#there’s a plot twist to this fic and I’m excited for when it comes guys

[alphawolfstabs]

Oh yeah btw guys- I’m writing vampires again BAM here’s two separate snippets that I love and adore meow meow meow

My favourite thing to write is Stu calling vampires “Bloodsuckers” but also Billy just going “You sound gay stfu” BAJFKSHFK

Human Stu with his stupid [boy]friend

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple��s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you thing!! it helps more than you know <3

[pombeom]

keep reading | soobin fic (nsfw)

nsfw, mdni!

pairings: bf!soobin x bookworm!reader

warnings: smut, fingering, nipple play, boob play, handjob?, riding, nipple sucking, cockwarming, unprotected sex (pls use protection), creampie

summary: soobin loves listening to you read but when he chooses the book you guys read, things take a dirty turn

a/n: this was mostly inspired from a tiktok i saw where a couple was reading the book in this fic together (particularly chapter 22) and to anyone whose read the book, pls let me know in the comments below so we can fangirl together!

Even though Soobin didn’t like the type of books you did, he always made the effort to sit and listen to you read your latest book out loud. But little did you know that his intentions behind this today were far less innocent than you could have imagined. 

Whilst on your little bookshop date, you decided to venture outside the world of classic literature and explore “booktok”. The local bookshop presented a display of all the books that are growing in popularity on “TikTok” and Soobin encouraged you to pick a book named “Twisted Love” suggesting the title sounded intriguing. 

“Come on read it for me, baby,” Soobin whined, trying to drag you from the kitchen into your bedroom, your usual reading spot. 

“What do you think you’re gonna eat for dinner then?” 

“You…” he mumbles under his breath but loud enough that you heard it, earning him a slap on his arm. 

“I’m nearly done just wait.” 

Acquiescing, he sighs and ventures off into the living room, slouching on the sofa. 

20 minutes later…

“Soobin, come on let’s eat! I’m starving.” 

He makes his way back to the kitchen and grabs a serving of the pasta you made. Before even sitting down at the table, he gobbles down half the food, rushing to finish the meal. You raise suspicion at his behaviour particularly as he’s never this excited for your reading sessions. 

Rather than question it, you also finish your meal at a quicker pace than usual. Soobin’s excitement was quite intriguing.

“You finished?” He asks, as you put away your plates and cutlery in the dishwasher. 

“Yes I’m done,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at his behaviour. 

“Come on, let’s go.” He places an arm around your waist and guided you to your shared bedroom. 

He sprawls across the double bed whilst you grab the book from the shopping bag and you slot yourself in between Soobin’s legs using his chest as a back rest. 

“Ok, let’s begin shall we?” You ask getting your answer through the form of a back hug as his arms sliver around your waist and places his chin on your shoulder, encapsulating you in his body. 

Usually, your reading sessions last from anywhere between 30 minutes to 1 hour, yet today you’ve been reading at it continuously for 3 hours, unable to put it down. You comment on the characters’ stupidity and question plot holes whilst Soobin simply nods his head and agrees with you. He seemed more distracted than usual: his thoughts were elsewhere. 

“Chapter 22…” you begin. Soobin’s grip around you, suddenly gets tighter, pulling you closer to his body. You could guess from where the plot was going that this chapter was going to contain some sort of smut and honestly you expected it. 

“Is this why you picked out this book, Soobin? You knew about this scene didn’t you? That’s why you were so excited!” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about baby,” he replies, acting clueless but the tone of his voice was an instant giveaway of his fibs, “Keep reading.” 

The chapter instantly starts off intense and each word that comes out your mouth sounds seductive to Soobin. It’s as if you were beckoning him to ruin you tonight. Each sentence is hotter and dirtier than the last and before you even reached the 6th sentence, you could feel Soobin’s lips attach to your nape, kissing and sucking at your skin. His mouth lowers to your shoulders, leaving a trail of bruised red marks. The sensation of his lips on your skin sets a wildfire in the pits of your stomach and you instantly shut the book and your eyes. 

“I want you to keep reading babe,” he whispers in your ear, “Keep reading.” 

You open the page back up again at chapter 22 and continue reading from where you left and and every so often letting out a suppressed moan at the contact between the two of you. He proceeds on removing your top from behind and slides down your baggy pyjama bottoms with ease. His movements matched the scene of the book where Ava, the female protagonist, was now stripped naked of her clothing. 

As if on cue, Soobin’s dick stands erect just as the male character Alex’s does. You feel his hardness through his grey joggers on your naked ass and you begin rubbing yourself against him. 

“You want me to take you, Sunshine? Ruin you, pound you into a pathetic mess, turn you into my little fuck doll?” You read out loud, feeling Soobin’s hands move from your waist in opposite directions: one head up to grab one of your breasts, while the other rubs your pussy. You arch your back, leaving your head into the nape of his neck, leaving breathy moans right under his ear. 

“You like that, baby? Want me to ruin you just as Alex is going to do with Ava?” 

“Mhm- ahhh,” you shriek as suddenly you feel 3 fingers inserted into your entrance. 

The hand that was on your boob, travels into your mouth, gathering your spit before moving down to meet the other hand at your pussy. Soobin rubs his thumb on your clit whilst fingering you deep and rough, leaving you feeling overpowered by the sensations you were feeling. 

It’s not long before you throw the book into some corner of the room and turn your body to face him, removing yourself of his fingers. You pull up his tshirt, teasing him by scraping past his nipples, making him let out a soft grunt. You work your way down to his joggers which were stained with precum, and pull them down in one swift movement revealing his cock. It was long with an average girth but the way he used it on you was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

You pump your fists up and down his member before lifting yourself up and sitting down on it. You ease yourself into position as his hands move up to your waist, securing you tightly. Your movements begin slow, adjusting yourself to his size, because no matter how many times you guys fuck your hole is always too tight, even as it oozes with slick and wetness. 

You eventually pick up the pace, your tits bouncing uk and down in front of his face, your nipples grazing it every so often. Soobin guides you well pushing his cock in deep into your pussy, hitting all the right spots. 

“You’re taking me so well baby. Fuck you’re so good!” He mutters, his grunts mixing with your whimpers and moans. 

“Soo- Soobin! I don’t thi- think I can- last a- any longer! Shit! That was- so good!” Your slewed words were a melody to Soobin’s ears. 

He quickens his pace as you’re left riding him so fast you can’t even think. His mouth suddenly latches onto one of your nipples as he begins sucking and licking your tit. 

“Agh! Soobin that feels so good! Do the other one!” You manage to say in between your moans. 

Soobin follows your instructs and moves to your other breast, repeating the same actions. 

“I’m gonna cum! Soobin keep going! I’m so close!” 

“Look at you. So desperate for my cock? Cum with me baby.” 

Not even seconds later, your orgasm comes crashing, letting out the louadest scream. Your mind is numb as you fall onto Soobin’s chest, grabbing his shoulders for support as he continues to ride both your orgasms. His cum mixes with yours, leaking out your pussy while you remain seated on his dick, cockwarming him. 

“Stay like this for a bit more babe.” Soobin wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you and pulling your naked body closer to his, “You did so well. Let’s get you cleaned up shall we?” 

“No, please let’s just stay like this tonight.” 

“Anything for you baby.” 

Soobin lies you down next to him without removing his cock from your pussy. He’s now spooning you form behind and you both instantly fall asleep, tangled up in each others naked forms. 

[hard-core-super-star]

Hi rubix, love your writing btw!! so would I be able to request a wandanat x reader fic where it’s readers birthday and they don’t usually have time or people to celebrate with so Wanda and Nat decide to change that for this year and whisk her away to somewhere like Paris to celebrate and have a great time with some smut at the end 🫣

It’s my birthday in a few days and I’m in dire need of this 🤧

romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: top!natasha romanoff x bottom!reader x switch!wanda maximoff

summary: your girlfriends set out to make your birthday as memorable as possible.

warnings: smut -> minors, you know the drill, bye [threesome; smut so soft it borders on spicy fluff; like...one inch of plot; grinding; fingering [R receiving]; the daddy and mommy kink is implied but not explicit lmao; wanda's low-key a brat because...yeah :) ; clothed sex AGAIN because i think it's neat, okay?; cheesy ending...again]

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: hi, lovely anon, thank you for the kind words! i hope i'm not too late with this but either way, i hope you had a fantastic birthday! also, you get the honor of having requested my first ever wandanat fic so that's cool. this was my first time properly sitting down and writing for them so let me know what you think! i really hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

“Guess what.”

You look up from the book in your hands to find two pairs of expectant eyes on you. You’ve seen your girlfriends wear many faces since you met them and yet it never fails to surprise you when you catch a glimpse of the genuine joy they wear around you.

The one that makes your heart skip several beats and earns them both teasing comments from the rest of the team.

“What?” You ask as your eyes flicker back and forth between them and the proud grins on their faces.

Wanda playfully rolls her eyes at you. “That’s not how the game works, detka.”

“Come on, go easy on her,” Natasha comes to your aid for once, a subtle hint that even she must be excited about whatever news they’re hiding.

“Yeah, what Nat said.”

You and the redhead share a look that draws a soft chuckle out of your girlfriend. “Remind me how I’m the one who spoils y/n again?”

“Can you stop stalling and tell me what you’re hiding already?” 

Your question earns both a glare and a laugh before you’re finally given the answer you’ve been searching for. Your girlfriends may love you more than anything else in the world but that will never stop them from teasing you like their life depends on it.

“So impatient…yes, fine, we convinced Tony to let us borrow one of his stupidly fast jets for tomorrow.”

Two pairs of green eyes watch your reaction expectantly only to find your face twisting into confusion. “Why?”

There’s a beat of silence where they both stare at each other, silently trying to figure out how to proceed. Clearly, they weren’t expecting you to question the exciting news they had brought to you.

It happens in a flash.

One second you’re sitting alone in bed and the next, your girlfriends are on either side of you, contradicting touches landing on your arms. It’s strange how easy it is to tell them apart. How cautious Natasha’s fingers still are when they trace random patterns onto your skin compared to Wanda’s gentle pressure as trails down to grab onto your hand, unmistakable tendrils of red magic moving to put your forgotten book back onto the shelf.

Natatsha’s the first to break the silence, all her earlier playfulness gone and replaced by subtle concern. “y/n, it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“So?” You shrug. “It’s just another day.”

Wanda tightens her grip on your hand and successfully steals back your attention. “Nonsense, malyshka. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Guys, it’s not a big deal,” you assure them. “I really don’t need anything. Plus, I have too many things to do.”

“Not anymore.” A sweet kiss is placed on your lips before you can voice your complaints. “We’re stealing you away tomorrow.”   

“But what about-”

“Already talked to Steve.”

“And-”

“Kate will understand.”

“How-”

“Stop looking for excuses, detka.” Natasha rolls her eyes as she pulls you closer to her. “You’re coming with us.”

You want to argue, you truly do, but then Wanda’s gluing herself to your side, eager hands slipping under your shirt, and you quickly come to the conclusion that spending all day with them is the best way to spend any day. 

Including a birthday.

Especially since you’re more than used to treating it like every other day of the year. It’s not that you don’t like celebrating it, you’re just always too busy to make real plans and no one’s ever thought to surprise you before.

But of course, your girlfriends aren’t like anyone else.

Which is how they manage to get you onto one of Tony’s jets, reminding you of the existence of time zones and how you have to leave right now if you want to make it to your surprise destination on time. You don’t really mind either way but you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen them this excited about something in a while so you go along with them anyway.

The jet ride seems never-ending despite how fast the aircraft is supposed to be. It doesn’t help that you’ve been having trouble sleeping peacefully the past few nights and Wanda’s running a hand through your hair in the way that makes you melt.

“You’re allowed to go to sleep, you know?” Natasha whispers with a teasing smirk. “We still have a long while to go.”

“Whose idea was this again?” You grumble as you drop your head down onto the redhead’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be a brat, love. You’ll thank us when we get there.”

You bite back the rest of your complaints and sink into the sweet arms of a dreamless sleep. You miss the way your girlfriends watch over you the entire time as well as the long list of things they each want to see and the various ridiculous ways in which they propose to get everything done.

They ultimately agree to let you choose once you’re awake again…something that backfires when the jet finally lands and you’re still far off in dreamland. They go back and forth on whether they should wake you or not, especially since it’s morning where you've landed and the jetlag will definitely destroy you.

You look far too cute to rouse though so Natasha gathers you up into her arms with ease and carries you in her strong embrace the rest of the way.

When you finally do wake up, a few hours have passed and you're safe inside the lavish hotel room Wanda reserved using one of Tony’s endless credit cards. The change in scenery startles your drowsy mind before you feel familiar arms pulling you close.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Wanda says softly as she easily pulls you onto her lap.

“Hi,” you mumble, tucking your head into the crook of her neck.

“Hi, darling. How's the birthday girl feeling? Still sleepy?”

“A little.” You let out a soft sigh as your girlfriend’s hands travel inside your loose shirt, slender fingers tracing random shapes onto your warm skin. “I’m sorry I ruined the trip.”

She scoffs and the sound instantly reminds you of Natasha which pulls a small smile onto your face. “You didn't ruin anything, detka. It's your birthday.”

You don't say anything in response and your girlfriend is quick to pull your thoughts away from their current trajectory. She keeps exploring your waist with one hand while the other one comes up to playfully tug on your hair.

“How about you stop hiding and look at your surprise, hm?”

It’s unclear whether it’s her words or her grip on your hair that makes you obey but neither of you mind. You reluctantly lift your face from its hiding place and let the green-eyed woman guide your gaze toward the large window of the room.

You gasp the second you realize where you are. “You guys brought me to Paris!”

Your excitement manages to break through your exhaustion which earns you a laugh from your loving witch. “Only the best for our girl.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe a little.”

You turn your head at the sound of Natasha’s voice, eager hands reaching out for her instantly. Your silent request is instantly fulfilled and the redhead easily slips into bed next to Wanda.

“I can't believe you would do this for me.”

“Believe it, malyshka.” She leans forward and easily captures your lips with her own.

Wanda huffs as she’s left out of the moment, her hands wandering under your shirt once again. You're too lost in the kiss to notice where her fingers are going until they brush against your nipples.

The sensation makes you jump which makes you grind against the witch’s thigh in a way that leaves you gasping for air. 

“That’s cheating,” Natasha warns after she pulls away from you. 

“What happened to spoiling the birthday girl?”

This time, you're the one who gets left out of the moment as they fight for the control that always rests in the Russian’s hands. They get caught up in their knowing stares and bruising kisses, leaving you aching and panting for their attention.

It’s a game they love playing with you but you’re far too desperate already to last much longer without their hands on you. 

Thankfully, Wanda decides to take pity on you. She gives your hardened nipples a soft tug, smirking against Natasha’s lips when she feels your hips buck once more. “I think someone’s feeling a little needy.”

The redhead turns to look at you, a perfectly raised eyebrow painting her face with the stern humor you've come to know so well. “Is that right, kotenok? Are you feeling needy?” 

You nod, all the heat in your body rushing down from your face to between your thighs. “Please don’t tease.”

“Aw, look at that, Nat. You're not going to deny her when she looks like that, are you?” You're not sure if Wanda’s actually being genuine or not but you don't really care as long as she’ll help you get what you want.

“Who’s the brat now?” She chuckles before reaching out for you, pulling you onto her lap, and leaving behind a pouty Wanda. “Come here, let me give you what you want.”

The Russian is true to her words and wastes no time in sliding a hand past the waistband of both your pants and your underwear. Your complaints about the lack of sink-on-skin contact between you are forgotten as Wanda situates herself behind you, plump lips trailing feather-light kisses up your neck. 

A gasp tumbles out of your lips once Natasha’s fingers finally find your drenched cunt. She moves slowly, almost too slowly, but you already know she’ll be quick to remind you to be patient if you dare whine.  

“You don’t have to be so cautious, detka,” Wanda whispers against your flushed skin. “It’s your birthday, remember?”

“Don’t listen to her, it’s always so much better for you when you’re a good girl.” She easily slips two fingers into your waiting hole, barely holding back a laugh as your pussy swallows her digits.   

Your hands grip her shoulders for stability while they both work in tandem to make you lose the last bits of control you still have over yourself. 

The witch’s hands find their way under your shirt yet again except this time she’s gripping your hips and helping you move in time with the redhead’s movements. It’s the slowest, most agonizing, of dances and yet the pleasure has you arching your back in seconds.

“Look at you,” Natasha coos, taking a mental picture of how delicious you look writhing in Wanda’s arms. “You’re so pretty when you’re like this, malyshka.”

Your walls clench the second you hear the affectionate petname and the Russian can’t resist the urge to lean forward and attach herself to your neck. Her thrusts are still slow and steady but then finally, her thumb begins to circle your puffy clit.

Your head falls back against Wanda’s shoulder and she laughs as you practically go limp from the pleasure. “You’re gonna break her, ‘Tasha.”

“She likes it.” She punctuates her point by curling her fingers just right and pulling out a string of moans from deep within you. “Don’t you, darling?”

“Mhmm, please don’t stop.”

They share a look you don’t see but you do feel the evidence of yet another standoff. It’s like Wanda just can’t stop herself from pressing all of Natasha’s buttons when they’re like this. Which means it’s your job as their devoted girlfriend to let them turn your pleasure into a competition.

And they do just that.

Wanda’s grip on your hips tightens until her nails are digging into your skin and she’s practically forcing you to ride Natasha’s fingers. Natasha, for her part, increases the speed of her thrusts, launching you closer and closer toward your orgasm. She’s still drawing it out of you, though,  still balancing speed with soft kisses and murmured praises.

