hands going to her shoulders as she points behind her.

“Daddy got hurt!” Tears threaten to spill from her eyes as Frank comes from the garage, a towel wrapped around his arm.

“I’m alright, princess. It’s not that bad.”

“Is too! You’re bleeding a whole lot.” She argues defiantly, looking up at you expectantly. You set her in her chair at the table, stroking her hair to soothe her.

“I’ll fix him up, okay? Dad’ll be better in no time.” You reassure gently, thumb wiping a tear from her eye as Frank trails you to the sink. He reaches for the first aid kit above the fridge as you remove the towel from his forearm, tongue clicking at the sight of the gash.

“Shelf fell when I was trying to level it, damned corner scratched me. I’m okay.” He rasps calmly, looking over to Callie’s trembling frame.

“Can you come over here Calliope,” the use of her full name gets her attention, “hold my hand while mommy fixes me up?” She nods, taking careful steps over to him and looking over at the wound when he uses his good arm to lift her onto the countertop.

You run a fresh washcloth over some water, wiping at the excess blood to get a better look. Frank nudges Callie’s head to keep her eyes away from the injury, not wanting her to see all the blood.

You pour alcohol onto the cut, Frank isn’t even fazed by the sting. He sucks in his teeth anyway, squeezing the little girls hand just hard enough for her to attempt to pull away with a small laugh.

“Don’t cry, baby. Momma knows what she’s doing. It doesn’t hurt me much.” He soothes, kissing the top of her head when she nods.

“Gonna need to stitch it.” You speak softly, making eye contact for the first time since you argued. He looks almost solemn, guilt ridden all over his face as he nods.

Frank doesn’t even flinch at the familiar sensation of the needle threading his skin, Callie attempts to climb over his good arm that’s outstretched to prevent her from seeing what’s happening. She gets behind him on the counter, small arms wrapping around his shoulder to look at you.

“How are you so good at that, momma?”

“Practice.” You reply simply. You could probably be blindfolded and dress a wound, with all the times you’ve patched Frank up. A rough hand pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, you lean into its warmth. Looking up to see him mouth a “sorry” with that sorrowful, compelling look in his eyes. You know he puts himself under a lot of pressure. Constantly reminding himself that you guys are his second chance at this life. He punishes himself too much, you only wish you could relieve some of the weight off his heart.

You kiss his palm, lips ghosting over the simple reply. “I know.”

“Daddy.”

“What’s up, Callie girl?” Frank glances over his shoulder as you wrap gauze around the stitched wound.

“How’d you get mommy to be your princess?” He chuckles at her words, and your cheeks heat at his intense gaze while you continue your work.

“I’ve got no idea. Guess I finally worked up the courage to ask her on a date. If I hadn’t, I don’t know where I’d be now.” He grabs your jaw, placing a peck to your cheek as you fondly roll your eyes at his praise.

“Daddy said you were his saving grace, mommy.”

“Thanks for keeping the secret, kid. Last time I confide in you.” He pokes at her stomach, smirk etching his face when he takes in your flushed demeanor. You pull him in for a quick kiss, the both of you pulling away when Callie squeals.

“Again!” She places a tiny hand on the back of your heads, pushing them together so you kiss again and yelping even louder as you do. Frank laughs, amused at her excitable reaction. Egging her on by grabbing the sides of your head and attacking your face with kisses. You and Callie both yelp this time, the little one attempting to squirm away when her father does the same to her.

“You’re gonna get her all riled up before bed.” You warn, trailing your husband when he throws Callie over his shoulder and heads up the stairs to her room. Blowing raspberries on her stomach the entire way up.

When all three bed time stories have all been read, you and Frank finally settle into your own covers as the first flurries of snow start to come down. The sight lulls you into a drowsy state, your head on Frank’s chest as he reads. There’s no colorful post-it’s aligning the pages like your daughter. But every now and then, when he finds a line he particularly likes, Frank will crease the corner of the page. You make him read the line out loud every time, insisting you get to hear it too.

“We’re gonna have to let her grow up, you know. At some point shell stop asking permission and sneak behind our backs instead. Frank sighs, pressing the book to his chest to meet your tired eyes.