It’s a strange combination but it works perfectly. Just like your relationship with them. It’s something that transcends words, something that can’t be explained, merely felt…and it’s also exactly what brings you to the edge.

“Nat…please…”

“Please, what, detka?” Wanda responds for your girlfriend.

“Can I cum? Please?”

You half-expect them to make you beg for a little longer but it seems your special day has left them more merciful than usual. Natasha’s lips make their way up your neck and onto your jawline until she reaches your lips and gives you the permission you’re searching for.

“Go ahead, cum for us.”

You’ve heard the words thousands of times and yet they make you fall apart like nothing else. The slow build-up finally reaches its peak with one more swirl of Natasha’s thumb against your clit and you literally fall face-first into your orgasm.

“Such a good girl, love. Always so good for us.”

Your response comes in the shape of a muffled whine as you bury your face into the redhead’s neck. 

The sound makes both of your girlfriends smile and Wanda moves to sit on Natasha’s other side while they wait for you to recover. “I guess we’re not leaving the hotel any time soon.”

“Are you complaining, Maximoff?”

“Shut up.”

Their bickering makes you giggle. “Wanda’s being a brat again, Nat.”

“I know.” The green-eyed woman turns her head to press a barrage of kisses against the side of your face. “I think that means she can’t join us in the shower.”

The comment draws another complaint out of the young witch and you happily rest in your girlfriend’s arms while they start up another playful argument you’ll eventually have to get in the middle of.

You don't mind though, there's no other way you'd rather spend your birthday than with them.

[yesimwriting]

The reader seems to be really close to billy and stu , so it got me thinking , what if she had little rituals with them ... like kissing their noses or rubbing their backs , and what if she got possessive of them and in a game of 7 minutes in heaven ou something she just makes out with billy or stu ( bcs in order to be with dark murderous freaks you have to be a freak yourself ...i dont make the rules)

Like imagine billy : im mf special 😏

a/n omg?? i love this!! this concept is adorable :)) i got so excited i put off writing my lit essay lol, this became A LOT longer than I thought it would be lol 

also do y’all like first or second person narration better?? i definitely like writing first person more in chapter fics, but in drabbles/one-shots i change my mind all the time. I did a little of both here lol 

---

The pile of homework I've been working on seems like it'll never end. Like there will always be another packet that needs to be completed or another essay I need to write.

Something behind me shifts. The noise is soft and easy to dismiss, but my body turns instinctually anyways. After what happened to Casey, there's no such thing as being too sure.

With a sigh, my entire body eases as I realize what the source of the noise is. It's just Billy and Stu, magically appearing like they often do on my windowsill. Stu's already inside my room, sitting on the edge of my window, his feet firmly plated on the floor. Billy's leaning against it, his lower half still outside.

Normally, when they show up like this, I grin and urge them to come in faster. "What are you guys doing here?" The way Stu pauses and the look Billy gives me tells me that they weren't expecting that reaction. "I told you guys--not today. I have a ton of homework and like half my family is visiting. My cousins have no concept of boundaries because they're like seven and they barge in here all the time. They're also snitches, the last thing I need is them running to the kitchen and telling their mom that 'Y/n has boys in her room'."

Stu holds up his hands in defense as he stands. "Relax, we're just here for our goodnight kisses."

I turn, adjusting the notebook on my lap as I look at them skeptically.

"We'll leave right after if you want us to," Billy says, pulling himself up onto my windowsill.

Still unsure, I twist my pen between my fingers. "I will want you guys to." My tone is a little harsher than I want it to be. Stu seems a little tenser and Billy's expression clouds. "No, that came out wrong. It’s not that I want you gone, it’s that I’m trying to be practical.” 

"You didn't want us coming over earlier," Stu mumbles, something harsh behind his eyes, "And we barely saw you yesterday."

"Yesterday wasn't my fault. You two went out with Tatum and Sid." I adjust my hold on my notebook. "And I didn't want you guys over earlier today because of homework. Literally all I've done today is go to lunch with my family and homework." Their unease settles in my stomach like a rock. I sigh, pushing my notebook off of my lap. "Okay, come here."

At that, Stu breaks out into a grin. He crosses my room in a few long steps. Once he reaches me, he sinks into my waiting arms. I hug him tightly before he can decide that all isn’t forgiven, burring my face into the side of his neck. He's so warm and always smells so much like him. Like expensive fabric softener, a little bit of body spray, and usually a tiny bit like weed. On anyone else the combination wouldn't work, but on Stu, it makes me feel right at home.

One of my hands runs up and down Stu's back. He eases into the contact. The shirt he's wearing is soft. There's little I love more than Stu's well worn, rich kid T-shirts. I'm already plotting how to steal it from him.

I lean my head upwards, pressing a kiss against his jaw. His eyes flutter shut as I leave a trail of kisses up his cheek and to his temple like I always do.

Billy must have come in while I was distracted. He's lingering next to us, watching with a blank expression. I learned early on that while Billy hates asking for physical contact, he loves receiving it. If I had to take a guess, Billy's hesitance likely comes from his home life, but I'd never say that out loud.

"Okay, Stu," I hum, my nails brushing through his hair, "You're good." His hold on me tightens. "Stu, c'mon." With a bit of a pout, he straightens just enough to place a kiss on my forehead. He's watching me carefully, silently asking me for a few more minutes. "Billy's turn."

Stu frowns, looking like he's sincerely weighing his options. "Fine," he mumbles, placing one last kiss against the side of my head.

Once Stu lets me go, he slumps back onto my bed, laying across my mattress on his back. That does make me a tiny bit nervous because the more comfortable Stu gets, the less likely he is to leave.

I reach over, grabbing Billy's wrist. Gently, I pull him towards me. He lets me. Like always, at first Billy's slow before reciprocating with full force. He melts into my touch, pressing his face into my neck. My fingers trace patterns against his back.

"Missed this," I whisper the admission.

"We missed you, too," Stu replies, hand lazily reaching over for my extended leg. His fingers begin to trace patterns against the skin of my calf. I'd think that the motion was absentminded, but once when I asked him about it, he told me that sometimes he writes out things he wants to do to me. "Soon it'll just be the three of us."

This isn't a conversation that I love. The more they talk about the day where they feel like Sidney and the friend group are stable enough to handle two break ups, the less I believe that that day will ever come. Thinking about it makes me feel like a terrible person.

Billy, sensing that he no longer has my full attention, shifts. He moves impossibly closer, his lips grazing my pulse. I used to jokingly scold him for kissing my neck during times like this before learning that things like that aren't always sexual to him. It's just him at his most relaxed.

My fingers rake through his hair, smoothing it back carefully before placing a series of kisses across his jaw and up his cheek. My trail ends at his temple, like always. The realization that the moment's passing leads to him squeezing me tighter. There's something distinct about his touch today, maybe even a little nervous. That paired with how uncharacteristically quiet he's being leaves me wondering if this ambush visit is a result of something else.

I know he was supposed to do something with his dad this morning. Okay, I need to stop thinking about that before it starts showing on my face. He doesn't like when I worry, he's never said anything, but his hot-to-cold reactions make me think he misinterprets it as pity. If anything, what I feel is anger that I can't walk up to his dad and punch him the face.

"Okay," I hum, "You both got your goodnight kisses...and I have to finish this essay."

"It's Friday," Stu replies, his fingers moving against my skin in what kind of feels like the curve of a 'c'? I'd ask if I wasn't worried about the conversation and mood taking a turn towards something I can't control. "You have two whole days."

I exhale, nails gently scratching at Billy's scalp. "You're throwing a party on Saturday, and Sunday's our first fully free day in over a week. You two aren't going to let me get anything done."

Stu turns his hand, running his knuckles up my leg. "Not true, babe. I've got a whole to-do list for you."

Softly kicking my leg in protest of his joke, I roll my eyes. "It's better for everyone if I just get this stuff done now, especially since you can't sleep over anyways. My little cousins are never in bed when they're supposed to be."

"You can do your homework, Billy and I know how to behave." When I raise an eyebrow at that, Stu concedes, "Okay, we at least know how to entertain ourselves."

Yeah, that's not comforting.

"You guys aren't being fair. I don't remember acting like this when you guys literally went on dates yesterday." I drop my arms away from Billy, ignoring the pinch of guilt that strikes with no warning.

At the lack of contact, Billy sits up. I avoid his gaze. "Is that why you're kicking us out? You're jealous? Upset we're not giving you enough attention?"

"No, I'm kicking you out because there's a group of seven to nine year olds that are super nosy in my house. Especially when it comes to boys. Kennedy's in the third grade and in her crush phase and she's asked me about whether or not I have a boyfriend 50 times."

"Your mom lets us sleep over all the time," Stu defends, "We just need to tell her that our parents did something and she won't care."

My posture straightens in an attempt to seem more determined. "That's different and you know it. She always has you guys crash on the couch and you sneak up later. We can't do that with all my relatives in the house, and you can't show up to my house so late."

Stu doesn't normally see--or at least, doesn't care about--reason, but Billy tends to listen a little more. I look over at him, gauging his expression. I still can't read him as well as he can read me, but I know that the blanker his face is, the more emotion he's feeling.

They're both starting to seem a little weird, maybe a little hurt, and I hate it. I do miss them, I want them here, but it's risky for me. At the end of the day, if my relatives find out, they get to go home. I'm the one that will be in trouble until I graduate.

"Do you really want us to go?" Billy's voice is as flat and void as his expression.

The hollow look he's giving me hurts. "You know I don't." That eerie blankness doesn't go away. "When I lock the door, they just keep knocking until I open it. I guess that gives us time for you two to get into my closet or something."

With that, Billy eases. He's not exactly as relaxed as he was before, but it's a start. I lean forward, grabbing his hand. Stu sits up, shooting up to pull me into another hug. His grin feels smug, but I can't bring myself to call him out on it.

"That's our girl," Stu praises, kissing my cheek.

I press my lips together, fighting a grin. "Wait--there's a condition. You two need to let me finish this essay."

Billy lifts our intertwined fingers to his lips. "Deal."

"You guys are unbelievable." They both look at me expectantly. "Can't believe I'm basically risking my life because I can't go one night without having you two sleepover."

----

Going out with my friends has become extremely bittersweet. I love when the entire friend group's together, but there's just something about seeing Billy and Stu and knowing that things are different. Knowing that they're right there and thousands of miles away at the same time. It's not that we don't talk in public, it's that it's inherently different. And it makes me feel awful.

Each smile I share with Tate and each time I laugh with Sid adds another layer of guilt. It's so bad that both Billy and Stu have had to talk me down from breaking it off with them twice now after large group hang outs.

Whenever I freak out, Billy tells me that this is for the best, that after everything Sidney's gone through, he can't just break up with her while she's still dealing with trauma. The one stable, good thing in her life right now is our friend group. Stu and Tatum breaking up would endanger that as well. Even though keeping these secrets is morally wrong, they're always promising that this is the best way to keep everyone happy. Sid gets the support she needs, Tatum doesn't have to feel weird in the friend group, and we don't have to be heartbroken because of our right person, wrong time situation.

I'm not sure when they started taking a more preventative approach to the whole thing, but now, whenever we have group plans, they make a point of spending some time with me before. Just as a reminder about how they actually feel, I think.

They still haven’t stopped by, which I’m trying to not stress about as I tear my closet apart. Stu’s parties are always crowded and low lit, so what I wear isn’t the biggest deal, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. 

After Billy and Stu left early this morning my entire family headed out so that my extended family could be dropped off at the airport. So now I have the house to myself, which is a good thing for when one gets ready. 

I play my music as loud as I want while I take an extra long shower and take my time putting on a face mask. I’m being a little extra about my getting ready routine, but I’m taking advantage of the space and the free time. 

Shrugging off my towel, I pull one of Stu’s old shirts over my head. I’ve had this one for awhile but it still smells like him. I shut off my music and throw open my closet door open. 

I grab yesterday’s jeans off from the back of my desk chair. I had half a mind to wear them again tonight, but they’re a little over due for a wash. My fingers dig through the pockets as I approach my hamper. There’s no change, but there is a tube of chap stick in the front pocket and a tiny slip of paper in the back.

Unfolding the scrap paper, I fold the jeans over my bent arm. Good luck on your math test - Billy. I grin, thumb and pointer finger pinching the torn piece of paper a little too tightly. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve found one of these notes, but each time is equally exciting. It started relatively recently, the appearance of tiny notes in places I’d never expect to find them. In between the pages of books, slipped into my pencil bag, tucked into my folder next to homework assignments, and sometimes directly written into my notebooks. And now, apparently, tucked into the pocket of my jeans. 

The notes range in levels of sweetness, some of them motivational when I’m stressed over something, and others a little more flirty. The one I found before this one was about how pretty he thought I looked while walking to class. They’re all well loved, kept in a shoe box under my bed for me to re-read whenever I need a bit of a pick me up. 

I go back to my closet, looking through my clothes to find something that looks like I’m in the party mood. If I’m being honest, after such a draining week, I think I’d rather stay home and watch some movies instead of being at a party where Stu and Billy are both going to be with their girlfriends. Normally, that’s not enough to get me out of the party mood, but that paired with how busy I’ve been this week doesn’t have me thrilled for this. At least Randy will be there. 

Sighing, I start sorting through my clothes, trying to get myself into a party mood. I’m sure once I have an outfit I like and I fix my appearance, I’ll feel better about this.

I’ve just laid out a few outfit options on my bed when I hear a few familiar taps against the frame of my window. Tamping down a grin, I look up, not even bothering to look surprised. Billy and Stu are already pulling themselves into my room.

“You know, I do have a front door,” I mumble, straightening the skirt I just laid out on my bed.

Stu dramatically sigh, stomping into my room before flopping face first onto my bed. “That’s the hello we get?”

I roll my eyes. “I was just saying.” Stu props his head up on his elbow, looking up at me with criminally soft eyes. I drop my gaze, reaching for the top that he’s now wrinkling. “And you’re messing up my outfits.”

He watches me as I hold out the shirt. “You’re wearing that?” 

“I don’t know,” I mumble, ignoring his tone, “I have a few options, but I was thinking this with the dark green skirt.” 

Stu rolls onto his back before reaching over for the skirt I’m talking about. He looks at it skeptically. “This skirt?” 

“Yep.” Stu didn’t sound too thrilled. “Why? Do you think it doesn’t match? Because I was thinking about that.” 

Billy pushes away from the wall he was leaning against. “It’s short, sweetheart.” 

I look at him oddly. It’s not insanely short, I mean, I’ve worn shorter. “Not that short,” my eyes look over the fabric that Stu’s still holding, “My mom bought it for me. It’s fine.” 

Stu drops his arm. “I’ve seen the way your mom dresses.” 

“Are you slut shaming my mom right now?” 

“No,” Stu begins lazily, “I’m just saying that that doesn’t mean the skirt’s not too short.” 

I didn’t even want to wear this that badly before. “Too short? You guys aren’t my dad.” 

“Well, considering what you call u--” 

“Oh my god,” I cringe, throwing my shirt in Stu’s direction. The fabric lands against his face. Stu ignores me, pulling it off of him. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a skirt.” 

“A skirt that’s going to have people looking at you.” Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I stare at anything but Billy as he approaches me. His hand clasps around my forearm, pulling me a tiny bit forward. “Looking at what’s ours.” 

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the possessive undertones of the words didn’t make my face feel warm. The hypocrisy, though, almost immediately dismisses that. “So I have to be all okay with you two literally having girlfriends, but the line is drawn at me wearing a skirt you guys think is too short?” He squeezes my arm. “Maybe I want a little attention, it’s not like you guys can give me any tonight.” 

Billy’s hold on me goes from casual to nearly painful. His knuckles turn white against my skin and I’m sure that if this goes on for any longer, there are going to be finger shaped bruises there. I meet Billy’s gaze. His eyes have darkened significantly. 

“So that’s what the skirt’s about? You’re throwing a tantrum because you’re not getting enough attention?” 

This is going downhill fast. I’m going to need to backtrack the hell out of this conversation. “No, I-I was just making a point. It’s a little bit of a double standard, you have to at least be able to admit that.” The lack of emotion in his expression turns my stomach. I force myself to hold his gaze. “It just sucks sometimes, going to these things and seeing you guys with your girlfriends, and then I feel bad about feeling like that because they’re my friends.” 

“They’re not our girlfriends, they’re a situation,” Billy’s voice is harsher than it’s ever been while directed at me, “You’re our girlfriend.” 

My eyes widen. Despite how close we’ve gotten, the actual ‘g’ and ‘b’ words have not been used. I know I’ve been tripping over myself to avoid calling either of them my boyfriend by accident. His hold hasn’t loosened, but I can’t help my grin. My head tilts to the side, eyes softening as I place a hand over his. “Girlfriend?” 

Stu walks up to us. I don’t realize that he’s moving until I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Of course you are, you’re our girl.” He extends an arm, somewhat playfully pushing against Billy’s forearm. “Old Billy boy here wasn’t supposed to just say it like that. We’ve been planning it out, we were gonna ask.” Stu doesn’t release Billy’s arm, “It’s all Billy talks about, might wanna ease off on the love spells, he’s obsessed with you.” Stu squeezes my shoulder, running his thumb across the skin. “All day, it’s ‘you think Y/n’s okay?, Y/n’s hair looked so soft today, we should go see Y/n.’” 

Billy throws a look in Stu’s direction, his grip on me loosening. I smile, “Really?” 

“Fuck off,” Billy mumbles, shoving Stu. “He’s the one that’s whipped. Sometimes he misses the smell of your perfume.”

I grin despite their odd tension. It doesn’t take much for play fights to turn into something else, something I don’t understand because half of it is unspoken between them. But I love this. 

“Okay,” I hum, probably a little too chipper as I step between them, “This is officially my favorite argument the two of you have had.” 

They’re both starting to move over to a different world that’s just theirs. I step forward, pulling Billy into a hug. After a second, he reciprocates. I shift, moving to press a kiss to his cheek. “I think about you a lot, y’know.” He’s looking at me calmly, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d think there might be the faintest tinge of color in his face. 

“A lot,” he echoes, tone amused. 

I grin, nodding once, “Yes, don’t make it a thing.” The way the corner of his mouth turns upwards tells me that he’d be happy to have me spend the rest of tonight unpacking what I mean by that. I tilt my head, looking at Stu, “And you.” Stu’s eyes widen slightly as he waits for me to continue, “Sometimes I miss the way you smell, too.” 

Stu’s eyes narrow jokingly, eyes soft, “Really?” 

“Why do you think I’m always wearing your shirts?” 

He smiles, pulling Billy and I into a hug that thoroughly squishes me between them. Sometimes I wish everything could be as easy as it is in our little bubble.

“Okay,” I begin pointedly, playing up my annoyance, “Watch the hair, I’m still getting ready.” Before they can make anything of that comment, I continue, “Even though I’m my own person and I hate that thing where guys are all like ‘there’s no way you’re wearing that’, I guess there’s nothing wrong with taking into consideration how my boyfriends feel.” Saying that makes me so happy I can’t even bother to hide my grin. “How about a compromise--the jean skirt I wore last week and the top I threw at Stu earlier.” 

With a dramatic sigh, Stu drops his forehead onto my shoulder. “You’re going to make tonight impossible.”

He’s exaggerating a little, which is fitting considering sometimes it feels like all it takes to get Stu going is a look that lasts a little too long paired with the tiniest bit of exposed skin. “Sounds like a you problem.” 

Stu looks up at me, half glaring at me through hooded eyes. He lethargically smacks the top of my thigh, right where his t-shirt ends. It’s a testament to his easygoing mood, but I can’t help my dramatic gasp. 

“What?” Sometimes I think Stu would be insufferable if his smile wasn’t so cute. “If you’re going to be mean, I’m going to be mean back.” 

Okay, there’s a chance I am being a tiny bit mean. Did I pick the skirt that had Stu making up a super lame excuse during lunch just so he could get me into a supply closet for a makeout session I had to cut short? Maybe. Was it on purpose? ...I’d like to say no, but honestly, maybe. 

“Alright,” Billy interjects, “I know that look in both of your eyes, and we don’t have time for that.” 

He’s not wrong. I reluctantly pull away from both of them and go back to getting ready. We’ve fallen into a little bit of a routine. I go through my getting ready to go out routine, and they casually--or not so casually--look around my room. If that isn’t entertaining enough, they patiently follow me around. 

It’s kinda cute. Especially if I decide to wear makeup and they ask about whatever it is I’m putting on my face. One of these days I’m going to have to let Stu put eyeliner on me. 

By the time I’m almost done, Billy and Stu are still content with looking around my room. I have no idea what they find so interesting about my space, it’s not like it changes often enough to warrant their curiosity. But if it makes them happy to look through my bedside drawer and leaf through whatever notebook or book are left out on my desk, why stop them? 

Now that I’m dressed and have given my appearance a once over in the mirror, I’m basically ready. All that I need to do is figure out how to get the clasp of this necklace to just...

“You okay?” 

Billy’s sudden appearance at my side nearly makes the chain slip from my fingers. His steps are so quiet sometimes. Honestly, a little more practice and he could play a killer in a movie he’d love. “Yeah, there’s just something about putting necklaces on yourself that’s impossible.” 

“Here,” he breathes, fingers barely grazing my neck as he takes the clasp from me. Billy turns the necklace as he steps behind me. He latches the clasp with surprisingly minimal effort. Instead of releasing me, he adjusts the necklace so that the charm sits perfectly centered. Billy leans towards me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

Stu, who was previously looking at a framed picture of me at some birthday party when I was little, turns his attention towards us. “Aw, how domestic, you’re like an old, married couple.” 

I turn just in time to catch Billy’s meant-to-be dismissive eye roll, but there’s the faintest touch of something else, something that might be a little flustered. It’s gone before I can be sure. 

 “We’re cute,” I agree, reaching for Billy’s hand to squeeze it once. “Okay, I’m ready, so you guys should go. I’ll show up in about half an hour, give people some time to get there so that nothing looks weird.” 

Stu frowns, setting the picture frame back in place. “It’s not that suspicious, we’re friends, you’re punctual.” 

I press my lips together. We have our rules in place for a reason, and talking about them too much makes me feel things I really don’t like feeling. “You know why I can’t.” 

Billy must notice my shifting mood because he cups my face. “You’re forgetting something before kicking us out.” When I don’t respond right away, Billy kisses my cheek. “In case you needed a reminder.” 

Of course. If there’s one thing Billy’s consistent about it’s our little traditions. At first, they were just excuses to be cheesy, especially when I was feeling a little insecure, but now, they’re more significant.

I tilt my head upwards, leaving a trail of kisses up his cheek. Stretching upwards, I then place a kiss on the tip of his nose. He then kisses my forehead. Our goodbye ritual. 

“Hey, I’m leaving too.” The fact that I’m surprised that Stu is already within grabbing distance makes me a little too aware of how tired I am. 

Pushing against the feeling that begs me to just stay here tonight, I beam at him. He lets me hug him. His hands find their way around my waist and I press kisses against his cheek until I’ve reached his nose. Stu tilts his head down to help me reach him. My body eases as he presses a kiss to my forehead. 

“Okay, you guys should go.” Shifting awkwardly and dropping my arms to my side, I tact on a half thought in hopes of making this easier on all of us, “Maybe some time alone will do me some good, help me get into the party mood.” 

There’s a brief silence, and then Stu steps back, “See you later.” 

“Yeah,” I say, a little flatly.

Billy’s eyes are trained on Stu, who just barely glances back. To anyone else, it’d come off as casual eye contact. A small feeling that’s little more than an itch at the back of my mind tells me that its the beginning of one of their exchanges. Or maybe I’m just on edge.

They approach the window, leaving like they always do.

----

Narrator’s POV

You never thought you’d want to kill Randy as badly as you do right now. One minute, the two of you are casually drinking, and he’s listening to a tipsy you summarize the plot of the latest show you’re invested in, and the next he’s trying to usher everyone into a game of 7 minutes in heaven. 

You swore you weren’t playing, even when Randy started complaining. No one will go for it unless they think they have a chance with someone as hot as you. Your no stood firm, even when other people started sitting in front of Stu’s guest bathroom.

All you wanted to do was be an observer. To sit next to Randy and to ignore the weird looks Billy and Stu took turns sending you from across the room as you finished off your beer. Instead, you had to watch Stu’s spin land on Tatum, and you had to watch him walk with her to the bathroom with enthusiasm. Those 7 minutes had you getting up to grab another drink that you nearly downed before getting back to your seat. 

That was what really set the night off. You had been pacing your drinks before then, wanting to keep the balance between being buzzed enough to be social and drinking enough to become messy. Stu stepping out of the closet with a grin and an arm around an uncharacteristically bashful Tatum pushed you right to that line. Billy ending up in the bathroom with Sidney next is what pushed you over it. 

It’s ridiculous, no one can fully control where their spin lands, but it was all too coincidental. Too perfect. 

And that’s how you ended up here. In a closet with Jonathan White from your second period. The same Jonathan White that’s always staring at your chest. You’re about two minutes into the most awkward small talk of your life while pretending to not notice his leering and clumsy, half thought out advances when the door opens. 

There’s no way that 7 minutes are already up, but you’re too relieved to question it. The calm feeling settling in your chest quickly disappears when you look towards the doorway. Stu’s leaning against the wooden frame, eyes cooly locked on you. 

“Dude.” Jonathan’s complaints die down at the back of his throat when Stu turns to look at him. You can’t fully see his expression, but despite how buzzed you are, you don’t miss his unexpected edge. 

“It’s my house, dude.” Stu’s reaction isn’t harsh in the way you expect it to be. It’s the calmness of his voice that cuts straight through you. “I can do whatever I want in my house, and you’re not going to stop me.” 

You’re not convinced Stu’s talking about his house. “Stu.” You have to bite your tongue to avoid blurting out that nothing was going on. Why should you clear the air? You and Jonathan were far apart, which is more than you can say about him and Tatum. “You’re drunk.” 

Stu ignores the touch of warning in your voice. He doesn’t even let himself look in your direction. It’s the only thing he can think to do to associate his anger with someone that isn’t you. 

“Whatever,” you breathe, deciding that the best thing you can do to diffuse the tension is to remove yourself from the situation, “I’m getting another drink.” 

You skirt past them, practically holding your breath until you’re fully out of the bathroom. No one’s sitting in that lopsided circle anymore. Whatever happened in those few minutes you were in the closet must have killed the mood just enough to end the game. Oh, well, you can’t say you’re too torn up about it. 

The alcohol isn’t settling in your stomach as comfortably as you’d like, but you meant what you said. You’re getting another drink. Maybe that will make you feel less like you’re balancing on the edge of a knife. 

You walk into the kitchen, frowning when you realize that the big cooler’s empty. It’s probably a sign from the universe to quit while you’re ahead, but you choose to ignore it. Instead of going back to the party and finding either Randy or one of the few familiar faces from some of your classes, you decide to go to Stu’s garage. You know for a fact he keeps extra beer in there. 

You step into the space, shutting the door behind you. The separation from the party is refreshing. A part of you regrets coming. Parties suck when you’re not in the specific mood for them. Why are you even here? To sit outside and listen to music that’s too loud while Billy and Stu hook up with their actual girlfriends while you down beer? You don’t even like beer that much. 

An idea latches itself onto your mind. You could leave. You could go home, change into pajamas, and pass out in bed. Sure, Billy and Stu wouldn’t be happy with it, especially considering the looks they gave you during spin the bottle, but you’re not happy with them. And why should you stick around in a setting you’re not in the mood for when they’ve been actively ignoring you since you got here? Obviously, they can’t get away with being all lovey dovey, but they could treat you like a friend. Or at the very least, not keep Sidney and Tatum away from you like you’re the plague.

Besides, all you’re going to do is go home and go to bed. If that makes them mad, then that’s their issue. Especially since they want to act all cute when they’re in your room, claim that you’re their actual girlfriend, and then treat you like you’re repulsive in public.

You’re interrupted from your fantasies of just walking out the front door by the sound of the garage door creaking open. You snap your gaze towards it and fight the urge to roll your eyes when you see that it’s Stu. You’re annoyed and tipsy, but still sober enough to know that the last thing you want to do is add any additional fuel to the fire. 

He walks towards the refrigerator without looking at you. The silence is starting to get to you as Stu opens the fridge. After a second of him looking around in there, Stu turns towards you. He’s holding your favorite drink. Wordlessly, he twists the cap off before extending an arm.

You blink once, slowly moving your hand to accept his offer. “I didn’t see these.”

Stu casually shrugs, shutting the fridge behind him. “Got them for you, Billy hid them in the back so no one else would grab them. Guess he forgot to tell you. 

The ‘forgot’ nearly makes you scoff. They both purposefully ignored you when you first got here and waved at them, and they’ve only looked at you to make you uncomfortable since. But you can’t say that right now. You’re tired and probably more drunk than him. Starting a fight isn’t something you can afford right now. 

“Oh,” you mumble, “Thanks.” You bring the drink to your lips, taking a slow sip. “Think I’m gonna go after this.” 

“Go?” Something flickers behinds Stu’s expression. “I thought you were staying over.” 

A sarcastic comment rises up your throat. After the way they’ve been acting, there’s no way he can think that your ideal ending of tonight is crawling into bed with them. Any bite in you dies down the second you meet his gaze. There’s no way to describe it. Unfeeling. 

“I uh-” You tilt your head, playing into your inebriated state. You shift back, which is all the excuse Stu needs to take two steps forward, practically caging you between him and a wall. “I had a little too much to drink and I’m not feeling great. I don’t think I’ll be a lot of fun, I just need to pass out in a dark room before everything starts spinning.”

He doesn’t look convinced or angry or anything. There’s something eerie about the cold indifference he’s radiating. “You wouldn’t lie to me, right, sweetheart?” 

You let your eyes drop to the glass bottle in your hand. You take a quick sip. “Was gonna ask you the same thing.” The mumble escapes you before you can think through your slurred words. 

Stu takes a step forward. You squeeze the bottle between your fingers a little tighter to avoid shrinking back. “What was that?” 

You look up just in time to see Stu tilt his head in order to regard you a little more cautiously. The last time you had a sub in your science class, they played a video about the structure of a predator’s mind and how they prepare to catch their prey. The way Stu’s eyes darken sends you straight back to that classroom. 

You can’t tell if the heat that rushes to your face is a tang of fear or something else. Or maybe it’s an uneasy combination of both. 

The door squeaks open again. Your head snaps in that direction, but Stu doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even bother putting a less conspicuous amount of space between you. 

“You two okay back here?” You let out a breath. It’s just Billy. 

“All good,” you manage just as Stu says, “She wants to go.” 

You keep your eyes focused on Billy, not wanting to think about Stu that way again. “I’m not feeling great and I’m tired.” The defense is weak, made even more pathetic by the slight pout of your lips. “Plus it’s not like you guys would notice anyway.” 

“What?” Billy’s question is oddly gentle.

The whiplash that gives you is nearly enough to make you drop the glass in your hand. You shut your eyes for a second, resting your head against the wall. Everything’s starting to feel a little too fuzzy. “You know what I’m talking about. At my house, it’s all talk about liking me, calling me your girlfriend, and then I get here and you don’t even want to be friends with me.” The blow up doesn’t make you feel better. The room is full on spinning now, you lean completely against the wall so that it can support your weight. Ugh, you know you won’t be able to handle their reaction. “’M tired, and I-I’m feeling weird. I think I should go to bed.” 

The quiet that follows has you fighting to not push past both of them in order to get to a bathroom. It’s shattered by Stu’s humorless laugh. His breath is hot against your jaw and it’s too much. “Aw,” he hums, his tone so sweet it circles right back to bitter, “She’s jealous, isn’t that cute?” 

You squint your eyes open. “Shut up.” 

“Why?” Billy asks, stepping further into the room, “He’s right. You think I didn’t see the way you were looking at me and Sid when we came out of the bathroom?” 

You sigh indignantly. “I’m too tired for this.” 

“But you weren’t too tired to be all over Randy or Jonathan White?” 

Your glare turns into something meek once you see the way Stu’s looking at you. “I wasn’t all over Randy, he was just the only person that was talking to me tonight because of you two. Neither of you even said hi to me and every time I tried talking to Sidney and Tatum, you’d come by and take them away.” The thought of Jonathan makes you sick all over again. “And I was nowhere near Jonathan White, and I’d never be willingly. He’s a total perv, and he made Shannon Walton cry before class the other day. And Shannon Walton’s the nicest, she always has gum and gives everyone her notes if they’re absent.” 

Stu doesn’t ease. “Don’t change the subject, you didn’t need to play.”

“You didn’t either,” you counter, “And I-I wasn’t even playing at first. I was just gonna sit in the room so I could keep talking to Randy, and then you two--” 

“So you only played because you were jealous.” Billy’s voice has taken on an edge that you don’t like. He continues, walking towards you with even, practically bored steps. “That’s not very nice of you.” 

They haven’t been very nice either, you think bitterly. “You started it.” 

The childish defense leaves the corner of Billy’s mouth turning upwards. “I’m not all over you for for 5 minutes and you get like this.” 

The dismissal makes your face feel warm. “Maybe we should give her a break.” The mocking in Stu’s tone strikes a nerve. “She’s just jealous.” You draw your eyebrows together, and Stu grins meanly. “You’re lucky green’s a pretty color on you, babe.” 

Chagrin fuels your reaction as you burst out a too confident, “’M not jealous.” 

Stu’s laugh is harsh, “You’re not?” 

Pushing down your instincts, you tilt your chin up a fraction of an inch in order to hold your ground. “Can’t be jealous because I know you two are mine.” 

At that, they both seem to still. You hold Stu’s stare until you no longer feel like you’re the one that’s trapped. The confidence is likely in your head and a byproduct of all you’ve had to drink, but it gives you the assurance you need to straighten your spine. Stu angles his head to the side and you’re not sure if it’s a good sign or not. To not panic, you extend your arms, resting them around his neck. The nails of the hand that isn’t holding the bottle trail down his neck. 

You can’t back out now. The way he’s looking at you changes. You can’t interpret his expression, which only puts you on edge more. He wants to be quiet, to dismiss you in one final, petty jab, but the more your nails dig into sensitive skin, the more he struggles. The nail thing’s a habit you developed after realizing how much it affects him.

“Watch the nails, sweetheart.” It’s meant to seem like a warning, but it slips out of him a little too low. He’s overcompensating to cover for what was almost a whine. 

You blink up at him through your eyelashes with maliciously soft eyes. “Starting to hurt?” He’s quiet, you scratch at his skin, hard enough to leave the kind of red marks that disappear almost as soon as they appear.

“This attitude’s cute, but don’t push it.” 

Everything from tonight hits you all at once as you tilt your head innocently. “Or what?” 