“She’s only 16, I thought we had a couple more years ‘til this conversation.” He whines, hands running over his face in distress. You only laugh, wrapping both your arms around one of his and pulling it into your chest.

“And what we’re you like at 16, Castle? Enjoying s’mores with the fellow boy scouts?” He scoffs, eyes wandering around the room to avoid your accusing gaze.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. That she’ll be like me. Meet the wrong people and start doing the wrong shit. I can’t have that, baby. She’s our little girl. We can’t just let her go, can we?” You turn to him, arms crossing over his chest to support your head as you press your forehead to his. Humming triumphantly at the relieved sigh he releases at your touch.

“We’re not letting her go, hun. Just making our grip a little looser, that’s all. She needs the freedom to make her own decisions, but not enough so that she’s in complete control. It’s a balance.”

“And what if we give her too much room anyway? And she ends up taking after her old man? I was a menace when I was her age. My parents were too old to have any say over anything I did. I left the house whenever I wanted, came back whenever too.

“She’s gonna make mistakes. All we can do is try our best to lead her in the right direction.”

“Or I could just pull her that way.”

“And whatever direction you pull, she’ll start tugging the other way.” You warn, hands tracing circles over his skin. His eyes flutter closed at your soothing touch, shaking his head at your words.

“You’re much better at this than I am, no wonder they say you wear the pants.”

What can I say Castle, you’re whipped.”

“I’d have a witty comeback if I knew what that meant.”

*******

It’s daylight when you open your eyes again. The sheets beside you cold with the absence of your husband You stretch, hitting the alarm clock before it can sound in hopes that it’ll keep the baby sleeping. At least long enough to put down a cup of coffee and start breakfast.

It’s not unusual for Frank to wake up long before the rest of you. His internal clock gets him up better than any alarm could. You pull on one of his hoodies and a winter jacket before opening the front door. Slipping into a pair of boots that are much too big for you and stepping onto the front porch. Where a pathway is already learned to your partly shoveled driveway. Your heart warms at the sight of your husband, working intently.

“The neighbors are gonna think you’re crazy. I’m guessing you got out here at dawn?” You yawn out as you reach him. Trembling from the harsh weather as he turns to face you. There's speck’s of snow littering his beard, you brush them out with a knowing smile.

“Might as well get a head start if I’m up. I know that asshole next door was gonna offer to do the whole driveay with that shiny fucking plow of his.

“George is nice, baby.”

“George is a flirt, and a shit one at that.” You only laugh, shuffling into his chest to avoid the freezing air. He’s practically toasting despite the weather, and you hum when he pulls you closer into his embrace with a kiss to your hair.

“Is that coffee in your hand for me?” He takes it before you can respond, grimacing at the taste of milk and sugar accompanying the caffeine.

“No, why ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee by making it sweet?” He teases, rubbing at your back to keep you warm.

“If you come inside I can make you your own with some breakfast. Then we can both come out here and finish up.”

“Like hell you will, I’m not having you out here shoveling.”

“Just come inside and eat, yeah? Sit with me while we enjoy the last moments of peace before the little monsters wake up.”

“Sold.” With that, he turns you toward the front door. Sighing with relief when entering the heated home.

********

It’s only 90 minutes later when you’re finishing up breakfast. The home comes alive when the youngest two wake up and eat their meal. Waffles, hash browns, eggs, all the food to fill and warm their stomachs in preparation for the day. Frank had gone out to continue outside, insisting after eating he finish before “that bastard next door” could start bragging about his damned plow.

Your oldest finally joins the chaos at the kitchen’s island countertop with squinting eyes. Face still puffy with sleep as she takes the plate you hand her with a small, but no less genuine ‘thank you.’

“Hey Lee, I’m gonna go check on your dad outside. He’s insistent on doing the whole driveway himself. Can you just keep an eye on them for a bit while I’m out there? If they’re done eting just call me back in.” SHe nods at your instruction, playfully swatting you away when you kiss her head in appreciation.

“What are you doing back out here, miss?”

“I’m reinforcements, here to help.” You motion to the shovel in hand, frowning when he shakes his head.

“You’re not staying out in the cold and shoveling snow.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re too pretty. And because that’s ridiculous. I’m more than capable, sweetheart.”