Billy knew that you were treading on ice so thin that even Stu couldn’t see the cracks since before you got here. That one comment you made before they left your place had been harder to deal with than Billy would ever admit. Stu pretended that he was fine with it, that he didn’t feel the strain of panic that comes from feeling like they need you more than you need them. And then you showed up here, as pretty as ever, and basically fine when they started ignoring you. And now this. 

It’s a slippery slope. The line between the amount of attitude that gets Stu going and the amount of attitude that pushes him towards something he can’t control is thin.

Billy steals the bottle from your hand and leans forward, grabbing your jaw with his free hand and pulling you into a kiss. It’s so sudden it takes you a second to relax into it. Once you finally do, a small sound escapes you. Billy deepens the kiss with no warning. You clumsily follow his lead despite how much they’ve annoyed you tonight.

He pulls away quickly once he’s sure that the energy in the room has been redirected, resting his forehead against yours. You don’t get the chance to recover. You’re still panting when Stu’s hand finds its way into the roots of your hair. He yanks on it, forcing you towards him. 

Stu’s kiss is hard and disorientating. You know that he has a way of being all consuming when he wants to be, but this is something else. You can’t take a full breath, but Stu doesn’t care. He doesn’t let you go until he’s done, and even then he takes his time releasing you, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth. 

You’re dizzy and somehow even drunker than before. You reach for Stu unsteadily. He looks you over slowly. “You get her in bed and I’ll figure out how to start kicking people out.”

Billy places an arm around your waist. His lack of protest surprises you slightly, but you’re not complaining about it. You need his help, and Billy knows it. That, paired with the fact that this is the only time he has an excuse to publicly hold onto you, makes him love when nights end like this. 

He always has an excuse ready in case Sid or someone else notices. Y/n can’t handle her alcohol and she’d kill all of us if we let her go home like this. She’s gonna sleep it off in Stu’s room for a little. It’s basically true, and it also gives Billy the excuse to linger around you. There are a lot of people that’d take advantage of your situation. Sid can’t be mad at that, if anything, she’d be mad at him for knowing how vulnerable you were and not doing anything.  

Billy leads you into Stu’s room, abandoning your last drink on the first surface he finds. He sits you down on the edge of Stu’s bed before opening one of Stu’s drawers. “Here,” he tosses one of Stu’s T-shirts towards you, “You got it or you need help?”

Shutting the drawer, Billy turns back to you. You’re laying down now, not even under the sheets. “You can’t fall asleep like that.” 

“Mhm,” you mumble, face half buried into your mattress. 

With a sigh, Billy walks towards you. He grabs your arm, pulling on you until you’re finally sitting. With a bit of prompting, you stand. Billy watches you struggle for a second before sighing. He keeps you steady as you get out of your clothes and pulls Stu’s T-shirt over your head. 

You’re too tired to care about the fact that you’re supposed to be mad at him. “Bed now?” 

Billy cups your cheek, his thumb soothingly brushing against your skin. “Last time I let you pass out before washing your face, you made me promise to never let it happen again.” 

----

You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep when an unexpected pressure stirs you awake. Ignoring the feeling, you try rolling over in order to pull the covers up to your neck. Something doesn’t let you. 

“You’re up,” Stu whispers against your hair, “You’re up, you’re okay.”

Twisting so that you’re flat on your black, you squint your eyes open. It’s still dark, so you know it’s still night time. You don’t remember exactly how you got here, but you know that you were comfortable. You also only vaguely remember the weirdness and your anger from earlier. 7 minutes in heaven thanks to Randy, a bit of confrontation in the garage. It feels less important now. 

Smiling, you slowly extend your until your knuckles are brushing against his cheek. “What time is it?” 

“Late,” Stu answers. 

“Then wh--” 

“Need my goodnight kisses,” he breathes, pressing a few, quick kisses to your temple. 

You smile, “Thought you were mad a--” 

Stu’s fingers squeeze your hips. “Don’t want to talk about that.” If you were less drowsy, you might have jumped a little. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Nodding you reach for him a little steadier now. Stu relents, leaning into you as you start to kiss his cheek. 

Billy’s hand finds your waist just as you start relaxing again. “What about me?” 

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Heeeeey, y'all!! I'm so, so, so excited to introduce this new story to everybody! I've been having a (horny) cowboy fixation for THE LONGEST time now after seeing a fanart of cowboy!Geto by the amazingly talented @sanjisblackasswife. Please go support a fellow black woman & go check out her work! I hope y'all enjoy the first two chapters! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

ONE: BUSINESS AS USUAL.

Another day, another face.

Another dance for a man trying to lift your dress up to get to your panties at this trashy saloon in the town of Blackwater. 

You try not to turn around and smack the customer sitting behind you reeking of whiskey and tobacco as he plays with the skirts of your short, short ruffled dress that you only lift up somewhat to show off your nylon stockings and garter belt as you wind your hips to the music playing on the piano downstairs. 

The sounds of the smooth piano tune and the miscellaneous chatter from the saloon are the only things keeping you from losing your cool on the guy who just can’t keep his hands off of you. Touching the dancers is forbidden according to your boss (and boyfriend) who owns the place that so many drunkards, business folk, and locals frequent. 

You would think that he would be less flashy with his whereabouts due to his illegal “side hustles”, but that isn’t any of your concern. If anything, it makes your life a lot easier. You look at the timer beside you on the nightstand near a bottle of empty moonshine and immediately stop your lapdance when it dings.

“Time’s up, sir!” you more than happily announce. 

The man, older with meaty hands and bad teeth, makes a sour face under his low-brim hat. “Damn, already?” he whines. “Ya can’t do that thing ya did with your hips just one more time, darlin’?” He gives you a sheepish smile that nearly makes you laugh. Is this guy serious? 

You shake your head, playing the part of the sweet but professional Southern gal just trying to make a dime. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got other customers waitin’ on me.” You put out a hand to him for your coin. “That’ll be $15, please.” 

Since you danced clothed, it is much cheaper than a lingerie dance which is $25 while a naked dance is $30. Many of the high rollers who come in here are able to afford the lingerie and naked dances, mostly to jerk off to the dancers as they watch them. You’ve had a few do so to you, but your boyfriend doesn’t mind as long as there is cash flow. 

But your customer doesn’t hand it over right away which is another normal occurrence here: bums who can’t pay or want to finesse you for a free dance…if not get you to have sex with them. You can already tell this one is looking for more than just a dance judging by the lecherous look he gives you.

“That was some dance, y’know,” he dreamily says. “I bet you’ve got all kinds of moves in the bedroom, dontcha, darlin’?” 

You do your best to resist the urge to roll your eyes from under your long lashes and instead perse your red lips at him that match your short red dress with its low bodice that shows off your cleavage and the slit at the thigh. “None of which you’ll be findin’ out about,” you firmly say. “Now please, sir, just give me the–” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he chuckles, putting up his meaty hands in mock defense. “Ain’t no need to get defensive…but unless you’re offerin’, I could give you way more than just $50 if you show me how good of a little dancer you can be on top of me.” He gives you a wink and you damn near vomit. You need to get out of here before you let the chopper sing. 

“Have a good night, sir,” you say, appalled, and turn on your heel to leave, but his hand on your wrist stops you. “What the hell are you doin’, you creep?” you snap.

The man yanks you back by your arm, trying to get you to come onto the bed with him. “C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” he cackles, pawing at your wais. “Just gimme what I’m askin’ for and we can–” 

“Get the fuck offa me!” you yelp, immediately snatching the bottle off of the nightstand and smacking him upside the head with it.

The man lets out an “oof” as the bottle smacks against his skull, bursting into pieces of glass that you jump away from to avoid getting cut. You watch as he falls off the bed and smacks facefirst onto the floor with a thud that will no doubt alarm the saloon. 

And it does. The door barrels open and in runs Todo, the big, buff guard that your boyfriend put in charge of keeping the saloon safe. “Get your hands off of…” His rage subsides when he looks down and finds the man at your feet. “Her,” he finishes. His eyes tick up to you worriedly. “You’re okay?” 

“Yeah, now I am,” you huff. You bend down to check the man’s pulse, finding it pumping. “He ain’t dead––just unconscious.” Todo looks like he wants to ask you what went down, but the sound of boots stomping up the wooden steps stops him. Your boyfriend and boss stand in the doorway, shoving Todo out of the way despite him looking like an ant compared to the guard. 

Kenzo, the owner of the Blackwater Saloon, is an older, lean man with cropped, black hair, a beautiful face, and a goatee that only makes him prettier…except for his anger. “What the fuck is goin’ on up here?!” he hollers. “I’m tryin’ run a business here! Why am I hearin’ all this noise?”

Todo nods at you while shuffling into the room, acting as a wall between you and Yuri. “Why don’t you ask her?” he suggests. 

Though you appreciate Todo’s protection, you know that there isn’t anything Kenzo can do to hurt you…not unless you want him to turn him in to the sheriff and his men that are for sure sniffing around for him. “What the fuck, Y/N?!” he hollers. “You killin’ my customers now?!” 

“He ain’t dead, Kenzo,” you sigh. “He’s just unconscious and drunk. He tried puttin’ your girl on the bed and usin’ this bed for more than just sleepin’.” You give a Todo a subtle nod to leave and he does though he doesn’t look happy to do so. 

Kenzo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Babe,” he groans, frustrated, “this is the second time you got into it with a customer. The last one nearly got us sued!” You gape at him, pissed that he still blames you for that. “I didn’t even touch him,” you argue. “All I did was bump him when he kept gettin’ in my way and tried to corner me for a blowjob!” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Or would you rather I had done it for more business?” you hiss. Kenzo looks at you with those unnaturally blue eyes, the contacts he wears allowing him to conceal with natural eye color. “Baby, come on,” he whines, moving toward you. “You know that ain’t what I meant.” 

He puts his hands on your shoulders, willing you to look at him. “You just could’ve done it in another way,” he says. “All my other dancers don’t do shit like this.” You glare up at him, even more irked. “That’s because they’re afraid of gettin’ fired,” you snap. “Kenzo, the guy tried to force himself on me. What else was I supposed to do?” 

But Kenzo doesn’t look the least bit concerned with that, as usual, only thinking of himself. “Just call me or Todo next time, alright?” he sighs. “Besides, isn’t this a nicer job than workin’ at that whorehouse I found you in?” He smiles at you but it’s sharp and has a deeper meaning to it. 

You resist the urge to sock him. He knows damn well he wouldn’t fire you is the fact that you not only give him pussy but you also bring in the most business because of your pretty face, “exotic” skin, and body. He cozies up to you, taking your chin into his hand.  “Ain’tcha my girl?” he whispers. It is what he always asks you when you fight; something he thinks gets your panties wet when all it does is make you want to barf. 

But you bite your tongue and look up at him with a smile. “Yes,” you sigh. “I’m your girl.” He smiles too, showing you all of his gold teeth, and plans a wet, tobacco-flavored kiss on your lips that makes you sick. “Good girl,” he hums. “Now back to work you go. No bein’ mean now.” 

You do as he says and leave, earning a hard smack on the ass as you walk past him. You giggle fakely as you exit, finally losing your smile when you walk down the wooden steps in your black pumps to the saloon drenched in cigar smoke, whiskey, rum, and sex. Music and laughter explode from the crowded bar as you make your way to the bar where Shoko, your bartending friend, and Yuki, one of the other dancers, sit conversing.

You sit down on the stool next to Yuki with her long, blonde hair pinned up to elongate her gorgeous face and seductive eyes. “Handsy customer?” she says from behind her fan. 

You nod, huffing. “Shoko!” you yell, slapping the bar. “Gimme a shot.”

The bob-haired woman with the cigarette dangling from her lips nods, bumping Choso, one of the cuties Yuri hired a month ago that Yuki has got her eye on, out of the way. 

Once finished, she passes a whiskey smash–a cocktail with whiskey, mint, and plenty of cherries–to you. “Here ya go, missy,” she says and giggles when you down it. “Looks like you needed that…someone else too.”

She juts her chin at Kenzo hunkering down the steps, hollering at Maki and Mai, the dancing sister duo that the men adore so much, to end their break and get to work. 

“You know, the boss has been a bit on edge lately,” Yuki says, blocking her mouth with her fan to avoid anyone eavesdropping. “I wonder if he’s havin’ money issues still. Y’know, the word is that he can’t pay for this place anymore.” 

You and Shoko share a look. ‘Yeah,’ you think. ‘That’s why he’s got all these side hustles.’ Money laundering. Prostitution. Trafficking alcohol. Kenzo does it all. Hold habits die hard, you suppose. You’re the only one who knows who your boss really is. 

You’re the only one who knows that he escaped prison a year before he met you and invited you to join his saloon he only opened five months ago after hiding out last year. 

You’re the only one who knows that he only opened this saloon as a way to lay low from law enforcement. 

You’re also the only one who knows that he pulled off one of the biggest heists ever with the help of a certain gunslinging duo that you know will show up here one of these days to collect their coin. 

“Well, he gets enough business here,” you say, playing the role of the clueless girlfriend and employee. “I can’t understand why he wouldn’t have the money.” Yuki looks like she wants to respond, but a high roller sitting down next to her, much to Choso’s dismay, stops her short and she puts on the charm. 

Shoko leans across the bar to you, pretending to wipe the surface down with a rag. “I can’t understand why you don’t just take the money you made and leave like you planned,” she whispers. “You’ve been at this for five months, Y/N. You’ve gotta be sick of it.” 

You shake your head, passing her your shot glass for another hit. The whiskey has left a warm feeling in your gut and a buzz that you need more of. “No,” you firmly say. “Not yet.” 

Shoko only thinks you want to leave this dead-end job and Blackwater for a life somewhere else. She doesn’t know your real plan or why you’ve chosen to stay for so long. ‘And it’s only a matter of time until they get here,’ you think to yourself. 

That’s the only reason you decided to wait to kill Kenzo: to get to Geto and Gojo the Gunslingers. The duo that everyone across the wild, wild West seems to know and is afraid of. And you know that it is only a matter of time until they show up looking for your boyfriend who you’ll serve on a silver platter. Anything to have Geto and Gojo finally within your grasp. 

And when the doors to the saloon suddenly open with a loud slam that emits startled gasps from the saloon’s customers and employees, including you, you know that they have arrived: your targets.

[officialtayley]

So... Plot twist 

Hi everyone, is Emily/em/Sparks9397, make yourselves a snack this one’s long. 

I have a lot I'd like to say, but think a good place to start would be that yes, I’m very sorry for how this played out and for what I did, though, the pics were about as far as the lie went, guess doesn’t matter either way but yes, I am a lawyer, yes I live in Australia, yes that’s my dog, yes I have a boyfriend, etc. 

Honestly, I'm not mad at the anon in fact I was kinda expecting it? (someone was bound to get that’s not my pic), but you did caught me off guard last night and I panicked cause I thought better disappear and leave no trace behind, they all hate you anyways (you guys have been way too nice and fic gate is kinda funny), but I do like to twist the knife and did go back to it in the morning to check how badly i'd fucked up, is why i'm sending this.

if you want me to explain myself, well I was in a bad bad place last year when I started writing, the writing really help me through lots of stuff and for personal reasons i thought it was better not to add my pic, stupid me thought it was a good idea to share another person’s photo, who kinda looks like me if you want to believe that or not, but seems way happier, more stylish, more fun, etc and well you know how that ended... 

Was it necessary to keep posting more pics that weren’t mine, no obv not, yet believe it or not somehow in the past year my life got way better and I made it out of that dark place and was excited to share more of my life, my mistake to not just come clean instead of keep pretending I was someone else. 

Anyways, I could keep going with the apology but I don’t think it matters very much now, does it? 

So I’ll just use this time to say I'm realy really sorry Meike @paramorewillbelegends  and I’m really so so sorry Reese @dnd21, you both were really good friends to me and I'm so grateful to you both for being there for me when I had no one to talk to, sorry I couldn’t reciprocate and be a better friend to you. 

Ps. A03 was more leveled headed than myself during this time and though I deleted everything and didn’t have backup they sent me a copy of everything which I can repost if that’s what you want, but yeahh guess that's it for me, and thanks to Ash if you end up posting this (no pressure). 

i think your apology matters. you've obviously seen what i've said about what you did so i won't say anything more, but if you mean this then it's something people can forgive you for and move past.

i think it's better to do this than to do something drastic. as you can see, no one hates you, even any of us that may have sounded quite harsh, that's not hatred either. anyway, i appreciate that you sent this and i'm sure everyone else will appreciate it, especially your friends, so i'll post it because i think it's important and you didn't have to send it at all but you did, so again, i think it'll be very appreciated.

also you do whatever you feel is right with the fics. a lot of people may still want them but ultimately it's up to you and if you feel comfortable doing so.

[stars-tonight]

Hey! I would love to do a match up then (gyaaa I’m excited)!! I would like to be matched with Haikyuu men (post time skip because I’m an adult). I would love a long head canon too but I respect the writer grind so do what you’re comfortable with! (Romantic too). I go by she/her and my ideal type must meet three requirements: 1. has to make me laugh (isn’t difficult I laugh at literally EVERYTHING 80% of my day is just me giggling at tik toks) 2. I have a big fluffy golden doodle, she is a therapy dog and they need to be ok with her giving kisses and sleeping on my bed 3. Kind respectful man! Kindness is so attractive. I am 5’8 I look like this: (ME) in case that doesn’t work im slender and I have blue eyes and brown hair. As you might know, one of my hobbies is fan fic writing but I also LOVE taekwondo and in another life I would like to be a taekwondo champion! I’m an archivist and I love love reading manga and watching anime. I also have a nasty spending habit on anime merchandise (I’ve dropped 200$ on anime stuff). Physically my ideal type r muscular guys (I hate tsuki so plz not him). My dream date is snowball fight and ice skating!! If I was dating a volleyball player I’d be their biggest fan (wearing their face on a tshirt) and I hope my partner would be my biggest fan too! My love language is food :)) I hope that’s enough!

headcanons

🥛 bokuto is the unintentionally funny type

🥛 like he's supposed to be this really cool ace but actually if you search up his name it's just his fans editing all his emo modes into memes

🥛 he doesn't mind it too much though

🥛 (he probably isn't even aware that this was a thing)

🥛 but you'll definitely be laughing at his dramatics

🥛 if you're upset he'll probably go look up cheesy dad jokes and sing them to you to cheer you up

🥛 or he'll go running to the store (full on sprinting) to buy you all your favorite food

🥛 bokuto definitely would not mind your dog

🥛 he's like a dog himself lol

🥛 they'd probably have some sort of shared language

🥛 he's the type of guy who'd plant a huge kiss on her nose and just run around with her in the park

🥛 bokuto is a muscular guy, right

🥛 so if you see him you'll probably think he owns a german shepherd or another scary dog

🥛 but instead you'll just see him running around like a little kid with a goldendoodle lol

🥛 bokuto seems like a natural bed hogger

🥛 so bokuto + dog = you're probably not getting a lot of room on the bed

🥛 also bokuto is definitely kind-hearted

🥛 he's not scheming or sassy

🥛 when he sees that you're good at taekwondo he'll have a minor crisis

🥛 because he's supposed to protect you, right?

🥛 so why does he feel like you can protect him better than he can protect you?

🥛 but would very quickly realize it's cool and just admires you more

🥛 watches anime with you and dramatically reacts to everything

🥛 cheers when the protagonist wins, gasps at plot twists, cries loudly at emotional moments, etc.

🥛 imagine bokuto in a snowball fight lol

🥛 it'd be lowkey so cute

🥛 he looks for you at every game

🥛 when he sees you wearing a shirt with his face on it he just lights up

🥛 waves excitedly and probably jumps up and down to make sure you can see him, unaware the cameras are on him

🥛 you can bet he's playing his best after seeing you in the crowds

🥛 after a win he's running to you as fast as he can and scooping you up and swinging you around lol

🥛 he'd DEFINITELY be your biggest fan

🥛 comes to anything you do and for sure brings a banner

🥛 and sometimes you have to be like "not everyone brings a banner and a cowbell to [insert the occasion here]"

🥛 (also tsukki's not muscular anyway the man is a string bean lmao)

runner up for you was miya osamu!

A/N: there you go, i hope you liked it! also girl you're BEAUTIFUL 🫶

[arlenianchronicles]

Hello! I read your Dark!Maedhros AU a couple days back—thanks for replying to my tags about it and sharing it, it’s super cool! I hope you don’t mind me gushing about it? If it were a fic, I would leave a comment to show my appreciation, but in lieu of that I figured I’d send you an ask. I hope that’s alright (humble apologies if you’d rather just delete this).

The plot beats are so riveting and well thought out, also so in line with the heavy vibes and themes of canon! I love how it centers on Maedhros’s deterioration after so much trauma and loss—it’s heartbreaking, and imagining Maedhros on Morgoth’s side is terrifying! At the same time, the way you get him there is so painful and angsty!!!

I was really invested in the story, all the way from the initial loss of the twins and Maglor’s death. I could see it just getting worse and worse! Especially once the war was won for Morgoth. I think it’s such a clever twist/manipulation on the Oath that he would convince Maedhros that he’d basically fulfilled it by allying with his greatest enemies. That’s just so!!! Ah—scrumptious angst! Also I don’t know how you did it but the way you’ve crafted/told this story, it’s really got me thinking about how it must feel to be immortal, to be cursed to keep going and going. I feel like this AU really leverages the relentlessness of Elvish immortality, especially as it relates to lasting grief.

I love the idea of the twins being captives in Maedhros’s twisted, dark fae vibes court (which, that concept? Inspired!). The way his love has been twisted into something covetous feels so on-theme and so tragic! It’s like he’s been consumed by the thing that he lost/can’t have.

It was super exciting to see that you shared the entire plot breakdown/some of the best most gripping scenes. I read it all last week and knew I needed to send you an ask about it because it’s just such a good AU idea! Apologies if you’ve already answered this somewhere, but do you ever plan to write it out in full/post it anywhere? No pressure if not—thanks for sharing this AU, it’s amazing!

Hi there! Thank you so so much for your ask!! No need to apologize at all, I love receiving asks and comments (especially when it comes to my work hahaa It's just so much fun to see other people's reactions!) I had a big smile on my face while reading your thoughts loll So please feel free to gush as much as you’d like about the AU! :DDD

I’m really happy to hear that you were invested in the story, even when it was just an outline XD Maedros’ deterioration was lots of fun to figure out; the poor guy just can’t catch a break! And being immortal in this situation would definitely be painful, like, just being forced to watch the world deteriorate into a hellscape under Morgoth’s rule … It’s not a theme I thought of when I first started drafting this AU, but it’s definitely a welcome surprise! :''''D

I’m happy you like the dark fae concept for Maedros’ court! It’s one of those other things that I didn’t initially plan on, but once I started writing it out in my previous replies, it all just clicked (and I actually have a painting of his court coming soon, so keep an eye out! XDD)

Thank you so much again for sending me your ask, and for taking the time to read through my outline!! I love all comments, both in asks and tags <333 And please don’t apologize, it’s okay!! I currently don’t have any plans to write this AU out in a fanfic – the section with the twins isn’t fully outlined, and I usually get stuck while writing if I don’t have an outline to work off of loll ^^;; I’m also working on another fanfic at the moment, but once that one’s done, I could definitely look into working more on my dark!Mae AU! Thanks again!! <333

[inukag-archive]

Please ignore this if you have seen it, but I sent in a question a while ago. Maybe a month or so? So I’m just wondering if it was actually sent or if tumblr sent it out into the 5th dimension.

I was hoping to find a couple fics.

The first one is a canon divergent. I’m pretty sure the jewel got broken again. There’s a really emotional scene where InuKag are trying to find a jewel shard, Kags is pregnant and the demon they’re fighting ends up hitting her and causing her to lose the baby. Inu takes her back through the well and leaves her. Somehow he was able to keep her from using the well. They’re mates and she goes into a depression without him. But he eventually comes back and begs for forgiveness.

The second one is an AU slow burn, where Kags is a preschool or kindergarten teacher. Her son is Shippo and Inu’s daughter is also in her class. The kids gets really close and I believe InuKag start meeting up so the kids can hang out. They start falling for each other. The big plot twist is reviled almost at the end and it turns out Kags had shippo and Inu’s daughter. Her father separated the twins at birth without ever telling her. It’s also revealed that Inu and Kags were super wasted one night and ended up in the same hotel with rooms right next door and even though they were with their ex SOs, they ended up sleeping together that night, so Shippo and his daughter are also his and hers. So Inu is excited to get to know his son and Kags is so excited to have a daughter.

Fingers crossed you guys can find them! I’m dying to reread them.

Good Afternoon Nonnie!

We know sending in asks can feel like sending it into the void, but the fic finders are always more than happy to chat about lists and fic searches if you reach out via DMs. When requests have names attached to them, it's much easier for us to reach out and ask for more specifics rather than an ask lingering in the bowels of our inbox. But if you wish for your ask to stay anon you can still message us and let us know and we're not gonna put you on blast, promise.

Some Insight You Didn't Ask For But Since We're Here:

At the moment we have 48 unanswered asks, 10 of which are specific fic searches, and our turn around thus far varies from two days to, ah, well, a year.

We're sorry about that, but it's just a matter of when the ask came in versus when the mods have time, how much detail we have in the ask, if it's on AO3 and tagged or if we're digging through FFN and mediaminer, and sometimes folks who ask just get kind of lucky and it's a fic a team member has read recently. In this instance, your description of the fics is slightly different from your first ask to this one which actually helped a lot.

For the first fic we think two stories fit the bill, each with about 75% accuracy to your description.

Blackout by King Baka (E)

*COMPLETE* A night of celebration yields life-altering consequences for Inuyasha and Kagome. Can they weather the storm, or will the consequences of their actions prove too much to handle?

OR

The Search by CJ Lady Gryffindor (M)

Naraku is dead and the Shikon no Tama is....uh...shattered! WTF! InuYasha, Kagome, Miroku, Sango, Shippo and Kirara set out to find the shards once again, meeting good and bad demons, and exploring their ever changing relationships Completed.

We are 99% sure the second fic is-

Save the Last Dance For Me by RoseDragonWitch (T)

Kagome is a single mom who raised her son on her own since her husband left her. Inuyasha is a single father who cared for his daughter since his wife died. Kagome, a preschool teacher, Inuyasha, a martial arts master, will their kids bring them together?

If these aren't what you were hoping for please reach out to a mod or send in another ask. We aim for 100% fic finding success!

[bonesandthebees]

hhhh nnggffkkkgf THAT NEW CHAPTER okay so for a lot of this fic I’ve been super conflicted about Phil and Wilbur’s relationship, because while I want Dadza/found family, Phil has just been so flawlessly controlled in contrast to Wilbur’s Mess™️, and I just cannot enjoy relationship dynamics where one character coolly obtains another character’s devotion without ever becoming vulnerable themselves.

but now!!!!! That moment when Wilbur asks Phil to imagine if he was an Elytrian, and Phil clearly IMAGINES WILBUR AS HIS OWN SON AND IS COMPLETELY OVERCOME BY EMOTION!!!!!

Like yes it was an extremely controlled meltdown, but I have no doubts Phil is currently a hot mess inside his shell—he’s never retreated like this before. Wilbur is of course 99.9% oblivious to the effect he’s having on the emperor, but my skin is cleared, my crops are watered, Phil can now adopt Wilbur with my blessing.*

*i’m still watching him though. I refuse to 100% trust Phil until the fic is done and I know there aren’t any last minute plot twists coming. 😒

oh yeah I get what you mean. while I think those types of relationships in fics are really interesting to explore, it's not exactly a positive relationship to have one character be so vulnerable while the other is never vulnerable at all. and while I wouldn't say phil and wilbur's relationship in stars is perfectly healthy per se, it's not that type of vibe either. it's very complicated.

so yes!! we get a moment where a crack forms in phil's facade! I was very excited to include that in the chapter because I think it definitely gives you guys a lot of insight into phil's thought process that you usually don't. I'm determined to stick to my own rule about sticking to one POV, but god sometimes I wish I could show you guys what's going on in phil's head. there's SO MUCH going on beneath the surface with him

(you should definitely keep an eye on him though. we still have a few more twists and turns to come)

[horatio-fig]

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?🎙️which one of your fics would you like someone to make a pod-fic of? 💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer? 💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

-- @nimata-beroya

Thank you so much for the asks 🥰

💘 - My fic Regency and Rebels had all the Imperial charaters being the bad guys and doing (era appropriate) morally bankrupt things. However, as I’ve written more of it, I’ve really fallen in love with certain characters and I wish I could remove them from the villain plot.

🎙 - I had to google what a Podfic was 😅 thay sound fun. Probably any of my Whumptober-with-a-twist fics. They all start with a lot of whump and angsty build up, only for there to be fun fluff twist at the end.

💋- I’m really bad for forgetting to respond to comments so I completely understand when people don’t respond. Of course I love hearing back from people, but there’s never any pressure.

💌 - My fic Thrawn and Eli go to Dex’s Diner is structured like a movie and not a novel (terrible idea, I don’t know what I was thinking 🫠) The next 4 chapters all take place at the same time, each chapter telling the night from each main charaters perspective, and there are interlinking events that effect things going on in the other chapters. I think it works and I’m very exicted to see if other people think it works and if they like it.

[marypsue]

Ahh cannot believe we’re nearing the end of the curse reverse fic!! Truly wild the passage of time, and also all the twist you threw in. I for one, am very curious as to how everything will shake out in the s3 rewrite since Things Are Not The Same, But Still a Little Bit The Same. Also I love how you give each group equal emotional weight (Dustin and mike!! Robin and Barb!! Joyce and Hopper and Bob!!) (also I love the way you capture that everyone is messy in their own way and that no one is perfect and also Nancy and Jonathan are an innately messy couple, bc I feel like the fandom does not account for the fact that they absolutely are the drama) Anywho! Very excited for tomorrow’s chapter!! I’m considering it a belated bday surprise and rooting for some fun hijinks. I may even treat myself and reread some road goes ever on bc Monster Steve, my beloved.

The end is too close and I am not prepared! (Well. I'm mostly prepared. Sort of.)

It's funny you should mention All The Twists, because I feel like this second fic (put your curse in reverse) sticks the closest to canon out of the three fics I've got written or planned in the series. It's possible I've just been too close to it for too long. I will say this though (and may have already said it once before, but shhh), I've made some major overhauls to the plot of season 3. I have a plan and I am tapping the pads of my little raccoon fingers against each other in evil glee about eventually getting to share it. Now to finish writing the darn thing...

I'm so, so glad to hear that the groups feel balanced, emotionally! One of the things I hate most in writing is when you have a clear set of "A" Characters, who Matter, and then a clear set of "B" Characters, who Don't Matter As Much And Are Mostly Here To Be A Punchline. I love all of these idiots and I want to give them all the kind of storytelling they deserve. And even if I don't necessarily like every character on this show (*coughcoughMurraycough*), somebody out there does, and thinks one of my very favourite characters is just the worst and wishes they'd drop off the face of the earth.

(And, you know, there have been times when trying to be fair to a character I have no particular feeling toward or even dislike, in my writing, has led to me finding a new appreciation for them. And...also, sometimes, accidentally convincing myself to ship them. You will not find any fic for Murray Bauman/Sam Owens on AO3, I'm sure, because I have not written it yet...but oh my god. You guys. Have you thought about how much potential for both hilarity and angst this pairing could have? Because I have. Against my will.)

Speaking of "A" Characters and "B" Characters, part of that dichotomy that I've noticed is that "A" Characters aren't allowed to fuck up. They're always ultimately proven right. Or, if they do do something wrong, it's always because they were given the wrong information, or intentionally misled, or someone else forced them into it. They never just...make a bad decision, or miss a shot, or act on a negative emotion and do something stupid they'll regret, or just plain trip and fall on their face. And "B" Characters basically can't not fuck up. They're there entirely to cause the problems that the "A" Characters have to solve, and then go 'oh the cleverness of you' at the "A" Characters. This is my least favourite kind of storytelling, and if you want to see a textbook example of it in the wild, just watch Thor: The Dark World. (Except don't actually do that, because I wouldn't intentionally inflict that on anyone.)

The best and easiest way to break down the dichotomy between "A" Characters and "B" Characters and get characters who start to live and breathe and act like Actual Human People, in my experience, is to make sure that every single one of your characters is a bit stupid about something. Something that matters enough to come up, not, like, something that will never affect the story they're part of. And if you've created a character who can't take a pie to the face and continue to be interesting to read about, you're probably not there yet.

Anyway! Thank you for that opportunity to soapbox. That very long rant all to say: yes Jonathan and Nancy are messy as hell, and they're much more interesting that way. Happy belated(?) birthday, enjoy the hijinx, and an enthusiastic hell yes to Monster Steve!

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Sniper

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Agent!Reader

Plot: Reluctantly, you get thrown into an assignment with Bucky and Yelena, but Bucky doesn't trust you as far as he can throw you. When he's proven to be correct, it turns out you're still a hell of a good team.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, violence and light angst.

Words: 8,9OO

A/N: This fic has been a LONG time coming and just kept building and building, so it's basically a massive slow burn with HEAT. It's closer to what my first fic was like, so please let me know what you guys think!

“I’m not helping,” you conclude and put the last of your laundry away, an indication that you are no longer interested in the conversation.

When the unlikely duo stood in front of your door half an hour ago, you cursed yourself for ever getting out of bed. Your quick reflexes abandoned you when the tiny, blonde widow stuck her foot between the door and invited herself inside. Sharing a quick look with the large super soldier you recognised as Bucky Barnes, you sighed in defeat and allowed them into your home.

You regret telling Yelena your address the last time you spoke to her. As much as you adored the quick-witted spy, especially after performing so well on your assignment together about two years prior, you had recklessly assumed she would forget you and would never see her again. After all, your line of work didn’t exactly leave much space to maintain any long-term relationships, friend or other.

And then there’s Bucky. A twisted, nonetheless incredibly skilled ex-assassin that intimidated you beyond comprehension. You had worked with him about two times in the past and encountered him a couple times in between. He had frustrated you with his stubborn and pessimistic nature and you eventually called him out on it, assuming you would never have to talk to him again.

Clearly, you have to stop assuming your problems won’t follow you to the present.

And now they are here, in your secret home hidden in de crowded city of London, proposing you help them out with an assignment that should prevent the end of the world as you know it.

Like you haven’t heard that one before…

The disappointment that briefly flashes over her excitable face punctures your heart. You amicably decided to hear them out before you denied their request for assistance. With them, you mostly mean Yelena, since Bucky is stood with his arms crossed and a thunder cloud hanging over his head as he visibly judges your interior and lets her do the talking.

But then Yelena turns to Bucky, a childish grin forced onto her features. “You see, Bucky. My friend here, who has a skill set that would put yours to shame, is …retarded.”

“-Retired!” you quickly correct the Russian as you roll your eyes, huffing at Bucky when you realise you shouldn’t have taken the bait so quickly. You’re not sure Yelena knows that you and Bucky have met before and you are suspicious as to why Bucky didn’t tell her.