“Hey! I might be pretty Castle, but I’m strong too.”

“Damn right. I knew that when you almost broke my hand in the delivery room on three separate occasions. Now go warm up inside.”

“No. No way you’re doing all this alone.” You cross your arms in defense, taking a step back when he gets closer.

“Tough guy, huh?” Luckily, it’s still early enough for the neighbors not to hear your yelp of surprise when he hoists you over his shoulder. Walking across the driveway to toss you into the highest pile of snow on the ground.

“Asshole!” You insult through a fit of laughter. The much taller man clutches his stomach in amusement as you attempt to get up. Unable to roll onto your stomach or rise to your fet because of the heavy snow gear and how deep you are into the pile.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I had to, really.” He lets out through more laughter, extending his arm out for you to take. Completely caught off guard when you yank him forward. Fit of giggles even worse when he face-plants right into the snowbank. Covering your mouth to stifle your amusement when he rises with a frost-covered beard. He pulls you up by the coat collar, tugging you to his chapped lips with a smile. Your soft lips connect with his, completely content in the moment before you pull away.

“Thank you.”

“For what? Chucking you into a snowbank?”

“No, for always taking care of us.” You speak gently, kissing the tip of his nose, grinning at his flushed cheeks.

“You’re blushing, Castle.”

“ I was just face-first in the snow. Of course I’m red.”

“Right.”

*********

When you’re back inside just ten minutes later, you tug the copious amounts of miniature snow gear onto the little ones. Not being able to help but laugh at Mathhew, who’s unable to lower his arms because of the layers on him. He eventually stops fussing once you take off one of the jackets. Only after sending a picture to the groupchat with Karen, Foggy, and Matt.”

________

Froggy🐸: I’m calling CPS

Red: Foggy just described the picture, if it’s anything like it sounds I’ll be going over there to save my poor God-child.

Karen💜:So cute! Send me more pics of them in the snow!!

____________

“Aleena. Will you bring this out to dad? I have to get their boots on and then they’ll be ready to go out.” You hand her the steaming thermos of black coffee, eyebrows raising when she hesitates to take it.

“We’re not exactly on good terms at the moment.”

“Precisely why it’d be nice of you to give a peace offering.” You hold out the cup again, chuckling when she takes it with a heavy sigh.

“If I’m not back in ten minutes, call the cops. It means dad killed me.” She muses before shutting the door behind her. You roll your eyes fondly, motioning over a bundled Callie to be pisces up so the both of you can watch the interaction from the kitchen window.

Your eyes follow her form shuffle across the snow. Frank only turns around when she taps his shoulder, holding out the steaming thermos to his panting form. There’s a short exchanging of words after he takes it from her, their eyes lingering on one another before Aleena turns back toward the house. Frank grabs her elbow before she can even take a second step, tugging her into an embrace with a kiss to the top of her head. He pulls away after a long moment, wiping a tear off her face before continuing their conversation. Which of course you can’t make out from inside. You and Callie gasp when they both turn to look at you, ducking out of view as to not be caught spying. When you peek back out, they’re rushing behind one of the snowbanks. Clearly up to no good.

“Frank?” You hold Mathew on your hip as Callie stalks close beside you. Her little feet unaccustomed to the clunky snow boots as you creep into the front yard.

Aleena pops up from behind a snowbank, snowball in hand and raised at you. Frank does the same, Callie squealing and grabbing onto your leg.

“You can’t throw anything, I have babies!” You yell out at them, heart racing from the adrenaline.

“Put down the baby, and nobody gets hurt.” Aleena warns, mischievous smirk plastering her face at your shock.

“So what, you two turn on me now?”

“Looks like it, you’re outnumbered baby.” Frank tosses a snowball from hand to hand as he speaks.

“And you’re a pain in my ass. No hot chocolate for traitors, Aleena!” You raise your brows at your daughter, who pauses at your words.

“Don’t listen to the enemy, sweetheart. She’s bluffing!”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the jumbo marshmallows and whipped cream you’ll have none of if I get hit with one of those. Not to mention, I grew you for nine months only for you to side with your father?” With that, the teen heads over to your side.

“Where the hell is your loyalty?”

“With the cocoa, sorry dad!”

Masterlist

[starbuckie]

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.