“Retired,” Yelena recovers with her thick accent and a dismissive wave of her hand before turning back to Bucky. “She has lost her skills, you see.”

Gritting your teeth, it requires all of your energy not to give into the provoking blonde and defend yourself. After two deep breaths, you decide to show her exactly how skilled you still are by swiftly slipping a knife from the holster under one of your cabinets and flinging it her way, making sure to chop off a few strands of hair sticking out on the side of her head as the blade penetrates the wall behind her.

“My hair!” Yelena cries out and narrows her eyes at you. “Do you have any idea how much a good hair cut costs nowadays?!”

Bucky rolls his eyes and shoots you a glare, slowly wiping the satisfied grin off your face.

“Look, clearly we’re not getting her to help us, so let’s just head out before things escalate.” Bucky presses his hand to Yelena’s shoulder gently to keep her from diving at you, signalling with his eyes to her that it is time to go. Of course Bucky was never behind the idea of involving you.

“Yeah. Listen to the trained, cold-blooded killer, Yelena. He sure as hell will keep you safe,” you spit sarcastically and turn back to your tasks.

Your harshness is a defence mechanism that you are very familiar with and you scrunch your eyes closed at your degrading tone, disappointment towards yourself blooming in your chest.

“What happened to you?” The pain in Yelena’s voice is evident and you drop your head, pressing your palms to the counter in front of you as you let out a deep breath. The woman had been through enough in the past years and guilt is eating at you now. You swallow hard before turning around to face the two heroes again.

“Yelena, you can stick around here if you want, but I’m just not helping you out with your little plan. I’m done with all of that,” you lie and Yelena cocks her head to the side curiously as she narrows her eyes at you, trying to read your thoughts. After a long moment of silence, the tension in the air palpable, she nods slowly before dropping her head to look down at her attire.

“Can I please take a shower then? My outfit isn’t white anymore.” She pouts and raises her eyes back to you. Smiling at the way she easily moves on from your crude behaviour, you throw her one of the towels you just folded.

“Go ahead, I’ll wash your clothes and make some dinner.” You offer a smile and she hurries over, wrapping her arms around you and whispering in your ear that she’s glad to see you again before skipping past you into the bathroom that you had gestured towards.

That leaves you and the overly strong soldier you just offended. You chew your lip nervously and give him a guilty look with another one of your deep sighs “Sorry that I snapped. I know you’ll keep her safe.”

He narrows his eyes at you and slowly walks over, his arms still crossed over his chest as his approaching face reveals more of his handsome appearance to you. He studies your body language, the judgement clear on his features before settling his eyes on yours.

“Something tells me you have a whole lot of things to apologise for.”

…

Flicking on the light above the kitchen counter to grant you some vision in the middle of the night, you peel open one of the folders that was delivered to you this morning after you requested them. Raising your glass of water to your lips as your eyes scan over the jargon of words scattered across the papers, you finally find some peace in your own home now that Bucky and Yelena are fast asleep.

If it weren’t for Yelena’s lively anecdotes and excitement, dinner earlier would have been beyond uncomfortable. It felt odd having Bucky in your home and to see Yelena again after such a long time. The memories of your life from that time like nails being hammered into your chest. Luckily you could keep yourself busy by tending to your guests, eventually offering Bucky the attic and Yelena the guest room to stay in for the night.

However, Yelena refused to fall asleep until you agreed to help them out. You should have known she wouldn’t drop the request and you tried to fight her -you really did- but eventually told them you would do whatever you could from your current spot. But you wouldn’t under any circumstance get back into the field.

Not after everything…

Too engrossed in the information in front of you, hoping to finally discover the missing puzzle piece to your personal quest, you don’t notice the light footed figure sneaking up on you.

“There are better books to read, you know.”

His rough voice startles you to the point where your heart almost slams out of your ribcage. You swallow the sudden gasp and as a reflex, grab one of your hidden revolvers and aim it at your undiscovered target.

Letting out a breath of relief when you notice it’s Bucky with his eyebrows raised in amusement at your fast reflexes, you slowly drop the gun and lay it onto the surface of the kitchen counter, though no less apprehensive.

Wearing a white shirt and some loose grey sweatpants, he almost doesn’t look threatening anymore. But one look at his face and the harsh lines indicating his default frown makes you pull your guard right back up.

“Jesus, Bucky.” You groan and run a hand through your hair.

“Retired, my ass.” He scoffs and walks over slowly, causing you to calmly shut the folders in front of you. The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches at the sight and he gives you a suspecting smirk.

“Why are you up?” you ask him quickly, yet casually to avoid him from asking any questions he shouldn’t be. To him and Yelena, you are still retired after all.

“Why are you?”

Rolling your eyes and raising your glass of water into the air, you give him a forced smile. “Water.”

“So who’s the target?” he asks, ignoring your terrible distraction entirely.

You should know better than to think a trained assassin with severe trust issues would let you off that easily. The man in front of you is blunt and harsh and he would have never gotten away with his attitude if he wasn’t so dangerous …and attractive.

“Buck, we all have side jobs. Let me do mine and I’ll let you do yours.”

“I don’t have a side job. This assignment is my main job.” He shrugs his shoulders casually as he crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest, as if this is the obvious way of thinking about their current mission.

“This is not a main job. I mean, it is hardly monitored by the government, is it?” You roll your eyes at his stubborn nature and his clear judgement of your stance. Whatever it is that the two of them were doing, it wasn’t on the radar of the United Nations, let alone any government.

“It’s my main job. And it should be yours. So what is it that is splitting your focus?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“The second I stepped into this house, you became my business. Now stop fucking around and tell me.” His tone is sharp and you grit your teeth at the audacity of him talking to you like he has known you for years and has any fucking right to decide what you can and cannot do. Still, you finally understand why he was named a sergeant, the authority sharpening his tone capable of making anyone oblige.

“Or what?”

Bucky gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he slowly steps closer until his lids lower from looking down at you. Before you can reach for the gun, he gives it a quick tap as it slides out of reach for the both of you.

“I’ll be your biggest nightmare,” he spits, his voice nothing short of a promise. “This mission is more important than any of your little games. I don’t care for your private endeavours. If you agree to help us out, I need you in a hundred percent.”

You grind your teeth and as much as you hate him for it, you understand where he is coming from. So you sigh and snatch up the folders, stepping around him and brushing against his shoulders as you walk past to signal him to follow you.

Leading him to your stairs, you open the sealed door under it by pressing your fingerprint to a small panel hidden under one of the steps. Not giving Bucky another look, you let him follow you into another dark room, specifically altered to let you research and plan your private operations by yourself.

You approach the table in the middle as Bucky looks around the room dumbfounded and activate it with your fingerprint again. A dozen of hologram screens flit up with pictures and information that you have gathered over the past few months.

Bucky’s sight returns to you as his head tilts up to read the screens, his body stiffening and eyes widening when he notices one particular slide that you select to emphasise. A familiar photo to Bucky with information under it that he has memorised.

“This is my side job,” you tell him, reluctancy tugging at your chest.

“That is not a side job. I’ve quested this target. He’s a main job,” Bucky says, his eyes still on all the info you have gathered on him. You are in way to deep, he knows that for sure.

“Hunted and failed?” you scowl, getting a little sick and tired of him underestimating you constantly. If he was such a good assassin, how come this man is alive and now your target?

Bucky glares at you. “He was my target. Not to be terminated then.”

“Well, he is now,” you conclude and raise your arms to close all of the tabs and head back out.

Bucky grabs your arm, “You can’t.”

“I’ll decide that for myself, thanks.”

“No, you don’t. This is no longer your job. Your focus is on me now.”

“Bucky-“

“I swear to God, disobey me and I will-“

“What?! You will do what exactly, huh?” you snap at him, knowing for a fact that your rage tops his right now as your breathing heaves your chest.

Your name falls from his lips sharply, the warning clear in his voice. But you refuse to back down and you take a step closer to him, leaving barely an inch between your chests.

“Either help me, or leave my goddamn house, Barnes.”

Bucky stays quiet for a full moment, his mind running a million miles an hour as his eyes dart over your face in search of any give within your tenacity.

“What do we have on him?”

…

Both hands attached to your gun, you jog up the stairs with your chin up and all your senses on high alert. Having no idea what is around every corner or behind any door, you have to move quickly, swiftly and cautiously. Bucky is hot on your tail and you don’t have to check to know he’s making sure no one is following you without being told to.

You’re both trained professionals after all.

The second Bucky realised how important his target was to you, he helped you figure out a way to distract Yelena for long enough to help you get to him. But he had to admit, part of him wanted to get revenge for what he knew the target was capable of. Back in his Winter Soldier days, he had tracked and observed the target for months, not able to take him down. Maybe together, he finally could.

Entering a hallway so dark it might as well represent a black hole, you focus on your hearing, trailing your fingertips that stick out from your leather gloves gently along the walls to discover an entrance. You can’t see anything but darkness, the only light coming from the stairs behind you, but being swallowed by the void.

When you feel a light ridge under your touch, you stop walking. The next thing you feel is Bucky bumping into your back and clutching onto your hip as a reflex, tugging you in to stabilize the both of you. Your eyes widen at the feeling of colliding into his firm body and you swallow hard as you force yourself to remain professional. A quiet and uncharacteristic ‘sorry’ is mumbled from behind you and you quickly brush it aside.

One hand holding your gun as the other encounters a doorknob, you twist it and enter a bright, empty room with Bucky closely behind.

“This building doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Bucky complains sharply, keeping his gun ready for fire as he circles the room. You sigh, agreeing with him as you still squint to adjust to the sudden brightness.

“Told you we should get a map,” you can’t help but provoke him.

“There wasn’t any time.” Bucky huffs, annoyed by your know-it-all nature.

“You’re right, we’re so much better off wasting our time searching through a maze,” you grumble sarcastically as you continue your path by stepping through another door and stepping into a concrete hallway this time, illuminated by red emergency lights. The air around you is cold and you frown when you realise that instead of walking closer to the core of the building, you might actually find yourselves back in the outer ring.

From Bucky’s silence, you assume he has realised the same thing. Noting that the hallway is completely empty, you finally turn towards him and lower your gun.

“What do you suggest we do, Sergeant?” you dare him to come up with a plan to get you out of this mess. You’d been roaming the hostile building for over half an hour with no clue as to where you’re going. Cursing the thick outer walls, you wish you could make contact with someone on the outside right now.

“There has to be an entrance somewhere here. If this is the outer ring, there has to be a way in,” he mutters as he looks around, mostly just thinking out loud to himself.

“Did you manage to bring any snacks along with you so I can eat something while you go try to figure that whole thing out?” The annoyance in your tone is obvious and you can see Bucky’s jaw tick at your incessant need to thwart him.

He takes a few threatening steps towards you and glowers down at you angrily. “Stop being a fucking brat and do your goddamn job.”

Opening your mouth to make a smart remark, Bucky’s eyes widen and ears perk up. You don’t get to follow your colleague’s heightened senses as you get thrown against a wall in one of the crevices of the tunnel, his chest pushed into yours.

Both of you sucking in a deep breath and holding it, you twist your head to the side to note anyone walking by. Your instinct when a dozen hostile agents run past the two of you is to squeeze your eyes shut, Bucky’s is to press himself against you tighter, his shallow breaths fanning through your hair.

Once the group has passed, both of you let out a long breath and you roll your head against the wall, tilting your chin up as you look at the ceiling. What you don’t notice is Bucky’s eyes fixated on your parted lips as your chest heaves with adrenaline pumped breaths, because when you open your eyes and look at him, his eyes are on yours instantly.

“We either follow them or find out where they are coming from,” you whisper and Bucky takes a peek into the hallway, still not breaking away from the close proximity.

“They’re hunting someone down -possibly us- so we go where they came from,” Bucky decides and you give him a brief nod, not finding it too difficult to agree with his orders when it really comes down to it.

Both of you move in sync as you step out from the small cavern and jog in the opposite direction you saw the agents run into. Bucky at the front this time as you follow closely behind.

…

Pressing the barrel of the gun under your target’s chin as he almost tips back in the chair he is tied to, you throw him a snarl. “Answer the goddamn question.”

Bucky sighs and inspects his nails as he leans against the wall casually. When the target stays quiet, you turn to Bucky and suck in a sharp breath.

“Would you like to make yourself useful, Barnes?”

Throwing you a clipped smile he mutters a ‘finally’ as he steps over, pushing past you and grabbing the target’s throat. His jaw clenched as dark eyes peer down onto his victim. The way his arm clangs and jitters with its movements has adrenaline rushing through your body. Thankfully, you and Bucky are finally seeing eye to eye when it comes to this particular assignment.

“Remember me?” he mocks, his voice a low drawl, but no less threatening as he keeps his jaw locked tightly. “You heard her. What sick plan are you involved in this time?”

“Your tiny blonde friend should know,” the man chokes out through Bucky’s grip and Bucky looks at you with a worried frown. The comment comes as a shock to both of you, even though you know that you shouldn’t believe this douchebag over your trusted colleague.

You give him a confused shrug in return, not feeling any wiser than he does right now, and Bucky turns back to the man clasped within his vibranium claw “Be vague again and I’ll rip out your vocal chords.”

“Charming,” you quip, a mixture of awe and disdain at his choice of threat. It is undeniable that your impatience is slowly getting the better of you and your teeth start gnawing at your bottom lip.

When your target gives Bucky an unimpressed glare, you lose the last of your patience. Flicking the knife out of your thigh holster and twirling it between your fingers, you don’t hesitate to cut off his pinkie, a cry leaving your target’s lips.

“Nine.”

You don’t notice Bucky’s face twitching to hide an impressed smile, gritting his teeth to contain himself from the thrill rushing through his body when you heave a deep sigh at the target’s silence and slice off his ring finger.

“Eight.”

The target glares up at you with almost as much thunder in his eyes as Thor and actually shoots Bucky a pleading glance for some mercy from your brutality. But Bucky simply shrugs innocently.

“I’d hurry up if I were you,” he backs you up, his voice deep and rough, humour dripping off his lips as his grasp doesn’t falter, “I don’t want to know what she’ll cut off once she’s done counting down your fingers.”

The panicked look in your target’s eyes makes you roll yours and you heave another deep sigh, raising your knife to slash down again. But before you can drop the knife onto his middle finger, he gasps and scrambles for words as quickly as he can.

“The weapon!” he gasps. “The weapon you are after, I’m a distraction. They knew you’d come after me.”

When you twist your head towards Bucky, you watch his eyes widen slightly before a mask expertly covers up his emotions. It frustrates you to the bone that you are never able to decipher the soldier. But the brief look that you saw in his eyes is enough to send a surge of fury to rush through your body and you turn back to your target once more.

Wrapping your fingers around the nape of his neck, you drive the blade into his abdomen, twisting it around as you keep your eyes connected to his. A gasp leaves his lips and it doesn’t take too long for blood to fill his mouth and cover up his teeth, the nausea of the blood in his stomach turning him bleak.

“I know you feel oh-so useful right now, distracting us from our actual mission, but I am here to tell you that you are nothing but a waste of fucking space, you know that?” you spit in his face, twisting the knife further as you drive it deeper.

As fatigue makes his features melt, your target gives you a disgusting smile, bright red blood covering the yellow of his teeth as his eyes shine with promise.

“Hail Hydra.”

…

The drive back to London is quiet for the most part. The sun has only just started to come up, colouring the city in a bright orange as the brisk air slowly warms back up. It had been a dreadful night.

The look you saw on Bucky’s face when he heard those final words come from your target’s mouth sent chills up your spine. His face went completely pale and hollow, his eyes darkening and his posture stiffening at the mention of a corporation that was supposed to be dead.

Not sure how you are able to tell, but the second you saw Bucky’s face, you knew this was his worst nightmare unfolding in front of him like the biggest disturbance and shock of his life, yet like all this time he had been waiting for it to come.

Those two words were enough to send Bucky into a blinding rage that snapped the target’s neck within seconds. You couldn’t blame him if you tried. You would have never been as cruel as you were if you didn’t know what your target was capable of. As your first instinct was to reassure Bucky, you could tell he wasn’t up for talking. He wanted out as soon as possible.

But as you are sat in the taxi taking you back to your house, you can’t help but sneak a few glimpses of him. When you both step out of the car, rounding it before stepping up to your home, you gently put your hand on his shoulder to stop him and he spins around to face you.

“Do you want to talk about what he said?” you ask him and his face remains impassive.

“I’ll cook tonight,” is his only response and you study his face intently before giving him a simple nod. Him cooking dinner is his way of taking his mind off or processing on his own. If you even understand a fraction of the trance he is in right now, you would give him his much needed space.

So you bring Yelena up to speed when you see her, the shock of your betrayal quickly covered by the shock of your latest discovery. You kindly ask her to pick something up for you that might help you further since both you and Bucky are completely beat after your own little mission. The long drive home granted you enough time to contact your private investigator and collect some much needed intel.

As Yelena closes the front door behind herself, you turn to Bucky hanging out on your couch as he filters through some files and you decide to prepare the both of you a strong drink from an ancient bottle hidden in one of your cabinets.

Gently sliding the glass over to Bucky, he finally makes eye contact for the first time since you stepped back into the house. He drops the files and slips a cloth from his pocket.

“So why did you retire?” Bucky asks, his focus on his vibranium arm as he rubs the cloth over the dirtied material.

Leaning back in one of your big seats and staring out the window as the sky darkens, you try to process his question. But realising you don’t exactly have anything to lose and that Bucky will give you a hard time either way, you give in to his curiosity. Besides, he could use the reassurance that you both carried some sorrow.

“The Blip,” you mutter, looking anywhere but at the large man opposite to you. “I was in the middle of one of the most important missions of my life. Nothing too important in hindsight, but all consuming back then. My friend and colleague, a ray of sunshine similar to Yelena actually, was my partner at the time.”

You can feel Bucky’s stare on you as you start telling the story and you almost want to stop talking. His gaze is strong and you feel heat rise to the surface of your skin at the intensity of the man. Voice softening and hands fiddling, you continue your confession.

“I had finally taken out the two men hoarding me and turned around to help her out. I saw one of the other agents pull a gun on her and felt a certain… splintering coldness crawl up my back. I dove forward as the shots went off and saw my arm fragmenting into dust.” You drop your head and look down at your feet. “Last thing I saw before I blipped was the three bullets penetrating her chest. The first thing I saw when I returned was the same cement room, completely empty with splatters of her blood permanently colouring the ground.”

Bucky is completely silent as he listens to you telling about that awful memory and you raise your head to see his reaction. He doesn’t reveal anything however and you decide to conclude your story.

“Never wanted anyone’s life to depend on me again, so I work solo now.”

“Why did you let me help?” His voice is quiet, careful.

“Because I don’t care for you dying. I’m rooting for it actually,” you quip playfully, earning a soft chuckle from the both of you before Bucky rolls his eyes away and takes a big gulp of his drink.

A soft tune from your phone brings you back to reality and you dart your eyes to your screen which is lighting up with a text from Yelena.

‘Mission is a shit show. Be back in two days. Don’t start without me!’

You chuckle at her eagerness. Even though she was forced into becoming a widow at a young age, she did love her job. And she was damn good at it too. How she managed to brighten up a profession this sinister, you could only hope you would one day reach that.

“Yelena is held up. I say we get as much preparation done before she comes back so we can hit them where it hurts,” you murmur, downing the last of your drink and pushing off of your chair. “But first, I’m going to need some rest.”

“Cutting off fingers will take it out of you,” he huffs with light amusement as he leans back on the sofa, taking a small sip of his drink as his dark eyes raise up to yours.

“It was too much fun too pass up on.” You shrug and he nods slowly at your words.

“Sure was.”

“Goodnight, Bucky. Thanks for your help today.” You give him a sincere smile as you round the corner to head up to your room, not waiting for him to respond either.

…

Trying to avoid accidentally bumping your shoulder with Bucky, who’s lying on his stomach next to you, you spy down onto the massive concrete building spread out in the middle of the forest. A large wall of mountains obtain the base from being spotted by anyone, except from the three vantage points you discovered a few years ago.

“So what is this place again?” Yelena asks from her vantage point through her in-ear.

“The most secret and secluded Hydra base in the world,” Bucky mumbles under his breath, keeping his eye narrowed through the scope on the sniper rifle clutched to his shoulder. You and Bucky had set up on one of the vantage points together, whilst Yelena took another point for her role in this assignment.

“When Hydra fell,” you elaborate for the tiny blonde through the comms, “all existing Hydra agents suddenly became jobless and collectively fled to this place. It was a head-hunting field day for all of the other criminal organisations who were looking for eager, skilled and suicidal agents. But since Hydra seems to still be active, this would seem like the right place to look now.”

“If it’s so secret… How do you know about it?” Yelena asks suspiciously – rightfully so.

You share an unsure look with Bucky, the only man who knows exactly why, and he gives you an indifferent shrug before focusing back on his targets.

“Because doing what I did at the time, it required me to know what every active criminal organisation was doing and where they were doing it, to avoid crossing them,” you explain, keeping your voice even as you pray that she doesn’t ask her next question.

“Did you know where the Red Room was?”

Silence.

You are sure you even notice Bucky tense up at the question and you drop your head, not at all wanting to disappoint the Russian even further than you already had so far.

“It wouldn’t have mattered, Yelena,” Bucky surprisingly backs you up and you turn your head to look at him. The expression on his face is still indifferent as the last rays of sunlight descend behind the mountains.

You seem to hear a soft huff through the comms and you breathe a sigh of relief. All of a sudden, the three of you brace yourselves as you spot movement within the camp. Just like you predicted, the guard rotation. This is Yelena’s cue to get settled with her technology to infiltrate the security system.

“When do we go?” Bucky asks, flexing his hands over the rifle.

“When Yelena has disabled the security system.”

“And if she can’t?”

“We wait until the next rotation.”

“That’s eight hours.”

“Correct.”

You receive a brief glare from Bucky before he shuffles over the ground and braces himself. “Let’s hope the tiny spy can make herself useful then.”

You roll you eyes at his snarky comment and frown at him, “Aren’t snipers supposed to be the quiet types?”

He gives you a brief side eye, “We are. You know why?”

You raise your brows in expectation, giving him a bored look as Bucky still refuses to turn to you and a sly smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Because usually when we’re in this position, we’re eating pussy.”

The heat that rises to your cheeks is so sudden, you have to bite back the gasp and instantly turn your head back to the view ahead of you. Trying to play off the fluttering feeling erupting in your body, you shake your head.

“Pig.”

A deep chuckle, soft and disarming, floats from Bucky’s lips with an amused shake of his head and you purse your lips in an attempt to push back the heat in your face.

You don’t know how you got it in your head that after everything Bucky has been through and being the type of person he is now, he’d abstained from any sexual activity. Supposedly, you assumed he wasn’t nearly inviting enough for women to approach, though you could see why that would have its own appeal. He is awfully masculine and strong and attractive, but you hadn’t yet connected him to being a potential sexual interest.

That was until you heard him speak such filthy words.

And all of a sudden you find yourself praying that Yelena would succeed in her job to prevent you from having to stick around here for eight hours with no distraction from Bucky other than the man himself.

…

Dismantling the rifle as he stuffs it back in the suitcase, Bucky watches you put up the tent with the minimum amount of light allowed on your vantage point.

“Have you brought a puzzle or something to kill time?” Bucky comments sarcastically, another dig at the fault in your plan. Eight hours of keeping quiet until your next window for execution. In your defence, there wasn’t another option. This operation was risky enough as it is. You’d simply have to stick it out.

“No. But I hid clover fours all through the woods for you, so you can keep yourself busy for the next eight hours, you child,” you retort with a roll of your eyes, bending over as you press the tiny inflatable matts into the tent.

You don’t see Bucky biting back a smile at your rebuttal as he closes the suitcase and readies the other weapons for quick use in case that would be necessary tonight. Walking over to the tent as you crawl out, he looks down at you.

“Should we check on Yelena?” he asks and you smile at his inability to hide his affection towards the tiny, bright agent. You did find the two of them an odd duo to work together.

“Sent her a text. She’s fine and has set up her own tent,” you answer him and grab your backpack as you rummage through your belongings, “I’m going to try and get some sleep, should we keep guard?”

“Nah, there aren’t going to be any agents over here. They have technology for that job now and they would have already spotted us if it reached this far,” he explains and you nod. “Go sleep.”

So you do.

But as complete darkness engulfs everything in sight, you can’t help but stare up at the ceiling of the tiny tent, your imagination swirling against the blinding void above you. Your breathing is slow and quiet, but you feel like an endless amount of energy is coursing through your body. Safe to say you had hoped for a little more action around this time and there’s not a cell in your body that feels like sleeping right now. Even worse, after Bucky’s earlier stunt of letting you in on his sex life, every cell in your body is screaming for only one thing.

Bucky’s head between your thighs.

And you’re sure your adrenaline makes it worse, the throbbing between your legs and the filthy thoughts. Like how he’s got a good mouth on him. Pretty lips and a restless tongue. Good hands, too. Strong. Capable of wrapping around your thighs and pulling you in. You wouldn’t stand a chance. Full head of hair between your legs that you can only imagine stroking your fingers through and knotting into it as you pull him closer to where you need him most. Fuck.

“Would you stop moving?” his deep voice grumbles from beside you and you sigh, willing you body to still as you turn on your side, your back to him.

But you can’t help it. Tiny ruffles of your clothes whenever your rub your thighs together or a shudder rolls down your spine, you run overly hot. Cheeks and neck glowing with warmth, your hair feeling uncomfortable against your skin and your lips aching as your keep chewing them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop moving,” Bucky growls again, irritation evident in his voice.

“ ‘M just cold,” you lie and roll your eyes at yourself. If anything, you’re quite the opposite.

What you don’t expect is the solid feel of Bucky’s large body pressing into you, your spine locking up when you feel his breath fan over your cheek. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in an attempt to stop your eyes from rolling back, you finally open your mouth to speak up, only to hear Bucky speak up first.

“I don’t mind sharing body heat to preserve warmth,” he starts, his voice low and almost threatening, “but you seem to be burning up.”

He’s playing it off like he’s surprised, but you know damn well he has figured out you’re lying. As his flesh arm curls around your shoulders over your front, his metal hand grabs a hold of your hip and pulls you into him further. His lips brush over the shell of your ear and you shudder against him, making Bucky bite back a chuckle at the response.

“Why so hot all of a sudden?” he whispers and you are sure there has never been anything hotter than the sound of his whisper against you as your body heat seeps into him.

“I- ” you start, but fall short.

“Speechless?” Bucky asks after a moment silence. “Here I thought I would have to try a little harder to attain that.”

The hand on your hip slides down to the thickness of your thigh, his fingers spreading and digging into the cloth-covered flesh, the tip of his middle finger awfully close to the inside of your thigh as he exchanges your heat back to you through his vibranium palm.

“Bucky,” you warn.

“Yes?”

You grit your teeth, the pressure of him against you growing completely unbearable and you can’t keep your legs from squeezing together. Which is all the confirmation Bucky needs as he lets the menacing chuckle that’s been threatening to come out slip.

So you leap.

“Tell me more about,” Bucky waits patiently for you to follow through with your request, his fingers massaging into your thigh as his hand slowly moves to the spot between your legs, “being a sniper.”

His breath is hot against your skin and your let your eyes fall shut, not even thinking about your request and just hoping Bucky takes you up on it.

“About being a sniper, or eating pussy?” he asks and you stop the moan clawing its way up your throat at his words.

You swallow hard, “Eating pussy.”

“Why don’t I show you?” He sounds so cocky and you shake your head as much as you can in his hold, trying to prevent your voice from coming out too pathetic.

“N-No. Tell me,” you breathe and Bucky’s brows raise, impressed with the inquiry.

It stays quiet for a while and you feel like you might explode, the warmth from his hand burning through the fabric of your tactical pants.

“I’m a lazy eater sometimes,” he drawls out quietly and you swallow hard, his fingers tracing circles over your thigh. “I like getting comfortable. Have my meal right in front of me. Spread out and ready to be eaten. Warm…”

Your breathing is already becoming heavier and your hands have wrapped around his lower arm around your shoulders. But that arms moves as his hand trails down to cup your breast, giving a firm squeeze as his finger traces over your nipple.

“Some soft thighs draped over my shoulders that I can squeeze and hold in place. Maybe bite a little, because I’d like to get you squirmy…”

You. You in particular?

“I bet you smell so good,” he almost groans, inhaling as his nose buries into your neck, “taste even better.” His teeth dig into the sensitive skin and you jolt, letting out a soft whimper at the feeling before his tongue smooths over the patch of skin. “Maybe I’ll get extra lazy – let you do the work and ride my face.”

Your eyes do roll back this time and in doing so, your entire body rolls back against him, making his hand wrap around your thigh again as he gives your nipple a gentle squeeze, making you gasp.

“You’d like that? Grind that soft cunt of yours over my mouth? Get me all wet to get yourself off?” he taunts and you’re full-on throbbing between your legs now, pulsations of your slick dripping in your underwear. “Sit down and get comfortable on my face? Wouldn’t that be a fucking treat.”

That’s when you assume Bucky loses his restraint as his hand fully cups you between your legs now, his middle and ring finger pressing up against your core and making you press down in response. It’s barely any relief, but the pressure just feels so good.

“Oh Bucky,” you moan softly and Bucky buries his face in your neck, that sound nearly enough to make him bust on the spot. Rolling his fingers against the fabric covering your scorching heat, Bucky bites down onto your shoulder when you start grinding against his hand wantonly.

You’ve shifted slightly, your hips bucking upward to chase his touch as Bucky’s lips are pressed to your temple, parted as heavy breaths slip through them and his fingers increase pressure between your thighs.

It’s unbearable, the faint feeling of his fingers only riling you up more with your pants and underwear in the way, and your hands reach down to undo the button of your pants. You fear you might seem too eager, but Bucky is quick to abandon his previous spot and rip the zipper down before swatting your hand away and diving into your underwear, pressing three firm fingers against your clit and making you almost cry out at the feeling.

Firm circles are drawn over your clit by his metal digits and it’s not nearly enough. It’s torture, the way he sends warm jolts of electricity through your body, but doesn’t feel the need to detonate the bomb.

“Please,” you whine and buck your hips again. You have never been this worked up and wet before in your life.

His lips drag themselves back to your ear and he takes your earlobe between his teeth before humming softly, “Want me to eat you out, sweetheart? Get a good taste of you?”

You nod frantically and your fingers move to drag over the front of his chest, clammy skin peeling at the cotton of his shirt. Bucky presses a soft kiss to your cheek before completely abandoning you and depraving you from his touch. You squirm in the dark, trying to locate the menace responsible for your current frustrations, until you feel a harsh tug at your pants, pulling it down your thighs along with your underwear and tugging you into place simultaneously.

A gasp bursts from your chest and you immediately help Bucky undress your lower half, the eagerness heating up the small space in the tent. You hear a zipper again, from the tent this time and your eyes finally adjust to some moonlight shining into the tent from the square Bucky opened up.

Swallowing hard, your eyes settle on the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones, where it bulges because he’s clenching so hard, lids hanging low as his eyes are focused on their next destination at the apex of your thighs. And this is when you find out the tent is large enough to your liking, because Bucky pushes you to the edge, bends your legs so you’re bare and spread open for him, before laying down flat on his stomach and positioning his beautiful face above your throbbing core.

Your fingers twitch in anticipation as you lean up on your elbows and look down at the sniper between your legs. His large eyes peer up at you and a filthy smirk curls at his lips before he sinks his teeth into the softest flesh on your thigh, making you whine softly. But you asked for this. So you take it. Every drag of his mouth over the inside of your thighs, every bite to your skin before he sucks the tender flesh into his mouth until you’re sure there’s a mark there. And another. And another. Claimed.

“Bucky. Please,” you whisper and he pulls away slightly, licking his lips. Arms wrapping around your thighs and firmly spreading you open in front of him with his fingers splayed wide, he locks his eyes onto yours before slowly leaning in and pressing a warm kiss to your pulsating clit as his eyes zone in on your response.

Breathing a deep sigh, you swallow hard to stop yourself from breaking out into begging and channel all of the patience you can muster. He smiles at this and his eyes drop down to where you convulse and drip for him, quickly wiping the smile off his face.

That’s when the tip of his tongue drags through your folds, through your slick and up to your clit, which you think has never been more sensitive – and it’s your downfall. Your arms quiver from underneath you as you melt like putty to his mouth. Wrapping his warm lips around your clit and eagerly sucking it into his mouth with a satisfied hum, you let out a long, raspy moan and collapse onto the ground, one of your hands flying to clasp onto his metal hand as the other immediately finds home in his hair.

Briefly, you hesitate whether grabbing his hair was the right move, until Bucky wraps his entire mouth over your dripping pussy and licks in and through you with so much hunger, you can’t help but knot your fingers into it for leverage.

Warm, thorough and filthy are the words you would use to describe the way he licks and sucks as he’s buried between your legs. Hands squeezing your thighs as he hauls you closer and dives his head further into you core, you cry out when his tongue plunges into your clenching hole. He must be covered in you, the way he eats you so wildly.

But as you steadily burn hotter, grow closer, drip wetter, Bucky’s groans and hums of pleasure are what make you skyrocket towards your high even faster. The pressure in your abdomen is almost overwhelming, the urge to push him away almost as great as it is to pull him closer and your heels dig into his shoulders as your head falls back and your hips shamelessly grind against his face, seemingly only edging him on more.

Head rolling from side to side as Bucky keeps you spread out in front of him, his mouth alternating between licking your arousal straight from the source or manipulating your clit to his own will, tugging on it like it’s attached to your sanity, you feel like the orgasm might take you out and you grow fearful of letting go, dangling off the edge by a string.

But Bucky lives for it. Your taste, your warmth, your cries of pleasure. He’s never been in a more comfortable and rewarding position, the smell and taste of you overtaking all his senses as he kneads possessively into your skin, the feel of you making him want to growl like an animal.

There isn’t enough power in your trembling limbs to clutch onto him anymore, your thighs shaking and your fingers gently combing through his hair as Bucky sighs against you happily, still not coming up for air as he is glad to be where he is and never wants to leave. And when he wraps his full lips around your clit one more time and sucks it into his mouth whilst rolling his tongue over the sensitive bundle – you cave.

Arching your back to the sky and crying out for mercy, Bucky only pulls you closer as he buries you in your orgasm. Shaky thighs held tightly in his grip and tongue wildly raving through you, you flinch and shudder and twitch against his face. You curl up, knotting both hands into his hair and watching the last of the moonlight disappear behind black spots in your vision.

And just when the fog in your mind seems to lift, two warm fingers glide into you with way too much ease, curling up against your swollen walls and pressing into a spot that has you almost squeal from the sensitivity.

You look down to tell Bucky to take it easy, but your words get stuck in your throat when your eyes land on him and the feral look in his own eyes as his mouth laves over your clit again. You watch the tip of his tongue run through you as his wrist flexes with his fingers curling up inside of you and you shudder so violently, it almost makes Bucky chuckle.

Over and over, he grazes your spot with his rough fingertips and each stroke feels like its own tiny orgasm, his tongue lovingly gliding through your folds to coax you towards your next high as your heavy breaths and moaning fill his ears.

“Bucky, oh my God!” you whimper and he hums against you again, his eyes falling shut. The way his fingers move within you, in time with the drags of his tongue towards your clit has you seeing entire galaxies, your next orgasm drawing vacuum inside your belly and feeling tighter than you’ve ever experienced.

And as his wrist twists and his hand moves faster while his mouth latches onto your clit again and the filthy sounds filling the space almost become intolerable, you get thrown over the edge so suddenly, you let out a loud scream of his name. Clamping onto him as you burn through your orgasm like a thousand fires surround you, your body shakes and shatters at his touch, crying for him to let up. Which – after you’re sure you’ve drowned and resurrected – he finally does. So you pull your knees together in an attempt to shield yourself as pleasure still wracks through your spine in shocks.

Trying to catch your breath, Bucky slowly crawls up next to you, lying on his side and looking down at your face, brushing your hair from your forehead.

“I’m tired,” he murmurs and you finally manage to pry your eyes open.

“You’re tired,” you repeat with a weak frown, disbelief lining your voice.

“Yeah,” he says and rolls onto his back, “get on my face.”

Your eyes widen and he turns his head to look at you.

“Bucky, are you insane?!”

“This is taking too long,” he grumbles and manhandles you with so much ease, scooting down and rolling your hips until you’re hovering over him and fall forward to lean on your hands to you keep yourself up above him.

“Bucky, I’m not sure I can,” you huff in defeat, but you can already feel yourself throb again and curse your own body for betraying you like that.

His hands wrap around and grab onto your hips, smirking up at you.

“You can, and you will,” he promises, his voice not much less indifferent than you’re used to from the sergeant. “And if I ever catch you on that weird hovering shit again, I will make you regret it. Now sit and come for me.”

Next thing you know, your hips get pulled down and you’re sure Yelena can hear you all the way from her vantage point as Bucky ruins any and all men for you.

[drabbles-mc]

Outnumbered

Creeper Vargas x F!Reader

Inspired by Day Nine of the July Prompts: beach

Warnings: language, talk of pregnancy, Creeper being the soft & fun dad that we all know he would be

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This takes place in my pre-established Dad!Creeper universe. I love this whole family dynamic, which I will refer to as the Wolfpack lmao. If you wanna read more about this lil Vargas Squad check out these fics: X, X

General Mayans Taglist: @garbinge​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @paintballkid711​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @queenbeered​ @sillygoose6969​ @sesamepancakes​ @yourwonkywriter​ @chibsytelford​ @gemini0410​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @plentyoffandoms​ @georgiaaintnopeach​ @twistnet​ @themoonandthewicked​ @bucky-iss-bae​ @encounterthepast​ @rosieposie0624​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​ @mijop​ @xladymacbethx​ @blessedboo​ @holl2712​ @lakamaa12​ @masterlistforimagines​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @petlaufeyson​ @crowfootwrites​ @redpoodlern​ @punkgoddess-98​ @black-repunzel99​ @lexondeck​ @mrsstevenbuchananstark​ @berniesilvas​ @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo​ (If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know!)

The kids jumped out of the van and immediately started sprinting towards the water. You laughed, calling after them to be careful and not go up past their knees until you and their father made it town to the shore. All three of them yelled some kind of acknowledgment back to you and all you could do was shake your head with a smile. They’d been waiting so long to come to the beach.

“Need me to carry something, Neron?” you asked, already knowing what his answer was going to be as you rested your hands on your stomach.

He shook his head, “Nah, mama, I got all this shit,” he leaned in, kissing your baby bump and then your lips, “You go ahead and find a spot for us.”

You chuckled, “At least let me take a chair or two. Or the towels. Something, please. You’ve only got two arms, baby.”

He pulled one towel out of one of the beach bags and handed it to you. When he saw the look on your face, he shook his head, adamant about his position, “You’re one over-exertion from having our baby on the beach.”

“Neron, c’mon, don’t be—”

“I’m good,” his smile was so sincere, it still made your whole heart feel full, “Go on. I’ll catch up.”

You smiled, not wanting to push the argument any further. You gave him one more kiss on the lips before thanking him and heading towards the shore. You could hear the laughter of your three children, and your smile grew as you watched the twins chase down their older brother, kicking water at him the entire time.

You laid out your towel to stake a claim on a small stretch of the beach. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw Creeper defying the laws of physics as he somehow managed to get all of the gear down to you in one trip. Cooler, chairs, umbrella and all, nothing got left behind. The laugh that slipped past your lips was involuntary as you watched him drop everything next to the towel you’d laid out.

Stepping over to him, you pulled him into a kiss, “You never cease to impress me.”

Lightly running his hand over your stomach, he smiled, “I should be the one saying that to you.”

Much to your surprise, he let you help him get everything set up. You laid out the towels for the kids and got the chairs set up for yourself and for him. You left him to wrestle with the umbrella—that was always his job whether you were pregnant or not. While he was doing that, you called out to your kids, waving for them to come over to you. They hesitated, not wanting to give up even one minute of being in the water, but when they saw the way you crossed your arms over your chest as you waited, they booked it right over to you.

“Sunscreen first, then you can go back to playing,” you told them as you pulled the bottle out of the bag.

They moaned and groaned, but they let you put it on their backs and faces. They took care of the rest, and you smiled at the little white streaks that were left on their arms and stomachs from their rushed jobs, too eager to get back to the water. The three of them were practically vibrating waiting for you to let them know that it was alright to go. Once you gave them a nod of approval, they were off and running again. You laughed as Brandon scooped up the bucket and shovel as he ran off, the small plastic shovel banging around with every bumpy step that he took across the sand.

“This alright?” Creeper redirected your attention to his umbrella setup.

You smiled, nodding as you saw he made sure your chair was perfectly shaded, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Whatever you need.”

He peeled off his tank top and a smirk instantly found its way onto your face as you watched him toss it to the side. He turned back to face you and when he saw your expression, he immediately chuckled and shook his head. Without even realizing it you found yourself biting down lightly on your bottom lip.

“Don’t be lookin’ at me like that in public, mama,” his smile was contagious.

“Sorry,” you stepped in closer to him, running your hands over the ink that covered his torso, “I can’t help it.”

Before either of you had a chance to say anything else, a shriek came from the edge of the water. Both of you turned to see your son tossing entire buckets of water at his sisters. You both laughed and Creeper gave you a kiss before taking off towards them to try and calm the situation before it got too out of hand.

You slowly and carefully lowered yourself down into your beach chair, keeping your eyes on your family the entire time. As you felt the restless kicking inside your belly, it sank in that the next time all of you came to the beach together, your family was going to be just a little bit larger. You shrugged off your coverup, and even though it was a thin piece of fabric it felt great to go without it, instantly running your hands over the exposed skin of your stomach.

While you were getting out your book and a drink for yourself, Creeper came trudging back up to your designated space. You flicked your eyes up to him, smiling as you saw the water running down the smooth skin of his head.

“I see you got caught in the crossfire,” you said with a laugh.

“Your girls are brutal,” he shook his head with a smile.

“Oh,” you rested your book on your stomach and gave him your full attention, “so now they’re my girls?”

He laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead, “They’re your beautiful little savages, mama.”

“Mhm,” you chuckled as he opened a bottle of water and took a long drink from it, “I’ll remember that.”

You looked back down to the water and saw the three of them at least getting along now, no doubt plotting something together against their father for when he returned to the danger zone. It was impossible not to smile as the three of them huddled together. Looking over at your husband, you found him with his eyes fixed on you, a soft smile on his face. He twisted the cap back onto his water bottle before tossing it onto his chair.

As he went to take off again, you reached out and grabbed his hand before he could get too far. He whipped back around to you, concern on his face, “Yea, baby?”

You chuckled, motioning for him to come closer, “You gotta put on some sunscreen.”

He shook his head, “I’ll be fine.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you gave a slight shake of your head, “Remember what happened last time you said that? You got all blistered up. C’mon. If I make the kids do it, I gotta make you do it too.”

He knew better than to argue with you, so he let you put a generous amount in his hands while you got up to rub it into his back and on the top of his head. You chuckled when he flinched at the coldness of the lotion. As you took a couple extra moments to really work it into his shoulders, you felt his body relax under your touch, and it brought a smile to your face. He reached back, placing his hand over yours before turning to face you.

“I love you.”

You smiled, nodding, “I love you too.”

“You gotta promise you won’t get mad at me, alright?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Mad at you for what?”

The edges of his lips curled into a smirk as he took the leftover lotion on his hands and smeared it in a line down your face with a laugh, leaving a bright white streak behind as he took off running, shouting back to you how beautiful you were and how much he loved you.

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you rested your hands on your stomach, “You’re lucky I’m pregnant and can’t run after you, Neron!” you paused, and after a few seconds you thought better of it, “Alex! Ava! Brandon!” you called out to each of your kids, smiling when they all snapped to attention and looked at you, “See if you guys can dunk your father before we go home today!”

They all let out screams of joy and excitement, smiles taking over their faces as they ran towards their dad. Creeper looked at you, the weight of defeat making his shoulders slump slightly as he accepted his fate. You laughed as you slowly lowered yourself back into your beach chair. Within seconds the twins had attached themselves to Creeper’s legs and Brandon was attempting to climb up onto his father’s back. All four of them were laughing and you were honestly impressed by your husband’s ability to stay upright.

Your son was fully attached to Creeper’s back, legs securely wrapped around the man’s torso and arms looped around his neck. You chuckled as Creeper crouched down, trying with all his might to pry his daughters off of his legs, tucking them under his arms as he made the short walk into the water and dunking them instead of the other way around. Their laughter could be heard all down the coast and it was impossible not to laugh from where you were sitting.

“Your turn, B-Dawg,” he laughed as he reached back and lifted his son off of him, lofting him into the water, the young boy cackling the entire time.

Once the three of them had been sufficiently tossed around, they settled into a calmer activity of building a sandcastle just out of reach of the high tide waves. When they seemed fairly calm, Creeper made his way back up to you. You’d managed to get through some of your book as you watched them, and he smiled as he quickly wiped off some of the water and sand, finding his seat next to you.

“Got your workout for the day?” you looked over at him with a smile.

He chuckled, nodding, “Yea. Can’t believe you sicced my own kids on me, mama. That’s cold.”

“Fair is fair when I can’t chase after you,” you laughed, “Just wait until next year when you’re even more outnumbered.”

His laughter quieted as he glanced down at your stomach, and he gave a satisfied nod, “I can’t wait.”

“You’re gonna run out of arms,” you said with a smile as you reached and entwined your fingers with his.

He laughed, “That’s what I’ve got you for. If we stick together we might almost be able to hold our own.”

“That’s a big maybe.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, “Nah,” he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “We’ve got this down. We’ll be alright.”

[marvels-bitch-boy]

FAN FIC IDEA FROM MY BRAINS MCU

okay so I've got -what I think to be- an amazing story idea, it is a Natasha x reader, Wanda x reader story that I came up with in my head

it's a male reader/masc reader story set after Age of Ultron and before Civil War

also, the SWORD outfit is the same as Monica after she gets pushed out of the HEX except R has a knife holder on his thigh and is wearing black tactical cargo pants (with the classic black combat boots)

heres kinda the summary of it: Pietro (yes Pietro is alive! i refuse to hurt my favourite speedy boi) makes his sister come with him to a party at a local college a few miles away from the compound, she only agrees once Pietro says she can bring her boyfriend vision, at the party vision leaves her alone for a few minutes to grab her a drink (its a very packed party so it takes him a while) and R goes and sits next to her he's like "i bet i can guess who you're here with" and she chuckles at it, but lets him guess, and he guesses correctly which makes Wanda laugh, they say their names (only their first names) and talk about miscellaneous things, Wanda asks if he is a student at the college, R says no he is a recent graduate (he doesn't specify from where), after that R notices something on the other side of the party so he says goodbye, Wanda Pietro and Vision leave the party soon after, then a month or two goes by and the new SHIELD agent trainees/recruits show up at the compound, but this time there is an exception for one Agent from...SWORD! (wow plot twist I know right)-basically SHIELD and SWORD have set up an alliance of somekind and so SHIELD allows for them to send one recruit to train at the avengers compound with the new SHIELD recruits--also monica is the one who drops you off at the compound and helps you get settled the first day (I thought it would be cool to have her brought in) Wanda sees the new recruit enter but his back is turned from her, but in the cafeteria (for agents) she over hears a few agents talking about the SWORD agent, a few months go by and wanda has yet to see his full face (anytime she sees him training he has a mask or blindfold on-don't question it-) but she has met him in the compound library late at night, they have spoken between the aisles but everytime wanda tries to see his face something blocks her view (I know super convienent right, like I'm totally not setting up for something) soon Steve calls a meeting with her and Natasha, he sends her on a 3 month long mission to gather intel with her little woogly woos and Natasha is sent to review the SWORD recruit because he requested a more advanced training partner -Nat makes a joke about how Wanda gets to go on a vacation while she has to babysit Steve reassures her "trust me, this isn't your normal recruit, he's something special Nat"- Natasha gets handed the Recruits file after Wanda leaves to pack and she sees his name: Y/N!!! (WHAT?!? I know complete shocker right? who would have guessed!?) -I'm gonna make a separate post about R's back story in case that's needed- at the beginning of the review you flirt with Nat a bit to test her boundaries, she flirts back to mess with you you defienetly didn't expect this but welcomed it none the less, she puts you through grueling tests-shooting capabilities, then swimming and then running around the compounds dirt track (she expects you to take a break between the two but you just jump out of the pool and grabbed your shoes off a rack and take off running as soon as she says its next-this surprises her) then she makes you spar with her-you two are well matched to some degree but she ultimately takes you down after about an hour, the way Nat tells you your finished for the day makes you think you failed but the next morning you get a note with your new training schedule but it doesn't say who is training you, you arrive at the training room to find Nat who chastises you for being late -you aren't she is just early-

skip ahead a week and you and nat are getting somewhat close considering Natasha's demeanor towards you -she still doesn't get what Steve meant about you not being a regular recruit-, then you make friends with Steve, and then after about two weeks, you make friends with Pietro! you guys become best friends super fast and get very close

Your Friendship with Pietro is different than with Steve and the other recruits because you have POWERS?!?! (WHAT???!! that's so crazy and so far fetched oh my god what?!?) -I'll add what the powers are in the backstory post- and so you both bond over that and pull pranks on the others at the compound

a week later you meet Clint, who for some reason is suspicious of your treatment to Natasha-who over the week seemed to become nicer to you-but after she pulls Clint into the training room for 30 mins walks out, and gives you a cheeky smile, he is a lot more relaxed around you after that

TIME SKIP OOOHHH------1 month later

Natasha and you have become a lot closer-she started calling you an acquaintance and brings you water in the morning before training- Pietro started to invite you to the avenger's movie nights and you happily joined in, you sat on the couch the first time and everyone stared at you with wide eyes and concern, Natasha entered the room and stared at the couch for a second before slightly shrugging and sitting next to you, then everyone's eyes went wide with confusion and they all looked at each other, Clint on the other hand just winked at Nat with a smug smile before facing the TV

you and Pietro became basically inseparable once you finished training for the day-sometimes he'd even join you for training (you never used your powers in front of other agents tho)

TIME SKIP OOOWWWWOOOOOAAH--- 2 months later

Wanda is returning from her mission and Pietro is so excited to see his sister again-he is also very excited for her to meet you- he is practically jumping off the walls and won't stop babbling about how awesome it will be to have the three of you hang out together.

You and Natasha have gotten WAYY closer...she started to bring you some snacks for after training, she'd even make you both coffee on your off days, she'd ask you to join her for breakfast a couple times a week and during movie nights she began to sit closer to you, close enough that her head would rest on your shoulder, you could have sworn you saw Clint wink at you a few times when natasha cuddled into you after falling asleep.

When Wanda returned Pietro ran around the compound looking for you and carried you to the landing pad, when you and Wanda made eye contact it felt like time froze for a minute, you were able to get a full picture of how beautiful she was, the way she smiled became ingrained into your mind, the way her emerald eyes studied yours for a second before she recognized you, but before you could say anything Pietro ran up and hugged her so hard she almost toppled over, he then let go and asked how the mission went after she answered his questions she looked back at you and Pietro immediately went to you and placed his arm over your shoulder and started to introduce you two...the moment that you realized she was the girl from the party was when she laughed at the way Pietro was talking about you-like you were the coolest person on earth (which to him you basically where, second of course behind Wanda) - and she informed her ecstatic brother that they had previously met, you received a text from Nat stating that she needed you to get into your uniform (it was your day off so you were in casual clothes) and meet her in the conference room, you showed up and were met with Nick Fury and Maria Rambeau the directors of SHIELD and SWORD, Director Rambeau gives you a small smile and Fury simple tells you "Congratulations" as he hands you a new ID badge and Director Rambeau hands you a file...your first mission as an agent

(that's as far as my idea has gone so far, also keep in mind Wanda still doesn't know we are an agent, and I did change the Natasha romance so its more of a slow burn -I feel like it would take her longer than just a few months to develop and recognize her feelings-)

ALSO, FEEL FREE TO USE THIS!! I know its long, I just kinda got very carried away, it would also be a series, not a one shot

Here is the Backstory of reader!